Loving the Dead

1

I’m dead. I died long ago. I was a baby when it happened. I grew up unaware of my passing. Surprisingly, I don’t think anyone knew I was dead except for one amazing 9 year old girl I met when I was in the 2nd grade. She saw me and changed my "life" forever.

I survived on other peoples’ love. I needed it all the time. 24/7. Babies need love and attention in order to survive. People are happy to give love to a baby. People are expected to be burdened with a baby's needs. Their love for that baby is unconditional. They give without complaining

But somewhere in my early days, I didn’t get life or love or attention. My parents screamed at each other over my head. Their fights burned a hole in me, and my life leaked out. At two, my mother started disappearing. My father’s family did their best to take care of me, but my father wasn’t there either. My response to their absences was to follow their lead and abandon myself. I searched for love and attention in everyone. A person is either supply or they're useless..

Being dead didn’t save me from pain or misery. Over time people figured out that I was not like them. No one knew what to make of me. I didn’t wear a white sheet. I didn’t walk through walls. I looked perfectly alive. I “lived” like a normal girl. I wanted the same things. I wanted to fit in. Other kids found me odd and clingy. They weren't wrong.

I guess it was in kindergarten that I first terrified a room of people. My meltdown threatened my survival at the very place where there should have been love and attention in abundance.

I remember drawing a picture of myself. Ms. Amberstand told us to “draw how you are dressed today. Add colors that show how you are feeling. Give your face in the drawing an emotion.” And so I did.

My drawing was full of rainbows and smiles, with the exact outfit I was wearing that day. It was what she told us to do. “Oh Maddy! I love it!” THAT’s what it’s like to feel loved. Attention is food for me. I was beaming. My cheeks were two red plums.

Ms. A only collected a few of our drawings to put up on the bulletin board. I was bursting. I looked around, expecting to see faces of love and approval coming from every corner of the classroom.

While my head pirouetted, a grumpy voice gave his unwelcomed opinion. “That don’t even look like you.” James paused. “Maaadee.” He stretched out the mad in my name. “Maaadee.” James leaned into the table where we were all painting. “You never smile.”

“I’m smiling now.”

“Not like that! And I hate how you drew your hair. It’s not yellow.” He looked down at his drawing. “Mine is better.” He put his hands down and framed his drawing with his fingers and thumbs. “I am wearing green. See?” He held the drawing up to his sweater. “Maaaad-dee?”

That nickname hurt. Maaaad-dee. Someone found out that “mad” could also mean crazy. And that’s what James pinned on me. Everyone called me “Mad Maddy” or they just stretched it out. “Maaaad-dee.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charlotte walk over to Ms. Amberstand. “Ms. A, Why’d you pick hers?” I tried to listen to their conversation, Charlotte and James were running everything.

Ms. Amberstand just looked at Charlotte for a moment and then she crouched to be eye-to-eye. “Everyone deserves a chance to be a star. Just remember there are millions of stars in the sky…some you can’t even see no matter how dark it is.”

Maddy is not a star.”

“Today she is.” Ms. Amberstand smiled. “You might not understand this now, but look how happy she is.” They both looked over at me which was bad timing because they caught me yelling at James. I accentuated each word I said with my sharp pencil.

“Shut your fucking mouth, James, or I am going to jam this pencil right through your goddamn throat!”

Ms. A. jumped up and ran over to me. She grabbed the pencil and kneeled down in front of me. “What are you doing?!” But I didn’t hear Ms. A. I was going to poke James’s eyes out with my fingers.

Ms. A. grabbed me in a tight bear hug and pulled me up from my chair. She gave a glance to Ms. Burke, the classroom aide, as she whisked me out into the hallway.

“I'm going to kill that motherfucker Charlotte, too!” I wriggled my way out of Ms. A’s grip and charged back into the classroom. I must have been 10 feet from James when I stepped on Shirley Benvose’s back and launched myself. I landed at his feet. He kicked at me, but I was quick and grabbed his ankles. “Stop calling me Maaad-dee!” I climbed up on top of him. He was crying and screaming for help, but I started pounding on his face like I was making mashed potatoes. “My name is MADDY. SAY IT!”

Miss Burke was first to try to pull me off of James. I was raving…mad. Miss A. must have gone to Mr. Hollins’s classroom because he came in like a dump truck and knocked me clear off of James. Mr. Hollins spread his body out over me. I pushed as hard as I could but couldn't lift him. During this scuffle someone swarmed in and pulled James & Charlotte out of the room.

Every eye was on me as Mr. Hollins was able to wrap me in his giant arms. Then there was silence. I broke it by mumbling, “Fuck.” I was cursing like a teenager. Where did I learn those words? From my mom who was a teenager when she had me. Her language never grew up, and when she was mad at me, those words came out of her mouth like loose teeth. In truth I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t cursing at me. Social services came to the hospital the last time she did more than yell. I wound up with my father’s parents full time. They never cursed at me, but it was too late. Cursing found its way into my DNA.

I scanned the room. I don’t think there was a face that wasn’t full of fear or tears. I needed everyone around me to feed me love, attention, and admiration. The adults in the room are trained and conditioned, but the kids in the classroom are not. And now I knew that I didn’t have a soul in this room that would be my friend. Not even the adults could believe my obscene outburst. They looked at me: stunned and scared.

Ms. A.’s compassion took over her fear. She came to me and gently patted me on the back as Mr. Hollins loosened his grip. Ms. A.’s voice was calm and comforting. “Let’s go outside, Maddy. Okay?” I shook my head, buttoned my lips, and held her fingers with a loose grip. I had to. Otherwise I would have crushed all the bones in her slender white hand.

2

I was shipped off to a Jesuit sleepaway elementary school. This killed two birds with one stone because my grandparents weren't cutting it as parents again (as if they ever did, considering their only son was a complete mess.) They saw glimpses of my behavior, but the story the principal and Ms. Amberstand told them was just too much for two septuagenarians who probably collectively took 98 pills a day. Sending me away was the smartest decision for them. For me, too, it was smart because how was I going to get any love from the students and adults in that school? Love? For too many of the students (and adults) it was fear…and hate. No longer love.

All I knew is that I had a deep down urge to be loved and to steal life from others. I needed new supply. Of course, eventually I would drive away everyone who could share their life force with me. My behaviors led to my crumbling. A change of supply would do me good. It’s always best at the beginning.

Feeding off of others usually began with me being a reliable ear to listen to their grief and injustices. The lopsidedness slowly became obvious. Without realizing it or having a word for it they just knew there was something wrong. They would reject me: subtly or overtly. And that was when I got ugly.

I learned to work very hard to get fed for as long as I could by everyone until eventually even the best friends would stutter and run. So I held them as long as I could. I was smart, and I had certain insight. I didn't wind up dead as a baby by coincidence. My mother killed me. And in her destruction of me, she taught me so many lessons.

She taught me how to see warnings when someone was about to have a psychotic episode. Because when you're a child and the people who care for you start to riot, you better figure it out fast or your life's in danger, too. When you don't know you're dead, danger looks different and feels different. And so she taught me danger. Real danger. She was danger. And I took those lessons with me into the world of people. As I walked through the playground or the classroom or a club downtown, I could see the people's faces. I needed stability. Strength. That’s the best supply, but most aren’t that secure. I took whatever I could get.

I could see the way they felt. I could find the ones that I could pin down long enough to take their love. To feed. I could use my mind to make them mine. But for all those years I didn't know that's what I was doing. I thought I was just bad at making friends.

Now, that’s one hell of an understatement.

I thought I was like everyone else only I wasn't like ANYONE else. I didn't know how to reconcile my need for love with their need to escape. I didn't know what I was doing was wrong. I wasn't hurting people by stealing their love. I just knew I needed it. I stopped at nothing.

There wasn't anyone to hear me. There wasn't anyone for me to tell my story. By the 2nd grade, I didn't know my story yet. In the end it was always just the jagged edges of my broken shell.

I would meet people who begged anyone to take their love. They want to give away their life in general. These people were in pain, but I rarely paid attention to that. I could smell the love and I tore into it like a panther. And so they gave and I took. Even the most disturbed of them eventually found me “creepy” (a word I would hear over and over). They would pull it all back. I couldn’t stockpile their lifeforce. I needed it fresh every day, no matter what. At night I didn’t dream. I just woke up hungry.

That’s when Georgia changed everything. She was my roommate at the sleepaway school. Actually, there were four of us in a room. Three kids and one adult. The adult had a door she could lock, but there was also a glass wall that allowed her to see all of us until lights out for bed.

I was there for two years before Georgia moved to our quad. Georgia had the best hair and the funniest t-shirts. We had to wear a uniform most of the day, but Georgia would put on “a show” every night with her crazy t-shirts. Girls from different quads would come down to see her perform. Georgia was so different from me. I was white with some German blonde hair and slightly bucked-teeth, and Georgia was black like velvet. I loved Georgia’s hair because it was so big. I had a habit of pulling out my hair, so I watched by proxy as Georgia went through some elaborate preparations to keep her hair so perfect.

Georgia was nine and I was turning eight in just a few weeks, but Georgia treated me like I was older. She took directions from me and my habits. She seemed determined to be just the opposite of James and all the kids back at Stoney Elementary School. She heard those stories, and she would break down into tears for me. Later in life I learned that this was empathy. That’s never been a word in my dictionary, but I learned so much about it from Georgia.

She was faster than I, but she always let me catch her when we played tag. She was a better student, but she always told me “you have some genius in you!” I didn’t feel smart. Georgia liked putting herself down for me but it didn’t matter. She was full of life and love. She was the perfect provider.

Most nights, we waited until Miss Ferguson rolled over and turned off her little reading lamp. Then I would sneak to Georgia’s bed, and she would tell me the craziest stories. She knew all of the classics, but the best stories were about her large family. Six brothers and two sisters with Georgia smack dab in the middle. All of her older siblings had come to this school.

With such a large family, Georgia had stories tumbling out of her. I am sworn to secrecy to never reveal or repeat any of the stories, but there was one night when the story was actually about me. She said I could share this one, but she doubted I ever would.

“Do you know what’s wrong with you, Maddy-dear?” I loved that nickname. Especially since I knew she said it with love. This was the happiest I could ever remember being.

“No.” Her question was a cold shower.

“Maddy…” There was a pause like when you are lifting something heavy and your knees are about to give out.

“Maddy, honey…” (longer pause), “Okay, I’ll just spit it out. Maddy….do you know the difference between you and James or Charlotte.”

“Yes. They are pricks.” As soon as I said I regretted it.

“Do you know the difference between us?” I was feeling more and more uncomfortable.

“No.”

“Maddy…you’re dead. It happened years ago. You were just a baby."

I almost fell out of the bed. “What? Is that some new slang that I don’t know? Dead? Did you say I am dead?” Even in my shock I felt a sliver of relief.

“It’s not ‘slang.’” I knew I said the wrong thing, but Georgia knew better.

I panicked. Was she going to reject me? Who wants a ghost for a friend? “Am I a ghost?”

“No, my love. Your parents killed you, but you're not a ghost. You're real. See?" She squeezed my ear lobe.

"Ouch!"

"See? You feel pain."

"Yeah, so how did I die? Why are you saying this?"

She took a very deep breath. "The living you couldn’t get the love and attention you needed to survive, so you died. You had to.”

I didn’t have words.

“How do I know?“ I shook my head hard. “My father is dead, too. It took him 54 years to realize it, though. But he’s dealing with it just as you deal with it.” She slid her arm around my waist and hugged me hard. “Is your heart even beating?” She listened to my chest. “No. It’s still”

Dead? No heartbeat? “But I have had a doctor listen to my chest many times. If I didn’t have a heartbeat, don’t you think she would notice?”

“She was touching you in a caring and healing way, right?” I thought about it. Dr. Carter was so sweet to me. “Her lifeforce was gigantic, right? When you're dead, you will do anything to get that love that you need.”

She paused, knowing I was freaking out. She hugged a little harder and sighed. “You can make your dead heart beat. You could do it now.” She rested her head on my chest again. “Try it.” I did try it. She filled me with her love. My mind dribbled down into my chest.

Georgia sang out in a whisper. “Thump-thump….thump-thump…” I could feel her smile through my pajamas. “You’re doing it.”

“I am alive now? Right?” I could hear my heart beating, too. I was thrilled.

Georgia lifted up her head, pulled back her hand, and held my face so I could see myself in her large glossy brown eyes. “No. Once you're dead, you’re dead.”

It ran over me. POW! My dead heart stopped beating and the tears started flowing. Not my tears. I never cry. Georgia was crying for me.

“Can I ever get undead?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She sobbed harder. “But I’ll be here no matter what. You can get your supply from me every day.”

“Oh…”

“You’re so young. Maybe there’s a way out of this. But I will love you. We are sisters. My dad sent me to get away from him and his appetite for love. Little did he know I would find you. A two piece jigsaw puzzle. I have too much love in me. My heart beats too fast. And your heart is broken. See? My heart can beat for both of us.”

That night, my mind swirled. Georgia walked me over to my bed, tucked me in, and kissed my forehead. She put her head on my chest. “It’s beating again. Thump-thump." She giggled.

She saw me. I loved her. Sisters for sure… but how long will she stay?