Something I have been waiting for many days now has finally happened.
Myrtle and Darron have been communicating regularly for a while now, both by text and the occasional phone call. It was this last that happened just a few hours ago; Myrtle is planning a trip to visit him, and she needed to speak to him to get together the details. After they had settled these details, though, she did not hang up. They spoke for a while about their jobs, their respective significant others—“I like the sound of this Jaquinn guy. Seems like he might stand a chance of keeping up with you,” says Darron, which pleased me—and a few memories of their childhood together.
I could see the thought building in Myrtle’s mind, the question she had been wanting to ask for weeks—no, years. In one of the silences that fell between them, I encouraged her to ask it.
“So why did you do it?” she demanded.
I did not, however, expect her to ask so bluntly. It was my fault—of course she would not be gentle about this.
“Do what?” Darron asked, but even from a distance I could tell that he knew.
Myrtle got up from her couch, pacing across the room. “I’m asking why the fuck did you stay with Mom when you had the chance to get away?”
The moment that Darron was quiet seemed very long to her. “Because she promised me to go back on her meds if I stayed,” he said.
The simple, level answer stopped Myrtle in her tracks. “What?”
Darron sighed. “You know that she has BPD, right?”
I have since asked Brid about this. In this case BPD stands for Borderline Personality Disorder, a mental disorder that causes erratic behavior, trouble with relationships, and instability in mood and self-worth. Or, in other words, the traits that Darron and Myrtle’s mother exhibited. Her name is Abby, by the way.
“She had BPD. Years ago.”
“The symptoms can come back, Myrtle. Trust me, I’ve researched the fuck out of this.” On the other end of the line, I could hear Darron also pacing. “She didn’t like her meds—she wanted to believe that she could live without them. So she quit when we were kids, and for a while she was fine. Until she wasn’t.”
Darron went on to explain to a stunned Myrtle that he had been intending to go and live with his father at the time of their divorce. During that time, however, his mother came to him and begged him to stay, to not leave her alone. She made the promise that she would return to her medicines, continue to follow the doctor’s orders, whatever it took to win her son’s trust again.
“And you believed her?” Myrtle asked. Only the faintest edge of skepticism was in her voice—she was still in shock.
“I chose to trust her,” Darron said. “With the understanding that if she went off her meds again, I’d leave. But she hasn’t, not once. And she’s better now, Murry. She takes her meds, goes to therapy—even Dad has said I did the right thing.”
Myrtle sank slowly back onto the couch, staring out the window. “But—you were seventeen,” she protested. “Why the hell was it your job to put her back together?”
“Because she’s my mom.” The tenderness in his voice made Myrtle’s fingers tighten around her phone. “Look, Murry, I never blamed you for leaving. Mom was poisonous back then, and you had every right to take care of yourself and keep your distance. Hell, I was tempted to walk, too. But I knew that if I did, she wouldn’t survive it. She needed someone to take care of her. And I knew I didn’t have to do it, but I wanted to. So I did. And now we’re great.”
Myrtle didn’t know what to say. She felt sick, the emotions moving so strongly in her that they were affecting her body. I left her for a moment and returned to find the phone call over, and Myrtle crying painfully into one of the sofa cushions.
I let her grieve, knowing how hard this was for her. All these years she has believed her brother to be gullible, that he allowed himself to be tricked. Now she knows that he was fully aware of the difficulties he was walking into, the risks he was taking with his heart and soul. Now she knows that he chose to take those risks in the hopes of saving his mother’s life. Myrtle blames herself for hating him—and even, a bit, for not being willing to try the same. Abby is, after all, her mother too.
I offered what comfort I could, but still I was glad when a knock came at the door. Surprised, yet hopeful, she jumped up and threw open the door to find Jaquinn standing there.
“I had a feeling,” was all he managed to say before she threw her arms around him.
I could not help but feel pleased with myself for a moment. As an Archangel, I would never have been able to reach him so powerfully as to convince him to come to Myrtle without reason. I offer thanks to my seniors for giving me the power I need to help my people.
Jaquinn held Myrtle for a long time while she wept, and for a while longer as she told him everything. I left them there entwined together on the couch, exhausted into sleep by the exchange of pain and comfort, mistakes and truth. It was the first time they have spent a night together without any form of lovemaking, which I believe is a breakthrough for these two.
It was a very emotional night, and I am not certain what the results will be. I will have to keep a close watch on Myrtle for the next few days. However, I am sure that it was necessary for the truth to come out between them. We shall see what happens next.