Push Your Limits: Don't Trust Anyone

Chapter 7 Chapter 2 Chris's Secret Diary: November 11

Thursday, May 11

I'm in the bathroom.I don't know how long I've been standing here, just staring.All those pictures of me and Ben smiling happily together, when there were supposed to be three people in the picture.I stared at them motionless, as if I thought it would make the image of Adam appear out of nowhere and land on the paper.But that was not the case, and he remained without a trace.

When I woke up I didn't remember him, not at all.I still believe that motherhood is a long time away, and everything is shimmering with uneasiness.Even after seeing myself with a middle-aged face, knowing I'm a wife, and getting old enough to be a grandmother -- even after everything's made me dizzy -- to what Dr. Nash called and told me , The diary in the closet, I still haven't prepared enough.I didn't think I'd find out that I was still a mother, that I'd had a child.

I hold the journal in my hand.As soon as I read it I knew it was true, I had a child.I could feel it, as if he was still beside me, in my skin.I read the journal over and over again, trying to keep it deep in my mind.

I read on and found he was dead.It doesn't seem real, it doesn't seem like a possibility.My heart refused to listen to the message and wanted to push it away even though I knew it was true.I felt nauseous, the bitter taste of bile welled up in my throat, the room shook as I swallowed it, and for a moment I felt myself start to fall to the floor.The log slipped from my lap, and I suppressed a cry of pain in my throat, stood up and dragged myself out of the bedroom.

I go into the bathroom and look at the photos that shouldn't be missing him.I feel hopeless and don't know what to do when Ben comes home.I pictured him walking in the door, kissing me, making dinner together.Then we'd watch TV, or do whatever we do most nights, and the whole time I'd have to act like I didn't know I'd lost a son;

This seems to be more than I can handle.I couldn't stop and didn't even know what I was doing.I started reaching out to the photo, tearing, tearing.In what seemed like a blink of an eye, they were there.In my hands, scattered on the bathroom floor, floating in the toilet water.

I picked up the journal and put it in my bag.My purse was empty, so I took one of the two £20 notes - the diary said emergency money was hidden behind the mantel clock - and rushed out of the house.I don't know where to go.I wanted to see Dr. Nash, but I didn't know where he was, and if I did I wouldn't know how to get there.I felt helpless and alone, so I ran away.

On the street I turned left and ran towards the park.It's a sunny afternoon.Parked cars and puddles from the morning's torrential rain glowed orange, but it was cold.Exhaled breath formed a mist around me.I wrapped my coat tightly, wrapped my scarf over my ears, and quickened my pace.Freshly fallen leaves drifted in the wind and formed a brown mass in the gutter.

Suddenly, there was a screeching sound of brakes.A car screeched to a stop, and a man's deep voice came from behind the glass.

Get out!said the voice.Fucking stupid bitch!
I look up.I was standing in the middle of the road with a broken down car in front of me, and the driver was yelling and yelling at me angrily.I flashed a vision of myself in flesh and blood against a car's hood being squashed, twisted, slid over the hood of a car; A life that has been ruined.

Is it really that simple?Will another crash end everything that the first crash did all those years ago?I feel as if I died 20 years ago, but does it all have to be like this in the end?
Who will miss me?my husband.There may be a doctor, but I am only a patient to him.But there was no one else.Is my life going back and forth in such a small circle?Did my friends dump me one by one?If I die, how long will it be before I'm forgotten?
I look at the people in the car.He, or someone like him, is why I am the way I am today.Made me lose everything, even myself.But he was right in front of him, alive and well.

Not yet.Not yet, I think.No matter how my life ends, I don't want it to be this way.I think about the novels I've written, the children I've raised, even the bonfires I had with my best friend years ago.I still have memories to unearth, things to learn, truths to discover about myself.

I mouthed "sorry" and ran across the street, through the gate and into the park.

There is a hut in the middle of the grass, which is a cafe.I went in and bought a cup of coffee and sat on a bench, warming my hands in a Styrofoam cup.Opposite is a playground with a slide, some swings, a carousel.A young boy sits on a ladybug-shaped seat secured to the ground by strong springs.I watched him rock himself back and forth, ice cream in one hand in freezing temperatures.

A sudden flash of myself in the park with another young girl flashed through my mind.I saw the two of us climbing a ladder that led to a wooden cage with a metal slide that took us down to the ground.The slide felt so high many years ago, but looking at the playground now, I realize that it must not be much taller than me.We'd stain our skirts, get scolded by our respective moms, and leave the house with pockets full of candy and orange crackers.

This is a memory?Or imagine?
I looked at the boy and he was alone.The park seemed empty, just the two of us in the cold, with a cloudy sky overhead.I took a long sip of coffee.

"Hey!" said the boy, "Hey, madam!"

I looked up and looked down at my hands again.

"Hey!" he shouted even louder. "Ma'am! Can you help me? Give me a hand!"

He stood up and walked to the carousel. "You turn me!" he said.He tried to push the metal thing, but despite the effort on his face, it barely budged.He stopped, looking disappointed. "Please!" he begged.

"You can do it," I yelled, and he looked disappointed.I sip my coffee.I decided, I'll wait here until his mother comes back from somewhere else, and I'll keep an eye on him.

He climbed onto the carousel, twisting and moving himself into the center of the carousel. "You turn me around!" he said again.His voice dropped to a pleading tone.I wish I hadn't been here and I wish he'd left.I feel out of this world.Abnormal, dangerous.I thought of the photos I'd ripped off the walls and scattered all over the bathroom.I'm here for peace, not for that.

I look at the boy.He had turned away and was trying to push himself again, sitting on the wooden horse with his legs barely touching the ground.He looked so vulnerable and helpless.I walked over to his side.

"You push me!" he said.I put my coffee on the ground and smiled.

"Hold on!" I said.I put all my weight on the bar of the wooden horse.It was surprisingly heavy, but I felt it start to loosen, and I spun it around to make it go faster and faster. "Okay!" I said.I sat on the edge of the turntable.

He was laughing excitedly, clutching the metal bars as if we were spinning much faster than we actually were.His hands looked cold, almost blue.He was wearing a green jacket that was too tight to fit, and jeans that rolled up to his ankles.I wonder who made him go outside without gloves, scarf or hat.

"Where's your mother?" I asked.He shrugged. "Where's your father?"

"I don't know," he said. "Mom said Daddy was gone. She said he didn't love us anymore."

I look at him.There was no pain or disappointment in the way he said it, it was just the statement of a fact to him.For a moment the carousel seemed to come to a complete standstill, the whole world spinning around the two of us without us spinning in the middle of it.

"But I'm sure your mother loves you, right?" I said.

He was silent for a few seconds. "Sometimes," he said.

"But sometimes you don't love?"

It was a while before he answered. "I don't think she loves." I felt a pounding in my chest, as if something had tipped over, or was waking up. "She said no. Sometimes."

"Too bad," I said.I watched the bench I was sitting on turn toward us, then back away again.We spin, round and round.

"What's your name?" I said.

"Alfie," he said.We slowed down and the world stopped behind him.My foot touched the ground, I kicked hard, and the wooden horse continued to turn.I said his name as if to myself.Alfie.

"Mummy sometimes said she would be better off if I lived somewhere else," he said.

I try to keep smiling and keep my tone cheerful: "But I bet she was joking."

He shrugged his shoulders.

My whole body tensed up.I saw myself asking him if he would come with me.Come home and live.I imagined his face suddenly glowing, even though he was still saying he shouldn't go somewhere with strangers.But I'm no stranger, I'll say.I'd pick him up—he was heavy and smelled sweet, like chocolate—and we'd walk into the coffee shop together.what kind of juice do you wantI'll say, he'll ask for an apple cider.I bought him a drink and some candy, and we left the park.He would hold my hand on the way, and we would walk home, to the house I shared with my husband, and at night I would chop his meat and mash his potatoes, and I would read him a story when he was in his pajamas. As he fell asleep, he tucked in the quilt and kissed his forehead lightly.And tomorrow...

tomorrow?I have no tomorrow, I think.Just as I didn't have yesterday.

"Mommy!" he yelled.For a moment I thought he was talking to me, but he jumped off the wooden horse and ran towards the café.

"Alfie!" I yelled, but then I saw a woman walking towards us, holding a plastic cup in each hand.

She crouched down when he ran up to her. "Are you all right, baby?" she said, throwing himself into her arms.She looked up and her eyes fell on me past him.Her eyes were narrowed and her face was gloomy.I did nothing wrong!I want to shout.Don't bother me!
But I didn't, instead I turned my head to look away, and I got off the carousel as soon as she took Alfie away.The sky was getting dark, gradually turning dark blue.I sit down on a bench.I don't know what time it is, or how long I've been out.I just know I can't go home, not yet.I couldn't face Ben, couldn't face pretending I didn't know anything about Adam, pretending I didn't know I had a child.For a moment I wanted to tell him everything: my journal, Dr. Nash.everything.But I pushed the thought out of my mind.I don't want to go home, but I have nowhere to go.

When the sky turned black, I stood up and took a step.

The house was enveloped in darkness.I didn't know what to expect when I opened the door.Ben will miss me; he said he'd be home by five.I pictured him pacing up and down the living room—for some reason, although I hadn’t seen him smoking this morning, I imagined a scene with a lit cigarette in his hand—or maybe he Outside, drive to find me on the street.I imagined teams of policemen and volunteers going door to door with my photo on the street, and I felt guilty.I tried to tell myself that even without the memory, I wasn't a kid anymore, that I wasn't a missing person—not yet—but I walked in the door, ready to apologize.

I yelled, "Ben!" No one answered, but I felt - not heard - movement.Somewhere above my head a floorboard creaked, bringing about an almost imperceptible change in the otherwise peaceful house.I yelled again, louder: "Ben!"

"Chris?" A voice came, sounding weak and hoarse.

"Ben," I said, "Ben, it's me. I'm here."

He appeared above me, standing at the top of the stairs.He looked as though he had just slept in and hadn't changed into the clothes he wore to work in the morning, but now his shirt was wrinkled and dangling from his trousers, his disheveled hair set off a shocked expression, The slightly comical look almost reminded him that he had just been electrocuted.A flash of memory suddenly floated before my eyes—science class and the “Vander Graaff Dynamo”—but it didn’t continue.

He started down the stairs: "Chris, you're home!"

"I...I had to go out to catch my breath just now," I said.

"Thank God," he said.He walked up to me and took my hand.He held it tightly, as if shaking it or making sure the hands were real, but didn't let it move. "Thank God!"

He looked at me, his eyes wide open and gleaming.They glistened in the dim light, as if he had been crying.How much he loves me, I thought.I feel more guilty.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't mean to—"

He interrupted me: "Oh, let's not worry about that, shall we?"

He raised my hand to his lips.His expression changed to a happy one, and he could not find the slightest bit of uneasiness.He kissed me.

"But--"

"Now you're back. That's the most important thing." He turned on the light and smoothed out his hair. "By the way!" he said, tucking his shirt into his trousers. "How would you like to go and freshen up? Then I think we can go outside? What do you think?"

"I don't think so," I said, "I—"

"Oh Chrissy. We should go! You look like you need to have some fun!"

"But, Ben," I said, "I don't want to go."

"Please!" he said.He took my hand again and squeezed it gently. "This is very important to me." He took my other hand and folded the two hands together in his palm, "I don't know if I told you this morning, today is my birthday."

what can i doI don't want to go out, but then again I don't want to do anything.I told him I'll do as he says and I'll go clean up and see how I feel.I went upstairs.His emotions bother me.He seemed so worried, but when he saw me emerge unscathed, his worry dissipated immediately.Does he really love me so much?Did he really trust me so much that he only cared if I was safe, not where I was?

I went into the bathroom.Maybe he hasn't seen the photos scattered all over the floor and sincerely believes that I have gone for a walk. I still have time to hide the traces I left, hide my anger, and my grief.

I locked the door and turned on the light.The floor has been swept clean.There, around the mirror, were the photographs, each exactly returned to its original position, as if no one had ever touched them.

I told Ben it would be ready in half an hour.I am sitting in my bedroom and writing this as fast as I can.

[1] A band. ——Translator's Note
(End of this chapter)