Cassandra: And they all fall down

by Julie Hodgson

  “Many young people grow out of ADD,” the doctor continued, making a steeple out of his fingers as he leaned on the desk. “We will only know if you fall into this category if we give your body the chance to function within its own chemical sphere. How have you been feeling lately, Cassy?” He was the only person in the world who called her Cassy, and she really didn’t like it.

  She thought for a second, very much a part of the conversation again now. How had she been feeling? She had a nightmare about a week ago, but it was hardly worth mentioning. Yes, her hands had itched, but this wasn’t a symptom of ADD anyway; she had looked it up online. Did she feel violent? Out of control? Hyper? This is what he wanted to know. And she didn’t. That’s not to say she didn’t sometimes feel those things, but she had great coping strategies. Wasn’t that why they first tried her out with so many different sports when she was a kid, and why she had excelled on the track? Because it drained the energy from her and put it to good use. Running in the rain made her feel almost energized and exhilarated at the same time. Listening to classical piano music on her mp3 channeled her feelings too.

  So, was she okay? “Yes,” she answered.

  “Yes?”

  “Sorry, yes, I’ve been feeling good.” The voice didn’t sound like hers. It was a little unsure of itself, not because she didn’t have faith in her answer but because the office made her nervous. She hadn’t been too affected by it when she was little. But now the high-back solidity of the chairs, the super-polished desk, the stuffiness of the closed windows, and the fixed attention of the old man made her fidget and doubt herself as if she were on trial. Even though he spoke to her kindly, and she was sure he was a nice man really. But there was something that made the hairs on her neck stand out, and she couldn’t put her finger on the reason why.

  “What about your ADD group?” Ellen cut in. She brought this up every single time they visited, and without fail, it made Cassandra cringe.

  “Mom! I don’t want to go to the ADD group like some kind of freak. It’s just for boys anyway.”

  “But I’m sure Dr. Somner would make an exception and let you come along.”

  Over Cassandra’s dead body would this happen. She knew some of the boys who came along and would rather die than share any of her inner workings with them. There was no way in this world it was going to happen.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” she replied, sounding a little whinier than she hoped. Then Dr. Somner jumped in, and Cassandra was pleased he was on her side.

  “It really is just for the boys, Mrs. Jones. I know that sounds a little sexist, but boys need a very specific kind of support, away from the distraction of girls. And besides …” he said, but didn’t finish his sentence. He then made a few notes on his pad as if someone had said something worth noting, and was on his feet with his hand thrust out in front of him for the two Jones women to shake. They looked at each other before following him towards the door. Their meetings always ended a little like this, abruptly. There was never a moment between Dr. Somner deciding the session was over and ushering his patients to the door.

  “So, I just stop taking them, the pills?” Cassandra asked when he had the door handle in his hand.

  “Yes, and I will see you back here for your next review in six months.”

  He looked so completely unconcerned, almost disinterested, that it drained any kind of apprehension that Cassandra may have had. If he wasn’t bothered, why should she be?

  “Oh, and happy birthday for next month,” Dr. Somner told her warmly when he had the door open, and the realization hit her once again of just how much there was still to do. Green? Brown? Her first sexy black number? Casual? It was a minefield, and she only had a month to navigate her way through it.

  Chapter Two

  When they pulled out of the parking lot, Cassandra’s mom turned left rather than right. Cassandra had been looking at her cellphone from the moment she got in the car, but her hand dropped to her lap when she saw they were driving away from home.

  “I just have a few things to do before we go home,” Ellen told her.

  Cassandra opened her mouth to complain, but the older woman got there first.

  “Unless you want me to drop you back at school. It’s American history last period, isn’t it? There’s still time to get you there.”

  Cassandra smiled at what was a defeat and a victory for her – better at home than on errands with her mom, but better on errands than the American Civil War – and returned to Facebook. At least she had her cell with her. But then she realized the car had stopped, and Mom hadn’t moved or gotten out. She was staring at her, and she knew from experience that this meant putting the cell phone down. Again, she was getting ready to complain – the appointment had tested her patience, and now she felt a grumbling irritation within herself – but then she saw where they were. Mom had pulled into iCandy, the new dessert diner with more sundaes and homemade desserts on the menu than there are in a year. It had been open just a few days, no one in her class had been yet, and here they were sitting in the parking lot.

  “What are you waiting for?” Mom smiled, and they both got out and moved towards the, over the top, pinkish building that looked as if it had been sent up into space in the 1950s and just landed on this site, unchanged and with no idea about good taste and subtlety, not to mention diabetes and childhood obesity. Cassandra knew her mother would be thinking all of this and she also knew that this would be a one-off. They were a healthy family, and this was strictly a treat. She didn’t bother wondering what she had done to deserve this treat, though; she was going to absorb every moment of it and take it back to school with her before anyone else could get there first. Even Abby hadn’t been yet. In your face, Abby, she thought.

  Meghan Trainor’s “all about the base” was trickling out of pink speakers, although she expected some 50’s style pink fluffy rock group to be playing, the pink ladies from the old 1978 Grease movie would have been more fitting. if she was honest. But it was at least this was pleasant to listen to.

  When they were inside and had found a booth by the window, which was pinker than the pinkest of pinks, she lost herself in the menu and only came back up when a waitress appeared at the table, with a strawberry and vanilla ice-cream mini dress, cherry lipstick and a pen poised to take their order.

  “Anything I want?” Cassandra double-checked with her mom, sitting across from her, who smiled and nodded back then turned to the waitress and said, “Just a decaf for me.”

  Cassandra opened her mouth to order a few times, but then found, even more, delights further down the menu, then finally decided on the Marshmallow Mountain: marshmallow ice cream, marshmallow chocolate, and good, old-fashioned marshmallows forming a mountain with a peanut butter lake flowing down into the glass. This was the future.

  Cassandra had never had to worry about her weight, and it wasn’t something her parents or Coach Andrews pressured her about. She was always so full of energy that she would burn off even a Marshmallow Mountain in a few hours, and food had always been a true source of bliss for her. If ever she had earned a treat, the payout would be a trip to a burger house or noodle bar, or a movie night with her friends, which was really all about the different popcorn snacks she could make before they got there. Popcorn Mountain? She wondered, inspired by this new menu, but she knew from experience that introducing any kind of liquid to popcorn – even a peanut butter lake – made them squelchy.

  “That everything, ma’am?” the waitress asked, who had obviously been to space with the building and returned quite recently. Mom nodded, and the waitress slinked away. Now the agonizing wait began for the sundae artwork. Cassandra gripped her hands together on the table in front of her and could already feel her mouthwatering as her fingers twitched. She looked over at her mom and, seeing the sudden concern in her eyes, held her hands still, but it was too late.

  “Are they itching?” Mom asked, lowering her elbows onto the table and leaning forward. She really was a strikingly
beautiful woman.

  “No, Mom!” Cassandra huffed and hid them away under the table.

  “They looked a little red. You will use the cream if you need to?”

  “It’s fine, Mom,” she answered and turned her attention impatiently to the windowed door of the restaurant, from where other people’s food orders were emerging, although they had ordered theirs just minutes before.

  Cassandra’s mom looked to have accepted the answer and had relaxed into her chair, but very slowly her body crept forward again, her elbows dropped onto the table, and she was looking seriously at her daughter, unable to hide her concern. Cassandra eventually dragged her attention from the ice-cream door and was struck by the sudden intensity. Although Ellen’s smile was still there – always there – she looked as if the weight of the entire diner was on her shoulders with all the patrons, waitresses, booths, pinkness and Marshmallow Mountains included.

  “I just …” she began to say and now she had her daughter’s attention.

  “What is it, Mom?” Cassandra was now wringing her hands under the table. They didn’t itch at all, but the ice-cream salivation and her mom’s sudden worry were really doing a number on her nerves.

  “You’re nearly sixteen, Cassandra.”

  “Are you okay, Mom?”

  “You’re nearly sixteen, and I want you to make your own decision about the medication.”

  A smile broke out of Cassandra’s face. “Is that all?” she sighed. “I thought you were going to tell me I couldn’t go to Abby’s party or you’re ill or something.”

  “This is serious, Cass,” but Cassandra’s attention had been stolen by the door to the kitchens again. “I want you to think long and hard about it. If you have any doubts at all, I want you to tell me, and we can tell Dr. Somner that you want to stay on them.”

  “Why should I have doubts?”

  Ellen paused to take in the full sight of her daughter, so full of life and energy, with everything still ahead of her, looking towards her sweet sixteen as if it were the only thing in the world. In fact, she was looking towards the kitchen door as if it were the only thing in the world. She had all the beauty of her mother, but an added something that Ellen lacked and couldn’t quite put her finger on. A dynamism perhaps; she was like a ball skipping along a roulette wheel, and her fate would be decided the moment she landed.

  “Tell me, really, how have you been feeling lately?”

  “I was telling the truth to Dr. Somner. I don’t feel any different. I feel good.” She couldn’t hide the impatience in her voice.

  “And the nightmares?”

  “Mom! Please! I can’t go to school tomorrow and say I went to iCandy, but my mom wouldn’t shut up about really pointless stuff, so I didn’t get to enjoy anything. I thought this was a pre-birthday treat or something.”

  “I just wanted the chance to speak to you.”

  “Good. We’ve spoken now.” She looked across at the door again and then rolled her eyes when her mom started to speak again.

  “Maybe we can convince Dr. Somner to let you into his support group. Or perhaps there’s a support group for girls with ADD, in the city maybe.”

  “I don’t need support, Mom. I’m doing okay.”

  “Just promise me one thing.”

  “And you’ll let me enjoy my Marshmallow Mountain?”

  “If you have any problems when you stop taking them, anything … if you notice anything different–”

  “I’ll come straight to you.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Ellen held her stare to make sure she remembered the moment and her promise, and then Cassandra repeated, “I promise!” and then, finally, after all the waiting, a head-sized concoction of marshmallows, peanut butter, and chocolate was brought to the table, along with the coffee. After thanking the waitress, Cassandra dug her spoon right into the bottom, and her face lit up as she sucked it clean.

  “You have to try this,” she told her mom.

  “Unlike you, one look at that and I put on five pounds.”

  “Seriously, try it,” she said and held her spoon out. Ellen took it and closed her eyes with the indulgence of the moment. Then she took a bit more before Cassandra could protest, and both Jones women were soon laughing the afternoon away, all thoughts of the serious conversation put to one side in the name of chocolate. After sharing the first one, Ellen then ordered a Strawberry Explosion and this time asked for two spoons. She couldn’t quite bring herself to order one for herself, but sharing two kept the calorie guilt in check. When they had both gorged and chatted, about what Cassandra was going to wear for the party and what present she wanted. As well as how she was feeling about the track meet, and if there were any cute guys on the horizon, they began to slide out of the booth both buzzing with sugar and valuable mother-daughter time, but the atmosphere in the diner had changed. Customers were whizzing around in a panic, and the volume and tone of the chatter had noticeably heightened. People were leaving, and cars were screeching out of the lot. Others were gathering around the counter, focusing intently on the small TV screen beyond. Little did Cassandra and Ellen know that this was a JFK moment, a George Michael or Michael Jackson death moment, a ‘where were you that morning of 9/11?’ moment. When they looked back at their shared ice-cream at iCandy, their bonding time, it would always be the answer to Garden City’s own tragic question. Do you remember where you were when you found out about the Paula Carter and Summer O’Neil – the first two girls to be pulled off the street after dark, raped and left for dead? How can anyone forget that moment? Things like that just didn’t happen in Garden City. Despite the name, it was a small town which would win no horticultural prizes for its gardens, and there wasn’t a skyscraper in sight. In fact, the name was a bit of a joke – not a very funny one, and one that Cassandra had never really got – but a joke all the same. The most insidious, terrifying crime to have stalked Garden City was a spate of morning newspaper thefts from mailboxes and lawns. There must have been worse, but Cassandra particularly remembered following this story that headlined the Guardian of the City for two days straight, and laughing at the fact that she lived somewhere so dull that this was the most newsworthy story around. But now, all that had changed now.

  Across many social networks that evening, there were only two subjects of conversation: Paula Carter and Summer O’Neil. Cassandra didn’t know either of them. They went to a school in the city, but lived in Garden City and were attacked here. She had friends who knew them and friends who were pretending to know them online to get attention, which kinda sucked, but she didn’t even know them by sight. It didn’t take away the lingering sadness that she felt, though. Paula was fifteen and Summer was sixteen. Apparently, the first attack had been more than a week ago, but police had kept the lid tightly sealed on the story; now there was a second attack, there was no keeping it quiet. Cassandra read the whole news report and waded through the various comments from her online friends. Lots of people had referred to Paula as 13. Thinking of you, 13 xxx, anything we can do, 13, and we’re there. One kid had even written, Rest in Peace, 13, although Paula was still very much alive. Turns out she was a soccer player and this was her jersey number. She was attacked in the evening, after going to the movies with her boyfriend. It’s summer, so it was still light, and she walked across the park. Signs show she was sexually assaulted repeatedly by at least two perpetrators. She was now recovering in hospital. Although it was obvious that it would take more than a spell in hospital for her to recover from this. This would be with her forever. Summer O’Neil was subjected to a similar ordeal, although it was after dark. She was snatched by two masked men walking her dog in the streets near her house.

  Garden City was now operating a curfew until further notice. Young people were not allowed on the street after 9.00 p.m. What Cassandra found difficult to believe was that some kids online were more pissed about this than the attacks. Just because a couple of sluts got caught out the rest of
us have to pay for it. This comment was posted anonymously. This has ruined my whole life, another girl posted anonymously. My boyfriend’s in college. He’s not gonna wanna date me if I have to be in before dark. Sucks.

  Cassandra could feel the tears prickling in her eyes and was so pleased to see a friendly face pop up on her close friends feed as she continued scrolling through her cell.

  Hey, Cass! You hear the news? This was Bindi. Her parents were all festivals and tie-dye, which explained the name, and Bindi was pretty chilled and peaceful. She knew a lot about yoga and meditation and was often on a crusade to change the world. Cassandra had known Bindi since she moved to Garden City and they knew everything about each other. Everything!

  Would have to be in a coma not to. Cassandra replied. You know them?

  No. You?

  No. Can’t stop thinking about how awful it must have been, tho. They must have been terrified. Cassandra told her.

  I know, but if we let it scare us, then they’ve won. We have to carry on just the same.

  What about the curfew?

  I mean psychologically. We can’t do anything about the curfew. We have to stay in, but we can’t let it infect our minds. We have to keep positive. We must look out for each other, but we must keep smiling, or they’ve won.