Death and a Thousand To-do List

Chapter Four: Asher

“For real? Maybe they should have left her in a psych ward. No sane person would think she was dead,” my mom said as she sat down on the kitchen table, a bowl of ice cream in front of her.

“Mom, I’m sure they have done everything they can. Leaving her in a psych ward may not be the best option, we can never know for sure. And come on, couldn’t you wait after dinner to eat ice cream? You’re gonna have a stomach ache,” I eyed her before turning back to the mashed potato I was making.

“My stomach’s iron,” she said while thumping it to emphasize her point. “But you’re straying away from the topic. Do they know what her condition is? I mean, do they play pretend with her like she’s five?”

“It’s called Cotard’s Syndrome. It’s very rare, it’s actually the first case every psychiatrist have seen in this state. There’s little data about it, with just a few more cases in history ever detailed, so I’m guessing they are not sure how to handle it but I think they don’t ‘pretend’ with her. They let her know every day that she’s alive and trying to keep a normal routine with her. Plus, she’s not like that always. It’s more of an attack of sorts that lasts for days or a couple of weeks. Then she’s back to normal,” I explained as I transferred the potatoes on a clean bowl and took out the roast beef from the oven.

“But she’s not sane.”

“She’s got a mental health disorder, but that doesn’t entirely mean she’s insane. She was diagnosed with depression and general anxiety and based on what I read online, that could be a strong cause as to why she developed Cotard’s syndrome,” I said. I don’t know why I have this strong urge to protect her, even from my mom. But it’s true, she’s not entirely insane but something definitely is wrong with her brain, clinically speaking.

She ate the last of her ice cream and stood up to put her bowl on the sink, then proceeded to take plates for us. “Well, I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to be a bully,” she looks back at me and smiles. “But as a parent, I understand the pain and hardship her parents are going through,” she said, setting the table and sitting once again with a sad smile plastered on her face.

“It’s not your fault,” I told her, rubbing her shoulders. I know she was thinking of what happened to my sister.

“I’m not sure son, maybe it was,” she sighed. “Enough of the past. That roast beef smells delicious,” she smiled without it quite reaching her eyes.

~*~*~*~

I lay awake that night, my laptop perched on my lap. I’ve been trying to find more information about Kari’s condition.

According to one site, those who suffer from Cotard’s syndrome could either feel like they were dead or that a body part was missing. One case documented was that of a middle-aged woman who rushed herself to the hospital saying she has lost her arm but it was very clearly still attached to her body. A rarer case is that someone would feel as if they were immortal. Ironically, the feeling of emptiness makes them think they actually are undead; not capable of dying.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I’m not sure why I’m bothering so much.

Kari Payne was just a name before. I haven’t even seen her. I heard rumors and stories about her when we moved to the neighborhood a month ago. But I never thought much about it. Before, the whole idea of thinking she was dead was absurd and I never really thought it was true. Hearing the story from her parents made it believable. Seeing her made it real and instead of thinking she should be sent to a mental health ward like my mom and some neighbors, I believe she needs a more personal approach.

I opened my eyes and scanned the site once more. Some experts believe depression is the root cause. I didn’t know how it felt, but my sister was diagnosed with manic depression. After years of hiding it, she finally opened up to me. I can never know how it feels, but based on what she told me, it felt as if her life force was being sucked away into a black hole. I always thought depression was more like being extremely sad and down, but she said it felt nothing. She felt nothing.

Maybe that’s why she kept harming herself.

Maybe because feeling the pain anchored her to real life, knowing she was still alive.

But I will never truly know what Kari Payne and my sister felt and thought. I will never know why Kari Payne and my sister both decided to take a bottle of sleeping pills and let oblivion take them.

Kari was lucky. My sister wasn’t.

I closed the laptop and placed it on the bedside table and willed myself to sleep, trying to erase the memory of my lifeless sister on a stretcher, the blue and red lights of the ambulance outside our house, the grief-stricken face of my mom and the anger in my father’s eyes.

Without knowing how, I fell asleep.

~*~*~*~

I had a dream last night but when I woke up to the warm sunlight on my face, I almost forgot what it was. All I knew was that it involved Kari and her skinny hand on mine.

I was thinking about it all morning as I went about the house, cooking breakfast and getting ready. Mr. Payne called on our home phone to tell me he would pick me up in about an hour.

By the time the Payne’s car honked outside, my mom was going down the stairs, yawning.

“Gotta go?” She asked.

“Yep, there’s coffee in the maker and some bacon and eggs. Just help yourself,” I said, grabbing my phone from the kitchen table and running outside.

The black Mazda was waiting, Mrs. Payne rolled the window of the passenger seat and smiled at me, almost reverently as if I was some miracle-bringer that was sent from the heavens. Here I am again, on the weird and bizarre part of life.

“Thanks for coming with us,” she beamed. I smiled a closed-lipped smile and opened the back seat.

I was taken aback, Kari was there, her head resting on the car window on her side, never looking at me. The dream popped in my head again and there was this fluttering in my stomach.

What the hell, Asher. Does this even apply to guys? I thought and pushed the feeling down. I realize the grown-ups were looking at me and so I got inside.

“Seat belt please,” Mr. Payne smiled. I wrapped the seat belt around my waist and tried to convince myself that no, this was not entirely awkward and surreal.