Page 49 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
“Aww, it’s so sweet how much you care.” She puts her hand over her chest. “I know you’re just worried about my future, Papi. I would be too, if I was you! I know some people these days have to go by a pasty Anglo name in the office and kiss their boss’s greedy white ass to find success, but you don’t have to worry about that with me,Patrick. Not everyone can be successful without selling out to a giant pharmaceutical corporation that punches down on the vulnerable, butIrun my businessethically. So thank you so much for the concern, but I don’t need your career advice.”
I let out a cough to keep myself from laughing, but no one seems to notice I’ve been cleaning between the same two tiles this entire conversation. Abuela is still pretending not to listen, though she’s somehow not making a sound in the kitchen. My guess is that she actuallyagreeswith Moni about Tío Paco’s job.
“Very funny, Monica.” My tío doesn’t even sound taken aback, like this is just another regular conversation with his kid.
I almost want to ask what Moni means by the whole punching-down thing, but I figure it’s a conversation for later. For now, I just clean quietly while Moni and her dad bicker over her future.
It isn’t until we’re in bed for the night that it comes back up, and I’m not even the one to say anything.
“Ugh... ,” she groans. Moni seems to love waiting until I could plausibly be asleep to make conversation.
I wait, expecting her to follow up her groaning with an actual complaint, but she just groans louder. “Uggghhhhh...”
“You okay?” I ask before she decides to start kicking my mattress again.
“Can you believe my dad? What is his problem?”
“Yeah, I feel you,” I say. “My mom’s kind of the same way. At least, she was...” I trail off before mentioning my mom wants nothing to do with me anymore.
“Can they both just chill the fuck out? If my dad has enough money to pay my way through Juilliard, why not ASU? Butno,he’ll only pay if I do a music program. If he doesn’t want me to make my own tuition money, he should fucking help me! Like I know my dad invested a lot in my music, but it was never whatIwanted.”
“They don’t care what we want,” I say, but the realization doesn’t hurt as much as it should. I feel for Moni, but I did this to myself.
“You’d think he’d understand that. I doubt his dream job was to pay off doctors to prescribe a specific medication regardless of a patient’s needs.”
“Wait, what?” I knew Moni’s dad didn’t have the most virtuous of jobs, but I didn’t even think something like that was a thing. “People do that?”
“Yup, and they all get to profit without actually helping the people they’re burying alive in medical debt. AndI’mthe one who needs to rethink my priorities?”
I haven’t been taking my meds for a while, but if I ever had an inkling to go back on them, it’s gone now. If doctors can be paid off like that, then there’s no way I can trust Dr. Lee. And if I can’t trust my therapist, whocanI trust?
I can’t rely on therapy or medication or any kind of support system. I pushed everyone else away, so all I have is me.
And I know better than anyone how shit my own company is.
Even I don’t want it.
20
When You Finally Find the Answer to Your Prayers
Losing Touch With Reality
Even on the weekend, it seems like Abuela has an endless list of things for me to do while Moni does homework and music practice. I go through the motions monotonously to the sound of Moni’s pro-level violin skills. I try to let the music distract me from thinking about what day it is.
Yami’s birthday.
I don’t ask Abuela for a phone to call her, though. Yami wouldn’t want me calling her anyway. She’d probably just ignore it. She needs space from me right now, and I’ll give it to her. I try to make myself feel satisfied that my plan worked so well. It literally went perfectly, but for some reason everything just aches.
I push through it and do my chores without saying a word to Abuela. After I power wash the plastic chairs outside, clean all the windows and mirrors, dust all the surfaces, and somehow figure out how to fix a wobbly table leg, she finally lets me off the hook.
I expected things would be quiet and awkward during dinner, but instead Abuela is talking away, telling us stories about herearlier years, which were apparently pretty rough. At least she had my grandpa back then.
“When we were younger, there was no problem my love couldn’t solve by simply sitting me down and doing my two braids. It used to be that I couldn’t fall asleep until those hands worked their magic on my hair.” She sighs, a melancholy smile on her lips.
Her stories make me a little sad. She met my grandpa young but didn’t marry him until her twenties. He passed away when my mom was only ten, and Abuela had to raise her and my tío by herself. I wonder how long it took her to be able to fall asleep without him braiding her hair.
You would think my mom would have a little more sympathy for the woman, considering it’s exactly what she had to do with me and Yami ever since our dad got deported. But it seems like whatever mistakes Abuela made during my mom’s childhood, she hasn’t been fully forgiven for them yet. Part of me wants to know what their deal is, but the other part probably wouldn’t even be bothered to listen if Abuela did try telling me.
