Seré Halverson - The Underside of Joy

∼Paige

I wondered why Paige’s lawyer would subpoena these letters. How could they help her case?

A card for Annie and Zach that said Some Bunny Loves You. There were more cards addressed to them, all unopened. But there were no letters to Joe for more than five months. The next one was still sealed, never opened. As were all the others that followed, even those addressed to the kids. I held the next one addressed to Joe, kept turning it over.

It was postmarked October 15, 1996. Joe and Annie and I — with ‘help’ from crawling Zach — had just decorated the house for Halloween, I remembered; we’d strung orange lights and filled baskets with maple leaves the colour of fire, with Indian corn and gourds. We cut the pumpkins we’d grown in the garden and lugged them up to the porch. Joe had honoured Paige’s request. He had moved on. Even to the point of deciding not to open this letter that had come eight months after she had first left, insisting she wouldn’t return, five months after she’d said — for the last time — she would not write again, four months after Joe and I had fallen in love. I took a breath. I was tampering with evidence if I opened it. But what I once refused to know, I had to know. I pressed my thumbnail down under the sealed seam.

October 15, 1996

Dear Joe,

Dr Zelwig says I need to start writing you again. I told him you haven’t called or written. He thinks that it’s more than you just abiding my requests. After this morning’s session, he thinks you’re probably afraid of me. That I wasn’t just scaring myself. That you’ve probably always been afraid of me.

I told him about the big test I threw at you when we first met. He thought it might be good if I wrote you about what I was feeling, and what your reaction might have meant. I know how much you love psychobabble. But these days my life is nothing but, so bear with me.

Anyway. I’d spent 20 years hiding. People kept telling me, ‘You should model.’ If they only knew. But I kept seeing you on campus with your camera clicking away. There was something about you, the way you looked at things. Patiently, beneath the surface, even. I’d see your name on the photo credits of the school newspaper. I asked you if you did portfolio shots just so I could meet you. You lied and said yes. You even ran out and bought that pretty robe and other clothes to hang on the shower rod to try to make your bathroom look like a model’s dressing room! So we both started with lies, even if they were just white ones.

I guess I was ready for someone else to know. Someone besides Aunt Bernie to love me. All of me. It was an act of desperation, if there ever was one. From the beginning, I knew what I would do.

Remember, Joe? Your clicking away. Your surprise at me shedding my clothes.

And finally, for the first time in my adult life, I show someone the other side of my story. I turn around and the clicking stops. But there’s no gasp of disgust, no fleeing your apartment. I feel your gaze. Later, you’ll ask me how and why. But first you hold out the paisley robe, and I slip my arms through the sleeves. You turn me back around, tie the belt in front. And then you hug me.

I always loved that story, even though we never told anyone. You promised to keep my secret. But today, when I told Zelwig, he said, Joe covered up the part of you that was too difficult to look at.

I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was so grateful that you looked at all and that you didn’t flee. I thought it was about complete acceptance. But maybe not. Maybe Dr Zelwig is right. Can you see how he might be?

∼Paige

I didn’t want to read the rest of the letters, well aware that I was opening a Pandora’s box and could never go back. But I knew I had to read them for Annie and Zach. It was 3:25 a.m., but I called Lucy. She answered on the second ring. When I asked if she could come over, she said, ‘I’m there. Give me seven minutes.’ She didn’t even ask me why or point out what time it was. And when she got there, she let herself in and curled up on the couch with me and took the letters and started reading them, all without a word. When she had caught up, we read the next one together.

October 21, 1996

Dear Joe,

Today was the best session so far. I actually think Dr Zelwig might be able to help me! He’s found a medication that doesn’t zone me out or make me want to drop dead. And there’s a name for this. Not Baby Blues, like Dr Blaine kept insisting. Most women have those. This is called Post Partum Depression.

It’s triggered by childbirth. It can be hereditary and it can go on for years. Mine is a very severe case… But here’s the best news of all: I’m not my mother! Dr Zelwig doesn’t think I would have hurt Annie and Zach. Because there’s also a rarer form, a more elevated form, that is called Post Partum Psychosis. It only happens in a very small percentage of women.

He says my mother was one of those women. Joe, she wasn’t a monster. She was just very, very sick. And medication and hospitalization could have helped even her. Had they known back then.

Even today a lot of doctors aren’t aware of anything beyond the Baby Blues. Like Dr Blaine. But you know what? This has been around forever. Dr Zelwig gave me all this information I can send you if you want. But here’s an amazing quote, from a gynaecologist from the 11th century: ‘… if the womb is too moist, the brain is filled with water, and the moisture running over to the eyes, compels them to involuntarily shed tears.’

I’ve been crying non-stop. Relief. Despair for my mom, for what didn’t need to happen to her or to me. And for the first time, Joe. HOPE!

∼Paige

‘Paige had hope? On October 21, 1996, Paige still had hope?’ I said, ‘I wonder what would have happened if Joe had opened the letters, if everything would be different now. If he would have sat me down and held both of my hands and told me Paige was coming back. To be with Annie and Zach. And Joe.’

‘El, Joe adored you. You breathed life back into him when you showed up here. And Annie. And Zach. Don’t bombard yourself with a bunch of what-ifs, my dear. That’s not going to help anyone.’

We kept reading.

December 15, 1996

Joe,

Still haven’t heard from you. Finally I called Lizzie. She says there’s someone new. Really, Joe? Just like that?

Here is the photo of us we sent out last Christmas. Aunt Bernie brought it from her refrigerator. I’ve cut my face out. (The nurse had to watch me. We’re not allowed to use scissors without supervision. Just like Annie’s preschool.) Maybe you can glue in her face. Ella’s. Ella Bean?

∼Paige (your wife)

‘Ouch.’

Lucy said, ‘Look, I don’t know what she expected of him. She told him to quit pining away and get on with his life. That’s what he did. Thank God he did. Open the next one. Here, give it to me. I’ll open the damn thing.’

April 8, 1997

Joe,

Well, I finally hear from you and it comes in the form of a manila envelope and divorce documents. And a note that says, I know this is what you want. What makes you think you know anything?

I know I signed and served you papers for a legal separation. I know I wrote and told you to move on. But I was confused. I’m sorry I said that. It’s not what I wanted then, certainly not what I want now. Haven’t you read any of my other letters?

I don’t have it in me to fight right now. I’m concentrating all my efforts on getting well. I can’t handle a court battle yet. But someday I will.

I can’t believe you’re doing this. Zelwig says it’s lack of information and fear.

They’re MY children, not HERS.

∼Paige

Lucy said, ‘You’re wrong about that one, honey.’