I think we have something here,
Dr. Marino says to
Momma, later that afternoon.
I sit in his office with her.
Momma, tense in her chair,
flutters her hands in the air,
like butterflies maybe.
Or a pale moth.
Can I smoke?
she says.
Dr. Marino gives a
little nod at the ashtray
on the table near Momma’s
chair.
Momma lights up.
Her hands shake.
Well,
she says,
after she’s blown
and let it seep from
her lips,
well, I hope somebody
can tell me something,
because this is costing
me a helluva lotta time.
And time means
money to me.
I look at the doctor.
For a moment I
wish I could take
a drag from Momma’s
cigarette,
that’s how scared I am.
It’s the dreams,
he says.
The crying dreams your daughter keeps having.
My stomach turns to icy Jell-O.
I feel my guts
shake.
tremble.
Liz is trying to kill herself
because of dreams?
Momma’s voice is high
and quivery.
Jell-O-y sounding
too.
The dreams are Hope’s,
Dr. Marino says, and he points
at me.
Now Momma looks
to where I sit
like she is surprised
I’m even
in the room.
She says nothing.
Her cigarette burns.
I hate the smell of
cigarette smoke.
I do.
Dr. Marino says.
That Hope has these
dreams of crying.
And now that Lizzie’s gone,
the dreams have stopped.
Momma jumps to her feet.
That is it,
she shouts
so loud my ears
hurt.
I jerk in
my chair,
cover
my ears with
my hands.
That’s it,
Momma shouts
again.
Now you’re trying to drag me
and Hope into this.
the doctor says.
But Momma will have none of that.
She grabs me by the arm,
pinching,
and
tugs me to my feet.
Understand this, Dr. Marino,
she says.
I’ll have Liz-baby
out of this hospital before you can count to five.
You hear me?
Mrs. Chapman,
he says,
please have a seat.
I think we have a major
breakthrough here.
Dr. Marino stands too.
He reaches out to Momma,
Ashes fall to the carpet in a hunk.
The whole room
feels hot,
tips.
Momma’s hand squeezes,
bruises.
I’ll step on
those ashes,
I think,
if they set the rug
on fire.
But the fire
is Momma.
I’m getting Lizzie out of here.
Momma’s voice is so loud
it makes my ears hurt.
You’re filling her head
with stuff and now you’re
filling Hope’s head with
dreams. I will not allow it.
Get me whatever papers
Your daughter is in no condition . . .
the doctor says.
Don’t you hear me?
Don’t you hear me?
I will call the police.
The police.
Do you hear me?
Dr. Marino opens the door
to his office.
The secretary looks at us,
wide-eyed,
half standing
half sitting,
hand on the phone.
Momma keeps that tight
hold on my arm
and I say nothing.
I pretend that this
isn’t happening
to me.
But,
the thing is,
I saw her
change.
Right before my eyes.
A magic
trick.
My Lizzie,
changed
from who
she was to who
she isn’t.
She’s not ready to go home. . . .
He tries to say more.
I don’t care what you think,
Momma says.
She’s in Dr. Marino’s face now.
I . . . want . . . my . . . baby.
Dr. Marino says,
We can talk about this
At first I think,
He’s
scared of Momma,
like I am.
But then I see
he’s mad.
Mad!
There’s anger in his
face
the way his jaw
works at the words,
the way he clenches
his hands.
We can talk about it
later, nothing,
Momma shouts.
Dr. Marino fills the doorway
then.
You may not
speak
Mrs. Chapman,
he says.
And you may not
have your daughter.
She won’t be
going anywhere.
Momma is in his face
and he is in hers.
They stand there,
toe-to-toe
chin-to-chin.
We’ll see about that,
Momma says.
And then we are gone.
Momma pulling me
along
holding on to me
like Liz held that
belt.