Like It Never Was

by Faith Gardner

We are not an audience. We are hostages.

I wish I were in Kauai. Maybe I should move there.

I am so unhinged. The worst kind of unhinged—sane enough to be aware of how insane I’m acting.

“Oh Jesus.” “Jesus can’t help you now, love, he’s long dead. And has there ever been a man more overrated? Let’s not speak of him, please, not in my casa.”

Alice, of course, orders a veggie omelet, subbing fruit for potatoes: healthy. Mindful. Me, I order benedict: all carbs, processed meat, sodium, and hollandaise. You could learn everything you need to know about our characters from one simple brunch order.

You’re walking into hell, the voice warns. “You’re about to die,” I whisper. It isn’t until Maria peers back at me over her shoulder with subtle horror on her face that I realize I said it out loud. “Excuse me?” she asks. “Nothing, sorry,” I say, mortified. She turns back around and unlocks the door, but not without casting another worried glance over her shoulder. Great. Now my therapist is afraid I’m going to murder her. The voice cackles.

I accept this won’t be the last time I have some kind of breakdown and require rescuing. Everyone needs a touchstone. Everyone needs an oasis. When people offer you help in life, it’s a beautiful thing. Take it.