by Yocheved Friedman
And then there was this big crash like a jillion jars of peanut butter and onion soup that tastes like grease came falling outta nowhere into the aisle. And that’s when I lost count. I hate when that happens. I think I was up to 65,383. Or maybe 70,000. I forget. I count all the time. All day and sometimes all night when the rocking in my head won’t settle and I can’t get any sleep. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5… I count to calm myself. And to focus. That’s what these new time doctors tell me. That counting’ll help me concentrate. I have to remind myself what day it is. And that I’m living now, in the present, along with everyone else. It’s hard to keep it all present tense when I’m so caught up in remembering. And sometimes they fight each other. The counting and the remembering. And it’s hard to keep them apart.
6, 7, 8, 9…man! I hate having to start over. I get this from my mother. She used to tell me, “Gracey, there was never no point to starting over. Just work with what you come up with so far and build somethin’ off it.” She was OK, ya know. We used to sit behind our trailer and she’d always let me draw flowers on her arm in the glaze of the dying sun that came to us from the gate.
10, 11, 12, 13, 14…I’m walking down 14th Avenue now. The grocery is too crowded this time of day. It reminds me of the noisy restaurant my mother used to take me to every weeknight. She was a waitress there from eight ‘til twelve. I’d always sit by myself in the back room with the sign on it that read, “Employees Only.” And while I sat with a can of cherry coke, just waiting for her to come, I counted. Waiting and counting. Like I do now. Truth is, it lasted a lot longer than twelve. Her shift I mean. She’d stay another two hours sometimes. To earn the extra money, or maybe just to fool around. By then, I had usually fallen asleep against the coat rack where all the waitresses left their stuff before they went to work. One time, I stayed up the whole time. I counted and counted until it was finally over. The last number I got to before she took me home was 9,995.
Oh, and it’s starting to rain now. I’m counting faster. 27, 28, 29, 30, 33, 37…I really hate the rain. It makes me so nervous. They tell me it’s a subconscious fear I’ve got. That it’s all in my head or something. But I don’t believe ‘em. I know why I hate the rain. Why I’m scared of it.
40, 41, 42, 45, 67, 89….Oh man. Oh man. It’s not working. My numbers are going too fast. I can’t slow down. 93, 99, 110, 150….
It rained the day they took my mother away. Said something about how she couldn’t raise me. I heard her crying for me and screaming at them. Or maybe I was screaming. I heard her say, “But she loves me, she loves me” over and over again. And I told them they were wrong, that I did love her. And I begged for them to let me stay with her. But they went right on as if I wasn’t there. And I stayed with my aunt ‘til high school was over. Man, my aunt. She was always trying to talk and stuff. She always sat there on my bed and just waited for me. Like maybe if she waited long enough I would do something, you know? And that irritated me so bad. So this one time, I just stood up there on the bed and screamed at her real loud. I told her I hated her for just sitting there at the edge of my bed. And I told her I wanted to go back to my mother in the trailer. And draw flowers and watch the old gate. And eat the TV dinners she’d bring home for us to make in the microwave, ‘cause there was nothing else to eat. And the whole time, my aunt just sat there and let me scream. And she waited ‘til I was all screamed out and said, “If you ever needa scream again, I’ll help you.” And then she left me just lying there forever in my bed until I felt like coming out.
190, 200, 340, 680, 681, 686….I can’t, I cant! I hear my mother callin’ me. She’s tellin’ me, “You can’t start over. It’s all a waste. All for nothing.” 700, 888, 899, 956…don’t start over. I won’t! I won’t! I’m yelling at her. The rain is so heavy now. 957, 978, 979…the rain is pouring all over me. It’ll drown me. I know it’s gonna drown me. 985, 992…don’t start over. I’m comin’ mama. I’m not gonna start over. I’ll do whatever you say just come back. Maybe, if I count enough, she’ll come. Like she did after each of her shifts years ago. Man the rain is soaking through. It’s making my arms freeze to my sides. My aunt is calling me now. She’s telling me to let it out. I could scream. She’s coaxing my anger. Stop it! Stop it! I hate you! I want to go home! Get up! Take me home! 995, 999, 1000! The counting isn’t working. I’m falling. The voices are getting louder. They’re yelling at me. Stop it! I wanna go home! “I’ll always be there and I’ll always help you,” she’s saying. “Don’t ever start over.” It’s pointless. Don’t! Don’t! I’m coming, mama. I’m almost there. The rain, it’s trying to separate us. Don’t let them, mama. Don’t let them take you! Don’t let them come! 1000, 100,000,000….one hundred million….a billion….one trillion….
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One trillion. There are one trillion voices racing through my head. I can’t stop them anymore. So, instead, I just wait for the rocking and the shaking to stop. The rain is never ending and I hate it. I can’t count anymore. What comes after one trillion? One hundred trillion? It doesn’t ever stop. Like the rain. And like the voices. Who ever invented counting anyways. Those idiot doctors. I will have to start over again. 1,2,3,4,5…except I hate starting over. Oh the rain. Oh man the rain.
