Broken: Macy's Story

  Broken:

  Macy’s Story

  Janice Broyles

  BROKEN: MACY’S STORY

  BY JANICE BROYLES

  Published by Late November Literary

  Winston Salem, NC 27107

  ISBN (Print): 978-1-7341008-4-6

  ISBN (E-Book): 9781734100853

  Copyright 2020 by Janice Broyles

  Cover design by Sweet N’ Spicy designs

  Interior design by Late November Literary

  Available in print or online. Visit latenovemberliterary.com or janicebroyles.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the U.S. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters and events come from the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any brand names, places, or trademarks remain the property of their respective owners and are only used for fictional purposes.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data

  Broyles, Janice.

  Broken: Macy’s Story / Janice Broyles 1st ed.

  Printed in the Unites States of America

  Dedicated to Arianna Claire.

  Remember, we’re never too far from His grace.

  Chapter 1~

  Broken Television

  This didn’t work out as planned.

  I should have stopped drinking the schnapps yesterday when my stomach started flipping. My body gave me a warning, but I didn’t listen. I only wanted to forget for a minute who I was. Or who I wasn’t. I wasn’t Hannah, and Jake wasn’t mine. So, I kept drinking.

  And today, I paid for it.

  The heart monitor beeped beside my bed while the blood pressure cuff squeezed my arm. I heard my parents talking out in the hall in hushed whispers. There’d been a steady stream of church folk stopping by. Not to see me, but to be there for my parents. They’re the ones who had to deal with a supposed rebellious—and now suicidal—daughter.

  Which wasn’t what happened. At least not on purpose. Technically, I did sit in Hannah’s car with it running in the garage, sipping from a peach schnapps bottle that I stole from the 7-11. But it didn’t register that I could die from carbon monoxide poisoning while trying to hide from my overbearing, micromanaging family. I merely pulled into the garage, pressed the button to lower the door, opened up the alcohol, turned up the music, and tried to drink myself into oblivion.

  Now I was on watch, like a hand grenade with a trick clip. I might just implode. Or explode. Whatever a hand grenade does.

  The hospital room door opened, and my parents walked in, followed by the nurse.

  “How you feeling?” Dad asked as he sat on the side of my bed. He patted my leg and gave a tight-lipped smile. The same smile he gave church members during awkward conversations.

  “Fine. When can I leave?” I pushed myself up to a sitting position. “This room has a broken television.”

  “You don’t need the television,” Mom said. “This isn’t a vacation. Instead of worrying about a broken television, why don’t you worry about what’s broken in your life?”

  “No need to turn this into a sermon,” I said under my breath.

  The nurse placed my finger inside an oxygen reader. “As soon as the psychiatrist comes and takes a look at you and gives you the thumbs up, you can get out of here,” she answered while writing on my chart. She glanced over at my mom, then added, “I’ll see what I can do about that T.V.”

  “A psychiatrist?” I asked my parents. “I’m not psychotic. And if I am, it’s only because my family makes me that way.”

  “The hospital wants to make sure that you are mentally stable. It’s very straight-forward from what I’m told.” Dad absently patted my leg, but at least he didn’t give me that pretend smile. He used to be handsome, tall and built, a four-star quarterback both in high school and college. Then he got saved and got chunky. Maybe not chunky, but he definitely enjoyed the church picnics and after-service spaghetti dinners.

  “Why’d you do it?” Mom asked, visibly upset. “You’re not only ruining your reputation, you’re ruining ours.”

  There were several reasons I started stealing alcohol, but none of which I was willing to share. First of all, as an eighteen year old, I couldn’t purchase it outright and nobody I knew drank the stuff. It amazed me that, in church circles, alcohol was forbidden yet gossip and judgement flowed like a flooding river. But it was more than that. It had to do with a secret that would crush them. A secret that would show them what a horrible person I was. They might not like my actions as the ‘rebellious daughter,’ but they certainly would crumble if they truly saw my wickedness. And alcohol allowed me to forget all that. So, instead of answering Mom, I answered Dad. “Of course I’m mentally stable.”

  “There are things that concern us,” Mom said, standing on the other side of me. She looked over at my father. “Are you going to tell her?” Mom still looked like the blonde beauty from her high school prom pictures. Her face had nary a wrinkle, her make-up was never out of place, and she was lithe and perfectly proportioned. How she birthed four children and still looked like that was a wonder. As in, I wondered how in the world I was her child. With my thick auburn curls that were way overgrown and my thick bottom and thighs, I resembled my Gram on Dad’s side more than I did Mom.

  “Tell me what?” I asked, trying not to cringe. “If Hannah is going to make me wear teal to the wedding, I’m done. It’s the color of snot.”

  “Maybe now’s not the time,” Dad said to Mom. “Let’s get her home, and we can discuss it there.”

  Mom stared at Dad in her I-am-not-happy-with-you expression. “Remember what we talked about in the hall,” she whispered.

  “They haven’t called back to verify…” Dad whispered back.

  “You two realize that I’m sitting right here, and I can hear you.”

  “Macy,” Mom started. “You know we have a lot going on right now. With Hannah’s wedding approaching, we don’t have time to…I mean, we can’t deal with more complications.”

  “I get it,” I said. “As I’ve stated…repeatedly…I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I was taking my frustrations out on a bottle of schnapps. Was it smart? No. But am I crazy? No.”

  “If Hannah hadn’t have found you, you’d be dead,” Mom said. “Think about that for a minute.”

  There was that. I pressed my lips together and swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I’d been told that Hannah found me unconscious, lying face-first in the passenger seat, in my own vomit. “It was an accident,” I said quietly. “I wasn’t thinking. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  “No, you weren’t thinking,” Mom agreed, ignoring my apology. “This is supposed to be the happiest time of your sister’s life, and you are determined to make everything about you.”

  “Meg, that’s enough,” Dad said.

  “Someone needs to be real with her!” Mom said. Turning to me, she continued, “Sometimes tough love is required.”

  Dad tried to grab my hand, but I pulled it from his reach.

  I used to cry every time Mom became upset with me. But it seemed like as I grew up she was never happy with me, and eventually the tears stopped. This past year I decided to stand up to her more often. If I could move out, I would. But where would I go? The more accurate question was who would want me? Other than babysitting, I had never worked. And my parents said their money would only pay for a community college in town. That left my options limited.

  It also made for a very tumultuous household. Both Mom and me were stubborn. “Are you talking about what happened with me and the car or what happened when Hannah found my sketchbook and passed it
around to all her church friends? Because I don’t remember Hannah experiencing this kind of ‘tough love’ when she ruined my life by violating my privacy and making fun of me in front of the entire young adult group.”

  Mom and Dad didn’t say anything. They knew how difficult this last year was for me.

  “Don’t compare yourself with your sister,” Dad finally said. “You’ve both been wrong lately. I don’t know what’s happening with either of you, but there’s plenty of blame to go around.”

  “Especially when the sketchbook was full of drawings of Jake.”

  I felt myself blush, unable to look at either one of them. What they didn’t know is that Jake—who just happened to be Hannah’s fiancé—ended up being quite the willing participant. But no one could ever know that part. So instead I let them think I was a nerdy artist with a secret crush on the church’s 23 year old youth pastor. “I draw a lot of people and scenes. In the world of art, they might think I have talent,” I said.

  “You know what? We would even consider helping you pay for art school if we trusted you. How can you transfer to an art school when you’ve dropped out of your first year of community college,” Mom said. “Hannah’s nearly done with her degree.”

  “She’s graduating with an associate’s degree in early childhood education,” I said with sarcasm. “And it’s taken her four years already. And out of the three online classes at the community college, I only dropped one. That hardly constitutes failure.”

  Mom massaged her temples. “I’m so tired of arguing with you.”

  The nurse came back in and took the remote, replacing its batteries. “And to think this is all that was wrong with it.” She smiled while the three of us awkwardly waited for her to leave.

  “Our family doesn’t watch television.” Mom looked at me.

  “I’m eighteen years old. I can watch television if I want.”

  The nurse scowled at Mom before handing me the remote and leaving.

  “If you can’t abide by our rules, then maybe it’s time you considered other options.” Mom added, “Maybe it’s time you moved out and tried to experience life on your own.”

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  “I’ve already searched some rehab facilities where you can get help. How’s that sound?”

  “Ha, ha. If you want to talk about me moving out to an apartment, I’m open to the discussion. But I’m not going to a rehab facility where drug addicts go.” I wasn’t surprised. Mom micromanaged everything. And I mean everything. Nothing escaped her notice.

  “I don’t know what else to do. I stopped trying to figure you out a long time ago.”

  Her words had the intended effect, like a bullet ripping through my chest. I held the remote in my hands and squeezed it, forcing myself not to show her how much it hurt.

  “Macy,” Dad said.

  “Please, leave me alone.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Mom said. “We have some things to discuss. Since this is your mess, you need to know.”

  “I think you’ve done enough,” Dad said to her, standing up.

  “This is part of the problem,” Mom said. “You coddle her. How will she learn that negative behavior has negative consequences?”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I interjected. “I’m in a hospital, and my mental stability is being questioned. This isn’t exactly frolicking in the daisies.”

  “Police stopped by and said that 7-11 turned in a surveillance tape of you stealing that bottle of liquor,” Mom said. “Do you understand now how serious this is? You got caught shoplifting. And liquor of all things!”

  “Which one’s more of a sin?” I muttered. “Stealing or drinking? Or television?”

  “I’m glad this is so funny to you,” Mom glared at me, her hands on her hips.

  “What do you want me to say? I’ve already said that I’m sorry.”

  “This is not the first time you were caught. The police said you’ll probably have to serve probation. Possibly some community service. What are we going to tell our saints?” Mom shook her head then left my bed to glare out the room’s window in apparent frustration.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. What a mess. The irony was that I had the money in my wallet. I only stole because Ahmad wouldn’t sell it to me. I ran my hands through my hair until my fingers got stuck on the snarls. “Can I do community service at the church? That’s what you did for Darren when he got in trouble.”

  “Darren wasn’t my daughter,” Dad said.

  “Okay, well we know dozens of pastors. Can we call a few and see?”

  “No, we won’t do that,” Mom said, still facing the window. “I’m not about to announce this to all the ministers’ families that we know. It’s embarrassing.”

  “That’s enough for now,” Dad said. “Emotions are high, and I don’t want any more words spoken that will be regretted later.”

  “I think it’s time,” Mom said to both me and Dad. “If Macy wants to act like this, then she needs to be gone from under our roof.”

  “Fine with me,” I said. “But I’m not going to a rehab place. For the thousandth time, I’m fine. I’m thinking of tattooing it to my forehead since you’re not getting it.”

  The nurse opened the door. “There is someone out here waiting to see the patient.”

  One of Mom’s friends waved from behind the nurse. “It’s Nancy,” Dad said to Mom.

  Immediately Mom’s frown shifted into her thousand watt smile. “Oh, she’s here for me,” she said, leaving the window. “I’m headed to worship practice,” she said to Dad. “I’ll be home before nine.” She left without a word to me.

  Dad stayed quiet for a moment, which was fine. I was trying to manage the bubbling emotions of anger, hurt, and rejection. Mom had never been affectionate with me, but sometimes she could be so condescending and mean-spirited that it was a like a kick in the stomach.

  “She’s concerned, that’s all. Unfortunately, your mother doesn’t handle additional stress very well.”

  I didn’t say anything. There was no point. I couldn’t change who my parents were.

  Dad leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I love you, peanut. Always have. Always will.”

  “Love you too, Dad,” I said. “At least Mom and I agree that I need to consider my options.” I thought of Hannah and Jake and how hard it was for me to be around them.

  “I want you home.” He lifted my chin up to look at him. “But I also want you to be happy, and to find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

  He left the room soon after. I grabbed my cell phone sitting on the bedside table to see if I had any messages. I knew not to text Jake. Hannah often checked his phone. But as I stared at the phone I willed him to text me that he changed his mind. That he hadn’t chosen Hannah. That he had chosen me instead.

  All those nights he snuck into my room. All those promises that when the time was right he’d pronounce his love for me and not my older sister.

  Then, to my surprise, he asked Hannah to marry him.

  And that was the first time I’d stolen alcohol. The first time I felt alcohol take the edge off the pain. But I never meant to end up here, my life in shambles, my sanity questioned.

  I wiped at my eyes and decided that since I didn’t have my sketchbook with me, there was only one thing to do to forget about my life. “At least the television isn’t broken,” I said to myself. Then I grabbed the remote control and turned it on.

  Chapter 2~

  Road Trip

  I sat in the wheelchair and waited for someone to come wheel me out. Why I couldn’t walk out of the hospital when my legs were perfectly fine, I had no idea, but the nurse told me to sit in the wheelchair and wait, so here I was.

  After yesterday afternoon’s conversation with my parents, I became more determined than ever to show them how normal I was. I wanted to move out more than anything, but not to some rehab place. When the psychiatrist came in to interview me, I said all the things necessary to show rem
orse for my actions and to show that what happened in the garage was an accident. I even ventured into admitting how community service would be good for me, and blah, blah, blah. Hey, the psychiatrist bought it. He signed the release papers. Hopefully, my parents would buy it.

  Most of it was the truth. I realized now how stupid it was to steal the schnapps. I realized how stupid it was to shut the garage door. I realized how stupid it was to stay in Hannah’s car while drinking. See? Progress.

  What I might not have been entirely honest about was what triggered me to do those succession of stupid things. To the psychiatrist, I chocked it up to stress over Hannah’s wedding and possibly feeling a little jealous. Since the first time I got caught stealing was the night of Hannah’s engagement party two months ago, it qualified as a good answer for both stupid moves on my part.

  The truth I kept to myself. I understood that people don’t want to hear the truth, especially if it messed up their plans. A ripple of painful truth could be manageable, but my truth was more like a tidal wave.

  The door opened and an orderly stepped in. “Let’s take you outside, young lady,” he said, getting behind me and pushing the wheelchair out the door. He whistled down the hall and in the elevator and through the outside automatic doors. Dad had pulled up in our sleek black Navigator. He and Mom would have had a simultaneous heart attack if I drank and puked in their precious SUV.

  Finally, I stood up and slid into the vehicle, grateful to be out of that wheelchair. “I understand why so many lame people in the Bible begged Jesus to let them walk,” I joked to Dad.

  He smiled his tight-lipped smile and headed out of the hospital parking lot.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, then patted my knee. “Good to have you out of the hospital. I don’t know what I would have done if Hannah had been too late.”

  “Yes, I thought we already covered this,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Yay for Hannah. Hannah saves the day.”