Mary Without Sound

6. I Took the Pills, I Took the Advice

Dear Mary,

Do you miss me yet?

Don’t answer that. I wouldn’t miss me either; I’m pretty boring.

You know, I’ve been wondering something. About you, I mean.

What do you do?

Where do you go?

I saw your camera.

I saw how happy you looked when you came home with it all the time.

Maybe you’ll tell me when I get back?

I’d love to see some pictures.

Anyway, I’ll see you in a few weeks.

(I’d write more, but we have to leave for a radio show in a few.)

- Matt

Ps. My sister might come around looking for my White Album that she says I stole from her when we were teenagers, but that’s a complete lie. Whatever you do, don’t let her in.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

On Mondays and Wednesdays I go to therapy.

Any other day I go to shows. Take pictures.

Send them to this magazine I go to shows for.

The ones they don’t want, I freelance. Websites, magazines, posters-

I really don’t care where they go, as long as they have my name on them.

But anyway: therapy.

Justin pays for me to sit in 30 minutes increments to listen to this guy that thinks I’m insane because I don’t talk.

I don’t know if Justin really believes it works or not, but I know if I skip any of these sessions, the shrink will let him know asap. I don’t blame him, though; he probably wants make sure I won’t run away and try to kill myself or start doing drugs again.

He doesn’t know that I haven’t done drugs recreationally in years, anyway.

He doesn’t know that I only tried to kill myself because I was depressed and lonely and I missed my brother.

The pills I OD’ed on about a month ago were prescription. Not that anyone took that into consideration.

I guess when you wash them down with bottles of alcohol, people tend not to give you the benefit of the doubt.

But anyway: this doctor, he tells me about himself.

Like I give a damn.

He thinks that if he fills the silence with useless facts about himself, I’ll feel more comfortable and talk.

Right.

He tells me he went to college in Wisconsin, with all the cows.

Wisconsin has the best cheese, he tells me.

Do I like cheese?

He wants to know.

I went to college in Minnesota, I’d tell him, if I ever felt like talking again. With all the drugs.

Do you like drugs?

I’d want to know.

The half hour’s up after he’s done telling me about where he got his PHD and I’m ready to die of boredom. Maybe his plan is to bore me enough that I say something if only to stop his monologues.

I drive Matt’s car home afterwards, and that’s yet another half hour of my life I’m never getting back.

There’s a new letter from Matt to add to the pile on the kitchen table, and admittedly, it puts me in a better mood.

I start to put my laundry back in my closet, when that box all the way in the back catches my eyes.

I drag out the box out of pure curiosity, wondering why it upset Matt so much.

I see that black velvety box again, and I open it, revealing the silver ring I was so curious about that very first day.

I slide it onto my hand on a whim. It sparkles expensively on my ring finger.

I notice an imperfection when I take it off and examine it closely.

I realize the flaw is just an engraving on the inside.

It reads Casey.