Kamikaze Boys

by Jay Bell

  David heard a few mumbled greetings and stood there awkwardly until he noticed Elijah motioning to an empty chair. He walked over and sat, feeling two dozen pairs of eyes follow his every move. Finally, a man spoke. He appeared to be in his twenties, and had shaggy blonde hair and round John Lennon glasses.

  “Hi, David,” he said. “I’m Nick, the group leader.”

  David squirmed under so many gazes, but he managed to say, “Hey.”

  “Okay,” Nick clapped his hands together, “everyone, let’s begin today’s session with an exercise. I’d like each of us to name one thing we did yesterday that we regret. I’ll go first. Yesterday I didn’t work as hard as I could have. I could have helped a lot more of you if I dug deeper to find the energy, and part of that comes from not taking care of myself. Okay. How about you, Michelle?”

  The girl seated beside Nick looked weary. Now David understood why they all appeared so miserable—what a crappy way to start the morning! “Well, I didn’t really eat much for dinner.”

  That was easy to believe. The girl was ramrod-thin with dark circles under her eyes. David realized she was probably here for an eating disorder. As each person struggled to name a regret, he tried to guess why they were here. If they looked especially sad, they were suicidal. If they dressed wildly, it was drugs. If they looked tough, violent crime. One he couldn’t figure out. The guy was thin with foppish hair. When he spoke, he had a slight lisp and used effeminate gestures.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have argued with Bob,” he said, a little involuntary shake of his head revealing he didn’t mean this.

  David watched him as the next person spoke. Was this Corey? Elijah said David should speak with him, but why? Because both of them were gay? Maybe Elijah thought gay people stuck together in droves, like some sort of dong-loving herd.

  “What about you, David?” The group leader’s voice jarred him back to reality. “What do you regret doing yesterday?”

  “Coming here.”

  This comment caused a round of laughter, but Nick sighed in disappointment. “Maybe you don’t understand why we’re doing this exercise. Would you like me to explain it to you? By targeting the regret we feel, we can find where we need the most improvement. I’m going to work harder today, Michelle is going to try to eat more, and Steven will try to pay attention. So you see, we’re turning something negative into something positive. Would you like to try again?”

  David shrugged. “There’s nothing I did that I regret, besides trusting my dad and Dr. Wolf.”

  “Try again.”

  Really? He was going to keep asking David until he got an answer he liked? Instead of playing this game, David examined his shoes. The silence in the room grew thicker and thicker until finally Nick sighed again, and the guy sitting next to him was asked about his regrets. David didn’t pay attention to the rest of the session. Instead he kept wondering how he could convince his dad to get him out of here.

  When the group session was over, everyone filed out of the room. David followed them, hoping to slip out in the crowd, but the German woman gently took his arm as he came out the door. “Come in here, please.”

  David was led to the next room, which was small and contained nothing but a chair and a desk.

  “You meet with your psychiatrist in an hour, but you need to fill out these papers first.”

  The papers were already on the desk. David sat and pretended to be reading them while the door closed behind him. He stared at the paper until he felt enough time had gone by, then stood and tried the door. Locked.

  So much for that. With nothing else to do, he returned to the desk. The papers were a questionnaire—at first just general information, then probing health questions. David checked “no” over and over again, until the section that dealt with mental health. These questions were a little more interesting.

  Do you often feel people are talking behind your back or laughing at you? Do you get angry when others disagree with your opinions or actions? Do you hear voices in your head? Are you attracted to members of the same sex?

  David stopped and reread the question. Then he skipped to the next. Do you ever have thoughts of suicide? Then he reread most of the page.

  “One of these things is not like the other,” he sing-songed under his breath.

  How could they sandwich in a question about being gay between one about hearing voices and another about killing yourself? Surely they didn’t feel it was up there with talking to god or wanting to die, right? But there it was in black and white: A list of everything that could be wrong with a person, and loving someone of the same sex was included.

  “You might want to keep that to yourself,” David said, doing an admirable imitation of Elijah’s accent. Now he understood Elijah’s warning. Corey probably had the other half of the story and experienced what would happen if he was truthful.

  David frowned at the words one more time. Then he checked “no” on all of the questions except his sexuality. That one he left blank.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dr. Harland had a lot of energy for an older guy and looked like he belonged on a golf course. Maybe it was the polo shirt or the way he chose to walk down the hospital hallways with David instead of sitting across a desk from him. For the first ten minutes they strolled, David didn’t have a clue who he was, except his name.

  “Sorry,” he interjected at one point. “Am I seeing you instead of Dr. Wolf from now on?”

  “No, no. I’m your psychiatrist. Dr. Wolf is your psychologist. The easiest way to understand the difference is to think of me as a medical doctor. Must be nice to get out of your room. You could make a run for it right now, but I’m trusting you.”

  Dr. Harland changed topics like that a lot. David wondered if keeping up with his conversation was some sort of test. He did his best, nodding along to the different topics, even though most had nothing to do with David or his stay here. He kept his eyes on his surroundings too, reading signs on different doors and wondering what went on behind them. One room in particular, labeled Electroconvulsive Therapy, made him feel like bolting—no pun intended. But David was sure too many locked doors stood between him and freedom.

  “We’re going to make a couple of changes that will help you,” Dr. Harland said, stopping in front of the electroconvulsive therapy door. David wondered if he did so on purpose. “I’m going to recommend they take you off escape prevention. How does that sound?”

  “Good,” David said.

  “I’m also recommending protein shakes. You’re below your ideal weight and could use some bulking up. That should help your confidence and scare those bullies away.”

  Right.

  “I’d also like you to try a medication called Prozac. Are you familiar with it?”

  David shook his head. “Not really. I mean, the name is familiar.”

  “I think it’ll help you deal with some of the stress you’re experiencing. Sound good?”

  Nope. But David nodded anyway.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  He swallowed. “Electroconvulsive therapy. That means shock therapy, right?”

  Dr. Harland nodded. “Are you curious about that sort of therapy?”

  “No,” David said quickly. “I just wondered if I understood the words right.”

  When he didn’t have any other questions, Dr. Harland led him back to the hospital wing used for his age group. During their walk, David had seen areas for adults and another for children. He couldn’t imagine what kind of parent would leave a little kid in a place like this, or what a child could do that was bad enough to justify it. Wanting someone else to deal with teenagers he could understand, but children? Dr. Harland led David to the nurses station overlooking the large living room and explained to the personnel there that David was now off escape prevention. The German nurse cut the band off his wrist, Dr. Harland said goodbye, and David was left to his own devices.

  David was used to being the outcast, to walking by lunch tables and know
ing he wasn’t welcome there. First days of school were the worst because he still had hope of making a new friend or finding a place he fit in. He had that same feeling now, as he walked past reading chairs and around couches. Most seats were taken. Nearest David was a girl with more facial piercings than he could count, her thin legs draped over an armrest, feet encased in huge Frankenstein shoes.

  He passed a hugely overweight guy who was thumbing through a magazine and humming to himself, one hand scratching the copious acne on his face. On the floor sat four girls, all as rail-thin as Michelle. Maybe she was one of them. He had a hard time telling them apart as they focused on their card game. Across the room at a foosball table, Elijah played animatedly against another guy who looked too handsome to be anything but perfect.

  David should have fit in here among his fellow misfits, but he didn’t see how to integrate himself, so he started toward the television. Then he noticed Corey standing by a window, looking glum. Just yesterday David was doing the same thing. Maybe all gay guys were prone to such dramatic poses. Regardless, David hoped he had looked half as cool yesterday as Corey did right now.

  He decided to approach Corey, unsure what to say. “Hey, I’m gay, too!” seemed a little too direct. Corey turned to him as he neared, which didn’t help matters. He was pretty: There was no other word for it. His skin was fair and free of blemishes, his blond hair was silky and perfectly styled, and even his lips were a shade of pink that normally only lipstick provided. Corey looked David up and down before turning back to the window.

  “Hey. I’m David,” he tried.

  “I know. Group meeting, remember?”

  Corey’s tone was hardly friendly, but walking away now would be even more awkward. “You’re Corey, right?”

  This earned him another glance. “Have we met or something?”

  “No. Elijah said I should talk to you. I was telling him about my boyfriend and—” David stopped. He didn’t know the rest.

  Corey smirked. “If you have a boyfriend, why are you talking to me?”

  David felt his cheeks grow warm. “No, not like that. He said I shouldn’t tell anyone that I’m gay. He acted like you would know why.”

  “Oh.” Like a cloud passing over the sun, the arrogance disappeared from Corey’s face. “So have you told anyone else?”

  “No. They had this survey thing, but I didn’t answer the question about it. I’m not in the closet or anything, but I saw this shock therapy room and—”

  Corey laughed. “Well, don’t worry. They aren’t that bad here.” He looked David over again. “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “And your boyfriend?”

  “Nineteen.”

  Corey’s smile was bitter. “You’re a minor, like me. Your boyfriend isn’t.”

  “So?”

  “So, if your parents want your boyfriend out of the picture, they can do a lot of terrible things to him, all with the blessing of the law.”

  David shook his head. “The age of consent is sixteen in Kansas. I looked it up.”

  “Yes, but you’re still a minor, meaning they can still drum up charges against him: corruption of a minor, transporting a minor over state lines, engaging in lewd behavior in front of a minor, contributing to the delinquency of a minor. I don’t remember half of them.”

  David was quiet for a moment. “Did that really happen to you?”

  “Yes.” Corey scowled at the memory. “My parents have been in denial since they caught me kissing another boy when I was thirteen. They made me go to church, get extra blessings from the pastor, and attend some stupid Christian camp like they could cure me. Eventually I just stopped talking about it, but Paul and I were arrested for drinking a six-pack in his car. It didn’t take long for my parents to figure out why a college guy was hanging out with a high school student.”

  “So they put you in here?”

  “Yeah, and stupid me, I thought the doctors would recognize my parents as the crazy Bible-thumpers they are. But instead, they told my parents to take legal action. They hit Paul with so many lawsuits that it drove him away. That’s the messed up part. It doesn’t matter if the charges stick or not. They told him he was going to be registered as a sex offender and all kinds of crazy shit. Who’s going to stick around when they’re faced with threats like that?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, honey, I’m sorry for you, too, because we have the same doctor. If Dr. Wolf thought it was a good idea for me, I don’t see why he wouldn’t do the same to you.”

  Connor wouldn’t leave him, no matter what. David wanted to believe that more than anything, but Dr. Wolf was already hinting that Connor’s influence had led to his current situation. What if they searched Connor’s room and found the small stash of pot he kept there? They did sometimes smoke it together. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor, Dr. Wolf would surely call it.

  “Are your parents rich?” Corey asked.

  “No.”

  “Then you’ll be out of here as soon as the insurance money runs out. Consider yourself lucky. My parents have enough money to keep me here until I’m eighteen. Paul won’t even remember who I am by then.”

  Corey turned back to the window, and David was grateful for the excuse to leave. Corey was miserable but had reason to be. Elijah was right: David needed to hear this. Getting out was only half the problem. Keeping the blame away from Connor—that was the real challenge.

  * * * * *

  “Time for lunch, buddy!”

  The country twang—along with a playful slug to his shoulder—brought David out of his daydream. He’d been staring unseeing at the television screen, but just the thought of food was enough to make his mouth water.

  “You coming?” Elijah asked.

  “Yeah!”

  Down the never-ending maze of hallways was a lunchroom. Just like in school, everyone took a tray and walked down the serving aisle, but here the food options were plentiful. Better tasting too, if appearance was anything to go by. David loaded up his tray with a burger, fries, a side of macaroni and cheese, coleslaw, a brownie, and a Coke. Why were they pushing protein shakes on him when they had food like this?

  And—completely opposite from his public school experiences—David found a seat waiting for him. Elijah was surrounded by people, but had one hand on the bench next to him until David got close.

  “Take a seat, roommate!” He grinned. “You’re about to get a crash course.”

  “Crash course?” David asked as he sat. He was surprised to see that the only things Elijah had on his tray were an apple, some toast, and a bottle of water.

  “Well, you only have the benefit of my wisdom for the next week,” Elijah said. “Someone’s got to show you the ropes.”

  “He knows what he’s talking about,” Michelle said, sitting across from them. Her tray was overloaded with so much food that onion rings spilled onto the table. For an anorexic, she sure had an appetite.

  “Rule number one,” Elijah said, glancing around the room. “Always help your fellow man.” In one smooth motion, he swapped his sparse tray for Michelle’s miniature buffet. Then he passed a couple of desserts to the overweight guy with the acne.

  David wasn’t sure if this was the best idea, but who was he to judge? Instead he stuffed half the burger into his mouth and waited for the next nugget of wisdom. Elijah was also eager to get some food down before continuing the conversation.

  “They have you on any pills?” Michelle asked between nibbles on her toast.

  “Yeah. Prozac.”

  “Take them the first three or four times they give them to you,” Elijah said. “Say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Don’t worry. That kind of medicine won’t mess with your head so quick. It has to get into your system. Once they stop watching you, just tongue the pill into your cheek until you’re out of sight. Then pocket it and drop it in the toilet when you can.”

  Michelle pushed away her tray. “If they try putting you on anything e
lse, always say yes. Worse comes to worse, you can sell it to James.”

  She pointed down the table to a punk with a multicolored mohawk who was staring into space with bloodshot eyes. He wouldn’t be coming back into orbit anytime soon.

  “Rule number two,” Elijah said. “Or are we at number three? Eh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t really have a list. Rule number whatever, never disagree with them. Who’s your shrink?”

  “Dr. Wolf.” David shrugged. “He seemed okay, but then he tricked me into coming here.”

  Elijah nodded. “Exactly. They’re slippery devils, so you always have to make them think they’re winning. Agree with them, but only after some resistance. Make them think they’ve won the fight. By the end of each session, you should be nodding at everything they say.”

  “You have to tell them a story,” Michelle added. “Anything they say is wrong with you, think of a big reason why you do it. Don’t act like you know that’s why, either. Like me, I’m skinny because the idea of food makes me sick, and I don’t want to look fat. That’s not good enough for them, so I talk about how my stepdad always has Playboy magazines around the house and how insecure they made me feel. The bonus is that the psychologist made the bastard throw his porn stash away.”

  Elijah nodded. “Smart girl.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ve also come up with a way that’ll force him to quit smoking.”

  “Always have a story ready,” Elijah emphasized. “Don’t make it too obvious. Let them drag it out of you. Same thing for the group meetings. For those, you can make it up on the spot. As long as you say what they want to hear, they won’t focus on you much.”

  “Okay,” David said. “Doesn’t sound too hard.” Turning attention away from Connor might be, but the rest should be nothing more difficult than him agreeing to go to Stanford or whatever college his dad wanted.

  “Last lesson of the day,” Elijah said, mouth half-full of chicken. “Insurance is king.” He chewed and swallowed. “The amount of treatment your insurance money will cover determines the length of your stay, not how well you are. Once the money runs out—boom!—you’re out of here.”