Get Well Soon

by Julie Halpern

  So love is possible at the Loony Bin. Or, at least, lust.

  STILL IN SCHOOL

  Wow. The minutes pass like hours here, just like in real school! As part of my assignment for The Crucible, I’m supposed to write a list of characters. However, since I can’t seem to get past page three, I’ve decided to create my own cast of Lake Shit characters. I shall call it:

  ANNA’S HANDY DANDY GUIDE TO ALL FOLKS OF LAKE SHIT

  ANNA: Your lovable narrator, dealing with panic attacks, irritable bowels (ugh! That word!), and fatness.

  SANDY: My trusty roommate, slightly white trash, who ran away from home and landed here. Has buff boyfriend back home.

  TROY: Jack-assian, yet kind of hot, white guy who twists his hair into dreadlocks and gives me nasty looks.

  VICTOR: A nice and funny guy in my Group who sold drugs at school and whose mom has cancer. At least I think she does. I don’t always know what to believe here. Likes to stand near me in the elevator.

  PHIL/SHAGGY: Sleazy guy who liked to set things on fire and who seems like a total perv.

  COLBY: Awkward kid who hears voices and is afraid of everything. Not very fun to hang around.

  MATT O.: Nice guy in my Group who enjoyed eating dinner with me. Once had a pencil that was lost by Justin.

  TANYA: Mean girl who hates me. Hates everyone, really, except Luther.

  JOLENE: Tanya’s bowl-haired ex-roommate. She went home the week I got here.

  BOBBY: Younger guy who reminds me of Mara. Hit his brother (on purpose?). Seems OK.

  SEAN: Rosary-carrying rebel who busted out of boarding school. Scum-stache.

  JUSTIN: The beauteous yet mysterious lefty who once liked The Ramones.

  Do you think it’s worth an A?

  NIGHT

  Tonight Sandy and I went to Free Time together. One half hour after dinner, everyone who was a good boy or girl that day gets to sit around in the Day Room and hang out. Slightly fun, in a hanging-out-in-someone’s-basement kind of way. This is where the real power of the Level II comes into play, because Level IIs get to decide whether we watch TV or listen to the radio and what we watch or listen to. Sean chose TV, which would have been fine with me, except that he turned on a dork-o rerun of Full House. Maybe the powers that be censor our television (or maybe Full House is the type of program that a teenager with multiple rosaries watches).

  Justin sat by himself on a green fart chair in a corner, hair dangling forward as he wrote into a composition notebook. Interestingly, he wrote with his right hand. Ambidextrous? Be still my heart.

  Since it was Sandy’s first time around most of these people, I stuck close by. Plus I felt the need to block her from the grossness of Phil/Shaggy, who was stalking her, hyenalike, bragging about how he did a bunch of arson but never got caught. I wonder if Phil sets fire to things because that’s the only way someone would refer to him as “hot.” Ooh—I burnt him!

  Sandy and I sat down at a table to watch Victor and Luther play a card game called Hearts. Phil went on. “You shoulda seen this one fire I started, man, everyone was yelling, ‘Call 911!’ and I was standing there, watching the blaze go higher and higher.”

  “Yeah,” Victor interjected, “the blaze from a garbage can. You never started no real fires. Go away, I’m about to win this game.”

  Luther slammed his cards down on the table. “Shoot. Again?”

  “Always,” said Victor.

  Walking around, listening, talking to people, I felt really … comfortable? The TV provided noise, so I didn’t think about my stomach. Creepy Phil gave us someone to laugh at. Victor invited me and Sandy into the card game. Who would’ve thought I would be playing cards with a drug dealer? This place seemed to erase all social stereotypes. There was absolutely no pressure to be cool or skinny or entertaining. I was there, and that was enough.

  Trying to fall asleep afterward, all I could think was that this is the first time in a long time where I feel comfortable somewhere. It’s pretty fucked up that that somewhere is a mental hospital.

  Day 8

  Friday, Day 8

  Today is my one-week anniversary. I wonder what the gift is for a one-week anniversary, you know, like they show on the back of those free Hallmark calendars? Diamond for 50th, paper for 12th, or whatever. I bet it’s something like a single raisin. Or perhaps a prune.

  Doc Ass and I had a therapy session this morning, so I missed Group. Usually, I feel inclined to answer all questions and tell people what they want to hear, but I always feel like Dr. A. is provoking me. “I see you fixed your hair.” “Are you taking your meds or just hiding them under your tongue?” “I hear you’ve been hanging out with the boys at lunchtime.”

  That set me off. “Of course I sit with the boys at lunch. There’s only one other girl here. Am I supposed to sit alone?” He smiled a little, as if he liked seeing me get mad. I hate having to talk to him. I’d rather be in Group, as lame as it is. Matt O. usually whispers sarcastic comments to me under his breath. Victor always sits next to me, which makes me feel kind of good. Even Phil/Shaggy’s pervy arson talk would be better than sitting with this cartoon of a psychiatrist trying to bullshit “feelings” out of me. Why should I tell him anything anyway? It was a therapist who told my parents to put me here in the first place, and she was way more screwed up than I am with her sex “theories.”

  At that moment I almost wanted to go home.

  “When do I get to talk to my parents?” I glared at him.

  “Later this week.” He said he didn’t have any more details, and the rest of the session was spent in silence. I’m sure he wanted me to grandly emote, but if he was waiting for me to have a revelation, that wasn’t going to happen today. What does he care? Don’t shrinks get paid a shitload of money whether I talk or not?

  I have yet to get any mail or phone calls, and I’m curious to know what’s going on in the outside world. Before Sparkle gets off her shift in the morning, she slides the newspaper under my door. It’s always a day behind, but I only really read the comics and entertainment sections. Anything’s better than gagging on The Crucible. I found an article about dance movies, so I ripped out some pictures from Saturday Night Fever and Dirty Dancing to stick on my walls. They look a bit jagged, since we can’t even have safety scissors, but they brighten up the room a bit. Every room needs a little Patrick Swayze.

  LATER MORNING

  New girl on the floor! I don’t know when she came in—this morning or last night. I discovered her when Sandy and I accidentally had our bathroom door open at the same time that Tanya’s was, which is a total no-no because it could be construed as attempted socializing. We could see straight into her room, and there was the new girl lying in bed. It was no ordinary bed, even though she looked like an ordinary girl. It was a toddler’s bed, the kind with metal guards on each side so no one falls out. A man wearing a sweater with a tie underneath stood by her bed and took notes on a clipboard. Sandy and I stared until the man caught us and shut the door.

  LUNCH

  Lunch was a big, giant butt today. Justin wasn’t there because he had an appointment with his doctor, so I was stuck sitting next to Phil/Shaggy, who alternately discussed the sexy possibilities of the new girl and tried to grope my leg under the table. I was afraid I was going to get in trouble for the contact I made whilst kicking his shin with my heel.

  I ate a bowl of Cap’n Crunch in memoriam of happier meals with Justin.

  STUDY TIME

  I was starting to feel a little claustrophobic in my room, so I stuck my two fingers out into the hallway to ask someone to open my windows. I had to wait the seven or eight minutes it took some oblivious desk worker to notice me, but finally someone came, unlocked the screens, and pushed open my windows. Aaaah—fresh air. Fresh, stanky, city air, but real air at least, not the recycled airplane air they have pumping through this place. Maybe if I sniff hard enough I can smell the cars of the future.

  EVENING FREE TIME

  La-dee-doo! Justi
n and I hung out the entire Free Time! Here’s how it happened: I was sitting by a speaker because someone finally decided to turn off the Full House reruns and put on the radio. I was starved for music. I didn’t care what station; I didn’t care if it was Celine Dion belting out that sappy Titanic song. I just needed to hear music. There’s a terrible quiet here. Farting chairs, air conditioner hums, and the incessant talking we have to do are making me antsy, but the music covered up all of the little, itchy everyday sounds. (That’s why I always like going to musicals better than plays because plays are so freakin’ quiet. I spend the whole time worrying about coughing or scraping my shoe on the floor in an implicating way. At musicals and concerts, the music fills up every extra bit of sound so that I don’t have to worry about the sound around me.) It felt so good to have the radio on, like I could let out a giant sigh and hum all I wanted and no one would know but me. I must have looked pretty content because that’s when Justin, adorable with his hands in his pockets, came and sat down next to me.

  We had on a classic rock station, and Led Zeppelin was on (chosen by Level II Sean. I had no idea he listened to classic rock. I would have pegged him for a Yanni fan. Perhaps he likes the whole Zeppelin Houses of the Holy thing to go with his many rosaries … ). “You like Zeppelin?” Justin asked. “They’re OK,” I said, because you know I’m not huge into classic rock. “I like Bonham’s hard drumming,” I said. Oh my god—did that sound pervy? Justin looked at me and nodded like he knew what I meant, but he didn’t say anything else. “You?” I asked. “They’re OK,” he said. “I don’t really listen to any music anymore except The Doors.” “The Doors?” I asked. “Yeah. The Doors.”

  Let us take a moment to analyze this, shall we? My one major association with The Doors is when my cousin, Daniel, took my sister and me to a Doors laser light show in Portland, Oregon. I can’t hear “Break on Through” without busting into laughter at the thought of the crazy dancing elf on the ceiling. “I guess they’re kind of interesting,” I shrugged. “No bass, right?”

  “You know about that?” Justin seemed impressed.

  “Sure. I’m kind of teaching myself to play the bass. It’s hard when you like punk and the bass lines are so fast, so I pay attention to other music, too. I’m not very good, but I only do it in my basement anyway. My sister usually joins me on air guitar.” Justin smiled. “How about you? Do you play any instruments?”

  “Not anymore.” He looked up and ruffled his hair.

  “How come?” I asked.

  “Long story.” I waited for him to say more, but I didn’t want to push. We were in a mental hospital, after all.

  The rest of Free Time we just sat and listened to music. I wished Justin and I hadn’t stopped talking, but sharing the music was still doing something together. It kind of felt like we were in a rec room circa 1969. Big ugly chairs, groovy music, bad lighting. No black light, thank god, because that always ends up showing dandruff or makes your teeth look freakish and glowy. I’m going to go as far as saying this was our first date. Which would make it my first date ever. I’m probably the only person on Earth who had to be committed to a mental hospital to find a date.

  Day 9

  Saturday, Day 9

  LE BREAKFAST

  I learned more about the new girl. Luther claims he heard from Tanya (who, of course, still can’t eat with us because she’s a wayward be-otch) that the new girl, Abby, has seizures, and the metal guards are to prevent her from falling out of bed. Is that what they do for people with seizures? It would seem to me that hitting your head on a metal bar would be worse than hitting your head on the floor, but what do I know.

  I assumed she has epilepsy, but Luther said, “No, it’s something else. It’s not medical. She has seizures because she’s possessed by Satan.” Bum-bum-bummmmm!!!

  At that moment I wanted to laugh, of course, because there was now an actual measurable percentage of people here having some kind of relationship with the Lord of Darkness, but no one else was laughing. How can they take that seriously? Maybe it’s just because I’m a Jew that I don’t get the whole Satan possession thing, but it seems to me that these kids are just begging for attention from someone in the mental health field. Seizures and Satan possession? That’s straight out of The Exorcist! I’ll bet Abby’s in my therapy group. I can just picture it: Someone will be in the middle of some huge emotional breakthrough, and all of a sudden Abby starts puking up pea soup and jabbing herself with a crucifix (or perhaps one of Sean’s rosaries). I wonder if she’ll get a lot of points for that … .

  I watched Justin as the table talked about Abby. His brow was furrowed most of the time, but I did notice him roll his eyes when Luther said she was possessed by Satan. He is so cool. He’s not going to fall for any of those kids’ satanic shenanigans. I don’t know if he’s going to fall for me either (in the romantic way of falling, not that he won’t believe in my existence. I hope.). I also noticed that he was eating with his left hand. He kept his right hand in his lap, under the table. Curious.

  POST-COMMUNITY (NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH POST–SHREDDED WHEAT)

  I have good news and very bad news, and I don’t know which to tell you first. Just so you don’t worry, the bad news isn’t about me. I’ll tell you the good news first, but please read it in a somber tone.

  At Community this morning I was totally trying to get up the nerve to stand up during Appreciation and say something about my big date (shut up) with Justin. When Eugene called “Appreciation,” I was about to unfart myself from the chair when Justin outfarted me. Of course, then it seemed too stupid for me to stand up and appreciate someone who was standing up, so I just stayed down. There was the usual bland round of Appreciations: “I appreciated the way you shook the ketchup.” “I appreciated you leaving the bathroom light on for me.” “I appreciate that you stopped using my deodorant.” When it was finally Justin’s turn, he looked straight at me with his luscious brown eyes and said, “Anna, I really appreciated talking about music with you last night.” If my butt was burning up as much as my face was at that moment, I would have burnt a hole into my vinyl chair.

  Now for the bad news: Sandy wasn’t in Community today because her doctor (who we have nicknamed Birdcage because he looks like one of those giant Muppet birds) had to meet with her. “What did he want to talk to you about?” I asked.

  “It’s actually something I had to talk to him about. Um … I’m pregnant.”

  At first I wondered, “Who was she having sex with at Lake Shit?” because she’s only been here a few days. But then it dawned on me that the impregnation actually occurred before she came to the hospital.

  She was sitting on her bed crying when I opened our door, and I wanted to hug her so badly, but I hesitated because of the no-touching rule. I can’t believe that in the private space of our own room at such an important moment, I actually thought of that stupid rule. I’m brainwashed, I tell you. Then I said, “Screw it,” and sat down next to her with hugs.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked her.

  Wiping her eyes, Sandy said, “Derek [her guy] and I talked about this before. Lots of girls at our school have babies. There’s even a day care. We said if it ever happened that we’d have the baby.”

  “Really? A baby?” I couldn’t imagine having sex, let alone having a baby. “Having a baby is a big responsibility. Not to mention how horrific birth sounds. Haven’t you seen that god-awful movie in sex ed? Don’t tell me that’s a miracle. You sure you want to go through with that?”

  “I guess. I mean, yeah. I’m already seventeen. Derek and I were gonna get married next year anyway. This way, there’s no way my parents could say no to us moving in together.”

  Sandy looked out through the window screen pensively, her hand on her tummy. What a different life from mine. A boyfriend. Sex. Marriage. A baby? What about college? Does she know what she wants to do with her life? Or is this it? I didn’t ask her because I didn’t want to sound like an elitist snob. I know college
isn’t for everyone, but is Sandy doomed to live a trailer park existence be cause she made a mistake?

  “What about an abortion?” I braced myself for her response. My cousin had an abortion, and so did that girl we know at school. Abortion seemed a more realistic option in my world (meaning my suburban existence, not my own personal world—unless we’re talking an immaculate conception in my future), but a lot of people really are against it. I was afraid Sandy would be pissed.

  “No,” she answered. “I don’t believe in abortion. I mean, it’s OK if someone else has one, but I wouldn’t feel right.”

  “What did Birdcage say?”

  Sandy started crying again with her face in her hands. “He said I should think about abortion and realize that having a kid isn’t all fun and games.”

  “It isn’t. They made us carry around an egg in sociology class for a week and pretend it was a baby. We had to take it with us everywhere, and if we broke it we got an F. I had to get a babysitter just to go to gym class.” I smiled at the memory of Eggbert.

  “That’s just an egg.” Sandy wiped her hand in front of her face dismissively. “A real baby will be different. Think of how cute it will be. I’ve heard that the bond between a mother and a baby is stronger than anything else on Earth. Unconditional love.” She looked dreamily at the pictures of Derek.