Joshua Mohr - All This Life

“You,” Balloon Boy says to his mom.

“Me?”

“You,” he says, hugging her.

I’ll flail one last time, one final flop to break out. All these men with angry faces and black eyes pen me in, saying to stay down, stay cool, you sick bastard, and not one of them realizes what they’re doing, that they’re jeopardizing the future. One final flail and I can go over the edge, which isn’t ideal, Albert, which is the last thing we want, but a martyr has to do the unthinkable during emergencies and so I’ll sacrifice myself for you, our savior. These men are trying to fight me back down, and the cop draws his gun and points it at me, and there’s blood all over my face, not simply in my mouth, but spilling from my forehead. I’m woozy and cold and they use the bridge’s railing as a back wall, but they don’t know that’s the direction I need to go to cool down our despairs. The cop has the gun trained on me but it’s impossible to tell him how much sense this makes. I climb over the railing. All that’s left to do is let go. My fingers relax, fingers open, fingers lose contact. I’ll hit the water and open the portal and you’ll save us, Albert, I’ll be gone but everyone will experience a rebirth, a reboot. They’ll all have lives pardoned from sadness and I’m thankful that the last thing anyone will see of me on my way down to the ocean is my lab coat fluttering behind me like a hero’s cape.

Despite her bruised face and an undiagnosed concussion, Deb is like a den mother the next day, ordering everyone around. She shuttles Rodney and Sara to the ER, to get a cast on his foot, and while they wait their turn to be helped, Deb makes sure Kathleen hits a meeting.

“I’m too mortified for a meeting,” Kathleen had said when it was first brought up.

“Go get a chip,” Deb had said. “That’s all. You don’t have to share, but you need your one-day coin.”

True to her word, Deb didn’t make Kathleen share during the meeting. It was hard enough finding the courage for Kathleen to stand up and walk to the front for the silver chip. Most people at this meeting knew Kathleen, so seeing her collecting a one-dayer told them all they needed to know. She took a deep breath and made her way to the front, but something strange happened: She didn’t feel much embarrassment retrieving the chip. She had some shame, yet she also had her son. It was impossible for Kathleen to separate these beginnings.

She knew that going forward Deb would watch her closely, make Kat do ninety meetings in ninety days, rebuild that foundation. Kathleen doesn’t want to come across as overconfident because nothing will conjure another relapse quicker than hubris, but it isn’t an opulent confidence. It’s having somebody to lose now that’s tempering her reaction. She’s not going to jeopardize anything with Rodney. This is the first day and her commitment radiates.

After the meeting, Kathleen and Deb walk in Dolores Park across from Kat’s place, killing time until Rodney and Sara call saying they’re done at the ER. It had rained overnight, but the skies are clear, blue. It’s a little past nine, unusually hot, and they wend the path through the park, toward the playground. No parents or kids out there playing, at least none that Kathleen can see. The rain puddles heat from the sunshine, changing states, and steam makes the playground look like the set of a horror movie, dry ice concealing some lurking monster.

“Are they staying with you?” Deb says.

“I don’t really know.”

“You haven’t asked?”

“I’m trying not to put on any pressure,” Kathleen says, “but my inn does have a sudden vacancy.”

“I’m so glad you’re still with us,” Deb says. “I’m trying to keep my mouth shut about what he tried to do, but I’m thankful you’re still here.”

Kathleen is wrong; there is a parent and child in the playground. She can hear voices and giggles but can’t see them through the steam. “Don’t make me cry.”

“Okay, we’ll talk about it later.” Deb’s phone chimes and she checks the text. “It’s Sara. They’re done.”

“Let’s go get them,” Kathleen says.

“I want you to work today,” says Deb. “I don’t want any moping or awkwardness. Take them to work with you.”

“Why?”

“You can’t be idle after a relapse. Especially with Rodney around. Keep busy. I’ll go, too. It will be fun.”

“I trust you,” Kathleen says.

BALLOON BOY ISgetting the hang of this. The cast clicks in the hospital corridor, making a noise that reminds him of a cowboy’s spur.

“How does it feel?” a nurse says.

“Great,” he says, and he means it, clicking around the hall. This cast means that everyone is safe. It means that Sara is out of that motel’s bathtub, and his mom is off the bridge. This cast means that a broken foot is the lowest price to pay for all he’s received.

“I texted that we’re done,” Sara says. “They’re on the way.”

“Oh. Kay.”

“Did you get any painkillers?”

Balloon Boy shakes his head hell no.

“I told you to give them to me!” Sara says.

“Sor. . ree.” But he doesn’t mean it. The last thing Sara needs is painkillers.

“Let’s wait outside.”

They move out front of SF General, standing on Potrero Avenue. Traffic whizzes by. A bus hisses and kneels, lowering itself so a woman with a walker can get in. Rodney sits on the curb. Sara stands behind him. She doesn’t want to see his eyes when she asks this next batch of questions. She can’t imagine getting the wrong answer.

“Are you going to stay here?” she asks.

He shrugs.

“I don’t have to go home,” Sara says, thinking about her dead-end job that she might not have and her dead-end love life that she doesn’t want and her dead-end brother who can’t stand her anymore. Why run back to a cinderblock life? “I mean, if you’re going to stay here for a while, I can, if you want.”

“Please. Stay.” Only four seconds.

She relaxes and sits on the curb next to him, leans her head on his shoulder. “Have you called your dad?”

He shakes his head hell no again, then rests his on hers. Not exactly making out, though feeling the warmth of her head on his skin is wonderful. Balloon Boy wishes it were the old days, behind that 7-Eleven, kissing by the dumpster, but he’ll take what he can get.

“They’re probably fishing in the street anyway,” says Sara.

THE FOUR OFthem arrive at Kathleen’s favorite spot in front of Pier 39. Balloon Boy helps his mom unload her art supplies, his cast still clicking like a spur. Sara and Deb trail behind them, making small talk, both avoiding anything about yesterday.

“There is a no moping ordinance,” Deb says. “We’re all going to have fun today. This is a mandatory fun zone.” Deb pulls out a pair of binoculars. “I mean, how fun are these?”

“What are those for?” Kathleen says, setting up her easel.

“People-watching.”

There really isn’t anyone out here yet, the tourists trickling out of hotel rooms for designer coffee. By noon, the Embarcadero will be packed.

“We’re people,” Sara says. She has an urge to mention the sex tape, but she’s not going to. She remembers seeing an old horror movie where a woman is being hunted in her dreams by a madman. The whole movie takes place in her head, really. She spends most of the film screaming, hiding, running away, fighting him off. But by the end, she won’t do any of that anymore. She’s had enough, decides to stand her ground and tell the madman that she takes it all back, every yelp, every stride, every bead of sweat, every tear. And once she stops empowering him by believing, he has no way to kill her. He tries, swinging a metal claw at her face and chest, but it passes right through her like vapor. He is dematerializing. He is powerless without her fear. Sara will work on doing that to the sex tape.