Saturday, October 16, 2010

home movies

Bile. There's more. It fills the bowl, spills onto the floor. Your mom stands in the doorway. Your face is covered in dirt, she says. Over and over she asks, what happened. There's more. You can feel it. There's something hard inside you and it won't come out. It clings to your insides. This big, hard thing. You collapse on the cold linoleum, spewing. But it won't. Come. Out. What happened, she says again.

Bubbles. Family Video Two. You sit on a big wooden deck at a beach house in Ocean City, New Jersey. You blow bubbles. Your dad stands over you with a video camera. Your mom sits next to you in a floral one-piece bathing suit. Sunglasses; big smile. You're wearing neon green swim trunks over your diaper.You spill the bubbles, start to cry. There's more, she says. Don't cry.

Bottles. You hide the bottles. Under the bathroom sink, in kitchen cabinets, in the garage. There are too many bottles. You tell your sister you want to play hide and seek. She counts, you hide the bottles.

Broken. You're afraid of the basement. In the basement, your dad has a work bench with a broken panda waiting to be fixed. It's dark and smells funny, but it's a good place for hiding bottles.

Bathophobia. It rains a lot one summer, the basement floods. After the flood, your mom reads you books with pages that are warped and stuck together.

Box. On Christmas morning, your dad passes out on the couch. Your mom pours beer down the kitchen sink. You find a puppy in a box under the tree.

Bipolar. This is the greatest day of my life, your dad tells you. You go swimming in the ocean together.

Behaviors. Signs or behaviors associated with drowning or near-drowning: Head low in the water, mouth at water level. Head tilted back with mouth open. Eyes glassy and empty, unable to focus. Eyes open, with fear evident on the face.

Bubblicious. The detectives give you a pack of watermelon flavored gum. You put three pieces in your mouth at once, stare at a miniature lighthouse on the mantle. What happened, they ask. They say it's not a rescue anymore. It's a recovery. You unwrap another piece.

Broadcast. Family Video Five is taped over with a segment from the local news. You and your sister walking hand in hand down to the beach, helicopters circling overhead.

Body. Found two days later by a fisherman. Hearing this is like being woken abruptly from a very long, very strange dream. Words like bloated, spongy, and yellow are used to explain why the funeral is closed-casket.

Butcher. His friend Phil says a few words. He talks about sharing an apartment with your dad. Phil worked as a butcher; Dad was a vegetarian. Everyone laughs or cries. You just sit there.

Brothers. Herald, Pierce, Jimmy, George, Willie, and Frank (deceased). Your dad's brothers are all dying. Everyone thought Willie would be the next to go. Yet no one is surprised by what happened.

Bewildered. You often wonder if it was intentional. More often, you wonder if he wanted you to drown, too.

Buspirone. Some anti-depressants have been found to work better when used in combination with another drug.

Benzodiazepine. Tranquilizers and sedatives are prescribed to ease anxiety and promote sleep. Because of the high risk of dependency, these medications are intended only for short-term or occasional use.

Belnap. Every week he changes the doses. He says you should take more Fluoxetine, less Xanax. More Xanax, less Fluoxetine. This week, Dr. Belnap says, you should start feeling better.

Blame. This is a word your therapist advises you not to use. Or think about.

Bricks. You like your job laying tile. For hours, there's nothing but tile, grout, tile, grout. You lose yourself in the elaborate geometric patterns you arrange.

Boxing. Your mom thinks you should take up kickboxing to help channel some of your rage. Meet new people. A week later you go downtown, start a fight, get five staples in your head.

Bunny. Family Video Three. You're a bunny on Halloween, skipping down the hallway of Montessori school. You watch the footage: heaving, sobbing, gasping, like the boy who spilled his bubbles on the deck.

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