CHAPTER FIVE
Emmet
I hadn’t fallen asleep until three in the morning the night Jeremey told me his depression was bad again. I’d been tossing and turning in my own bed when he’d texted me, but once I saw how upset he was, I was upset too. I’d meant what I told him about compromise, but it was still true that I’d had too much stimulation. Now I’d had more. Sleep was impossible.
So I lay there holding Jeremey, watching him sleep instead. I counted the hairs on his head until I got lost and my eyes hurt from straining in the dark. I noticed the pattern of cotton on his T-shirt, the way the fiber of the collar was thicker than the main part.
I pressed my nose into Jeremey’s hair, my mouth to his neck, taking deep breaths to fill my body with the smell of him, trying to find the molecules of depression inside him so I could take them apart and better understand them too. But I could not. Not even when I stuck my tongue out and licked his skin.
The only way I was able to sleep was when I rocked, cradling Jeremey’s body to mine and swaying the two of us until it exhausted me. I don’t remember becoming unconscious, but the next thing I knew, my alarm was going off in the other room, and this one was full of sun.
Jeremey was still in my arms, asleep. He stirred slightly when I rose, but not much. The drug did that to him. He would sleep all day if we let him, and I wanted to let him.
I couldn’t sleep, though, and my lateness had already thrown my day off schedule. It had taken ten minutes for me to hear my alarm since I was in the wrong room. Normally I wake up, shower, get dressed, eat toast, drink tea, eat oatmeal and an egg, brush my teeth, kiss Jeremey goodbye, then go to work. If I want to have sex with him before I go to work, I set my alarm an extra half hour early. But today I was off my schedule, and I had more on my schedule. I had to tell someone about Jeremey. I was upset. Too upset even for sex. I had to think of what to do.
I sat in my rocking chair, humming and flapping as I stared out the window and thought for several minutes. Then I called the man who drove me to my job at Workiva every day.
“Hello, Tom, this is Emmet Washington. I will be late to work today. I have a family situation. I apologize.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need a day off?”
I considered this. I hadn’t missed work at all, except for vacation days, which had always been planned. I hadn’t even been sick. If I stayed home, I could help Jeremey. But if I didn’t go to work, I’d feel bad for the other members of my team, because my absence would mean they’d have to do my work unexpectedly. “I don’t know if I need a day off. I would like to stay home, yes. My boyfriend is having a bad day with depression. I didn’t sleep much last night. I’m worried about him.”
“Oh, kiddo. You need to call in. I can tell your supervisor for you, have him call you, if you want.”
I thought I should be the one to call my supervisor, and I thought I should point out I was not a kiddo, but at the same time, I was quite tired. The idea of not going to work, of going to bed, was incredibly appealing. I could get into my sensory sack and sleep. My day would be disjointed and off schedule, but I’d be with Jeremey, and this was what mattered. “Thank you, Tom.”
Tom chuckled. “Not a problem. Text me later, okay, and let me know about tomorrow? And give my love to Jeremey.”
I hung up, then stared at my phone, wondering what to do now.
I was hungry but also tired. I spun my schedule backward, trying to decide if I needed to take care of anything else. I couldn’t think of anything, though it was possible I was too tired to see it. I would eat cereal, then sleep. But a thought kept nagging at me, telling me there was something else I needed to do.
Then it hit me. David. Jeremey was supposed to go to work too, with David.
I texted him, not sure if he was awake yet or not. Hello, David, this is Emmet. Jeremey had a bad night. I am staying home from work to be with him. I am going to eat cereal then go to sleep. He took a Klonopin, so he is extra sleepy too. He will probably not be able to be your aide today.
I sent the text, and within a minute my phone rang, the caller ID and the vibration pattern telling me it was David. I answered. “Hello, David. This is Emmet.”
“Hey, Train Man. Is Jeremey okay?”
“No. He had a bad night. The depression is worse. He said he told you.” He’d confessed it to David before me, which I didn’t like, but I wasn’t going to bring this up right now.
“I know, but that’s not what I meant. I just…” He sighed. “I hate this for him.”
I did too. “I’m going to take care of him.”
“I’m glad he was finally able to tell you. He was letting his fear run away with him, worrying his depression would turn you away.”
“I would never turn Jeremey away.” I was annoyed people kept thinking this.
“I know you wouldn’t. I think he does too, deep down. He’s afraid, is all. Don’t you fear he’ll leave you, sometimes?”
All the time. “I do.”
“It’s what people in love do at first, I think. Not that I’d know.”
Finding David a girlfriend was on my list of things I wanted to do, but first I had to help Jeremey. And Darren. Also I had to sleep. I had too many things to do and not enough sensory sacks to do them in. “I need to eat and go to bed.”
“You go eat and sleep. But thanks for letting me know. I’ll stop up later and help, if you want. And don’t worry about helping me. I’ll get by on my own.”
David did need Jeremey’s help, I knew, but like me, he was compromising. “Thank you, David.”
“Anytime, buddy.”
I was glad to be off the phone. I ate my cereal and went to my room to get my sensory sack, but instead of climbing into my bed to sleep, I carried it to Jeremey’s room and spread it on the bed beside him. I zipped it so most of my body was inside but my head was still out, so I could feel Jeremey’s hair on my face while I slept.
The next time I woke, Jeremey was out of bed. He’d moved to the living room and curled up on the couch watching television under a blanket. He smiled at me when I came out, but I could see the drug in him, making him watery. He muted the show when I came to sit across from him.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Better.” He pushed himself more upright in his pile of blankets. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I took the day off so I could be with you.” It had seemed so important before, but now, sitting with him, I worried whether or not it was okay.
His expression softened. “Oh…you didn’t have to do that for me. But thank you.”
“Also I was tired from not sleeping. But I was worried about you and wanted to be here to help you.” I rocked back and forth on the ottoman. “Can you tell me how I can help you?”
Jeremey tugged his blanket around himself. “I…don’t know. I guess I’m better, but the drug makes me so foggy. Everything is so much work. Even getting myself food is hard.”
I stood up. “I can get you food. What do you want to eat?”
Jeremey bit his lip. “Um, a sandwich? Maybe soup?”
“I can make you both. Would you like a turkey sandwich with lettuce and Swiss cheese and mayonnaise, and tomato soup with milk? And some crackers?”
I loved the way he smiled at me. When he looked at me that way, he made me feel as if I could hold up the whole world with one hand. “A soup and sandwich would be so nice. Thank you, Emmet.”
I brought him the sandwich and the soup, and I got him a Sprite too. Normally we only eat in the dining room so it doesn’t make a mess, but I brought him the food on a cookie sheet as if it were a serving tray and set it on the ottoman. I thought maybe I would go to Target and get a real tray, and maybe a stand for him to eat on. And a handheld vacuum to pick up the crumbs.
Suddenly I wanted to go to Target right now.
“I’m going to shower,” I told him. “Do you need anything else? I already told David you wouldn’t be able to help him today.”
He shook his head. “I’m great. I’m going to eat this, watch a movie, then to be honest probably fall asleep watching Ellen. But thank you for telling David.”
“He’s coming up to see you later, if that’s okay. He wants you to tell him when would be a good time.”
“Yes that’s fine. I’ll text him.”
I rocked on my heels some more. “After my shower I’m going to run errands on the city bus. And visit my mom. Is this plan okay with you?”
“Yes. Thank you, Emmet.”
I didn’t hurry my shower, but everything felt off for me. It was almost lunchtime, but I hadn’t eaten a proper breakfast yet, only cereal. My body was angry for not having real food. I needed to fix this situation before I did much else. I also needed to make a plan. The city bus came every twenty minutes, and we had a stop not far from The Roosevelt, but the more I thought the matter through, I realized I didn’t want to ride it today. I also needed to see if my mother had time to meet with me later.
I flapped my hands, trying to shake off my agitation from all the change. Then I gave up and texted my dad.
My parents both still work, but they can sometimes take time off to help me. My mom is a doctor and can’t get away very well. My dad can stop and help me easier. Also, while my mom is the fixer, the one who helps with my problems, my dad is the calm one. Mom was who I needed to help with Jeremey, but Dad was who I needed now to help with me and my messed-up day.
He said he could take the afternoon off, and he came to The Roosevelt to pick me up just as David was coming up to say hello to Jeremey. We all stood in the hallway for a minute and chatted, or rather David and my dad talked while I stood to the side and waited for them to be done so I could get going. They didn’t talk long, which I appreciated, and then it was me and my dad getting into his car and driving.
“Did you want to get lunch?” he asked. “Because I could sure use some B-Bops right now.”
B-Bops is a local chain restaurant that is similar to McDonalds except so much better. They have fewer choices, but this is fine as I always eat the same thing anyway. Also, they are drive-through only. This means Dad and I eat in the car, which I enjoy since I can hum while I eat and no one will make fun of me. Dad never makes fun of me for anything.
The other thing I like about B-Bops is they have two kinds of drive-through, a driver’s side and a passenger side. We always use the passenger-side pickup because it’s fun to hand the worker the money and collect our bag of food and our drinks. Sometimes the people at the window know us and are nice to me, but Mom doesn’t want us to go to B-Bops much, plus I don’t live at home anymore so we rarely go out to eat together, so I didn’t know anyone. But they were nice to me anyway.
At B-Bops I eat a pork tenderloin sandwich with no onion, fries, a chocolate shake, and a glass of water. Mom says this is the most unhealthy meal ever and should never be eaten. Dad says it’s delicious and won’t hurt us if we don’t eat it all the time. He gets a quarter pound cheeseburger and fries and a large soda, though today he changed his order and got a chocolate shake too.
He didn’t talk to me while we were eating, because he knows I don’t like that. He let me focus on my food, which was tasty, and once we were done wiping our fingers and stuffing the wrappers into the bag, he began asking questions. “So what happened today to keep you off work? You said Jeremey wasn’t doing well. Is he sick?”
“His depression is bad again.” I rocked in my seat, staring at the dashboard. “It makes me scared and nervous. I want to go to Target and get trays so I can bring him food in the living room.”
“Do you think the trays will help him be less depressed?”
At home, I’d been so sure getting trays would help. When he asked the question now, however, I wasn’t sure anymore. “Maybe.”
“Maybe they will help you help him more, which will be good for you. Helping and keeping yourself happy count as taking care of Jeremey.”
I flapped my hands and hummed. “It makes me sad when Jeremey is sad.”
“I know, sweetheart. That’s what being in love does to you. You feel what they feel. The good parts and the bad parts.”
I decided to tell my dad my secret. I was still nervous, but I needed someone on my side about this. “Dad, I want to get married to Jeremey.”
All my insides felt jumbled and nervous while I waited for him to speak. My mom told me I have a brain octopus making it hard for me to focus, making it difficult to be like people on the mean, but right now the octopus was everywhere inside me. I needed my dad to not make fun of me for wanting to marry Jeremey. I needed him to tell me it was okay. I needed more too—I didn’t know exactly what it was I needed him to say to me. I only knew that until he said it, I might barf up my pork tenderloin.
I couldn’t read his face, which was no surprise, and I couldn’t tell his emotion from his voice tone either. “I thought you might tell me you were ready to marry Jeremey. In fact, you took a little longer than I thought.”
“Do you think it’s a bad thing that I want to marry him? Do you think I shouldn’t do it?”
He turned to look at me. “Of course I don’t think such a thing. Even if I did, would it matter? You’re an adult, Emmet. If you want to marry Jeremey, it’s your business, not mine. But I’ll support whatever decision you make. And for the record, I love Jeremey as much as I love you. I’m happy for you. I’m sorry if you thought I would have any other kind of reaction.”
I felt slightly better, but not much. “I don’t know how to take care of him, Dad. I don’t think I can marry him until I can.”
“That’s not how marriage works, sweetheart. You learn how to help your partner as you go.”
I knew he was wrong. Maybe he was right for marriages on the mean, but I knew to marry Jeremey, I had to learn how to care for him. Maybe what worried me, what I knew complicated matters, was that I had to learn how to marry his depression too. I could see the two versions, the Jeremey who smiled and laughed and made love to me, and the Jeremey who disappeared into darkness. I had to find a way to take care of them both, to show both parts of him my love.
I didn’t know how to explain it to my dad, though. “Can we go to Target, please?”
He took me, and he didn’t ask any more questions or sigh heavily the way my mother would have or keep arguing like my aunt Althea. That’s my dad.
At Target the staff all greeted us as we passed them, but a few winked at me and made me give them a high-five. This is because they’d all heard about the video and thought I was famous. Sometimes I’m tired of being famous, if it means I have to touch people every time I go to Target. Today I wasn’t in the mood, and after two high-fives I gave my dad the sign for it to stop, and he moved between me and the workers and told them to give me some space, please.
It was nice, but sometimes I wish they would give me the space without me having to ask. I also wish I didn’t have to have my dad ask for it for me.
I tried to imagine Jeremey’s depression self as a separate person, a sort of shadow Jeremey. Not as an enemy Jeremey, but as another part of him. I saw him first as a gray shape, and then I imagined him as pixels, because I enjoy math. What did those pixels want? What did depression want? Technically what depression was or what it sought inside a brain wasn’t known, but it was thought to be about neural circuitry. So it was similar to my brain octopus. But it was a sad octopus.
What did a sad octopus want?
I didn’t know. I hummed and thought about it as I searched for TV stands and trays to bring food to Jeremey on. Target had some nice ones. I picked stands that matched our apartment but which were also sturdy (I had my dad check the construction) and I picked a yellow tray with a happy sun in the corner and a little monkey. It made me happy, and I hoped it would make Jeremey happy too. Maybe Depression Jeremey would like it, maybe not.
I was coming around the aisle out of housewares when I saw the dog.
It was a large black dog with short hair, and it wore a blue vest with a harness. It sat near a man who was studying a shelf of light bulbs. The dog was pretty and well-behaved. I would have kept walking, only wondering why a dog was in Target because the man clearly wasn’t blind so this wasn’t a seeing-eye dog, but then I saw the words on the dog’s vest.
Service dog.
I stopped and stared at the dog. Service dog? What service was it providing? My brain octopus went crazy, and I flapped my hands, because I had a feeling I had found exactly what I was looking for at Target, something more than food trays. I searched with my camera eyes for my dad, but he was still talking with a friend in another aisle. I wanted to ask the man about his dog. I flapped harder, trying to soothe my octopus so I could find the words, but I was so excited I couldn’t calm down. I began to rock and hum as well as flap.
The man glanced at me, then quickly away. He tugged on the dog’s leash and whispered, “Block.”
The dog stood up, raised its ears, then moved between the man and me. When I took another step toward the man and his dog, the man gave another command. “Around.” Now the dog traced big circles around the man, making it impossible for me to come closer.
I backed away because I had to—the dog kept making wider circles, and I either had to move or get knocked over, but I still needed to talk to the man. I wanted to look at him so I could tell him what I had to say was important, but he was nervous now too, gripping the dog’s leash and acting as if he thought Target were full of enemies. I understood his feelings. I felt that way too. Except my enemy was his dog. I flapped at the dog and hummed, trying to tell it I needed it to stop, but the dog only made bigger and bigger circles, pushing me farther and farther from the man.
And then it led the man away.
I cried out and followed them, even though I was afraid.
My dad found me. “Emmet, what are you doing? Why are you chasing this man?”
I was so overwhelmed at this point I couldn’t speak out loud. I yelped and frantically signed at him. You have to stop him, I need to talk to him about that dog for Jeremey, please, Dad, please, please help me, Dad. I kept signing until Dad ran forward and raised his hands in front of the man.
The man stopped, but the dog kept making circles and blocking us, and I put my hands over my ears and rocked, moaning. I was so afraid now, my octopus was trying to take my head off my body. But I didn’t leave. I could see the man was listening to my dad.
Calm down, I kept telling the octopus. Calm down, so you can talk to this man about this dog. Please, calm down.
It was a long time before I got myself contained, but it took the man a long time too. We all had to move to the staff break room of the store, where the manager (who knew who I was because of the viral video and liked me a lot) brought us snacks and drinks. I didn’t drink or eat anything, and neither did the man, but my dad had a coffee, and he and the manager chatted until the man who had the dog and I were ready to talk. They also brought me a green tea latte from Starbucks when I changed my mind and decided I wanted a drink after all.
Then my dad, the man, and I sat together at the table. The man told us his name was James, and he shared his story.
“Sorry for running away earlier. You startled me, and Lacie was protecting me. I’m a veteran, and I have PTSD.”
I rocked in my chair. “That’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
James nodded. “I upset easily, especially in public places. My brain has a difficult time understanding I’m not in a threatening environment anymore. Lacie helps me deal with things I perceive as threats. When you approached me and I wasn’t expecting you, I got nervous, and so I had her block you, then remove me from the situation. Intellectually I knew you weren’t a danger, but my brain doesn’t listen to reason right now. I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t upset about his inability to behave rationally, but I was frustrated because I had so much to say, and it was hard to get myself under control to speak. I knew I could say some of it, but I worried I’d start humming in the middle of words or shut down completely, so I decided to use my dad as an interpreter. I signed to him, and he translated, though he also added his own words, I noticed.
“Emmet isn’t offended. He does want to know more about Lacie, however. His boyfriend has depression, and he wants to know if it’s possible for service dogs to help with something like that as well.”
James smiled. “Oh, yeah. A friend of mine, another vet, doesn’t have PTSD so much as depression, and she has a service dog too. Her dog is her lifeline. Cassie fetches medicine for her, nudges her to take walks, monitors her for suicide, all kinds of stuff.”
I was so excited I let out a kind of barking noise, which made Lacie perk up from the floor. Dad looked at me, and I took a deep breath, trying to push my octopus aside so I could use my own voice. “I want to get a dog for Jeremey. This is what he needs. A service dog. Hmmmm.”
“I can put you in touch with the people who got me my dog.” James had his phone out and was thumbing through the touch screen. “It was a veteran’s service, so they probably can’t help your friend directly, but I bet they can get you headed in the right direction at least.”
I flapped my hands while my dad got the number from James and thanked him for his help. Lacie watched me, and I watched her back, my octopus dancing inside me. I could see Depression Jeremey’s pixels forming around the service dog, feeling her, deciding whether or not a dog would be okay.
Except I already knew the answer. I didn’t need math to figure out this equation. I knew this would work.
I was positive it would. As positive as I was that a2 + b2 = c2.