At around two or two-thirty yesterday afternoon, my mother realizes she is out of milk and orange juice, and decides to go down to the market. Annie is watching an old black and white movie on television.
“Annie?” my mother says, “Do you want to come shopping with me?”
“No, thanks,” Annie says. “Do you think she’s smarter than I am?”
“Smarter? Joan Crawford?”
“Whatever her name is.”
“No, not at all.”
“They say she’s smarter.”
“In what way?”
“In every way. They think I’m stupid.”
“Well, honey, she has these script writers, you know...”
“Forget it!” Annie snaps.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”
“Positive,” Annie says, and then mutters something my mother can’t quite make out.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Annie says, and turns to the television set again, and listens to a line or two of dialogue, and then begins mumbling again.
“Are you all right?” my mother asks.
“I’m fine. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” my mother says. “Honey, I’m expecting a call from California...”
“California? Who do you know in California?”
“A friend, you don’t know her. Please don’t answer the phone, okay? Just let it ring.”
“What friend do you have in California?” Annie asks.
“I’ll be back in fifteen, twenty minutes.”
When my mother leaves the apartment, Annie is still mumbling to herself. This is very troubling to Mama. More troubling than we can possibly know. When she comes back half an hour later, Annie has turned off the television set and is sitting in a chair facing the door, her arms folded across her chest, her feet flat on the floor, her eyes glaring.
“What is it?” my mother asks.
“Did you call some mental health organization and tell them you have a mentally ill daughter?”
“No,” my mother says.
“Some twerp just called and asked if I was the party who has a mentally ill relative.”
“No, I never said anything like that. I told them I was trying to understand my daughter and wanted to join...”
“You called a mental health organization?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with you, you crazy bitch?”
The violence of her words is like a slap in the face. My mother actually backs away from her.
“You obsessed control freak! How dare you call me a mentally ill person?”
“But I didn’t, Annie.”
“You’re supposed to love me so fucking much, you tell some twerp I’m mentally ill? You want the truth? You’re not interested in truly loving anyone, all you want is to control people!”
“Annie, you know that isn’t...”
“And when you can’t accomplish that, you become angry and bitter and you go around making irresponsible and reckless statements about your own daughter’s mental stability!”
“Annie, for God’s sake...”
“That’s why none of your children will have anything to do with you! Aaron moved to New Jersey, Andy can’t keep a marriage going because he’s got a mother who suffers from separation anxiety disorder, do you know what that is? Of course you don’t, they never know! And now you betray the only person who’s shown the slightest bit of compassion for you!”
“I’m sorry if someone said something stupid to you on the phone, but believe me...”
“Oh, yes, go ahead, go through your usual routine of rage and self-pity, tell me how truly, very, very sorry...”
“I am sorry, Annie. But...”
“You have some big emotional problems, Mommie Dearest. That’s why all your children consider you a threat to their happiness. Do you care at all about any of us? Do you care at all about me? Do you care at all about Mirko?”
“Mir...?”
“My Serbian friend! See? You’ve already forgotten all about him.”
“I’m sorry, Annie. I had no idea you’d found someone who...”
“Oh, stop it, will you, please? I’m not about to marry the man, so stop counting grandchildren on all your fingers and toes. Just tell me what the fuck you plan to do! I will not accept any more of your fanatical belief that I am not a sane person!”
“What would you like me to do, Annie?”
“Give me my stipend.”
“What stipend?”
“My fifty thousand dollars.”
“I don’t know what fif...”
“The stipend I’m entitled to, no strings attached, a genuine gesture of trust and good faith.”
“I can’t give you fifty thousand dollars, Annie.”
“Gee, what a surprise! I have plenty of friends from wealthy families who are given large amounts of money to do whatever they want, with the parents’ blessing and love. You give me a lousy hundred dollars a week, and you consider that a small fortune!”
“I’m sorry if you don’t think that’s enough, Annie...”
“No, it isn’t enough, and you know it isn’t!”
“... but I don’t have fifty thousand dollars to give you.”
“Then I’m leaving,” Annie says.
My mother looks at her.
“So leave,” she says.
“Sure, kick me out!” Annie yells. “You think I’m not wise to you? You give me money so you can control me. But when I refuse to do whatever you wish...”
“Go, Annie, okay?”
“... you cut off funds! That’s your way of maintaining control, you think I don’t know? There are control freaks like you riddling the entire health care system! I’m the relative who’s mentally ill? You call to tell them you have a mentally ill relative? You’re the crazy one, you controlling bitch!”
“Leave me alone, Annie. Go. Get out of here!”
“You think I don’t know all about you? I know more about mental health than anyone in this family! Heal thyself, physician! Look into your own crazy head! Hear what they’re telling you, madam!”
“Go!” my mother screams. “Get out, get out, just go!”
“She waited till the middle of the night,” my mother says now. “I could hear her pacing in her room, and then I thought she’d gone to sleep because I couldn’t hear her anymore. But when I got up to go to the bathroom, I looked in on her, and she was gone. It’s my fault. I told her to get out. Oh dear God, I told her to... please... just... leave!”
“It’s all right, Mom, come on,” Aaron says.
“No, it’s not all right!” I say. “She was in crisis, and you kicked her out!”
“What do you know about any of this?” my mother shouts. “Go talk to your little bookseller, you love her so much! Do you know what it was like, dealing with Annie all these years? I never knew whether I was talking to her or her goddamn voices!”
“What!” I say at once.
Augusta picks up on it, too. “What do you mean?” she says. “Did you...?”
“You knew about her voices?”
“You all seem to think she hears voices...”
“No, Mom, wait a minute! When did you find out about her voices?”
“I didn’t.”
“You just said...”
“I didn’t know about them.”
“You said you didn’t know who you were talking to...”
“Leave me alone!”
“... her or her goddamn voices! When did you find out about them, Mom?”