two
A scraping sound at the back of the car startles me and I whirl around in my seat, staring out the back window. All I see is the garage door, solidly shut behind us. But something is scraping the car. Or—not scraping, exactly. It’s hard to tell exactly what the sound is.
I open my car door, but before I can step out, Dad’s sharp voice comes from the back of the car. “Krystie! Stay in the car and keep the door shut.”
I obey. I learned a long time ago that when Dad’s having one of his episodes, it’s best to just go along with it.
I sit in silence with my siblings as Dad finishes whatever he’s doing at the back of the car, and then he moves around to the front of the car and bends down. Before I can start to wonder what he’s doing, though, Mom opens the front passenger door and slides into the car.
“Mom,” says Jeremy, obviously relieved. “How about you go distract Dad while Krystie and Rachel and I slip back into the house.”
Mom shakes her head.
“Come on,” Jeremy huffs. “Krystie and I have school tomorrow. I have to get up at five-thirty. I should be sleeping right now.”
“Jeremy… please. Don’t make this any harder than it is.”
I look at my brother, whose face is set in a hard scowl, and my sister, whose eyes are still wide with worry about this strange change of routine. I feel an irrational sense of anger toward my dad. I know he can’t help it. But I wish it didn’t have to disrupt our lives so much.
It was only three years ago that Mom sat Jeremy and me down and explained things to us. “Dad suffers from something called paranoid delusions,” she told us. She broke the term down for us. “Paranoid means that you’re unreasonably worried about your safety, or someone else’s safety, or things that could possibly happen. Delusions are beliefs that are not real.”
I didn’t understand so much when I was younger. Now I do. Dad is what people would probably consider “crazy.” He has a mental disorder. He doesn’t understand that he has a mental disorder—he thinks all his delusions are real. That’s why he refuses to see a psychologist, refuses to look into medication. The one time Mom tried to trick him into going to the “doctor’s” with her—telling him it was a routine checkup when in actuality it was an appointment with a psychiatrist—he completely flipped out. “I’m not crazy, and I don’t need help! We need to stay under the radar, Evelyn. You know that.”
However many times Mom asked Dad exactly who he believed was after him, he wasn’t able to give a straight answer. But that didn’t stop him from interrupting the most peaceful family times to insist that we were in danger and had to leave wherever we were right away.
The night Mom explained paranoid delusions to us, we had gone out to dinner as a family. We hardly ever went out to eat, so this was a special treat. Jeremy and I were in high spirits, excited about being in a restaurant and being able to order whatever we wanted—until the food came. The moment the waitress dropped it off at our table, Dad took one look at Jeremy’s steaming-hot chicken parmesan, gasped, and pushed it off the table onto the floor.
“Daddy!” Jeremy had exclaimed in shock and anger. “Why’d you do that?”
“It was poison,” Dad had said, his face dead serious. “Come on, we’re leaving this place. We’ll run through the drive-thru at McDonalds.”
Jeremy and I had both protested—we didn’t want McDonalds; we wanted the nice meal we’d gone out for. Mom had protested too, and Dad had started looking more and more freaked out, and finally he’d just asked the waitress for to-go containers and boxed up all of our meals. Well, except for Jeremy’s, which was on the floor. And that was the last time we went out to dinner as a family.
There were other times Dad’s delusions ruined family events too. Like when we were in the middle of a family hike up Mount Buckeye, and Dad made us turn around before we ever got to the top, insisting that there were people at the top, waiting to ambush us. Or the time we were staying in a resort at Disney, and we had to switch hotels last-minute because Dad was convinced that the guy in the room next door was a gas murderer who was going to fill our room with carbon monoxide while we slept.
I suppose my life has never been normal. But before tonight—or this morning, or whatever time it is—Dad’s delusions always took place when we were away from home. Home was always the one place Dad felt safe, the one place he could relax. And since he could relax, that meant the rest of us could too.
I guess not anymore.
I hear the garage door open behind me—manually. I have no idea why Dad doesn’t just use the remote control from the car, since he seems to be in such a hurry to get away from here. You can’t always reason with Dad when he’s in his delusions.
Mom turns around to face Jeremy, Rachel and me. “This is going to sound strange,” she warns us. “But Jeremy and Krystie, I told you to bring blankets for a reason. Right now, I’m going to help you put the blankets across all three of you, so you can’t be seen from outside the car.”
Jeremy laughs disbelievingly. “Oh, so now you’re all freaked out about everything too? I didn’t know Dad’s condition was contagious.”
Mom just gives him a look. “It’s very important right now that you do everything Dad or I tell you to do. We’ll explain everything later, I promise.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything more. He and I both help Mom arrange my comforter, Jeremy's comforter, and the living room blanket so that they are covering the three of us in the backseat.
“Why do we have to be under the blanket?” Rachel asks, her voice wavering.
I’m wondering the same thing, but I can’t let my little sister see that I’m scared. “Because we’re pretending we’re in a tent,” I tell her. “We’re playing a game.”
“At nighttime?”
“Yeah. Isn’t it exciting to get to play a game so late at night?”
I hear Jeremy snort on Rachel’s other side. I hope he doesn’t think I really believe what I’m saying, because I don’t. Not in the least.
Rachel believes me, though. She starts bouncing up and down in her seat. “Yeah! We get to play Tent all night long!”
I hear Dad get in the car. Barely a second later, the car starts up and we’re rolling backward, out of the garage. No—make that, we’re speeding backward. And then we’re speeding down the road in our neighborhood, way too fast to be legal.
“This is insane,” Jeremy mutters.
“It’ll be over soon,” I try to reassure him. “The delusions never last long.” Usually Dad’s back to normal after a couple hours.
“Let’s play camping,” Rachel suggests. “Krystie, you be the mommy, and Jeremy, you be the daddy, and I’ll be the little girl. And we’re on a camping a’venture together in our tent!”
“I’m going to sleep,” says Jeremy, and I feel more than see him shift his position so that he’s leaning against the window, bunching up part of the comforter so that it makes a pillow for him. I doubt he’s actually going to sleep. He just wants to get out of playing with Rachel.
In all honesty, I don’t want to play with Rachel either. But I act the part of “mommy on a camping trip” for a little while before telling Rachel that I, too, want to get some sleep. Rachel snuggles up next to me and says, “Okay. Daddy, can you turn the radio on?”
Dad hesitates before saying, “Ummm… how about no radio right now, Rache. Just… just listen to the humming of the car.” He probably wants it as quiet as possible in here so he can listen for the sounds of his imaginary pursuers coming up on us.
Jeremy sighs and digs his phone out of his pocket. Jeremy got a bunch of money for his Confirmation last year, and bought himself a really nice iPhone. He’s lucky. I just have, of all things, a flip phone. Mom and Dad gave it to me the Christmas I was twelve—a year and a half ago—because I’d been begging for a phone for years. A flip phone was not exactly what I had in mind, but I figured it’d be ungrateful for me to tell them that. Jeremy keeps telling me I could get a smartphone for as low as $10 online, but in order to do that I’d need to use Mom’s credit card, and Mom always says her credit card is just for emergencies. My guess is that getting a smartphone doesn’t count as an emergency.
Jeremy plugs his earbuds in and places them in Rachel’s ears. “What do you want to listen to?” he asks her.
“Mayhem Cruise,” she says.
“Not Taylor Swift or...” I begin.
“Mayhem Cruise,” Rachel repeats firmly.
“Fine.” Jeremy taps the album cover for Mayhem Cruise and the music starts playing in Rachel’s ears. Mayhem Cruise is this punk rock band that Jeremy and I probably never should have let Rachel listen to in the first place, since there’s a bunch of swearing and inappropriate content in their songs. Fortunately, I think most of it goes over Rachel’s head.
Rachel’s been listening for about five minutes before she starts singing along. The particular part of the song she’s singing doesn’t have any bad words in it, but if you really pay attention to what it’s saying, it’s not something you’d want coming out of a four-year-old’s mouth.
Dad's concerned voice comes from the front of the car. “Is Rachel listening to music?”
“She doesn’t know what she’s singing about,” I assure him. “And this one doesn’t have any swears in it—”
“What is she listening to music on?” Dad asks urgently.
“My phone, Dad. Geez, chill out!” Jeremy snaps.
“You brought your phone?”
I can sense Jeremy making a face as though to insinuate, I’m fifteen. What fifteen-year-old doesn’t bring their phone everywhere they go? But Dad obviously doesn't see, because we're still under the blanket. “Jeremy, hand me your phone,” he says tensely.
“What? No! Rachel’s using it.”
“Hand it to me now, Jeremy.”
“What, just because you were so caught up in your delusions that you forgot to bring your phone, you want to borrow mine?”
Mom turns around and puts her hand out for Jeremy’s phone. “Jeremy, please. This is important.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and disconnects the earbuds, causing Rachel to protest. “Sorry, Rache,” he mutters. “Mom and Dad want to borrow the phone for a minute.” He pulls the blanket down to hand the phone to Mom, and I breathe in a much-appreciated gulp of fresh air.
Mom takes the phone and holds it out to Dad. Dad can’t take it at the moment; he’s gripping the wheel with his right hand as he rolls down his window with his left. But as soon as he’s done rolling down the window, he reaches over and takes Jeremy’s iPhone from Mom’s hand. And then he pitches it right out the newly open window.
I open my car door, but before I can step out, Dad’s sharp voice comes from the back of the car. “Krystie! Stay in the car and keep the door shut.”
I obey. I learned a long time ago that when Dad’s having one of his episodes, it’s best to just go along with it.
I sit in silence with my siblings as Dad finishes whatever he’s doing at the back of the car, and then he moves around to the front of the car and bends down. Before I can start to wonder what he’s doing, though, Mom opens the front passenger door and slides into the car.
“Mom,” says Jeremy, obviously relieved. “How about you go distract Dad while Krystie and Rachel and I slip back into the house.”
Mom shakes her head.
“Come on,” Jeremy huffs. “Krystie and I have school tomorrow. I have to get up at five-thirty. I should be sleeping right now.”
“Jeremy… please. Don’t make this any harder than it is.”
I look at my brother, whose face is set in a hard scowl, and my sister, whose eyes are still wide with worry about this strange change of routine. I feel an irrational sense of anger toward my dad. I know he can’t help it. But I wish it didn’t have to disrupt our lives so much.
It was only three years ago that Mom sat Jeremy and me down and explained things to us. “Dad suffers from something called paranoid delusions,” she told us. She broke the term down for us. “Paranoid means that you’re unreasonably worried about your safety, or someone else’s safety, or things that could possibly happen. Delusions are beliefs that are not real.”
I didn’t understand so much when I was younger. Now I do. Dad is what people would probably consider “crazy.” He has a mental disorder. He doesn’t understand that he has a mental disorder—he thinks all his delusions are real. That’s why he refuses to see a psychologist, refuses to look into medication. The one time Mom tried to trick him into going to the “doctor’s” with her—telling him it was a routine checkup when in actuality it was an appointment with a psychiatrist—he completely flipped out. “I’m not crazy, and I don’t need help! We need to stay under the radar, Evelyn. You know that.”
However many times Mom asked Dad exactly who he believed was after him, he wasn’t able to give a straight answer. But that didn’t stop him from interrupting the most peaceful family times to insist that we were in danger and had to leave wherever we were right away.
The night Mom explained paranoid delusions to us, we had gone out to dinner as a family. We hardly ever went out to eat, so this was a special treat. Jeremy and I were in high spirits, excited about being in a restaurant and being able to order whatever we wanted—until the food came. The moment the waitress dropped it off at our table, Dad took one look at Jeremy’s steaming-hot chicken parmesan, gasped, and pushed it off the table onto the floor.
“Daddy!” Jeremy had exclaimed in shock and anger. “Why’d you do that?”
“It was poison,” Dad had said, his face dead serious. “Come on, we’re leaving this place. We’ll run through the drive-thru at McDonalds.”
Jeremy and I had both protested—we didn’t want McDonalds; we wanted the nice meal we’d gone out for. Mom had protested too, and Dad had started looking more and more freaked out, and finally he’d just asked the waitress for to-go containers and boxed up all of our meals. Well, except for Jeremy’s, which was on the floor. And that was the last time we went out to dinner as a family.
There were other times Dad’s delusions ruined family events too. Like when we were in the middle of a family hike up Mount Buckeye, and Dad made us turn around before we ever got to the top, insisting that there were people at the top, waiting to ambush us. Or the time we were staying in a resort at Disney, and we had to switch hotels last-minute because Dad was convinced that the guy in the room next door was a gas murderer who was going to fill our room with carbon monoxide while we slept.
I suppose my life has never been normal. But before tonight—or this morning, or whatever time it is—Dad’s delusions always took place when we were away from home. Home was always the one place Dad felt safe, the one place he could relax. And since he could relax, that meant the rest of us could too.
I guess not anymore.
I hear the garage door open behind me—manually. I have no idea why Dad doesn’t just use the remote control from the car, since he seems to be in such a hurry to get away from here. You can’t always reason with Dad when he’s in his delusions.
Mom turns around to face Jeremy, Rachel and me. “This is going to sound strange,” she warns us. “But Jeremy and Krystie, I told you to bring blankets for a reason. Right now, I’m going to help you put the blankets across all three of you, so you can’t be seen from outside the car.”
Jeremy laughs disbelievingly. “Oh, so now you’re all freaked out about everything too? I didn’t know Dad’s condition was contagious.”
Mom just gives him a look. “It’s very important right now that you do everything Dad or I tell you to do. We’ll explain everything later, I promise.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything more. He and I both help Mom arrange my comforter, Jeremy's comforter, and the living room blanket so that they are covering the three of us in the backseat.
“Why do we have to be under the blanket?” Rachel asks, her voice wavering.
I’m wondering the same thing, but I can’t let my little sister see that I’m scared. “Because we’re pretending we’re in a tent,” I tell her. “We’re playing a game.”
“At nighttime?”
“Yeah. Isn’t it exciting to get to play a game so late at night?”
I hear Jeremy snort on Rachel’s other side. I hope he doesn’t think I really believe what I’m saying, because I don’t. Not in the least.
Rachel believes me, though. She starts bouncing up and down in her seat. “Yeah! We get to play Tent all night long!”
I hear Dad get in the car. Barely a second later, the car starts up and we’re rolling backward, out of the garage. No—make that, we’re speeding backward. And then we’re speeding down the road in our neighborhood, way too fast to be legal.
“This is insane,” Jeremy mutters.
“It’ll be over soon,” I try to reassure him. “The delusions never last long.” Usually Dad’s back to normal after a couple hours.
“Let’s play camping,” Rachel suggests. “Krystie, you be the mommy, and Jeremy, you be the daddy, and I’ll be the little girl. And we’re on a camping a’venture together in our tent!”
“I’m going to sleep,” says Jeremy, and I feel more than see him shift his position so that he’s leaning against the window, bunching up part of the comforter so that it makes a pillow for him. I doubt he’s actually going to sleep. He just wants to get out of playing with Rachel.
In all honesty, I don’t want to play with Rachel either. But I act the part of “mommy on a camping trip” for a little while before telling Rachel that I, too, want to get some sleep. Rachel snuggles up next to me and says, “Okay. Daddy, can you turn the radio on?”
Dad hesitates before saying, “Ummm… how about no radio right now, Rache. Just… just listen to the humming of the car.” He probably wants it as quiet as possible in here so he can listen for the sounds of his imaginary pursuers coming up on us.
Jeremy sighs and digs his phone out of his pocket. Jeremy got a bunch of money for his Confirmation last year, and bought himself a really nice iPhone. He’s lucky. I just have, of all things, a flip phone. Mom and Dad gave it to me the Christmas I was twelve—a year and a half ago—because I’d been begging for a phone for years. A flip phone was not exactly what I had in mind, but I figured it’d be ungrateful for me to tell them that. Jeremy keeps telling me I could get a smartphone for as low as $10 online, but in order to do that I’d need to use Mom’s credit card, and Mom always says her credit card is just for emergencies. My guess is that getting a smartphone doesn’t count as an emergency.
Jeremy plugs his earbuds in and places them in Rachel’s ears. “What do you want to listen to?” he asks her.
“Mayhem Cruise,” she says.
“Not Taylor Swift or...” I begin.
“Mayhem Cruise,” Rachel repeats firmly.
“Fine.” Jeremy taps the album cover for Mayhem Cruise and the music starts playing in Rachel’s ears. Mayhem Cruise is this punk rock band that Jeremy and I probably never should have let Rachel listen to in the first place, since there’s a bunch of swearing and inappropriate content in their songs. Fortunately, I think most of it goes over Rachel’s head.
Rachel’s been listening for about five minutes before she starts singing along. The particular part of the song she’s singing doesn’t have any bad words in it, but if you really pay attention to what it’s saying, it’s not something you’d want coming out of a four-year-old’s mouth.
Dad's concerned voice comes from the front of the car. “Is Rachel listening to music?”
“She doesn’t know what she’s singing about,” I assure him. “And this one doesn’t have any swears in it—”
“What is she listening to music on?” Dad asks urgently.
“My phone, Dad. Geez, chill out!” Jeremy snaps.
“You brought your phone?”
I can sense Jeremy making a face as though to insinuate, I’m fifteen. What fifteen-year-old doesn’t bring their phone everywhere they go? But Dad obviously doesn't see, because we're still under the blanket. “Jeremy, hand me your phone,” he says tensely.
“What? No! Rachel’s using it.”
“Hand it to me now, Jeremy.”
“What, just because you were so caught up in your delusions that you forgot to bring your phone, you want to borrow mine?”
Mom turns around and puts her hand out for Jeremy’s phone. “Jeremy, please. This is important.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and disconnects the earbuds, causing Rachel to protest. “Sorry, Rache,” he mutters. “Mom and Dad want to borrow the phone for a minute.” He pulls the blanket down to hand the phone to Mom, and I breathe in a much-appreciated gulp of fresh air.
Mom takes the phone and holds it out to Dad. Dad can’t take it at the moment; he’s gripping the wheel with his right hand as he rolls down his window with his left. But as soon as he’s done rolling down the window, he reaches over and takes Jeremy’s iPhone from Mom’s hand. And then he pitches it right out the newly open window.
