Everything Is Fine. by Ann Dee Ellis

and cry. I’ll just sing a merry song and try try try.
    Tra la la la la la la la Tra la la la la Tra la la la la la la la Try Try Try.
    I make that song go in my head to stop everything. To make everything stop.
    It’s a stupid song I learned in choir.
OKAY
    It takes me nine minutes to find the screwdriver.
    Dad had moved everything around since Mom stopped doing things, and it was stuffed in a cupboard in the kitchen.
    The whole time I’m thinking, be okay, be okay, be okay.
    Because there was a time when she did something that wasn’t okay.
    It happened just before Dad left.
    She did it with pills but she said it was an accident.
    “I just needed to sleep,” she said. “I just needed some sleep.”
    Dad and I sat with her at the hospital for two days.
    Dad paced and paced and paced and I ate M&Ms.
    When Mom woke up, she looked at him and said, “I just needed some sleep.”
    Dad swore.
    Later, in the hallway, I heard the doctor say it would be better if Mom checked in somewhere.
    “She needs around-the-clock care.”
    Dad said he understood, and he came in and told Mom. She just stared at the ceiling. He cleared his throat and his voice was
     shaky, but he said that he thought the doctor was right. “I can’t do this, Roxie. I can’t be here. And there’s that ESPN thing.
     I have to go soon.” It was his last chance. He said, “Mazzy can stay with Agnes. It won’t be for long, hon. The doctor said
     it’s best.” I felt sick.
    Mom’s face was stone. “I just needed sleep,” she whispered.
    Later, when Dad went out to get some fresh air, Mom said this: “Mazzy, I’m going to talk to your dad, but you need to help
     me, okay? I don’t want to go to a facility. I am not going to a facility.”
    “I don’t want to live with Aunt Agnes,” I said.
    “You don’t have to. We’ll do this together. Do you understand?”
    I didn’t exactly but I said, “Yeah, Mom.”
    When Dad got back, Mom sat up and said, “Dave, Mazzy needs me. She just told me that she needs me and she doesn’t want me
     to go. I’m not going to a treatment center.”
    Dad looked at me but Mom said, “She can hear this. She’s a big girl.”
    He sighed and Mom went on. “We can hire someone to help around the house. We could even have Bill come. I’ll go to therapy.
     Whatever. We can figure it out, but Mazzy needs me, and I need Mazzy.” Her voice was clear.
    Dad was shaking his head.
    “I’m not going, Dave,” she said, and sat up taller.
    Dad leaned against the wall and let out a long breath.
    “We can handle this. I just got tired. That’s all.” Her voice ran out.
    Finally Dad looked up. “Roxie, I have to go to Connecticut. The job can’t wait any longer and I can’t leave the two of you
     alone.”
    “We’ll be fine,” Mom said. “Right, Maz?” She looked at me.
    “Yeah, Dad,” I said. “I’ll take care of Mom. We’ll be fine.”
    “See?” Mom said.
    And Dad sighed again.
TAKE CARE
    That night Dad said he really wanted me to go to Kansas.
    “I can’t leave you and your mom alone.”
    “Dad, please. Please don’t make me go.”
    He said if I didn’t want to go to Kansas maybe he could find something else.
    He said, “Couldn’t you stay with one of your friends?”
    Dad didn’t get how nothing was the same anymore. He wasn’t there. I just wanted to be with Mom. “No, Dad.”
    “What about summer camp?”
    “No. I want to be home. We’ll be fine.”
    He closed his eyes and I said, “I promise, Dad. It’ll be okay.”
    That night I heard him on the phone with a whole bunch of nurses.
    And then with Bill.
PAINTING OLIVIA
    I’ve tried to paint Olivia.
    I’ve tried and tried.
    I can’t do it.
    I can see her face but I can’t paint it.
    I wonder if she hates me.
    N OT O LIVIA : oils on canvas

STUPID
    So far, Mom hasn’t done anything stupid. She’s stopped talking. She’s stopped eating. She’s stopped moving. She’s stopped
     showering. She’s stopped everything. But she