She took a sweeping glance around. The entire wall behind the desk was filled with books. Some were lined up with their spines standing vertically, while others lay flat, stacked one on top of the other. There were just so many. There might have been room for more if they weren’t all shoved so carelessly into any space that might fit them. Everything about the ward was so bare and stark. Here, the chaos stacked on the shelves overwhelmed her.
Her focus shifted to the desk, which was just as disorganized. Twelve-inch stacks of paper, file folders, and more books lay everywhere with a few pens strewn across the surface. A thin cylinder made of glass fixed to a square wooden base stood dangerously close to the edge of the desk, a big pile of papers shoved up against it and threatening to send it crashing onto the floor at any second. Anna couldn’t read the words that were etched onto the glass surface, but it was clearly some kind of award.
Framed diplomas and five or six plaques hung on the walls. The only thing she could make out was the big, bold letters that spelled out Dr. James Blackwell on each of them. An empty Hungry Man fried chicken dinner box was lying at the bottom of a nearby trashcan.
Enormous windows spanned the entire wall to her left. The sun radiated through the clear glass and flooded the room without any mesh to squeeze and smother it. She walked over to see outside and even spread her hands on the cool glass. Below, the cars wove their way through the driveway. A few people meandered around the parking lot. Others relaxed underneath a clear canopy, smoking cigarettes. The yellow-and-black-striped gate flipped hypnotically up and down as the cars moved in and out of the lot.
She wasn’t bored watching all of this. Everything outside was so normal. It comforted her to see that other people existed outside. Her world had shrunk in a matter of days, and even though these people looked so small from this height and raced by so quickly that she could barely catch a glimpse of them, it was proof that they existed.
The door swung open, startling her. She swung around, her muscles tensing in anticipation of the scolding that would surely follow for having gotten off the couch.
“Good afternoon, Anna.” Dr. Blackwell smiled. He walked over to his desk to drop another pile of paper on the stack. Then he sat down on a chair across from the couch.
“Would you like to join me?”
“Um, yeah.” Anna sat back down in her spot on the couch.
“So how are you?” he asked, the smile lingering on his lips. His face had never looked anything but kind to Anna. It had a way of disarming her, but not completely.
“I’m fine.” It was the best she could do.
“What have you been doing with your time?”
“Mostly reading.” She slipped her hands underneath her legs and sat on them. She didn’t want to be so terse with him; in a way she wanted to please him.
“Good. It’s important to do things you enjoy.”
The last thing she was doing was enjoying herself. But she wouldn’t disappoint him by telling him she read to drown out everything around her and to fill the empty, boring days.
“Have you become friendly with any of the patients?”
Anna shifted her weight uncomfortably. “No.”
He peered up at her over the rim of the glasses that balanced unsteadily on the tip of his nose.
“It would be nice for you to try and speak to some of the others. Many of them are feeling the same things you are. Talking about it with someone informally can be very therapeutic.”
She wanted to answer, but she really didn’t know what to say.
“I’d like to start by talking about what you mentioned to me when you were first admitted.”
She didn’t like the direction this was taking, but at the same time she was relieved he had stopped prodding her about who she was talking to. She definitely didn’t want to talk about Caleb. “You seem very angry at your parents and blame them for your being here.”
“Yeah.” Her soft spot for Dr. Blackwell was hardening into a callus.
“You turned eighteen three months ago; you do know that neither your parents nor the hospital has the legal right to hold you here?” He was so logical. He made it sound so simple, as if she could just walk out of the building and leave because she felt like it.
“I know.” This was even worse than the threat of having to talk about Caleb.
“Then let’s try to talk about why you’ve chosen to be here, and what I can do for you.”
A million possibilities of what to say next raced through her head. “I’m here because…because…”
“Take your time.”
“It’s not that easy. My parents told me I had to come here. I couldn’t just tell them no.”
“Why couldn’t you tell them no?”
“What do you mean? I just couldn’t.” She looked at him like he was the mental patient.
“Tell me why you couldn’t.”
Her hands flipped out from underneath her and she raised them, palms up. “What was I supposed to do? Just walk out the door? Where would I go? I’m supposed to start college in the fall. I don’t know what everyone expects me—” She was embarrassed that she’d lost her temper.
“Anna, it’s okay. Tell me about your relationship with your parents. Have you always done what they told you to do?”
She sunk back into the couch and folded her arms across her chest. “Pretty much.”
“Have you ever done anything that displeased them?”
“Displeased?” She almost burst out laughing. Displeased wasn’t exactly what she had done to them. When she hadn’t behaved in the way they expected of her, they were far more than displeased. “Yes,” she replied simply.
“Can you give me an example?”
She thought through the thousands of examples she could offer him but settled on one in particular. It wasn’t like she wanted to share anything with him really, but he had asked and she was feeling vengeful.
“One time when I was little, I told my mother I hated her.”
“And how did she respond?”
“It’s…it’s just really hard to talk about.”
“I understand. If you can, try to tell me what you remember.”
That would be easy. Even though it had happened ten years ago, she had never forgotten. Every detail of that night was seared into her. Maybe she’d give him a little bit, just enough to satisfy him so he’d stop asking.
“Okay, I’ll try.” She sighed. “I had a fight with my mother earlier in the day because I remember she made meat loaf for dinner. I’ve always hated meat loaf and she only ever made it when she was mad at me.”
“I see.”
“I remember sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner once my dad got home. My mom was telling him about the fight we’d had. I don’t remember what it was about, but she was telling him how ungrateful I was, saying how could I treat her like that after all they’d done for me, the same stuff she’d always say. I remember how much I hated that meat loaf, and I was getting so mad listening to her talk that way about me. I screamed that I hated her.” Anna stopped. She knew exactly what came next. She had relived it hundreds of times, but she’d never put it into words for someone.
“So you told her you hated her.” The sympathy in his face made her want to tell.
“Then my dad freaked out and started screaming. I got scared and ran downstairs to the bathroom. It was the only door in the house that had a lock on it. He came down and started banging on the door, screaming that when I came out of there, I was going to get it.”
She didn’t want to tell him now. It was humiliating. She didn’t want to talk about the brown leather belt that her father kept in the closet. It was how she got it over and over again. She would skip that part. He couldn’t make her tell him.
“I know this is difficult for you, but try to go on.”
“So that night”—she went on, skipping over the gory details—“I was lying in bed and I started to feel weird. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I was
scared. Scared isn’t even the right word for it, more like terrified. And I felt like I was in a dream or something, but I wasn’t asleep. I felt so sick. Everything felt different.” She had to be done. She just couldn’t relive it any longer.
“Was that the only time you ever felt like that?”
“No.” She wanted to cry, purge herself from the secret that she’d had hundreds of these things since she was eight. Her life revolved around them, terrified of when the next one would hit. They controlled everything she did and thought.
“So you’ve felt like this at other times.”
“Yeah. A lot of other times.”
“Does it still happen?”
“Uh-huh.”
“When it does, how does it make you feel?”
“Like I said, just really scared. I literally feel like I’m going crazy, and sometimes I feel like I’m gonna die.”
“How about physical symptoms? Can you tell me about any of those?”
“Um, I feel dizzy, my heart beats really fast, and when it’s over, I start shaking.”
“Anna, it sounds like you’ve been suffering from panic attacks. There are things you can do to lessen their severity, and we can even medicate you to try to prevent them.”
So there was a name for them. And if they had a name, it meant that they happened to other people. Could it really be that Dr. Blackwell knew how to make them go away? She felt like screaming with relief. Her eyes welled up. This burden she’d been carrying since she was a child might actually disappear. And now somebody knew about it.
“I always thought I was crazy,” she said, starting to cry. “I didn’t know…”
“You’re definitely not crazy.” For the first time, she noticed he was balancing a notepad on his lap. He began to write. She hoped he was writing not crazy in his notes, and she almost burst out laughing at how ridiculous that was.
Dr. Blackwell spent the remainder of the session teaching her what to do when she felt a panic attack coming on. It was embarrassing practicing the deep, structured breathing, but if it would stop this hell, she was willing to do anything. He asked if she wanted to try medication. She immediately answered yes. He told her about some side effects she might experience, but she all but ignored his words. If there was a possibility that she would no longer be ruled by this, she would risk anything.
“Our time is up, but I think we made a great deal of progress. There’s a lot more to do, though. Good work today.”
“Thank you so much,” she said with her heart full of boundless gratitude. A thank-you couldn’t even begin to cover it.
“You’re very welcome.” He stood up and opened the door. She followed, but stopped abruptly before leaving with the attendant.
“Just one more thing.”
“Yes?” He smiled.
“Do you think you could have them take me back using the stairs instead of the elevator?”
“Of course, of course.” He nodded at the attendant. “I guess we’ll cover that in our next session.” A tiny spark of hope flickered deep inside Anna, little by little incinerating the dread and misery that had taken root years ago.
Chapter Seven
Caleb spent the rest of the day in his room. He didn’t want to push Anna away more than he already had, so he avoided the common area. Lunch had come and gone. He’d head over for dinner but keep his distance from her, eat quickly, and get back to his room. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice he was there. Maybe after a few days, he could try again.
He kept running through what had happened that morning. She was right; he didn’t know anything about her. He should have waited much, much longer to tell her. Everything was worse, and he probably caused her to plunge deeper into a depression. He couldn’t bear the thought that he’d made her suffer when all he wanted to do was make everything that was bad in her life go away.
Having been at his desk for hours, he had nothing to show for it, just the barest outline of a face looking out from the paper—blank eyes, an expressionless mouth, a line that might become a chin. It was no one, and he didn’t know who it would become. His mind was too busy with thoughts of Anna; there was nothing left over to give to his drawing. Sitting there was useless, but he didn’t want to get up and face the fact that he was failing, face the crushing boredom spanning in front of him until the lights went out.
Maybe if he put on some music it might distract him long enough to get some momentum going. He wiggled the ear buds from his iPod into place and flipped through the menu, settling on a track by the Killers. The music flooded his mind. It felt good to let something outside of himself in. He closed his eyes and let his body slump down over the desk, resting his chin in his palm.
Just as the song ended, Caleb flinched from the sensation of a hand on his shoulder. He spun around to find Anna standing over him. The urge to drift off to sleep vanished instantly thanks to a fresh surge of adrenaline. But then again, maybe he was dreaming, since there was no way this girl would voluntarily get near him. He yanked the ear buds out and stood up, shoving the chair out from behind him. She was still there.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. “You didn’t answer when I said your name, so I just figured…”
“No, no, it’s okay, you didn’t scare me.” Why did he have to jump up so fast? “What are you doing here?” It didn’t come out right, and he felt like an idiot. “I mean, I thought after what happened, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Somehow he’d managed to make himself look like an even bigger idiot thanks to his stupid babbling. He prayed for someone to stop him.
She backed away a little. “It’s okay. I actually came to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It’s not like you were being awful to me or something.”
“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” His tone was almost scolding. “I’m the one who started talking about things I shouldn’t have.”
“Well, I don’t want to start arguing about who’s more sorry, so let’s just say we both are.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s just forget it happened,” he said.
Silence.
“It looks like you’re busy, so I guess I’ll go,” Anna said as she glanced down at the portrait on the desk. She turned toward the door.
“No, I’m not busy. Please stay.” He wanted to slap himself for how desperate he sounded. He should offer her a seat, or a cocktail or something, but there was just a bed, a dresser, a desk, a chair, and four walls. He dragged the chair closer to her so she could sit down, but she didn’t. Instead she wouldn’t stop staring at the wall. Maybe she’d forgotten he was even there.
“What’s all this?” she finally asked.
“They’re just some things I like, things I like to look at.” The wall was covered with scraps of paper from the corner all the way to the door. Some were pages torn from magazines, others were drawings. There were also papers with blocks of text on them. She squinted at the words, trying to read them, and moved closer. Her lips mouthed a couple lines, and she just barely whispered:
for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
“Did you write that?”
“No. It’s e.e. cummings.”
“Oh. I like it.” Her gaze continued to weave through the paper mural.
He felt like she wasn’t so much speaking to him as saying out loud what happened to be passing through her mind. Although he stood quietly by as she studied the scraps of paper, what he really wanted to do was rip every last drawing off the wall and squirrel it away somewhere, never to be seen again by anyone except himself. He might as well have been stripped naked in front of her. All that paper on the wall was him, or at least parts of him. He’d hung them up only because he was sure no one else here would ever bother to look. It let him bring a small part of his studio to this awful place.
“Are these all your drawings?”
“Yeah, they are.” He walked over to t
he bed and sat down.
Now that he’d backed away, she moved closer to the wall so she could make out the details. “This place right here…” She pointed to one of the drawings. “Where is it?”
It would be better to avoid bringing up anything having to do with angels or heaven. “It’s just a studio that I’d like to have someday.” He did want that studio back, with all the windows that let the light flood through, where he could work uninterrupted for eternity and wouldn’t need to stop because it was five thirty and time for dinner.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Who are these people?” Her fingers pinched the corner of one of the portraits.
“They’re some of the patients. That one’s George.”
“I didn’t recognize him. I guess I can see it, but he looks so different. I can’t really say how though.”
Caleb knew exactly why he looked different, but again, he wouldn’t tell her. He’d found that he could imagine what people would look like in heaven, erasing all of the earthly burdens that mutilated them. In the portrait George wasn’t compelled to count or slap his thighs. He didn’t have to focus his strength on trying to control what was out of control about him. In the portrait, he just was.
And then she took a quick breath in. Her back was to him, but without a doubt she’d found the portraits of herself. He would have hidden them had he known she was coming. Now it was too late.
“Is that me?” Her voice was serious and quiet.
“Um, yeah, it is.”
Five portraits of her hung in a row, smack in the center of the wall, so that they were at Caleb’s eye level when he worked at his desk. In some, a tender smile lit up her face. In others, her eyes zeroed in on the viewer—which had always been him—and though she wasn’t smiling, there was a serenity about her, the kind that made her glow from the inside out.
When the real Anna turned around, her face had changed somehow. There was little difference between it and the face in the portrait. Caleb sat still on the bed even though he wanted to rush over to her.
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