Cape May

CRAZY LOVE

When Gabby came home from the hospital, at six weeks old, the doctors warned my mother that she may need special care, either physically or mentally. As she grew mommy had to take her to neurologists, psychologist, behaviorist, you name it. She had to undergo tests after tests on a regular basis. But as the years went by, she developed normally as any child would. There were no signs of physical or mental impairments. But mommy was always vigilant, always on the lookout for any outward signs that things were not quite what they should be with her miracle child. That's why she appointed me her protector, her bodyguard, to watch over her day and night when she could not be around.

It was when she started middle school that I noticed there was something wrong with Gabby and it became more noticeable in high school, after all, I was her appointed guardian. I did not know it had a name or that it was even a medical condition. Later on, in life, I would come to know that her almost near-death experience at birth had deprived her brain of much needed oxygen and so the doctors were afraid she might become mentally retarded more so than physically. Perhaps I innately felt this early on, which is why I protected her so vehemently against outside forces. Or perhaps I just felt that she wasn't normal as everyone I knew was normal.

Gabby was crazy. Yes, I said it. Gabby was crazy. I do not say this in a good way. I say it as what it sounds like – she was crazy. She was not firing on all burners. Most kids would never think of jumping off a 50 ft wall. Gabby did. She broke her right ankle and it was me who suffered the consequences as mommy couldn't believe I would let her do something like that. Most kids would not remotely entertain the idea of rolling down a hill, like on Squirrel Road, in a barrel, but Gabby did. Most normal kids would not constantly pick fights with the school or neighborhood bullies. Gabby did. Gabby did crazy things that always put her physically in peril and yet she did not blink twice before doing them.

Most people would not try to kill themselves. Gabby did.

She was fearless. And I don't mean this in a good way like a warrior who is fearless. The warrior learns to control his fears. I mean like she was actually fearless, for real, as if she was missing the gene for fear. Fear is an important part of the human genetic makeup. Fear is what makes us run when we come face to face with a tiger. Fear was our saving grace when confronted with our enemies. At the edge of a cliff, fear is what prevents us from jumping out. Fear. It is hardwired into each and every one of us. It is what made us survive and populate this planet. We listened to our fears.

Gaby had no fears.

She had no warning signs in her head to tell her that her life was in danger. No warning signs to tell her there are other ways. No, she had no fears. And because of this, she had no boundaries. One cannot put fear in a person if they are unable to fear. Fear is for rational people. Gaby, I would find out the hard way, was not a rational person.

There are many medical terms for illnesses that effect the mind - psychosis, manic depressive, masochist, blah, blah, blah. Gabby suffers from something that has no scientific name. She's basically normal, but it explains her neediness for my affection and attention and her willingness to do anything to get it – even if it means becoming my lover. It explains her disregard for our familial relationship in pursuit of needing to be needed. She needed attention, lots of attention. She was also super smart. Perhaps the lack of oxygen made another part of her brain develop more than it should, the intelligent part.

From the start, she latched on to me. Why me, I don't quite understand because there was also mommy and grandma. Perhaps it was because from the time she was able to walk we slept in the same bed. I guess it was like imprinting. Over time I could swear our heartbeats synchronized so that they beat together. I could feel her little heart beating against me as we slept together as children. She developed this obsessive need for my attention. It was always 'Bobby, Bobby, Bobby.' And if I did not pay her attention, she would do something drastic to get it, thus she became a pain in my ass.