The Most Beautiful Thing

Lillian sat in the hard plastic chair, studying her hands. The harsh fluorescent lights illuminated their defects; the red, chapped skin from the years of chemical exposure , the absent smooth, white ring of flesh that should have encircled her ring finger , the calluses and split nails.

Her gaze dropped from her hands to the speckled linoleum floor, and then lazily drifted up the white wall across from her to the violently red NO SMOKING sign. She thought to herself that if there had ever been a time to want to smoke, that time would be right now.

Michael , Michael should be here. If she only knew how to get a hold of him. Or Michelle . God only knew where she was these days; somewhere in Texas, maybe. She called from time to time but never left a number or address.

Lillian looked above the sign to the clock on the wall, the second hand tick ticking away . Suddenly feeling nauseous, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold wall behind her.

"I drove them away. All of them," she whispered to no one in particular .

*****

Lillian's foster family, the Ryans were a nice, older farm couple who had a son a few years older than Lillian. Mrs. Ryan was a sweet, caring woman who seemed more inclined to spend time puttering around outside in her garden, or sitting in her rocking chair in front of the television to watch her programs, than to devoting herself to the upkeep of a household. Mr. Ryan was a gentle old man of constant frail health, and Lillian loved him dearly. Their son, Michael, lived a couple of hours away in Pearson, where he was studying at a vocational college to become a mechanic.

Lillian had quickly adjusted to her new environment by taking over the role of housekeeper and caretaker for the family. She enjoyed the simple acts of cooking and cleaning , and she thrived on the praise that the Ryans constantly heaped upon her. Even after she was old enough to no longer be a member of the welfare or foster care system, she stayed on with the family as the daughter they never actually had.

Sometimes Michael would come home from college to visit his family on the weekends , and as time passed, a slow-paced courtship dance began between the two of them . He would come into the kitchen and watch her bake a pie, or marvel as she scoured the pots and pans to a level of shininess not actually found in nature.

"Sometimes I think you love my parents more than I do," he teased her, enjoying the slow flush that would silently creep across her cheeks.

"They've been good to me," she replied, looking away from him quickly.

"And you've been good to them. I can tell that you love them as much as they love you." He smiled at this, and shook his head.

"Sometimes love isn't that important." Lillian looked down at the floor, avoiding his gaze.

"The hell it isn't," he blurted out, standing up to grasp her hand, and pulling her gently towards the table to sit next to him.

Lillian looked at her hand lying limply in his grasp, willing it to do something, anything . She half expected to see it twitch spastically or suddenly recoil, but it just sat there, gently folded in his hands like a rag doll.

"What?" he looked down at her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Are you okay?

She nodded slowly.

"Lillian, you know you're special, don't you? Anyone would be crazy not to want someone like you."

Lillian quickly felt the life rush back into her hand, snatching itself out of his grasp, and burying into the folds of her apron.

"Why, Michael? You're crazy." She stood up, walking back to the sink.

"Because you are special. You care about this family like it's your own. You are loving and kind, and you deserve to be as happy as you make others." Michael watched her shoulders jump as if each word he had spoken to her had stung like the lash of a whip.

"No, I'm not."

"Lillian, you are not the town whore. You didn't drive off your husband . You didn't lose your children to the state. You will never be your mother."

Lillian's shoulders began to shake as she gulped back the tears that threatened to strangle her. She could feel buzzing in the back of her head, and she felt faint.

"Lillian. God, don't cry," Michael stood up and walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, "I never wanted to make you cry. Never."

She nodded, her shoulders still shaking, her eyes closed.

"All I wanted to do was ask you to be my bride."

*****

Lillian opened her eyes and sighed. She realized that her posterior had become numb from the firmness of the chair she was sitting on, and stood up, stretching her arms above her head.

The hands of the clock on the wall seemed to swim in front of her eyes, pointing accusingly in her direction.

Lillian sat down suddenly and buried her face in her hands. "Why am I here? Oh , God. What's going on?"

*****

While pregnant with their first child, Michelle, Lillian had gone to a career fair at the junior college in Howerton. Michael didn't make enough money at the local garage in Hellstern to support a family, and she needed to figure out a way to help with the bills.

"You never finished high school, I see," the counselor stated, setting down her profile.

"No, I, uh, dropped out to take care of my family. Then my father-in-law got sick, and I took care of him. He died of cancer. Somehow I never got back." Lillian shrugged apologetically.

"You've had no job experience, as well," the counselor observed .

"Uh, I spent the last twenty-odd years taking care of my family, and my husband's family, and now my own. I didn't have time for anything else ." Lillian scratched an itch on the back of her left thigh.

"Well, do you have any qualifications beyond the obvious?" the counselor asked dryly, drumming his pen on the tabletop.

"I can cook. And I clean like a fiend. I've kept three houses spotless my whole life." Lillian smiled at this accomplishment.\

"Well, perhaps you should pursue a vocation that is more in line with what you can do, Mrs. Ryan."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She raised an eyebrow and rubbed her swollen belly.

"Have you ever considered a career in the janitorial arts?

Lillian worked for a few years at a hotel in housekeeping, before finally quitting to join a service in Howerton, cleaning houses for doctors' wives and ladies of a certain social standing that prevented them from scrubbing their own toilets or mopping their own floors. Several years later, she decided that she was better suited to working on her own terms, and started her own housecleaning business. Michael quit his job at the garage and took a position working at Quik-E-Lube in Howerton. He worked long hours for a decent wage, but it never seemed like enough to cover more than his share of the house payment.

*****

Lillian rubbed her hands together, feeling the dry, cracked skin of her palms grind against each other like sandpaper. She could almost hear her skin becoming more brittle in the dry air of the hallway, and she wished she had some lotion to sooth her aching flesh.

It was too quiet. There should be some kind of noise; the crackling hiss of an intercom , the sullen bells of an elevator reaching this floor, something to mask the empty thump echoing through her chest.

Lillian wanted to scream loud enough to fill the void that threatened to swallow her there in that lonely hallway.

"God, I should have heard something by now," she whispered. "Something, anything..."

*****

When Michelle turned three, Michael asked Lillian to give him something more than a namesake -- to give him a child to truly call his own.

"Lil, you've got your precious baby," he badgered her at breakfast , "and I want that kind of love, too."

"What more could you want than the love of a good woman and the most beautiful little girl on the planet?" she teased him as she poured him coffee and packed a lunch for him to take to work.

"What do you think?"

"I think you want someone to hand you tools and get you a beer, Mike. I know you too well."

Cassandra was supposed to have been Michael's son. Michael and Lillian tried and tried to get pregnant for three years, but instead of the boy she knew he had always craved, the fruits of their combined labor yielded another daughter, Cassandra.

"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Michael marveled, hanging over Cassie's crib and making silly faces. "The most beautiful thing."

"And she's all yours," Lillian replied, hugging a squirming Michelle to her chest .

"You're mommy's precious girl,"she whispered into Michelle's ear, "and I love you most of all."

*****

Attempting to distract herself, Lillian dug through her purse for a scrap of paper and a pen to write out a grocery list. She found a pencil nub, and tore a deposit slip out of her checkbook, trying to compose her thoughts.

Using the chair next to her as a writing surface, she shakily held the pencil to the paper. As she started to write the first word of the list, the pencil tip snapped off, shooting the small cone of graphite across the hallway, where it hit the wall, and left a small grayish dent in its wake.

Crumpling the paper in her fist, she started to cry.

*****

The same year that Lillian turned thirty-five, Michelle entered high school. She was a quiet teenager, thoughtful and sweet, and seemed to do well with her classes . She got a job at Hellstern Grocery after school, and rode her bike the two miles home every night after work. By the time she was sixteen, she had a car of her own and rarely spent any waking hours at home.

The week after her eighteenth birthday, Michelle graduated from high school. Lillian took a few days off from work to prepare for this big event: her firstborn child fulfilling a dream that she'd never had the opportunity to accomplish.

"Michelle? Do you want chocolate frosting on your cake, or buttercream?" she asked, knocking on her daughter's locked door.

"Do whatever you want," Michelle replied, noisily fumbling around in her room.

"Sweetie, what are you doing in there? It sounds like a herd of elephants stamping around!" Lillian joked, half to herself.

"Rearranging, mom. It's nothing to concern yourself with." A muffled thud shook floor.

"Really, Michelle, if you need my help moving stuff, let me know. I don't want you hurting yourself moving the bed or the dresser."

"Mom, the buttercream. I want the buttercream."

"Wonderful!" Lillian exclaimed, "I'll go call the bakery right now."

Michelle spent the evening of her graduation briefly at her own party, and then took off with a group of friends to hit other parties. Lillian was still up cleaning the kitchen that evening when Michelle got home.

"Sweetie? Did you have a good time with your friends?" she asked, scrubbing a casserole dish that was sitting in the sink.

"Yeah, it was a blast," Michelle replied, walking towards her bedroom.

"The buttercream frosting was a hit, you know," Lillian offered, "everyone said so. You definitely made a good call there."

"Yeah, mom. Thanks. I'm going to bed."

"Good night, sweetie."

Lillian went to work the next morning, and later arrived home to find the house empty. Cassandra was sleeping over at a girlfriend's, and Michael was working late. Lillian hadn't wanted to bother Michelle by vacuuming her room or making her bed that morning, so she decided to do a little straightening now that she had the house to herself.

Opening the door to her daughter's room, she gasped and dropped the basket of folded laundry to the floor.

"Oh, my God. Oh, no..."

The furniture was still where it had been the day before, but the drawers of the dresser were open and empty. The closets contained only bare hangers, and Michelle's things were missing from the shelves.

Lillian ran to the bathroom and threw open the medicine cabinet and pulled open the drawers. All of Michelle's toiletries were gone as well.

Quietly returning to the bedroom, she bent down and began to pick up the laundry, haphazardly throwing it into the basket. She walked into the vacant room, sat down on the edge of the bed, and slid slowly sideways until her head rested upon the pillows that still smelled like Michelle.

A couple of weeks later, Lillian got a postcard in the mail. Looking at the front of the card, she smiled at the image of a rodeo clown peeking out of a barrel and waving at her. She turned the card over and sighed before reading what it had to say.

"Mom, I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. Randy thought it'd be better if I just made a clean break, and I agreed. I'm old enough to be on my own now, and you don't need another mouth to feed in that house. I love you, Michelle."

There was no return address, and only a blurry postmark that she couldn't quite make out.

Reading the card when he got home, Michael made some calls to Michelle's friends, finding out that Randy was some boy she'd met working at the grocery store. Despite Lillian and Michael's obvious desperation and anger, not one of her friends seemed to know that Michelle was leaving town before it had happened, and no one seemed to know where she was now. Everyone professed to be as confused as her family was at the disappearance.

Lillian never understood why things had happened the way they did.

Almost a teenager, and essentially an only child now, Cassandra seemed to blossom and come into her own.

"Mom, where'd Michelle go?" She asked her mother at breakfast .

"Honey, I don't know. Somewhere. She's just gone," Lillian answered, wiping up the countertop after starting dinner in the crock-pot , tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

"What did you do to her?" Cassandra needled her mother, enjoying her mother's torment.\

"Cassie, I think I hear your bus coming," she countered, her voice wavering slightly, and shoved a handful of change at her daughter. "Here's some lunch money."

"Do you love me most of all?" Cassie stood in the doorway, a challenging look on her face, as she slipped her knapsack over one shoulder. "Well, do you?"

"Of course," Lillian forced herself to say. "Now get going."

The older Cassandra got, the worse things became. Lillian would come home at the end of the day to find Michael curled up in his recliner, watching the History Channel , and nursing a beer.

"Where's your daughter? She should have been home from the movies hours ago." His eyes never leaving the screen as he took a solid swig from the can.

"She called me on my cell phone and said instead of the movie that they were going dancing somewhere."

"Where can a bunch of high school freshmen go dancing in this town? There aren't any teen dance clubs around here, Lillian."

She pulled a chair out from the dining room table and sat down facing Michael. "I don't know. Maybe they're in someone's basement having fun? God forbid your daughter have a good time, Mike."

Michael turned off the television and set the remote down on the arm of his chair. "Don't take that tone with me. I'm not the one that lets her run around at all hours. I'm not the one that let her get her own phone line."

"Cassie's a good kid Michael; she's just a teenager. Kids are different now than we were when we were growing up."

Michael rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "Do you even know what kids are like today, Lil? I caught Cassie taking forty bucks out of my wallet the other day. I asked her what it was for and she said, 'stuff,' and then called me an asshole."

Michael stood up and went to the refrigerator for another beer. "She called me an asshole. Where the hell did she learn to talk to her parents like that? I never taught her that. I hope you never taught her that."

She's your little girl, Mike. She learned a lot from you." Lillian rubbed her temples slowly.

"Nice. I suppose you think I'm an asshole, too." He picked up the remote and turned the television back on, settling into the recliner.

"No. I don't." Lillian stood up and walked towards Michelle's old bedroom where she sometimes watched her own television. "But I can sometimes understand where she's coming from."

As Lillian closed the door to her sanctuary, she could hear the explosion of bombs hitting their targets on the television screen.

The next morning, she found a note on the table from Michael.

"Lillian,

Your daughter got in last night at 1:30. She and her little buddies drove an hour and a half to Pearson to go dancing at some club. She was so drunk when she got home that she couldn't even walk to the bathroom alone. I had to put her to bed. I doubt she's gonna be up for school. She needs to be grounded.

-- Mike."

And he was right. Cassandra was so sick that she missed two days of school. Lillian didn't know what to do but leave a bucket, some aspirin, and a big glass of water beside her bed before she left for work that morning, and some toast and juice the next.

*****

Lillian sat upright, perched on the edge of her chair, fidgeting in anticipation . She turned her head suddenly, thinking she had heard footsteps walking towards her.

Standing up, she took a step in the direction she thought she had heard the footsteps coming from, but stopped in confusion as the sound ceased.

"Is someone there? Hello?" she called down the hallway, her right hand clenching and unclenching rhythmically, the nails of her fingers digging into her palm.

Receiving no answer, she sighed and retook her seat.

Lillian heard a whooshing sound as the air conditioning vent above her head began to blow out a frosty blast of air. Shuddering, she began to fidget again.

She turned her head, thinking she had heard the footfalls again, before realizing that she was hearing the sound of her own foot tapping against the cold linoleum floor beneath her.

*****

"I don't even know my daughter anymore, Mrs. Roberts," Lillian confessed as she wiped down the kitchen counter in front of her.

"Lillian, please call me Marion. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that." She smiled and took another sip from her coffee mug . "Kids are kids. They experiment a little. I'm sure you were quite the hellion when you were younger, a pretty girl like you."

"Not really, Marion, but I appreciate the compliment." Lillian moved her bucket across the counter. "You shouldn't have to listen to this crap. I'm sorry."

"Oh, pshaw. Franklin might pay you to come in here and pick up after us, but I think of you as a girlfriend." She waved her hand, the light from the fixture overhead making the diamonds on her fingers sparkle. "You're a real person, Lillian. You aren't some old society grand dame like me. Speaking of which, I've got a Ladies Social Progress mixer planned for next Tuesday evening, and I wondered if you'd be free for a couple of hours."

Lillian nodded. Sometimes she helped the ladies set up for social gatherings , and had even served appetizers and drinks at a few for tips.

"Excellent!" Mrs. Roberts exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Well, dear heart, I've got some orchids to water in the greenhouse, but stop and say goodbye before you leave."

She stood up and walked out of the kitchen, pausing momentarily to add, "Oh , and do you think you could fill the salt in the water softener? It's making the glasses all spotty again," before leaving the room without a response.

"Of course, Mrs. Roberts," Lillian replied, picking up the coffee cup from the counter and loading it into the dishwasher.

Monday night she got home late to find Michael in his usual place in front of the television .

"There's some pasta in the fridge if you're hungry."

Sorry I'm late, honey. I had to do three houses today because Mrs. Roberts needs me tomorrow for a party."

Michael shrugged.

"Where's Cassie?" Lillian asked, opening up the fridge and taking out the container of spaghetti. She poured it into a bowl and put it into the microwave to heat up, setting the empty container in the sink already filled with dirty dishes.

"She was locked in her room when I got home. Yelled something about a boy and told me to go to hell." Michael shrugged again. "Get me another beer will ya?" He gestured at her with his empty can.

"What boy?" Lillian ignored the beeping in the background.

"You know, the one from that dance." Michael waved the empty can in her direction. "The beer?"

"Jimmy from Homecoming? Are they even dating?" Lillian shook her head and sighed.

"How am I supposed to know what's going on in her life? She steals from me and calls me names. That's our relationship." Michael stood up and walked into the kitchen, pushing past her to get to the beer in the fridge.

"Because she's your daughter, the most beautiful thing you've ever seen."

"Beautiful, my ass." He opened the can and took a swallow.

Lillian sat down at the table with her dinner and started to eat. She though she heard a muffled sob, and looked back over her shoulder towards the bedrooms. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, you're going to have to figure this one out by yourself. I've got that fishing trip in the morning, and I'll be gone all week." Michael smiled. "It'll be nice to get out of here for a little while."

"That's right, just run away."

"Don't mind if I do. I'm going to bed." He put the empty can on the table next to her dinner and walked out of the room.

"Oh, God, it's happening again," she whispered to herself. No longer hungry, Lillian pushed the food out of her way. Drawing a ragged breath, she buried her head in her arms, leaning forward onto the tabletop, and cried silently to herself.

*****

"I shouldn't have to go through this alone," Lillian told herself, digging through her pockets until she found her cell phone. "I've got to talk to someone, anyone. I'm going crazy."

She scrolled through the list of numbers in the phone's memory, and sighed in defeat, realizing that the only numbers listed were those of her clients and her husband's workplace.

"I should call Mrs. Roberts," she told herself, her fingers punching the buttons numbly, only to pause before hitting the <send> key. "Oh, Jesus. The party..."

*****

The next morning, she looked at her watch and knocked on her daughter's bedroom door. "Cassandra, get up or you'll miss the bus."

Opening the door, she walked into the room. "I'm not kidding. Get up."

The figure buried under the covers didn't move.

A hoarse voice whispered, "I'm not going."

Lillian nudged the end of the bed with her foot. "Damnit, Cass, I don't have time for this. Get up. Get dressed. Your breakfast is getting cold."

"I'm. Not. Going."

She sighed. "I really don't have time for this. I can't drive you if you miss the bus today."

"Leave me alone. I'm not going to school."

"Look, I'm sorry that you had your heart broken, but you can't hide in here forever."

The covers pulled back and Cassandra fixed her mother with an icy stare. "What do you care? All you're worried about is being late for work."

Lillian closed her eyes and rubbed her hand across her face. "Cassandra, you know that's not true. Yeah, I don't want to be late for Mrs. Roberts, but more importantly, I don't want you to miss any more school."

Cassandra rolled over, facing the wall."I can't go, mom. I just can't. If I see Jimmy and Jill together, I'll just die!"

Lillian sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Cass, if you get up and make it through today, we'll have a girlfriend date tomorrow night. Daddy will be gone, so I'll bring home pizza and movies and we'll braid each other's hair."

Cassandra jerked away from her mother's grasp. "Oh, sure. Bribe me to go to school. Pizza's so going to make everything all better."

Lillian looked at her watch again and stood up. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I can't fix everything for you, but I have to go to work now." She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "Mrs. Roberts is having that party tonight and I've got to help her get the house set up. Please, just try going to school."

"You only care about those stupid old ladies who are too lazy to clean their own houses. You don't care about how I feel."

Lillian looked down at the floor. "Honey, those stupid old ladies put a roof over your head and clothes on your back. Those stupid old ladies make sure that you can go to school so you don't have to clean houses like your mother."

"Why don't you just go to work then and leave me alone?"

Lillian walked towards the door and stopped. "I'm trying. I'm really trying here, Cassandra."

"Oh, yeah. You're trying so hard." Cassandra let out a derisive snort that almost sounded more like a congested snuffle. "You're as bad as grandma."

Lillian flinched as though she'd been slapped. "You know what, stay here. Just lie here in bed all day and cry."

Cassandra pulled the covers back up over her head.

"And don't even think I'm calling you in sick to school. You wanna skip school? Fine. I'm going to work."

Lillian thought she heard a muffled "bitch" come out from under the covers as she closed the door.

Most of her morning was spent polishing silver and ironing linens. In the afternoon she helped rearrange furniture and set up for the dinner party. Caterers infested the kitchen, preparing savory treats for Mrs. Roberts' guests, and Lillian increasingly found herself worried about how Cassandra was doing.

"Marion, do you mind if I take a break? I want to check on Cassie. She had a late night and didn't go to school today."

"Sure, honey. You can use the phone in the study. It's more private than in here." Mrs. Roberts bustled out of the dining room and Lillian could hear her snapping orders to the caterers.

Dialing home, Lillian reflected upon Cassandra's accusations. She was a good mother, wasn't she? She provided for her husband and her child, and she made every effort to reach out to Michelle whenever she called. Sure, she worked long hours, but that was because she wanted to make a good home for them all.

The phone rang and rang, but Cassandra never picked up. Lillian hung up and tried again. Still no answer.

"She's just sleeping," Lillian said to herself, trying the line again. "Nothing's wrong, I'm just worrying for no reason."

Mrs. Roberts stuck her head into the study. "Lillian? I need some help getting a box out of the pantry. Can you come please?"

"In a minute, Mrs. Roberts." She dialed one last time, and sighed when the phone went unanswered.

"I need you, dear. I'll meet you in the pantry." She popped her head out of the study again.

Lillian felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach, and she knew something wasn't right.

She found Mrs. Roberts in the pantry and helped her get the box off of the high shelf ."Marion, I think something's wrong. I tried calling four or five times, and Cassie never answered."

"Lillian, she just had her heart broken by some boy. You said so yourself," Mrs. Roberts nodded. "She's probably just sulking in front of the television."

"I know, I know, but I can't shake this feeling that something is wrong." Lillian wiped her hands on the front of her cleaning smock. "I think I should go home and check. I'd call Michael and ask him to do it, but he's gone on that fishing trip and I don't know how to get a hold of him."

"Oh, no, Lillian. I need you here. I can't do this thing tonight without your help." She grabbed Lillian's arm firmly. "You absolutely cannot go."

Lillian put her hand over Marion's and gently squeezed it. "I'll try to get back before I'm missed. Really. I need to do this."

Mrs. Roberts sniffed loudly and withdrew her hand from Lillian's grasp."Well, then. You do what you need to do. And I'll do what I have to." She picked up the box of crystal and walked out of the pantry.

"I will."

The short drive home, Lillian kept calling Cassandra on her cell phone. No answer. When she got there, she pulled up to the house and turned off the car, leaving her keys in the ignition. She walked quickly to the front door and pushed it open, calling Cassandra's name. Still no answer.

She walked through the dark house, looking for signs of life, but found none. And then she noticed a light from under the bathroom door and knocked. "Cassandra honey, are you in there?"

Receiving no reply, she tried the knob and found it locked. "Cassie, honey? Are you okay?"

Starting to panic, she went into the kitchen and got a butter knife from the utensil drawer, returning to the door and slipping the blade between the strike plate and the frame, jimmying it until the door popped open.

Cassandra lay face down on the tile floor in a puddle of vomit. A litter of liquor bottles surrounded her.

"Oh, Jesus! Cassie? Cassie?" Lillian dropped to her knees and rolled Cassie over, shaking her. "Cassie? Baby?"

She felt for a pulse, and finding one, she reached into her pocket, her hands shaking, and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed 911.

"Emergency, how may I help you?"

"My daughter won't wake up," she sobbed into the phone.

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Calm down," the operator said. "Is she breathing? Do you know how to perform CPR?"

"She's breathing, but she won't wake up," her voice quavered. "I think she drank a bunch of alcohol and then she threw up."

Lillian pulled Cassandra to her chest and began stroking her hair with one quaking hand .

"Ma'am, tell me where you are and I'll send an ambulance right away."

"2001 Peiffer County Road, in Hellstern. Please, hurry."

"I'm sending an ambulance right away. Don't worry."

Lillian dropped the phone to the floor and began rocking her daughter's unresponsive body. "Cassie, I'm so sorry."

Frightened and unsure of what else to do, she crept over to the tub dragging her daughter with her. Adjusting the faucet, she ran warm water over a washcloth, and began wiping the filth away from Cassie's face, her hair, and the floor. Dropping the rag into the tub, she pulled the wicker wastebasket towards them, and proceeded to put all of the empty bottles from the floor inside. In the distance she thought she could hear the plaintive wail of a siren, but realized that the sound was coming from her own body.

"Oh, God. Please wake up. Please..."

*****

"Mrs. Ryan?"

Lillian opened her eyes to find a doctor standing in front of her.

"We've got your daughter stabilized, but she's a bit groggy." The doctor smiled. "I think we got enough of the alcohol out of her in time, but we're going to have to wait and see. At the least, she'll be really tired for a while."

"Thank God. I was so scared." Breathing a sigh of relief, Lillian felt the knot in her stomach loosen slightly. "Can I see her?"

The doctor waited for her to stand up, and gestured for her to follow. "This way, Mrs. Ryan."

"Is she awake?" Lillian asked hesitantly.

"I'm not sure," the doctor replied, and led her down a maze of hallways. "The room is right there," he said, pointing at a door.

"Thank you, doctor." Lillian's eyes filled with tears. "God, thank you."

The doctor smiled and gestured to the door again, "She's in there."

Lillian nodded and walked over to the door, gently pushing it open. "Cassie? Mommy's here for you. Mommy's here."

I wrote this story for a Creative Writing class, earlier this year. It reads not unlike a warped after-school special, and a great deal of the characters and relationships have been inspired by the relationship that Overlord Carol shares with her family. I'm sure that she would be intensely gratified that I have slightly modified and exaggerated many of the more painful moments in her life as a spouse and a parent, and then put them up here.

Oh, and as far as I know, none of them have had to be taken to the hospital for alcohol poisoning. That time that someone had to go to the hospital after a bad high, well that's another story entirely.

© me, 2001.