I lay there in my hospital bed, one arm still strapped to my back, studying the strange doctor-man who had just waltzed into my room, offering un-requested assistance and seeming to have an issue with my personal life expectations. I didn’t really care for him. “And what,” I asked coldly, “is wrong with wanting to bury my tragically-destroyed lip gloss?”
Mom sighed, and gently stroked my hair again, which she really needed to quit doing. I only like to be petted when I’m happy and get my way. “Poodle, we can’t go around having funeral services for cosmetics. People will talk.”
It was my turn to sigh. “I’m not asking for anything FANCY. Just my closest 100 fans, and maybe an orchestra in case I need to sing. And cake.”
“Cake?” asked Mellie Jo, pausing in her efforts to dismantle the motor for my automated bed. She wiped her greasy hands on my fresh bed linen, and I hated her more. “Why do you want stupid cake at your stupid funeral for your stupid lip gloss?”
I glared at the worthless heathen. “Just because YOU never eat anything doesn’t mean that I can’t have refreshments in my time of need. And stop touching my sheets with your devil hands!” I kicked at her with one delicate foot, but I miscalculated and ended up whacking Little Sahara upside the head. She fell to the ground with a small whimper, then lay there quietly as she feebly felt around for Jenna the Stick.
Mellie Jo’s face flushed with fury. “I’M not the one who doesn’t eat, it’s LITTLE SAHARA that never eats, even though it doesn’t matter now that you’ve killed her. You never pay ANY attention to anybody else in this family. You run around like a Big Old Queen!”
Mom looked at Mellie Jo. “No, sweetie, that would be your Uncle Brad.”
“Gaaawwwddd!” bellowed Mellie Jo. “I am SICK of living in this FAMILY where people are just so STUPID. Just stupid!” She ran to the door and pulled it open, hollering “STUPID!” into the hallway, startling a nun who was carrying a tuba. Mellie Jo flipped her off, then slammed the door and leaned back against it, crossing her arms.
Little Sahara cautiously raised her stick and tapped Mom on the kneecap. “Mommy, can I get up now or is it safer down here? I can’t see where Mellie’s at, and that always makes me scared.”
Mom looked from Little Sahara to Mellie Jo, to me, to Dr. Brian, then smiled weakly. “This isn’t as bad as it looks.”
Dr. Brian cleared his throat. “Oh, it’s even worse than I imagined. You have a delusional eldest child who is so self-centered that I’m surprised it hasn’t affected the gravitational pull of the planet, a middle child with enough unexpressed rage that she could personally provide power to the entire Western hemisphere for 3 years, and a youngest child who is just trying to survive from one second to another. I need to get these youngsters into therapy immediately.
Mom was a bit taken aback. “Oh. Well, I suppose we could schedule something…”
Dr. Brian stepped forward. “No, this is an emergency. I need to talk to them right now or the fate of our whole galaxy could be in jeopardy.” He leaned down and gently helped Little Sahara to her feet. “Would you like to go to a pretty room and talk about fun things with me for a little while?”
Little Sahara eyed him with slight suspicion. “Do they have pizza there?”
Dr. Brian smiled. “I’m sure that we can find some of that.”
Little Sahara squealed and leapt into his arms. “Daddy!”
Dr. Brian chuckled. “No, but I am your friend and I want to help you.” He tweaked her little nose and somewhere in the background someone began playing a nice violin while the opening credits for a Hallmark movie rolled across the screen.
Then he turned to Mellie Jo. “Would you like to join us? And is there anything YOU would like to eat, other than sour grapes?”
Mellie Jo kept her arms folded. “I am not going ANYWHERE. And you can’t make me.”
Dr. Brian continued smiling. “Oh, I think I can. I’ve read your file. If you don’t play nice, I’m going to tell your mother everything that I would imagine you’ve done and then denied doing. Starting with the time you took the waffle iron and-”
“Okay, fine, I’ll go to your stupid party. But I’m NOT going to be polite.”
“I would never dream of it.” He finally turned to me. “Can you walk on your own? Or should I have a nurse bring a wheelchair?”
Mellie Jo had her own advice. “Why doesn’t she just shoot some of that hot air out her butt and float along behind us?”
Mom was aghast. “Mellie Jo! We don’t talk like that!”
Mellie smirked. “Yes we DO. Where do you think I learned that?”
Mom looked sheepishly at Dr. Brian. “I really don’t know what she’s talking about. I dropped her a lot when she was a baby.”
I cleared my own throat. “I believe Dr. Brian was talking to ME. And I can walk just fine if I can take the rest of this straight-jacket off.”
Dr. Brian stepped forward, and he showed Little Sahara which tab to pull. She did so with much more viciousness than was necessary, giving me a small case of whiplash in the process, but at least I was finally free. I threw the jacket on the floor, graciously slid out of the bed, then smoothed out the wrinkles in my frock. “I’m ready to be presented now.”
We headed toward the door, but Mom stopped the parade with a small squeak. “What about me? Should I be going? I just need to find my purse and then-”
Dr. Brian held up the hand that was not clutching the traitorous Little Sahara, who was getting far more attention from this man than she deserved. “Now, now, Mrs. Clampitt. It’s far too late for me to be of any help with your case, but there’s still time to save the children. We’ll be back shortly. Perhaps you can spend the time picking out one of the other guest rooms for when you eventually snap. We have a long waiting list, and you need to be prepared. You’ll want a room in the East Wing, which has bars on the windows. Come, girls.”
8. Just thinking about Lip Gloss can get you through the day.
So there we were, sitting in one of Dr. Brian’s counseling rooms. The wallpaper was rather plain, not even having the royal crest of arms that I had designed for myself in the third grade, so I didn’t really care for it. We were sitting in padded chairs placed around a small table, with Little Sahara having pulled up an extra chair for Jenna the Stick.
Mellie Jo: “I don’t want that stupid tree branch at the table.”
Dr. Brian: “Mellie Jo, be fair. You know that Little Sahara uses Jenna to communicate. You do want her to talk with us, don’t you?”
Mellie Jo: “I don’t even want her to breathe, never mind talk.”
This conversation did not have enough references about me, so I took action. “Can I have a chair for my lip gloss?”
Mellie Jo: “Your lip gloss is dead.”
Me: “I still have the pretty pink pouch.”
Dr. Brian: “Yes, you may have a chair for your pouch. And Mellie Jo can have a chair for whatever she wants. Then we’re all even.”
I happily placed my pouch on a nearby chair, picking out a stray piece of sticky glass and throwing it behind the couch, then adjusted my frock once again to show how the pouch complimented the embroidery on my hemline. No one applauded, so I was slightly disappointed, but then again everyone doesn’t understand the finer details.
Dr. Brian looked at the angry one. “And Mellie Jo, what would you like in your chair?”
Mellie Jo: “Nothing. I want it empty like my life.”
Dr. Brian: “There isn’t anything that you like?”
Mellie Jo: “Nope.”
Little Sahara raised Jenna the Stick, signaling that she was about to speak. “She likes Dewey.”
Dr. Brian: “Is this a person or a sensation?”
Little Sahara: “Dewey Potter. He’s a boy. And a cricker. And her boyfriend. And he smells.”
Mellie Joe kicked over her empty chair. “I do NOT like Dewey Potter. You are a lying, evil little person.”
Little Sahara: “Yes, you do. I saw you kissing him behind the-”
Mellie Jo leaped to her feet, snatched up Jenna the Stick, raced to the window, ripped aside the curtain, used the stick to beat at the latch until it popped open, threw the lower section of the window upward, and then hurled the stick at the supposedly open window.
The stick whacked against something just outside the window and bounced back into the room, thumping Mellie Jo on the head before landing on the carpet and rolling to a stop back near the table.
Dr. Brian: “There’s a force field around the building. You aren’t the first stick thrower we’ve had.”
Little Sahara grabbed Jenna and tucked her under her arm. “Don’t you EVER touch my stick again or I will CUT you.” She looked at Dr. Brian. “Let’s get this crap over with. I’ve got pies to bake.”
Mellie Jo: “I’m not scared of you, you skinny little pizza bone eater. I can take you.”
Me: “Why is everybody not talking about how beautiful I am?”
There was a brief knock on the door, then it was quickly thrown open and a voice rang out. “You nappy little white girls need to shut the hell up and listen to the man!”
We turned to see who this might be.
It was Whoopie Goldberg.
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