by Brent Runyon
His cheek was like rose his nose like a cherry
On secon' t'ought maybe he lap up de sherry.
God, he's so into it. His voice has all these weird inflections in it. Craig is laughing. Mom is too. I lean a little closer so I can feel his voice through the back of the couch. I can't keep myself from laughing. Dad's face is getting all red. He's starting to look like the picture of Santa in the book.
I lean over to see the picture of an alligator on the roof, and Dad puts his arm around me. I put my head on his shoulder. He's so warm and soft.
An' I hear him shout loud as a splashin' he go
“Merry Christmas to all 'till I saw you some mo'!”
It's Christmas morning. I'm lying in bed, listening to the radio. I used to get excited about Christmas. I'd wake up early and lie in my bed and wonder what I was going to get. And then I'd go and climb into my parents' bed and wake them up. And we'd have our big Christmas morning. But today, I don't know, I don't really feel like it.
I can hear Mom and Dad making breakfast downstairs in the kitchen.
Anyway, I guess I should get up and see what's under the tree.
We open the stockings first. We each got a magazine and some Hershey's Kisses and an orange. My magazine is about movies, Craig's is about rollerblading, Dad's is about racquetball, and Mom's is about aerobics. I guess she's trying to lose some weight.
We take turns opening presents. Youngest to oldest. I get some videos I asked for and a couple of books about movies that I'll never read. Craig gets books and tapes of these bands I've never heard of. Mom gets kitchen stuff and Victoria's Secret underwear from Dad. Gross. Dad gets racquetballs and a new racket.
Now we're down to our big presents. This is the grand finale. I open my big box first. It's the bathrobe. Just like I wanted. Black, full length, with a hood and everything. Just like the one I got last year but with a hood.
Nobody says anything but I can tell that's what they're thinking. I can tell by the way they're looking at me when I put it on.
I say, “Thanks, Mom and Dad,” and give them each a hug.
“Merry Christmas, bud.”
“Merry Christmas.”
After everyone is done opening their presents, Dad pulls a big box out from behind the curtains. What is that? It's a CD player. I can't believe it. I never thought we were going to be the kind of people with a CD player. I always thought we were more of an eight-track family.
Everything sounds so much better on CD. There's no tape hiss or background noise, it's like listening in a doctor's office.
We each got a CD too. I got Aerosmith's Greatest Hits. I used to listen to Aerosmith all the time, before everything, but now, I don't know, it's too noisy. I like the Beatles better.
I've been the only patient here at Dominion for five weeks. The only one. Two doctors, a nurse, a teacher, and me. All for me. That makes me laugh. They have all these people here just looking after me. Every time I cough, somebody puts it into the record. It's insane.
Mom and Dad and I have a meeting today with Michael Mager in his office. This is where Mom and I sat the first time we met him. Dad's dressed in his suit, and he smells like his pipe. I guess he's been smoking again. Both Mom and Dad have yellow legal pads on their knees and pens in their hands.
Michael starts, “So, thanks for coming in, Runyons.”
Dad says, “No problem.”
“Well, I just wanted to say before we begin that I think Brent has made an enormous amount of progress while he's been here. From my point of view, and from the rest of the staff's, we really feel that Brent has made some very significant strides. He's gotten more comfortable with us. He's expressed himself. He's gotten more confident with himself. So, having said that, it's about time to decide what to do next.”
Dad looks very serious, jots something down, and asks, “Well, what are our options?”
“Good question. We've got two main options. Brent has been in our program for eight weeks now. He's been here about four times as long as any other patient we've ever had. And I think, we all think, that he's ready to get out of here. The only question is, where does he go from here? On the one hand, as we discussed when Brent came here, we could send him off to a residential hospital. Someplace like Woodburn, where they do a good job with severely depressed and suicidal teens, but I'm not convinced that's an appropriate place for him anymore.”
I love it when people talk about me in the third person.
He pauses. “Or we could take a chance and start mainstreaming him.”
Mom and Dad both move a little in their seats. Does that mean what I think it means?
Michael keeps talking, but now he's looking at me. “That would mean going back to school. Taking classes. Doing homework. Studying. And, I think most importantly, interacting with your peers.” He nods at me like he wants me to say something.
I say, “Am I supposed to say something?”
He says, “Well, what do you think about that?”
“I think, well, I think I don't know.” I don't know. I wasn't ready for him to say that. “I think that it could be good.”
It could be terrible. What if it's terrible?
Michael smiles. “I think it could be good too.”
I say, “I think, I don't know, I think that it seems a little scary, actually.”
Michael smiles even bigger and nods. “I think it seems a little scary too.”
“Could I do it, like, a little at a time?”
Mom says, “If we start to mainstream Brent, and we decide that it's not the right thing at that moment, would there be a way to change it?”
Michael nods. “Well, your contact in the school system seems to be very supportive of your choices. And I think that with a little elbow grease, you could get them to design a program around Brent's needs.”
He turns back to me. “But, Brent, we need to be clear. This means that you will be going back to school. You will be in with the other students. You will be forced to interact with them. No one will be able to control what they say to you. You'll be on your own. Do you think you're ready?”
There's this big heavy bowling ball in my stomach, rolling up into my throat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What am I going to say? What am I going to say? They're all looking at me.
“Yes.”
It's official, I'm going back to school in two weeks. Marshall High School. I'm going to start part-time, going to a few classes every day, and then I'll ramp up into being a full-time student.
I'm ready. I think I'm ready, but what does that mean, that I'm better? Does it mean that I'm all okay now? Jesus, I don't know. I can't tell. I don't know if I'm going to be okay or not.
I mean, I don't think I'm going to do anything crazy, but I really can't tell. What if something happens? What if somebody says something, or I get mixed up in something that gets me all screwed up and I start to think about death and all that stuff I used to think about all the time? I just don't know what's going to happen when I go back to school. I really don't. I really don't.
I really don't.
The thing about going back to school that I'm most worried about is the plastic mask I have to wear on my face. I mean, okay, I've got to wear the Jobst garments all over my body, from my toes to my neck, but they're skin colored, so they're not as noticeable.
But the mask is a little more apparent. Because it's on my face. Technically I'm supposed to wear the plastic mask all the time, except at night while I'm sleeping. But when I go to school, that will make me look even weirder than I actually am.
Mom says I don't have to wear it if I don't want to, but the truth is I've gotten kind of used to how it feels on my face. I like how it's always cold when I put it on in the morning and the way it smooshes down the scars and makes them flatter and change from red to white. It somehow makes me feel a little better about having scars on my face.
But I guess I'm not going to wear it if I don't have to. I mean, God, I don't always have to look li
ke a total freak.
Chris invited me for a sleepover at his house tonight. I think it'll be fun. Anyway, he's got a lot of video games. He's wearing this big brace on his knee. He just had surgery the other day, and he's not going to be able to play soccer for months.
We sit down at the computer and play this cool new Star Trek computer game he has. Chris's whole family are Star Trek freaks. They've got every single episode of the TV shows and all the movies too.
Chris is playing first. He's fighting a Klingon warship somewhere in the neutral zone. I've been thinking about this whole high school thing.
I say, “So what period lunch do you have?”
“Sixth. What about you?”
“Sixth.”
“That's cool. So you'll have lunch with me and my friends.”
“Who are your friends?”
“A bunch of girls from Kilmer that you know and Steve from our soccer team.”
“Cool. So, when you go in the front doors at Marshall, where's the cafeteria?”
“Oh, just take a right at the mural, go all the way down to the end of the hall, and turn left, and the cafeteria is right there. I'll meet you out front.”
“Okay, so just turn right at the mural?”
“Yeah, and make sure you don't step on the school seal.”
“What do you mean?”
“The school seal is like this tile thing on the floor right when you come in. Don't step on it or the seniors will beat you up.”
“Okay, so don't step on the school seal.” Wasn't there something like that in Rebel Without a Cause?
“Yeah, and if anyone tries to sell you an elevator key, don't do it because there's no elevator.”
“Okay. No elevator.”
“Yeah, and there's no pool either, so don't buy a pool pass from anyone.”
“Okay. Right at the mural. Don't step on the seal. No elevator. No pool. Is that it?”
“Yeah, and if anyone messes with you, just tell me and I'll get the soccer team to take care of it.”
I laugh, but I'm actually glad he said that. “Okay. Thanks.”
He shoots the Klingon warship with a photon torpedo and it explodes across the whole screen.
There's this new kid at Dominion. His name is Joe and he's fat and wears glasses. He's wearing a Beatles shirt, with that famous picture of all four of them walking across the street.
Michael is going to do group with us. “Brent, have you met Joe?”
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
Michael says, “So, Joe. Would you like to talk about why you're here?”
Joe says, “Sure. Well, I'm here, basically, because I'm severely depressed. I've been suicidal. I almost killed myself four times. And I'm thinking about doing it again.” He says that shit like he's proud of it. Give me a fucking break.
I can't help it, I'm going to say something. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I'm serious.”
“Why are you going to do that? Why are you thinking about doing that?”
“Because I'm depressed.”
“So?”
“It's very depressing. I don't want to live like this.”
“So? Get used to it.”
“I don't want to. I want to die.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know about it, okay? I know about it.”
“You don't know shit.”
“Fuck you. You're a fucking asshole.”
Michael interrupts, “Guys. Guys. Take it easy. We've all got our own problems. We all go at our own speed, okay?”
That shit really pisses me off. Jesus Christ. Don't fucking talk to me about that shit.
Michael gets up and turns the light off. “Guys, let's calm down a little, okay? Let's do a little breathing exercise. Close your eyes. Breathe in through your nose. Slowly. Slowly. Hold it. And push it out through your mouth.”
I push the air out through my mouth, and it does make me feel better. I just felt my whole chest relax. We breathe in again. In through the nose. One. Two. Three. Out through the mouth. One. Two. Three. In through the nose. One. Two. Three. Out through the mouth. One. Two. Three.
I feel better. I always feel better doing that breathing exercise. I shouldn't have gotten so upset. I just have to remember. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Craig is home for the weekend. He's hanging out in his room. I stand outside and listen for a second. I can't hear anything. I knock.
“Come in.” He's sitting at his desk holding a notebook, writing or something.
I say, “What are you doing?”
“Drawing.” I didn't know he drew.
“What are you drawing?”
“Stuff. Want to see?” I walk over to him, I wonder if he's going to punch me. No. He doesn't do that anymore.
I look over his shoulder at his drawing. It's just a few straight lines and a stick figure, but it looks like a guy jumping off the top of a really big building.
He says, “Can you tell what it is?”
“A guy jumping off a building? Or is he falling?”
“I don't know. I don't know if he's falling or jumping.” He turns the page.
It's a picture of a man hunched over, holding his knees to his chest. All around him are bricks, everywhere, like he's built himself inside a wall. You can't see his face or anything, but there's something really sad about it.
I say, “What's that supposed to be?”
“A guy.”
“I know, but what is it supposed to mean?”
“It's not supposed to mean anything. It's just a guy I drew.”
“Cool. Why is he inside a brick wall?”
“I don't know. It's just how I feel sometimes. Sometimes I feel like there's a brick wall all around me.”
“Cool.” There is something so sad about that. I didn't know he felt that way. I used to feel that way. I walk back out of the room.
He says, “Hey.”
“What?”
“You going to school tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I go back upstairs to my room.
I sit down at the desk and pull out some paper.
I click the pen and draw a circle. That's good, that's the head. Then I draw the body. The arms look like he's holding them behind his back. He's facing away from me.
I draw a rectangle around him because it looks like there should be one. He looks like he's standing in a doorway.
January 26, 1992
Falls Church, Virginia
I'm awake. Today's the big day. I go to Dominion for a half day, and then I go over to the high school for two periods. Lunch and home economics. It should be pretty easy. I'm going to meet Chris outside the cafeteria doors. I just have to find him when I go to lunch.
I get up and go into my parents' room and turn on the shower. I take off my boxer shorts that I wear over my Jobst. I guess I don't really need to wear boxers, but it just makes me feel more normal. I unzip the jacket and the pants and throw them outside the door so Mom can wash them. I feel like I'm taking off my skin when I do that.
I get into the shower. I turn the shower nozzle to pulse and let it bang off the back of my neck. I'm tired, but I'm so nervous my hands are shaking. I make my hands into fists and pretend there's somebody in front of me. I hit him with a right and a left and another right and a right and a right. Come on. Come on. Come on. Fuck.
I wash my hair with the Pert Plus and get out as fast as I can. I take the towel and wipe a space clear on the mirror. There I am. I lean close to the mirror and stare right into my own eyeballs. See that? That's me. Not the rest of it. Not the rest of it. But right in there, right in my eye, the green and the little fleck of gold. That's me in there. That's me.
It doesn't matter if the rest of me looks different. None of that matters. I can still recognize myself. I'm still that person in there. Inside my eyes.
I go downstairs and pour myself a bowl of raisin bran. Dad's reading the newspaper. He looks up. “Hey, sonner.”
“Hey.”
He looks over at the calendar. Mom's written in red pen, Brent to High School, on today's date. He looks back at me to see if I know what day it is. He says, “Big day today, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Big day.” Dad always repeats what he says. I keep eating, and when I look up again, Dad's still looking at me. He looks like he wants to say something else. “Brent,” he says, “it's a big day today for all of us. We've all worked real hard to get where we are right now. Real hard. And we're real proud of you and all the work you've done. Real proud.”
He reaches over and puts his big hand on top of mine. His eyes are filling up with tears. “And we're your family, and we love you, sonner. And we want you to know that we're here for you whenever you need us. And we just love you and think you're a great kid. And whatever happens, we're with you. Okay, son? We're with you.”
“Okay, Dad. Okay.”
I give him a little hug. I can't stay around and talk about this right now. My bus is here. I grab my book bag and head toward the door. Mom gives me a brown bag with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in it and a dollar for something to drink. She hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. I look into her eyes. She's about to cry. Her eyes get extra green when she's about to cry.
“We love you, sweetie.”
“I love you too.”
Dad gives me another hug and pats me on the back as I go out the door.
Michael Mager's called a special meeting because today is my last day. Suzanne is here. And the fat kid, Joe.
Michael does the talking.
“Well, Brent, I don't usually do this, but because you've been here for so long, we decided to get together to see you off.”