Stagger Home

After midnight, everything was serene and perfectly still. Silence settled like a thick blanket in the middle of summer, suffocating and sticky with sweat. Yards away, the ocean glittered against the moonlight, inviting me in to cool off. Cars meandered through the maze of one-way streets. Drunk girls giggled loudly on the sidewalks while drunk boys watched them in amazement. My mind was ablaze with fragmented thoughts and ideas, but at the same time, it was silent in likeness to the sad, boring town I watched over every weekend.

I finished the last drag of the cigarette and snubbed it out. Stepping off the ledge, I exhaled the smoke. I knew he would be waiting, leaned against the frame, the door propped open with his shoulder. It drove him crazy whenever I disappeared to the rooftop because I always stood on the edge. His tensed shoulders dropped, relieved, as I approached him. Patting his cheek, I slipped past and started down the concrete stairs. The door clicked shut with a loud bang. His heavier, sneaker-clad footsteps echoed in harmony with my clacking high heels.

I watched over the town and he watched over me.

+

The party in the ballroom had continued in my absence, as to be expected. Seconds after returning, I slipped between the faceless crowds, toward the open bar. I ordered the first thing I saw that contained rum. Impatiently waiting, I tapped my fingernails on the countertop. The nicotine had minimally curbed the anxiety in my chest. My thoughts, however, were still a slow, dull buzz. A string of ideas would start to mend together but die out halfway through, and the original thought pushed away immediately, never to be retrieved again.

At last, my drink was set in front of me. Thinking ahead, I ordered another. Taking time with the first, I sipped as I turned to face the gathering. Every face looked the same. Every outfit looked the same. It was a sea of the same people, drinking and eating the same things, talking about the same people. Staring relentlessly, I wondered if they all had the same thoughts as well. I set the empty glass on the counter and picked up the fresh drink.

The amber liquid was unforgiving. I swished the glass, the ice cubes clinking against the sides. A bit splashed onto the bar, a sigh escaped my lips. I set it down to run my hands down my face. I rubbed at my eyes when a guy in a nicely tailored suit slinked over, attempted small chat. Manners still somewhat in tact, I played nice and chatted back. But it was the same conversation everyone else was having, so I picked my drink up and slipped back into silence.

After three more rounds of my rum-laced drinks, I had to find refuge in a bar stool to keep from falling over myself. Now friends with the bartender, my drinks would randomly switch to a watered down fruit cocktail or he’d surprise me with a shot of tequila. The liquid confidence was building but my thoughts were not. If possible, they were getting worse, softer. Completely nonexistent. Downing one last shot – vodka that time – I pushed off the stool and stumbled through the thinning crowd. Time had escaped me. The launch party was winding down and people were going home. What time did that make it? Early morning?

Watery eyes searched for the one person who could try to understand. Face after face, I failed to find the comfort I desperately craved. All around me were suits and ties, tiny cocktail dresses and heels. If they looked past my red, teary eyes, I would fit right in with them. But my fingers stretched out, yearning for his hand to hold onto. Instead, they found the coat check desk. Taking my coat, I returned to the roof. He would find me soon.

+

I sat with my legs dangling over the edge, a burning cigarette peacefully between my lips. The town had become more alert. Cars littered the streets. People rode their bikes on the sidewalks, heading up town toward the weekend market. The sun’s rays peeked out from behind the endless ocean. In the distance, I could hear the town pulling itself back together. Saturday morning had sprung to life.

“You’re driving me crazy.”

The heavy door swung shut with a loud click. I turned, not because I wanted to see whom it was but because I wanted to drink him in. He had his suit jacket swung over his shoulder as he practically sashayed his way to me. His eyes were clear as crystals. He sat on the ledge but didn’t swing his legs over. We were two opposites, attracted to each other by some unseen force. I was a disaster. He was the calm before the storm.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get better.” My voice was hushed, afraid to disturb the natural beauty of the town working its way through the early morning. “These nights just.. Go on forever.”

He let his jacket slip down from his shoulder and land on the floor by his feet. One of his hands danced across my stomach and found a home on my hip. I listened to his steady breaths. He watched the sunrise with me, listened to the sounds of the sleepy town below. He eventually plucked the cigarette from my fingers and finished it off himself, snubbed the ash out and flicked it toward the pile of others. We sat together for a while, observed the town waking up. Then he stood, his arms curled under mine from behind, and hauled me back over the edge onto the safety of the rooftop.

“I can’t do this much longer,” I told him honestly.

He clucked his tongue off the roof of his mouth as he helped me stand. My legs refused and my hands made it harder for him to help by incessantly pushing him away. He grunted, “You aren’t doing much.”

My hands stilled, fingers gripped his forearms. “I’m trying.”

He managed to drag me to the door without another word, just small grunts leaving his lips as he hoisted me up so I wouldn’t fall. He struggled to open the door and hold me upright, so I broke free. I stood on my own, my back to him, and stared at the ocean, still calling my name and inviting me in. I heard the door click as he pushed it open and like a tidal wave, a rush of thoughts hit me. A great ocean breeze reached us and rustled the loose pieces of my hair, whipped them around my eyes. I closed my eyes, inhaled the salty breeze.

Maybe the ocean was my best bet. Maybe I should accept her invitation and dive in, lose myself in the dark abyss and endless wonders. Explore her quiet, breathtaking mysteries. That sounded beautiful compared to the long nights of watching over the city and wrestling with my own mind. The ocean would lull me to sleep and hold me in her arms forever.

“One of these days, Logan, I’m going to do it,” I told him honestly.

He manipulated the door so it stayed propped open. Warm, strong, shaking hands gripped my shoulders. Roughly, he turned me so he could see my eyes. I tilted my head curiously when I saw a few fresh tears roll down his cheeks.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” he demanded. Without skipping a beat, he continued. “You sit up here for hours every weekend and watch Friday melt into Saturday. You get drunk by yourself and avoid our friends, our life and family that we worked so hard for. You say these scary things and at first it was okay, like you were looking at the world differently but peacefully, because the baby changed things. I know having a baby changes things so I wasn’t going to say anything. But now – lately, I really think you’re going to do it. One of these days, I’m terrified I’ll come up here to check on you but all I’ll find is your coat and the remains of your last cigarette.”

Ashamed, I cast my eyes down. There were no words strong enough to explain the shift that had taken place in my mind. He would never understand how it felt. There was nothing to say to comfort the love of your life and let them down easily, tell them you had a mental disease eating away at you and you had no idea when or how or why it happened. I opened my mouth to say something but his lips covered mine, his shaking hands clasped to the sides of my face. I grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt and cried into the kiss. Soft sobs escaped my lips whenever we briefly parted for gasps of air but he insisted on kissing the darkness away.

Finally, I pushed him away. I licked my lips, savored the taste of him on me, and shook my head as I pushed past him. I was down a flight of stairs before the door’s bang echoed through the stairwell and his sneakers carried him at an alarming rate toward me. I stole a glance over my shoulder to assess how close he truly was. Just one set of stairs separated us. Two flights until we reached our floor. As I stepped down, I ripped one shoe off. Attempting the second, I stumbled and fell on the landing.

“Audrey,” Logan exhaled, his voice filled with anger and pain and worry.

I could feel the burning in my knees, the concrete undoubtedly scraped away the skin and left them raw and bleeding. The heels of my palms ached and prickled from the hard impact. “Do you want me here? I’m struggling, Logan. I struggle through each day.”

“Ask me for help, Audrey,” he whispered as he kneeled beside me. His hands ghosted along my back. I couldn’t lift my head to look him in the eye. A strangled sob fell from my lips and I squeezed my eyes shut as my stomach muscles clenched, back arcing as I attempted to curl in on myself. His hands steadied on my hips and with a swift tug, we were settled into the corner of the stairwell, I was pulled into his lap and he coddled me. He spoke hushed words of reassurance into my ear and pressed feather kisses against my neck and bare shoulders and hair.

“Logan,” I whispered. “I think I need help.”

+

Logan carried me the two flights back to our emptying apartment. I clung desperately to him like a koala, arms around his neck and legs twined around his waist, as he paid the sweet, doe-eyed high school girl we loved and adored as our babysitter. She hesitated on accepting the money; I could see the pain in her eyes as she assessed my current state, counted the amount of hours we were late returning by and calculated the extra money we owed her for being so late. But Logan gently placed his hand over hers and nodded. She cast her eyes down, murmured “I’ll see you at the new house” and left.

Quietly, Logan maneuvered though the boxes scattered all over the apartment. He turned out lights as he went until we were left in total darkness. He kissed my shoulder briefly before flicking one light on and settled me on the bathroom countertop. I stared ahead at the two lone plush towels hanging sadly on the towel rack. He wandered into our room to find the toiletries box, searched for the first aid kit in the dark. I wasn’t too concerned. My knees had stopped bleeding, my hands lost the ache. It was the darkness in my mind that I worried for. A first aid kit wouldn’t be able to fix that. Eyes closed, I leaned against the cool mirror behind me.

Soft fingers grazed my skinned knees. Looking at the source of the touch, I saw a sleepy toddler assessing the damage. His eyes met mine. “Boo-boo?”

My hands fit under his armpits as I hoisted him up into my lap. I kissed the crown of his head, nuzzled my nose in his thick, messy hair. “Yes. Mommy has a boo-boo, Grayson. Daddy is going to fix it.”

His features resembled Logan in every way. His curious eyes flashed with worry and his eyebrows creased. His lips tensed, then pulled into a frown altogether. His little fingers gently patted at my left hand, the one he liked the most because of the wedding rings. And as if on cue, his fingers found the diamond and then the silver band and twisted them on my finger. “All better?” he questioned innocently.

Logan entered the bathroom with a handful of bandages and ointments. He kissed Grayson’s cheek. “Daddy can fix it, Gray. Mommy will be all better.”

Grayson cuddled into my chest, satisfied. As Logan cleaned the scrapes, Grayson kept watchful eyes on him, his fingers still occupied with the rings. I kissed his forehead occasionally until, finally, his eyes drooped and he fell back to sleep. Logan, on his knees, kissed my shin before he adhered the final bandage and stood. His hands reached out for Grayson but I held him closer, tighter. His hands wavered for a second before they settled on my hips, instead, and gently tugged me to the edge of the counter and helped me down.

We placed Grayson in his bed, now temporarily tucked into the corner of our room, and changed out of our formal attire. He handed me his shirt as he climbed into bed, clad in just his underwear. I dropped my clothes into the open suitcase and discarded my bra, tugged his shirt on, and slipped in next to him.

Enclosed in his arms, I exhaled, “I think it’s postpartum depression. I- I know it’s been more than a year since we’ve had him but I think it’s always been there, gradually getting worse.”

His chest pressed closer to my back, his face nuzzled into my neck. “I will fix all of your boo-boos, okay? I promise. No matter how big or small, for better or worse I will always fix you.”

Eyes closed, I felt myself smile. I turned my head slightly so my lips could capture his. “I love you.”

“I love you forever.”