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I’M KEEPING MY BABY

Hugh

OCTOBER 28, 2003

W HEN I COAXED L IZ BACK TO MY HOUSE YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, AFTER THE INCIDENT on the bridge, I had immediately called her mother for help.

Unfortunately, I could only reach Mike, who proceeded to tell me that he was waiting on a doctor to visit Catherine, who had fallen ill from the stress of trying to raise—and I quote—“the biggest misfortune to ever happen to them.”

As you can imagine, that comment went down like the Titanic with me, and after an extremely heated exchange, I was told to have my mother drop Liz off at the nearest hospital because he had washed his hands of her.

He had washed his hands of his mentally ill teenage daughter.

My girlfriend’s father actually said those words out loud .

Prick .

Whether it was the right thing to do or not, it wasn’t something I was capable of doing to my best friend.

Lying down on the road outside my house and having the neighbors drive over me with their cars would hurt less than abandoning my girlfriend at a hospital.

Confiding in my mother wasn’t an option, either, because I knew in my heart that Mam would do what I couldn’t.

So instead of doing any of those things, I spun a yarn to my mother about Liz needing to stay over for a few days while her folks were away, and did everything I could to protect my girlfriend’s dignity.

Holed up in my room, I used every tool at my disposal to keep her mind relaxed and her body sated.

Lips .

Fingers .

Tongue .

Whatever she needed, I gave to her without complaint, while I mentally prayed for her to come back to me of her own freewill.

And without the intervention of another inpatient admission to the psychiatric ward .