Page 54 of Pining for You

The response brings back that flare of anger. I don’t really want to hear this right now. I don’t want to think about the “good person” version of Michelle. The one who seems to have disappeared. But before I can say anything, Audra continues her thought.

“But good people can hurt people too, even if they don’t mean to. Ya know, B, mental health, addiction—they’re intertwined,” she says. “It’s really complex stuff. I volunteer sometimes at this place called Cobble House that gives free help to people dealing with addiction. And a lot of them have mental illness. The addiction part happens when they aren’t diagnosed or treated for that illness for whatever reason, and then they self-medicate with drugs to try to make themselves feel better.”

I nod slowly. I have wondered many times what Michelle must’ve felt like before she was diagnosed. How it might’ve been lonely.

But then… Michelle wasn’t ever alone. Naomi and I were always right there.

“Why didn’t she just ask for help?” I ask, my pitch rising a little, and I’m not even sure if I’m really asking Audra. “We would have helped her.”

“I think…,” Audra starts, and then takes a breath. “I think it might be hard to even know what you need help with when you’re the one in it, you know?”

It makes sense.

“Actually, there’s this one guy who also volunteers because he’s in recovery from alcohol addiction, and he has bipolar disorder too. He told me it took him a really long time to understand the difference between his condition and his addiction, and how they were connected. Now he’s on medication and says he feels a lot better. And that he doesn’t feel like he needs to drink anymore.”

But this is where things get even harder for me to understand. The part that makes me really angry.

“Michelle did get better for a while,” I say. “Last year. She was on medication, and got a job at a gym as a receptionist—she was doing so well they made her assistant manager. She got super into being healthy. She was even talking about becoming a personal trainer.”

“Wow,” Audra says.

“Yeah. But then she got hurt one day, helping a customer with one of the weight systems, and we found out later that the walk-in clinic gave her these pain pills, because they didn’t know her history, and she took them. Like… just like that. Even though she knew it would be dangerous for her. Even though she promised she would never do it again.”

Audra listens. Then I tell her what I haven’t told my friends yet.

“And now my mom keeps asking me to go with her to this halfway house farm for Christmas to see Michelle. Instead of doing our usual traditions at home together.”

Audra squeezes my shoulder again.

“I know what the holidays mean to you, B, so I know that’s gotta be extra hard.”

After a beat, I say, “I’m really trying to understand it all. But why are we all expected to turn our lives upside down when these were her choices?” I pause. “Sorry, that sounds really awful.”

“Bennie, you’re allowed to have feelings. You’re trying so hard, I can see that. But I also think it’s really hard to learn about something just in the context of your own experience, and separate your own feelings from the person you feel them about, ya know?” She pauses, considering something. “Maybe, if it ever feels good to you, you could meet some other people who have gone through stuff like this.”

“You mean volunteer, like you do?” I ask.

“Sure, yeah. But you could also find a support group for siblings or family members of addiction or mental illness. People who will be able to speak to your specific situation.”

I… hadn’t thought about that.

“I guess I always thought I had my support group,” I say, looking back at the others.

Cash carries his boot bag under one arm and holds Izaac’s hand with the other. Diya is deep in her storytelling bag, all animation and passionate conviction. They’re all laughing and smiling and looking lighter than I’ve seen them in a while, as the flurries flutter around them and the low Brooklyn buildings frame the scene.

“Totally. And those clowns love you,” Audra says. “But they haven’t experienced this. It might be helpful to have the perspective of people who have. There are a lot of organizations in the city.” She pulls up her phone and an Instagram page. “You’re going to live here next year too, right?”

I have finished exactly none of my applications, and I have nowhere near as solid a plan as her brother.

“I’ll send the info for Cobble House to you now, and I’ll ask around for sibling support groups. I’m sure there are some in CT, too.”

“Wow, thanks, Audra,” I say. I want to hug her. I want to tell her this is the best conversation I’ve had with anyone about this situation since it all started. I don’t, because it feels awkward right now, and like I’d have to explain it to my friends behind us. “You sure you don’t want to go into politics? You seem pretty great at helping people.”

She laughs. “You know, since I moved here, I’ve learned there are so many more ways to show up for people and make a difference. But I think you already know that.”

I try is what I almost say, but Cash comes bounding up and interrupts us.

“Is that it?” he asks, pointing to the green-and-white globe on the corner. “The station?”