by Tess Oliver
“Centrifugal force,” Sugar said suddenly. “That’s how Julian explained it to me.”
“You relayed this story to Julian?” Kirkendall asked.
Sugar nodded. “We were playing chess one night when neither of us could sleep. And I told him. Julian doesn’t always talk, but he’s a really good listener.”
“I agree,” Kirkendall said.
She’d told Julian but not me. I was pissed for a fleeting second but then remembered that I, too, talked to Julian when I was upset and needed a good pair of ears.
“Centrifugal force caused the toy to slip from my little fingers. I laughed when it flew across the yard. Then I dropped down, completely dizzy and not sure which way was up. As I regained my bearings—” The soft, shuddering breath she took made my chest fill with hot lead. “I heard Kate crying. She was knelt down next to Megan. She’s asleep,” I told myself. “She’s asleep or pretending. Silly, little, bubbly Megan was tricking us. I got up and walked over to Kate. The mower, the sturdy wood toy, was next to Megan’s little body. There was just a tiny smear of blood on the side of her head. ‘Why is she bleeding?’ I asked Kate. Kate screamed and ran from the yard to get her mom. I tapped Megan’s shoulder, but she didn’t wake up. Little kids aren’t allowed to die I told myself over and over again. I was sure there was no such thing as death for little kids. She was just sleeping.” Jayleen and Mandy had tears running down their faces, and Dr. Kirkendall looked pale.
Sugar was shaking now, and I felt stiff in my chair as if nothing could pry me off the fucking seat.
“My mom— she grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard and told me I was too damn wild, that I was always spinning and never thinking. The ambulance sirens drowned her out after awhile, and I floated away from the scene. My body was still there but my mind had gone back into the playhouse where Kate and Megan and I were serving tea to my dolls.”
Kirkendall passed around the box of tissue she kept under the chair. She took one for herself. I sat as if someone had filled my legs and arms with cement. Sugar sat back to signal that she was done. No real way to follow that terrible day scenario. Sugar’s gaze once again flitted my direction. Then she pulled it away.
Kirkendall ended the group early and stayed in the room with Sugar while we all walked out. I headed straight outside, lighting my cigarette long before I was out of sight of the front desk. Nurse Greene could chase me down on her size three shoes, and try and pull it from my mouth. I didn’t give a fuck.
I leaned against the trunk of the mulberry tree and smoked my cigarette. I hadn’t taken the time to walk out to the bars, and it would only be a few minutes before someone poked their head outside to tell me to put it out. That was all right. I only needed a few puffs to take some of the edge off.
I squeezed it between my thumb and forefinger like I was pressing a joint to my lips. More than any of the other stuff I’d ingested or smoked or drank, I missed the weed. Not in an addictive way either, just in a comfort from an old friend sort of way. It sure as hell would have been nice to have some now. After that.
Three small birds dropped onto the edge of the fountain. They twittered beneath the cool spray of water, enjoying a break from the heat. I thought about what Julian had said, about the birds in the fountain. It had been obvious, I suppose. I’d never tried to hide the fact that I loved her, not to anyone . . . but Sugar. I’d always been on guard with her. Figured I was already twisted up enough inside, the last thing I needed was someone like Sugar to twist me up more. She wasn’t someone you could just hang out with, have a good time with, maybe fuck and then move on. She was someone who would become part of your soul. Someone who would work her way into your heart and never leave. No matter what came in between, she would always be there.
“Tommy—” Nurse Greene stuck her head out the door. “Extinguish the cigarette, please.”
I closed my eyes and took one last hit of tobacco before heading back inside. The cool air of the building felt good as I headed around the corner to go back to my room. It seemed like the best place to be. I didn’t even feel like talking to Julian. I just wanted to stretch out on my bed and close my eyes.
Sugar stepped out of Kirkendall’s office as I passed it. Her tiny button of a nose was pink from crying, and the tears had made her eyes even bluer. She looked at me. Her bottom lip still trembled the slightest bit, and she hadn’t regained her usual radiant, confident composure.
I took hold of her hand and she let me. I pulled her around the corner to the small, deserted hallway that led to the maintenance room. I pulled her into my arms, and once again, she let me.
“Tommy,” she whispered. The sound of it went straight through my chest.
We were locked in each other’s arms, and it was how I’d expected it to be, intense, hardcore, as if every thread between us became connected and complete. But then she pulled back. I reached my hand up to her face. She pressed her cheek against my palm for a second before shaking her head to push it away.
“No, Tommy, no sympathy. I didn’t do that in there, I didn’t just spill my guts out for some sympathy.” She swallowed hard. Her lip trembled again. “I did it to knock that fucking chip off your shoulder.” She walked away.
Chapter 9
I headed into the dining room. Sugar was there alone reading a magazine and drinking coffee. I grabbed a plate of eggs and sat next to her. We hadn’t talked since the moment in the hallway the day before. I’d spent the rest of the day and night in my room, thinking, remembering stuff and wondering what Sugar was doing while I wasn’t with her. I wasn’t sure if all the thinking and remembering could be classified as reflection though because I’d spent a good portion of that time thinking that what I really needed was a drink or a hit off something more potent than my Camel smokes. Probably not the best topic for reflection, but that was the way my mind kept going. This place was supposed to make me forget about all that shit, but so far, it seemed I’d end up being one of the twenty-three percent who went back to the same life and the same bad habits once they walked out of here. The Green Willow brochure never mentioned the twenty-three percent, only the supposed seventy-seven percent success rate. After reading the brochure my mom had handed me, and being the constant glass half-empty type, my mind had gone straight to calculating the chance I had to fail this whole fucking thing. Math was never my subject, but I knew damn well that seventy-seven percent was less than a hundred.
Sugar was reading an article about raising chickens. She hadn’t talked to me yet, but she hadn’t gotten up and moved away either. I figured I was making progress.
“You thinking of starting a farm?” I asked.
She snapped shut the magazine.
“What? I was serious. Damnit, Sugar, you never even give me a chance. Yeah, I’ve got a chip on my shoulder. Believe me, I’ve heard that phrase more times than I can count. Not even sure how the fuck it got there, but I’m working on it.” I stared at the side of her face. Her profile was one that couldn’t be duplicated, perfect and doll-like. “Just give me some leeway, would ya? I’m trying.”
She finally looked at me. Without warning, she pushed a long strand of hair off my face. I held my breath, and she knew it. She knew that even that small gesture would make the oxygen wall up in my lungs.
She lowered her hand. “I think it would be cool.” She glanced over at the magazine. “Living on a farm, I mean. Out in the country with lots of animals and a cozy house and a vegetable garden.”
“Yeah? I guess it might be nice.” I ate a forkful of eggs. She was talking to me, and my relief went straight to my empty stomach. I was friggin’ hungry. “Have you seen Jules this morning?” More than once during my long night of solitude and reminiscing about getting high, I’d wondered if Sugar had gone to Julian to talk about her group session. She’d made it quite clear that she wasn’t looking to me for comfort. That heartbreaking reality had pr
obably set my mind to thinking about drugs and booze more than anything else.
“I think he’s in session with Kirkendall this morning.”
“Shit, that reminds me.” I looked back at the clock. “I’m seeing her in five minutes.”
“Group sessions? Making it to your appointments with the doctor? Why, Tommy Jameson, you’re becoming a model patient.”
“Just like you, I want to get the hell out of here someday. Decided I better play the game.”
She smiled. “And who knows, maybe you’ll find your way. That’s all I’m hoping to get out of being in here. I just want to find my way.”
I looked at her and wished I was better at knowing what to say, but unfortunately, I had more talent for saying the wrong thing. So I said nothing.
“For the longest time, telling that story was impossible for me,” she said. “It was like a radioactive poison that I had to walk a wide berth around. If I got too close, it would destroy me. But after some pretty intense therapy I was able to talk about it, accept that it had all been a horrible accident. I’d ruined people’s lives with my silly spinning. Megan’s mother was never the same. She used to always walk out to the mailbox in her frilly apron, smiling like one of those women who just couldn’t have been more satisfied with life. But after Megan’s death, I hardly ever saw her. If she came out of the house, she looked really gray and skinny as if she was just sitting inside at her kitchen table wringing her hands and crying for her little girl. We moved about a year later because my mom left Nick, the guy she was married to. I was relieved not to have to watch Megan’s mom get grayer and thinner.” She stared down at her coffee cup and shook her head. “Kate and I never spoke again, but my mom ran into her a few years ago. She was starting medical school that fall.” She smiled weakly. “She had to live through the nightmare of losing a sister and watching her mom fall apart, but she went on to make something of herself. And here I sit in Green Willow Recovery thinking about chickens and vegetable gardens.”
“Hey, but you’re sitting here with Tommy Jameson. Don’t forget that little golden nugget.”
She smiled at me. “That is true. Kate is probably not sitting next to anyone as awesome as Tommy Jameson with his shoulder chip and scorpion tattoo.”
“You like the tattoo, huh?”
“I do. Why a scorpion?”
“Well, as you’ve probably noticed, I’m not exactly the butterfly type.”
She laughed.
A sweet fragrance drifted out from the kitchen. “Did I miss pancakes?”
“No, they’re making cake for tomorrow’s visitor’s day.” She sighed. “Get this, my mom is coming. Or at least I think she is.”
“And your enthusiasm shows.”
“Yep. Shit. How about you? Anyone coming from California to see you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nah. My mom asked if she should come. I told her not to bother. She hates flying, so I’m sure she was relieved.”
“Your dad?”
“He won’t come. And I’m glad about it.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek, an occasional chaste peck on her silky cheek was the one small luxury I allowed myself. “I’ve got to go have my chat with Kirkendall.”
I hated to leave Sugar. Could have spent all day just sitting there next to her, talking and laughing over cold cups of coffee.
The new ward assistant, Frank, was replacing a light bulb in the hallway. He looked down from his ladder but didn’t say anything. He watched me walk past as if he worried I might kick the ladder out from under him. Or at least that’s where my imagination took me, pushing that ladder right out from beneath his feet.
I reached for Kirkendall’s door, and it swung open. I leaned back to avoid getting hit. “Jules, whoa, buddy. You almost nailed—” I stopped. His face looked like clean white granite, hard and expressionless. He didn’t even acknowledge me as he pushed past and headed toward his room.
I watched him turn the corner before stepping inside the office. There was a cramped waiting room in front of Kirkendall’s office. It had two blue chairs and always smelled like air freshener. Kirkendall’s door opened. She looked a little stiff herself. Nothing compared to the zombie expression Julian was wearing, but it had obviously been a tough session for both doctor and patient.
“Tommy.” She cleared her throat as if it had been tight. “I’m just going to go get a glass of orange juice. Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks. Is Julian all right?” At first I’d told myself it wasn’t my business, but it was Julian, for fucksake.
I was sure she’d ignore my question. “You’re a good friend to Julian, Tommy. Thank you for that. He needs that friendship, but, of course, I can’t talk about anything that goes on in here.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She stepped out. I slumped back against the chair. She had one of those couches, the psych couch you see in all the movies, but I never used it. Her desk was a scramble of papers and folders. I always found it sort of funny. A disorganized desk didn’t go with her neat little suits. But then she did have that ear, that hint of non-conformity. There was a picture on her desk, but it was always facing her. I picked it up. It was a picture of a girl, about ten. The familiar smile assured me it was Kirkendall. She was standing with a woman in front of a giant redwood tree. The woman had a hippie-like look, with wavy hair, faded jeans and sandals. Not your typical mom type.
Kirkendall walked back in, and I quickly put down the picture. “Sorry, I was just curious. I’m always looking at the back of that frame wondering what’s on the other side.”
“It’s fine, Tommy. I don’t mind, really. That was a picture of a vacation I took with my mom. She died three months after that picture was taken, hit by a car as she was walking across the street to a bus stop.”
“Shit. Sorry to hear.” We sat in there, all of us addicts and dysfunctional people, trying to sort out our troubles, never giving much thought to the people who were trying to help us.
“It was instant, according to the doctor. I’m thankful for that, but I can tell you, I was lost without her. I had to move in with my dad. They’d been divorced since I was two. Hardly knew the man. I had to pack up all my belongings and say good-bye to the small house my mom and I had lived in.”
“That’s brutal. Shit. Your mom looks cool. Like the type of person you could sit down and—”
“Take a bong hit with?” she finished for me. “She was fun, and definitely not like other moms. She was a modern day midwife. She helped women who wanted to have their babies at home instead of in the harsh environment of a hospital. She was good at it too. She loved helping babies into the world.” She sipped her juice, and for a second, she seemed to coast off into a deep thought. She set the glass down. “Thanks for playing in that baseball game, by the way. I’m being told to make sure the residents go outdoors more, but between the heat and the fact that there’s just not that much to do out there, it’s a chore. When people like you and Sugar participate, it helps get others moving.”
“People like Sugar and me?”
“Leaders. Other residents watch you two to see what you are going to do next.”
I laughed at her strange theory. “They definitely pay attention to what Sugar is doing, but I think you stuck me in the wrong category. I’m no leader.”
“Yes, you are. You just don’t realize it. I know it’s not something you do consciously.”
“Pete was pissed when he heard I was playing.”
“That’s because you don’t give him the time of day.”
I sat back. “Yeah, but I still say you’re wrong.”
“You’re twenty-five, right Tommy?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you see yourself when you’re, say, my age?”
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��Your age? You’re not exactly ready for adult diapers and guzzling Ensure yet yourself, Doc.”
“I’m thirty-eight,” she smiled. “And thank you for noticing. Ten years from now, Tommy, where do you see yourself?”
I leaned back. “Hope to hell I’m not sitting in here talking to a forty-eight-year-old Dr. Kirkendall, that’s for damn sure.”
Another glimmer of a smile. “No, let’s get serious, now. I know you like to put up that wall, Tommy, but look over it for awhile. Take the shield down. You’re safe in here. I won’t tell anyone that Tommy Jameson isn’t always a hard ass, that he’s got a heart and soul beneath that tough exterior.”
“Yeah? I don’t know about that. There might be a heart and soul, but they’re probably not much better than the exterior.”
“Bullshit,” she said.
My eyes widened. “Did you just say bullshit?”
“I did.” She leaned forward and reached for her flowery clipboard. “I don’t have to pretend or put up airs around you, Tommy. I like that about you.” She flipped up a page on her clipboard and turned it to me. She’d scribbled the words ‘Tommy’ and ‘empathy’ on it.
“I saw you write something yesterday.” Just the thought of Sugar and that story made my throat thicken.
“See, there it is again,” she said. “I watched you. I watched everyone’s expressions while Sugar was telling her story. I saw horror, shock, even some anger, but your face was different. You were showing empathy, Tommy. It looked as if you were feeling every ounce of Sugar’s despair, as if you would have done anything at that moment to absorb her pain, to protect her from it even though it was too late.”