The Mixtape by Brittainy C. Cherry

28

EMERY

Five Years Ago

“I can’t do this,” Sammie sighed as Reese screamed her lungs out at two in the morning. “I can’t do this, Emery. I can’t,” she cried along with the little one as she aggressively rocked her daughter in her arms.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Here, hand her over.”

I took Reese into my arms and began to soothe her the best I could. “Did you warm up a bottle?” I asked. Sammie wasn’t able to breastfeed no matter how hard she tried, so we were working with formula. I knew that was hard for my sister. She blamed herself so much for not being able to nurse her child.

I tried my best to convince her it had nothing to do with her skills as a mother, but I knew she didn’t believe me. I never would’ve been able to understand her pain through it all, either. I wasn’t a mother. I didn’t have the same struggles of trying to feed my daughter. Every time Sammie tried, she’d burst into tears from feeling like a failure. It wasn’t until the doctor recommended going to formula that Reese began eating.

Even then, Sammie had a hard time getting the little girl to take a bottle from her.

“Here,” she said, handing it to me. “She wouldn’t take it. It’s still kind of warm, but I don’t know. Maybe I gave it to her when it was too warm? Oh gosh, what if it was too warm and I burned her? What if—”

“Sammie. It’s fine. She’s fine. Don’t worry.”

She paced back and forth, raking her hands through her hair. She looked a mess. She’d been wearing the same clothes for days and hadn’t showered in who knew how long. Her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep, mixed in with her constant flow of tears. It was clear each and every day she was getting closer and closer to her breaking point, and I couldn’t blame her.

I didn’t see Reese’s father in that little girl’s face. I didn’t see his eyes, or his nose, or the crooked smile that he might’ve had. I didn’t see the way she resembled the man who’d stolen something away from my sister to create this beautiful child.

But Sammie did.

She saw him in her waking dreams and her nightly nightmares. She saw parts of him in Reese’s eyes, in her smile, in her everything. It was a daily reminder of the tortured situation she’d been placed in. It was a reminder of what had happened to her all those months ago, when she’d finally allowed herself to take a break and let loose.

I begged her to go to therapy, but she swore she was fine without. I begged her to talk to me, yet she told me she was fine. I prayed she’d open up to someone—anyone—because I knew she wasn’t doing okay.

Reese began to fuss while I was feeding her, and as the baby’s irritation started to rise, so did Sammie’s.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” Sammie kept saying, kept reciting as she moved back and forth across the small space. Her hands were pressed against her ears as her annoyance grew more and more from the noise that had shaken us awake in the night. “I can’t . . . I . . . just stop crying! Shut up!” my sister hollered at the top of her lungs.

My heart shattered in the moment as Sammie paused her movements and looked up at me with tears sitting on the forefront of her eyes. I knew she was seconds away from a breakdown. Seconds away from spiraling further and further into the pit she’d been falling in for months now.

“I hate her,” she confessed, and in that very instant my heart split into two. “I hate her so much, Emery,” she said before covering her mouth with her hand and breaking down into uncontrolled sobs.

I held Reese to my chest and gave my sister a small smile, trying my best to hide how much she scared me in that moment. “Hey, how about you go take a shower, Sammie? Clear your mind and regroup. Then go to sleep. I got Reese. Don’t you worry, okay? I got her.”

Sammie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Only an involuntary nod of agreement as tears streamed down her cheeks, and then she walked away toward the bathroom.

The sigh I’d been holding inside me for so long evaporated as I listened to the water start running. My main task now was to soothe Reese.

I rocked the little girl in my arms and got her to take the bottle after a few moments. When she stared up at me with those doe-brown eyes, I could tell she was exhausted too.

“I know, I know, sweet girl. It’s okay. I know you’re just doing your best. We’re all trying our best, okay? You’re okay. You’re more than okay. You’re so good,” I promised her, rocking her slightly in my arms as she kept her stare on me. “And you know what? Your mama is good too. She’s so, so good, Reese. And she loves you so much, no matter what. Okay? I just need you to know your mama loves you. She’s trying her best. I promise you, she’s trying her best.”

After a while, Reese faded back to sleep, and I laid her back in her crib. Once she was asleep, I went to head back to bed, but I noticed that the shower was still running.

“Sammie, you okay?” I asked, knocking on the door. My chest tightened when I didn’t get a reply. I knocked louder this time. “Sammie? Are you good?”

I heard mumbles, but still, no reply.

When I turned the doorknob, I witnessed my sister sitting in the bathtub as the water poured overhead. She was rocking back and forth as she scrubbed her arms up and down with her hands, to the point that her arms were reddened from how hard she was scrubbing.

“Sammie . . . ,” I whispered, taking steps closer to her.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this . . . ,” she said on a loop, shaking as her tears intermixed with the water droplets shooting down from the showerhead. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this . . .”

“Sammie, come on, get out of the tub,” I said, turning off the water.

“I c-c-can’t do this,” she repeated. She stared forward as if she couldn’t even see me. As if she wasn’t even aware that someone was in the same space as her. She looked so far gone that I worried she didn’t even know where she was in that very moment in time.

I couldn’t get her to climb out of the bathtub. I couldn’t get her to snap out of the trance that she’d somehow entered. So I climbed into the tub with her and wrapped my arms around her shivering, naked body. “I want to go home, Emery. I don’t want this life. I need Mama and Daddy. I need them. I can’t do this. I can’t,” she kept repeating.

I pulled her close to me and held on for dear life as she kept her chant going, her whispers stinging my ears.

I didn’t let go until the sun rose the next morning.