Pushing the Limits. Katie McGarry
of silk. I rubbed the fabric between my thumb and forefinger. First in Show: Painting—Kentucky Governor’s Cup.
Someone at my school won the Governor’s Cup. How freaking cool was that? Every high school artist dreamed of winning that competition.
Maybe some lowerclassman had remarkable art talent. Screw my dad—the moment Mrs. Collins released me, I planned on checking out the art room and seeing this talent for myself. To win first place in the Governor’s Cup, you had to be a stinking genius.
As I ran my fingers over the ribbon again, applause echoed in my head. A still frame image of my outstretched arm accepting the ribbon sprang into my mind.
My eyes snapped to Mrs. Collins as my heart thundered in my chest. “This is mine.”
The thundering moved to my head and my chest constricted as another image squeezed out. In my mind’s eye I was accepting not only the ribbon, but a certificate. I didn’t see the name printed there, but I saw the date. It was the date.
Jolts of electricity shot up my arms and straight to my heart. Horrified, I threw the ribbon across the room and bolted from my chair. My knee slammed against the desk, causing needle-sharp pains to shoot behind my kneecap. I fell to the floor and scrambled backward, away from the ribbon, until my back smacked the door.
Mrs. Collins pushed slowly away from her desk, crossed the room to retrieve the ribbon, and held it in her hand. “Yes, it’s yours, Echo.” She spoke like we were sharing a pizza instead of me having a panic attack.
“It’s … It … can’t be. I … never won the Governor’s Cup.” Fog filled a portion of my mind, followed by a bright flash of red. A moment of clarity revealed a younger me filling out a form. “But I entered … my sophomore year. I won the county, then regionals, and moved on to state. And then … then …” Nothing. The black hole swallowed the red and the gray. Only darkness remained.
Mrs. Collins smoothed her black skirt as she sat down in front of me. Maybe no one told her, but sitting on the floor during a therapy session was abnormal. She reined in her Labrador enthusiasm and spoke in a calm, reassuring tone. “You’re in a safe place, Echo, and it is safe to remember.” She stroked the ribbon. “You had a very happy morning that day.”
I cocked my head to the side and squinted at the ribbon. “I … won?”
She nodded. “I’m a huge art fan. I prefer statues over paintings, but I still love paintings. I’d rather go to a gallery than a movie any day of the week.”
This lady was a feather-filled quack. No question about it. Yet in the middle of those annoyingly cheerful plaques hung honest-to-God legitimate degrees. The University of Louisville was a real school and so was Harvard, where she’d apparently continued her studies. I focused on breathing. “I don’t remember winning.”
Mrs. Collins placed the ribbon on the edge of her desk. “That’s because you repressed the entire day, not just the night.”
I stared at the file on her desk. “Will you tell me what happened to me?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid that would be cheating. If you want to remember, then you need to start applying yourself during these sessions. That means you answer my questions honestly. No more lying. No more half lies. Even if your parents are here. In fact, especially if your parents are here.”
I reached up to where Aires’ dog tags would have rested around my neck if I had worn them. My eyes never left my file. “Did you bother reading that thing?”
One finger methodically rubbed her jaw. “Of course.”
I bit the inside of my mouth. “Then you know. I tried to remember once and you know it isn’t possible.” Not without my mind fracturing in two. The summer after the incident, one psychologist tried to open the steel door in my brain and demons raced out from the crack. I lost myself for two days and woke in the hospital. My nightmares escalated into night terrors.
“You want the truth?” I asked. “You’re right. I want so badly to know what happened. To prove I’m not … to know … because sometimes I wonder … if I’m crazy like her.”
I could hear my father yelling at me to shut up in the dark recess of my mind, but the dam had burst open on my fears. “Because I’m like her, you know? We look the same, we’re both artists, and people always say that I have her spirit. I’m proud to be like her. Because she’s my mom, but I don’t want …” To be crazy.
Mrs. Collins placed a hand over her heart. “Echo, no, you’re not bipolar.”
But why tempt fate? I’d tried once. Wasn’t that enough? Mrs. Collins didn’t understand. How could she? “If you tell me, I’ll know. I think my mind cracked because that therapist tried to make me relive it. Maybe the memories are too horrible. Maybe if you tell me, you know, just the facts, then the black hole in my brain will be filled, the nightmares will go away and I won’t lose my mind in the process.” I stared straight into her kind eyes. “Please.”
Her lips turned down. “I could read you the account from the police, your father, your stepmother and even your mother, but it won’t take the nightmares away. You’re the only person who can do that, but that means you need to stop running from the problem and face it head-on. Talk to me about your family, Aires, school, and yes, your mother.”
My mouth hung open to speak, but then I snapped it shut, only to attempt to speak again. “I don’t want to lose my mind.”
“You won’t, Echo. We’ll take it slow. You run the race and I’ll set the speed. I can help you, but you’ll have to trust me and you’ll have to work hard.”
Trust. Why not ask me to do something easier, like prove the existence of God? Even God had given up on me. “I’ve already lost a piece of my mind. I can’t trust you with what’s left.”
After school, I spotted Echo weaving through the crowded hallway. She swung into the main office seconds before I caught up to her. Tuesday was my only night off and I’d planned on shooting hoops with Isaiah. I slammed my fist into the locker beside me. Now I had to wait for some stuck-up head case to be done with her therapy appointment.
I wandered the halls before settling across from Echo’s locker. She hadn’t had her backpack or coat with her, so I figured she’d have to come get them before she left for the day. Forty mind-numbing minutes later, I was questioning my decision. Echo had coat issues. Waiting by her car would have been smarter.
Heels clicking against the linoleum floor signaled her approach. Echo’s red spiral curls bounced with each step. Clutching her books tight to her chest, she kept her head down. Every muscle in my body clenched when she walked past. I’d tolerated her ignoring me during school, but to flat-out diss me in an empty hallway was beyond cold. With her back to me, she tried the combination on her lock. The metal locker lurched open.
“You are the rudest damn person I have ever met.” I shoved off the ground. Screw her, Mrs. Collins and tutoring. I’d find a way to bring myself to speed. “Give me my damn jacket.”
Echo spun around. For a second, pure pain slashed her face, but then another storm brewed in her eyes. A storm that required hurricane warnings and evacuations. “No wonder you need tutoring. You have the worst vocabulary of anyone I know. Have you ever even bothered learning anything beyond four-letter words?”
“I’ve got another four-letter word for you. Fuck you. You got back with your boyfriend and couldn’t stomach giving me my stuff in front of other people.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know crazy when I see it.” The moment the words flew out of my mouth I regretted them. Sometimes when you see the line, you think it’s a good idea to cross it—until you do.
For