The old man pounded the floor with his cane. “No! It is still wrong! No matter how many times you do it! Why do you insist on acknowledging the audience?”
The dancers seemed to shrink in front of him, attentively sweating.
“And your port de bras! No one will care anything about your steps if your arms do not float through whipped cream!”
The pair nodded meekly. “Can we try again?” the guy asked.
The old man dismissed them with a wave of his cane. “There is no time for dancers who refuse to learn. Next!”
Bones felt bad for them but kept walking down the worn carpet, making his way toward a door that he remembered led backstage. He opened the door, relieved that no one was paying attention to him, and stepped into a confusion of limbs and spandex.
The guys were either bare-chested or wore sleeveless T-shirts. Their muscles were ripped. He spotted the girl who’d just left the stage, sitting on the floor untying her shoes and crying quietly. Then she began moving her arms through something invisible, probably whipped cream.
Bones stepped around an older woman doing the splits against a wall, then by a guy icing his knee with a bag of frozen peas. One dancer was talking on a cell phone and laughing. Another was contemplating the remains of a banana. Febreze was sprayed into shoes.
Bones smelled the smells—Bengay and Preparation H—and listened to the hum of brittle chatter. And then he saw her—standing in the corner away from the others—delicate as a ladyfinger.
Alice.
Her back was to him, one hand on her ankle, her leg a perfect arc over her head. Little pearls of sweat glistened on her shoulders and neck.
“Alice,” he whispered, making his way toward her.
Dr. Chu, Lard, and her parents—everyone had been wrong. This wasn’t about the pill of fame taking away her pain. Alice was a dancer, an artist pursuing her dreams. Pure and simple. Why couldn’t they understand that?
Bones reached out, gently touching her shoulder. She swung around, obviously startled. Her lips moved, nothing else. “Excuse me?” she said.
Her voice didn’t sound right; it was too deep. Where were her almond eyes? Her sexy smile? The aroma of sugarless gum? He shook his head to make her cinnamon freckles materialize.
“You’re not Alice,” he muttered as his throat closed up. Tight. Little ice picks stabbed at it. His feet tried to move. Stuck. There was nothing left in him. Nothing.
Bones wasn’t aware of driving back to the hospital. He could barely hold the steering wheel—dying inside an orange Celica with expired plates. He’d started to believe thoughts were real things, but if they were only real in his head, then they weren’t real at all.
The only empty parking spot had a pole with a sign attached to it showing a wheelchair. Perfect for a three-thousand pound Cheese Doodle with a moribund driver.
His tears came slowly.
29
Once inside the hospital, Bones moved swiftly down the corridor, intent on snatching the sheets from Alice’s bed for himself. He’d remake his bed and sleep tangled in her essence until she came back. She always does, he told himself.
But for some strange reason, he wasn’t surprised her bed had been remade. Crisp sheets tucked in too tight. The sheets he’d planned on taking to his room—her sheets, the sheets he’d left in a pile on the floor a few hours ago—had vanished. Not even Nureyev looked down from the wall to say Alice had lived and breathed in this space.
Bones checked Alice’s closet and dresser frantically, unsure what he was looking for. Then he hit her bathroom, kneeling on the cold tile in the shower. Pine Sol stung his nose. His eyes burned. Not a single strand of strawberry blond hair.
He squeezed his eyes shut and folded up on himself, held down by the everyday hospital racket resonating from outside. He figured he’d been crumpled up long enough when he’d lost all feeling in his legs. If only he could numb his heart. It seemed he was always saying good-bye to pieces of Alice.
Bones forced himself to get up and caught a glimpse of himself in her mirror. His image looked deflated, his oxygen out on loan. He’d always had food or the lack of it to focus on in times like this. But he didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want not to eat. Only one person could give him any kind of comfort, and for the millionth time today he felt the lack of her presence.
Missing her hurt as much as loving her. But I will never stop loving her, not as long as I live. And I will never stop dreaming about her, never stop waiting for her, never stop looking for her. Never.
But the truth stretched out in front of him: loving her hadn’t been enough.
Not enough for her.
Lard was right; Alice had thrown herself a going-away party. She’d given him a parting gift in the elevator. Bones had to admit it. No he didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Bones barely made it though lunch, gagging down the extra four ounces of Ensure Nancy gave him to make up for missing breakfast. He sat alone with his back to the room and tuned out the meaningless chatter. The weirdest thing of all was Dr. Chu hadn’t called him to his office for the umpteen infractions over the last two days.
Bones stayed in his room as much as possible. He lay on his bed, floating in the sweet memory of the elevator, halfway between heaven and hell. A void where it didn’t matter that nothing mattered.
Even Lard moved through space noiselessly.
They didn’t know what to say or do.
Neither of them slept that night.
It was as if they’d had their own private meeting where they’d mutually decided to check out for a few days—like their brains were on overload and were shutting down to recharge. Sometimes when there’s so much to think about it’s better to be quiet.
Just when the dream-state seemed to be lifting, Bones was summoned by Dr. Chu. Bones stood lifeless in the cramped office space facing a pair of navy blue uniforms who introduced themselves as Officers Brunner and Manor. Badges pinned beneath dull expressions.
“We need to ask you a few questions,” Officer Brunner said. He was short with bushy gray hair. A roll of fat hung over his belt. “Would you like your parents here?”
Bones shook his head. “I just want to help.”
“Answer their questions as honestly as you can, Jack,” Dr. Chu said, failing miserably at a supportive smile. “Okay?”
“I want to find her more than anyone else,” Bones said.
“I’m sure your roommate”—Officer Brunner frowned at his notes as if unable to read his own handwriting—“Mr. Bowelesky told you about our chat the other day.”
“Mr. Kowlesky.” Bones corrected him. “He mentioned it.” Lard said he’d been grilled by two of LA’s finest. Like I was part of a subversive terrorist plot or something, he’d said.
“Accordingly…” Manor flipped pages in his notebook, fountain pen poised as if ready to inflict pain. “You and Mr. Kowlesky spent the afternoon with Miss Graham before she left.”
Brunner took a wide, flat-footed stance. “If she did indeed leave under her own volition,” he said.
Bones let it sink in. “You don’t think she left on her own?”
“We have to consider all the possibilities,” Brunner said.
“We understand Miss Graham is extremely sick and only recently released from Intensive Care,” Manor said, tapping his pen on his pad. His shaved head and small gold earring glinted under the fluorescent light. “Were you aware of her heart problems?”
Bones felt all eyes on him. “But she was getting better,” he stammered. “Almost back to normal…”
“It’s difficult to imagine—” Brunner began.
Manor stepped closer, picking it up from there. “No, more like impossible—”
“—to understand how someone so sick could plan her own exit as well as execute it,” Brunner concluded.
Bones couldn’t focus under the weight of what he was hearing. He stared down at the carpet, stuck on heart problems. “She had that ventricular thing,” he said. “She
told me lots of people have it—that it wasn’t a big deal.”
Bones looked at Dr. Chu who’d been in the background fingering his soul patch. “Ventricular tachycardia is potentially life-threatening,” he said, moving into the fray. “It can lead to sudden death.”
“But she said—”
Brunner pinned him accusingly. “Why would you and your roommate take Miss Graham on a joyride?”
“What about that, Jack?” Dr. Chu said.
“She seemed fine. Normal. In a great mood. There wasn’t really a plan. We just felt like getting out for a while—all we did was drive around and listen to music.”
“Where did you go yesterday morning?” Brunner asked. “After you learned Miss Graham was missing?”
Bones took a breath.
Manor nodded, that universal signal to go on.
“I thought I knew where she was,” Bones said. “I remembered the dance auditions at the opera house downtown. I thought she might have gone there.”
Bones could tell Manor wasn’t buying it, wasn’t even pretending to buy it. He expected Dr. Chu to rip him a new one for not telling him about the audition sooner.
“Then someone must have seen you.” Brunner again.
“Yes. I mean no. Well, maybe.”
“Which is it?” Manor stared at him.
Bones wasn’t sure what to expect first, handcuffs or the Miranda rights. “I didn’t really talk to anyone,” he said.
The officers looked bored, ready to move on. “We’ll be back,” Manor said and turned on a polished heel.
Bones hesitated. “There might be something else.”
Brunner faced him, a cat over a gopher hole.
Bones knew he had to tell them about the magazine pages. “I found them in her wastebasket.” He hoped the information would encourage them to amp up the search. “She licked off the Ex-Lax.”
“Why would she do something like that?” Manor asked.
“It’s an old trick,” Bones said quietly.
The two men studied him quizzically, seemingly convinced he was telling the truth. Who would make up something like that?
30
As if things weren’t crappy enough, Dr. Chu called Bones’s parents and told them about the two unauthorized trips from the hospital, both within a twenty-four hour period. A family meeting was scheduled for the following afternoon.
It was good to see his mom and dad—but a little strange in a space too small for so much worry (him) and disappointment (them). He liked his mom’s new short hair and jean jacket. His dad sipped hot tea from a Styrofoam cup.
Bones was still shook up from being questioned by the cops. He shifted from foot to foot, not easy since he was sitting down. He gripped the arms of the chair and told his parents that someone he cared about was missing.
The words tumbled out in a stream so sudden, even the framed posters were listening. “I thought I knew where she was.” His voice shook but somehow he managed to get it all out. “So I took Lard’s car.”
“That girl?” his mom asked. “The one we saw family night?”
Bones nodded. “Alice.”
Dr. Chu had dark circles under his eyes and he blinked too fast, as if afraid of breaking down. Bones had never seen him like this. He studied Bones from the other side of his desk, arms crossed as if he’d caught him in another lie. And that’s exactly how Bones felt, like everything he’d had with Alice was a lie.
“It looks like she ran away,” Bones mumbled. “But the police aren’t so sure.”
Another miserably long second passed while his mom fiddled with a button on her jacket. Then she cleared her throat. Bones knew she was working up to something.
“I starved myself for a week,” she finally said. “I wanted to know what it felt like.”
His dad scratched the stubble on his chin. “You did what?”
“It was an experiment.” His mom looked at him. “You were working late and we weren’t having meals together.
I’d have a cup of coffee and a half grapefruit for breakfast, maybe a green salad for dinner. I was completely exhausted and had a constant headache. I’d wake up in the middle of the night starving.”
Bones didn’t know how he could feel any worse but he did.
“Then something started to happen—I’d hear voices in my head. Come on, they said. Come on, you can do it. The longer I stayed away from the kitchen the more powerful I felt, like it was some sort of victory.”
There was a long silence.
“It’s hard to watch our kids make mistakes and not want to fix them,” Dr. Chu said.
His mom sighed, question in her eyes. “But not if trying to fix things keeps them sick. I hope that doesn’t sound too harsh.”
At that moment Bones thought his mom was the smartest person in the world. He could have done more thinking about his own problems while he’d been in here, but he’d done enough to know that he didn’t want to come back once he got out.
He wanted to get well.
He knew that’s what it came down to.
He wanted to be his mom and dad’s son again.
He wanted to be his sister’s brother.
And he wanted to be a whole person when they found Alice.
Bones watched his dad cross his legs, careful not to kick the desk. He knew what he was thinking before he said it. “What about our son?”
There could be all kinds of answers to this question.
They’d all begin with Jack left hospital grounds on two consecutive days without permission, an obvious and blatant violation…he’ll now be confined to his room with an ankle monitor. House arrest.
Bones kept waiting for Dr. Chu to remind him that he’d once been a teenager and therefore understood what Bones was going through. It’s just a phase, he’d say. Don’t worry, you’ll outgrow it.
Dr. Chu sighed a little uncertainly. “More than half of our patients fully recover. They go to college, get married, raise families. Have meaningful careers,” he said. “Jack has reached a point where he should start thinking about what he’s going to do when he leaves here.”
His dad set both feet on the ground. “Private therapy?”
“That’s one option,” Dr. Chu said. He reached for a folder, pausing to thumb through it. “The hospital holds group therapy once a week in the basement for former patients. It’s a great group of kids. What do you say, Jack?”
Bones thought of all the things he’d done since he’d been in the program. Things he never thought he’d be able to do. Then he nodded, because he didn’t know what else to do, and because he wanted to stay connected to the people he’d met here, and just when he thought Dr. Chu might seem more human without PhD attached to his name, Dr. Chu slipped a contract from the folder and asked Bones to sign it.
Essentially Bones agreed not to leave the ward under any circumstances unless accompanied by a staff member.
And that included the roof.
No problem.
Who wanted to go up there now?
Other than meals and regularly scheduled activities Bones stayed in his room reading, working on exercises, writing to his family. Now he sat in the dayroom with his back to the window moving tiles around the Scrabble board. S-V-E-LT-E. He rearranged them. L-O-V-E and D-E-S-I-R-E.
Next turn.
He spelled H-O-P-E-L-E-S-S and removed the last four letters.
For the last four years, Bones had lived for the gnawing feeling of hunger in his stomach—because it meant his body was consuming itself. Now the empty feeling terrified him—because it was associated with loss and longing. He was more afraid than ever that he’d never see Alice again.
Another two days passed like a slow moving cloud.
Nighttime was worse.
Bones listened to the sound of movement in the hall outside his room. Water sloshed in a bucket. A mop smacked the baseboard. He imagined Unibrow sipping Ensure from a bottle concealed in a brown paper bag, stolen from the locked cupboard where cases of supplements
were stored.
As much as Bones was irritated by the existence of Unibrow, he thought the mass the guy displaced was somehow less threatening than that of someone who actually cared, like Nancy for instance, who left Bones feeling like he’d disappointed her.
Bones rolled over and grabbed his pillow. Rolled over again, punched it. Fear consumed him. Sometimes it had a sound of its own, like one of those whistles only dogs can hear.
He had the sense Lard was awake. “What time is it?”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
Lard shifted and his bedsprings groaned. “Alice is—” he started and stopped.
Bones waited.
“She conned everyone. Her parents, her doctors. She even conned us, man.”
Bones wanted to slug him.
“It’s the truth, man. Maybe the only truth.”
Somewhere deep inside Bones knew he was right.
He and Lard had spent endless hours trying to figure things out. Why she left; where she went.
“She isn’t anorexic because she’s a ballerina,” Lard said. “Anymore than she’s a ballerina because she’s anorexic.”
“Post hoc, ergo propter hoc,” Bones said.
“You keep talking like that and I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soap.”
“It means, A occurred, then B. Therefore A caused B,” Bones said. “Let’s just say that more teens are going to church than ever before. Yet unwanted teen pregnancy is on the rise. That would mean churches are corrupting today’s youth, hypothetically speaking.”
Lard gave the kind of snort he was famous for.
“Philosophy one-oh-one,” Bones said.
Then they spent too much time talking about Elsie, who they agreed would always be a cow, and Mary-Jane, who’d have a better chance in life if she’d stop hanging around Elsie. It was stupid gossip. But what were they supposed to do when they were locked up like monkeys in a zoo?
Besides, they had to talk about something to keep from thinking. Sometimes it worked, for about thirty seconds. Then Lard fired up his chainsaw. The nasal strips Alice had given him were useless. Lard sawed. Bones stacked, question upon question.
Skin and Bones Page 15