SCHOOL
It seems that once the staff knows you’re leaving, they don’t care what you do. Justin and I sat next to each other at school today, looking over his architectural drawings, and no one told me to move. I wanted to be happy just sitting there next to Justin, but I was so sad that I’d only have a short time left to be with him.
I told him I was going to leave soon.
“What? But you just got here.” He tapped his pen against the table with his right hand.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“It’ll be a month tomorrow.” I watched his right hand, the stitched one, clumsily write his name.
“Is that why you’re here?” I nodded my head towards his hand.
“Yeah, it is.” There was a pause, but I was afraid if I spoke I’d stop him from telling me anything. He went on, “I used to play the bass. Did I tell you that? In a punk band.” No wonder I was so attracted to him! “We were called The Dipsticks. Not great, I know, but we were starting to get some gigs. We practiced in my garage, next to my dad’s enormous collection of power tools. My dad hated the music, and he hated us using his space. ‘You’re pissing your life away!’ he’d yell at me. He wanted me to be a carpenter, like him, but I want to design houses, not build them. Maybe even the band could’ve made it big.” Justin flicked his pen against the table, hard. I had never seen him angry, and a part of me was afraid he’d lose it.
“One day when we were supposed to have practice I went into the garage. Instead of my friends, my dad was in there. ‘I sent them home,’ he said. ‘I’m going to teach you something useful to do in the garage.’ He started giving me a lecture on the table saw, but I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t give a shit about being a carpenter. All I could think about was how The Dipsticks needed to practice for an upcoming show. I ran bass lines in my head as he talked. Then he told me to come over, for me to try. I didn’t want him to lecture me about the importance of listening, too, so I pretended I heard him.” Justin dropped his pen, and it rolled off the edge of the table. “I ruined everything.” He pushed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “The saw was harder to use than I thought. I slipped, and it cut right through.”
Justin held his right hand out in front of us. “My dad picked up the pieces of my fingers and drove me to the hospital. They sewed them back on, but they still don’t work right.” He bent down to pick up his pen, his fingers clamped awkwardly around it. “They aren’t strong enough to hold a pen, and they weren’t strong enough to pull a trigger.”
My eyes bugged. “A trigger for what?”
“I couldn’t handle it, not being able to play my bass or write or draw. My dad keeps a gun in his nightstand. My fingers were so fucked up, I couldn’t even kill myself when I wanted to. So I gave up on everything. No more band. No more bass. I can’t even listen to it.”
“You tried to kill yourself?” No matter how many times I thought about it, I never actually tried. “And that’s why you only listen to The Doors.”
No.
Bass.
“Pretty bad, huh?”
“You’re not bad, Justin. None of us are.” No one here, even total shitheads like Phil and Tanya, are truly bad. We just aren’t who everyone else wants us to be.
I looked around to see if any teachers were near us, then I ran my fingers over his scars.
He carefully gripped his pen and wrote Anna next to his name. We stared at the letters together until school was over.
PLAY THERAPY
Flaky Play Therapy again. I couldn’t even get excited to be spending the afternoon with Justin. I mean, of course I was happy he was there, but all I could think about were two things: 1) I will be leaving in less than two days and I’ll probably never see him again and 2) I was going to be kissing this godly creature tomorrow and I was petrified.
We played a couple of games today in Play Therapy. Lady Big ’Do led the group in a rousing game of “How are we feeling today?” All of us sat in a circle (shocking!) on the floor and pretended to roll an imaginary ball to each other. Whoever pretend-caught the ball had to answer the question “How are we feeling today?” Sandy started us off. I thought she would say something about “losing her baby,” but instead she said, “I’m sad because Anna is leaving on Friday.”
“Damn,” Victor shook his head.
Big ’Do said, “Let’s take our turns, everyone. Wait until someone rolls the ball to you.”
Sandy rolled the ball to Victor. “Damn,” he repeated. “I’m sad ’cause I just found out Anna is leaving.” Victor rolled the ball to Colby.
“I feel pretty good. I haven’t heard any voices in over a week.” Well, it’s not like Colby and I ever really hung out. I couldn’t expect everyone to be sad about me, could I? Colby rolled the ball to Justin.
“I’m truly bummed that Anna’s leaving.” He sad-smiled at me, and then rolled the ball my way.
“And what about you, Anna?” Big ’Do asked. “Are you at least happy to be going home?”
“No,” I answered. “I’m not.” Tears uncontrollably rolled down my cheeks.
“Well.” Big ’Do bounced up, trying to sound cheery. “Let’s liven things up a bit. Stand up in your circle. It’s time for freeze dance!”
I hadn’t freeze-danced since I was little. Big ’Do had a portable mini CD player/radio with one speaker. She turned the radio on to a hip-hop station and reminded us of the rules of the game. “When you hear the music: dance. When it stops: stop dancing. Try not to pay attention to anyone around you. Don’t be embarrassed. Free your mind!” As the music started, we were all pretty dance-shy. Then on the radio a funky voice came on and announced an “Old Skool Jam,” and that excellent song “Bust a Move” came on. All of a sudden everyone got into it. I’m not the best dancer, but it was pretty fun. Justin looked hot as he busted out some robotic moves. Colby did some weird gyrating dance, and Sandy performed one of her cheerleading routines. The music stopped abruptly, but it had been playing for so long that none of us even remembered it was a game of freeze dance. Eventually everyone started slowing down and looking around, and the momentum stopped. Just as each one of us became completely frozen, the music started again and we jammed the afternoon away.
Finally we were doing something that we all did in the real world! I love to dance, even though I’m usually doing it alone in my bedroom. But even at the lame school mixers that I occasionally drag myself to, I’m not opposed to getting my groove on. I wish we could do this every day at Lake Shit, but I can’t imagine the adults would agree that instead of actual therapy, all we really needed was a dance party. My props to Big ’Do.
AFTER DINNER
Everyone at dinner was really surprised to hear I was leaving. Matt O. seemed particularly upset. “Everyone always leaves,” he said. “It sucks.”
“I wish I could stay,” I told him.
“You do? Why?”
“Because what do I have to go home to? My parents don’t even want to deal with me, which is why I’m here. There are only, like, three people at school that I even like. And I’ll miss you guys,” I said and peeked over at Justin’s facial response. He just looked at his food.
“But you can do anything when you leave,” Matt O. said dreamily. “You can eat anything you want and stay up late and watch movies and TV shows that you actually want to see. You can call and talk to and touch people whenever you want. You can breathe real air.”
Did I sound like an idiot because I wanted to stay locked up in a mental hospital? Matt O.’s reasons for leaving made sense, but they didn’t replace my reasons for staying. “At least you’ll get to breathe real air tomorrow when we go on our field trip,” I said to him. “And they told me we can order anything we want to eat at the aquarium cafeteria.”
“I can’t wait,” Justin said. Wow. He can’t wait. That’s like beyond being just excited. Does he know what’s going to happen? Does he know about my kissing plan? How could he know? He was probably just talking about
the fresh air and the food. Or maybe not?
“I can’t wait either,” I said. I stopped eating my burger at that point because I got nervous anticipating the kiss. But it wasn’t panic attack, Irritable Bowel Syndrome nervous. It was real teenager, butterflies-in-the-stomach nervous. My first kiss! With a hot guy! Oh God, please let it work out!
BEDTIME
Sandy demonstrated, and I practiced, kissing some more before bed. I wanted to make sure I was ready and that everything seemed natural. I tried to cover every possibility of a screwup.
“What if I have bad breath?” I asked.
“Chew on some gum,” she said.
“What if I can’t find his tongue?”
“Back off on your tongue until you feel his.”
“What if he throws up in my mouth?”
“Um, that would just be gross.”
OK. I was covered. Tomorrow will be the greatest single day so far in my insignificant life. Hopefully there will be no vomit involved.
Day 21
Thursday, Day 21
BFT (BEFORE FIELD TRIP)
This is it—the big day. I made sure to wear my somewhat-fitted black T-shirt that says, “The Circus Is in Town,” to give the slight illusion of sexiness, although it’s not nearly as clingy as it used to be. I wonder if my boobs are getting smaller. I borrowed a little hair gel from Sandy so the wave in my hair wouldn’t frizz for the final touch.
Breakfast went by really slowly. Matt O. was pumped. “I’m so stoked, man; I never get out of here. Plus, I love sharks.”
“Do they have sharks at the Shedd Aquarium?” Justin asked.
“Yeah. They have this whole reef thing where you get to walk underneath a glass fish tank while sharks swim over your head. It’s way scary,” I told him. My parents took me there right after the shark exhibit opened, and my sister and I ran under the sharks as fast as we could, screaming. I kept telling Mara that there were drops of water on the floor, which meant the shark tank was probably leaking and any minute the glass would shatter and the sharks would burst out and eat us. Even though I made it up to scare her, I kind of scared myself into believing it.
After we finished eating, everyone was supposed to wait in their rooms until we were called to the check-in desk. When they called, “School!” I didn’t have to go. Ten minutes later I heard Big ’Do’s calming voice, “Anna … Justin … Matt O., please meet me in the front area.” I was thrilled to hear her voice and not Eugene’s. I quickly re-brushed my teeth for the fifty-seventh time, checked my nose in the mirror for boogs, and scrunched my hair for added curl. K-Day had finally arrived (that’s Kiss Day, duh). A full report of today’s events will follow as soon as I return.
AFT (AFTER FIELD TRIP)
Oh god. What an amazing, bizarre, unbelievable day. Here’s what went down:
Justin, Matt O., and I met Big ’Do by the check-in desk. She carried a clipboard and hid several pens in her hair, which she randomly removed every time she needed to check something off.
“Ready to go?” she smiled. We all nodded, and she noted it with check marks. After she wedged the pen into her hair, we were off.
The elevator ride down to the first floor was quiet. Since there were only four of us, it would have looked weird if any of us stood too close to each other. No elevator action today, but I wasn’t worried.
As we walked out through the front hallway of the building, I had flashbacks of the night my parents brought me in. Things looked different, since the daylight made everything brighter and cheerier. But I also felt I had a different perspective on the way things looked, too. At the beginning, I was scared and wussy. Now I was the queen of our floor, a kick-ass Level III who also spent a little time in the Quiet Room for bad behavior. I had a feeling of superiority walking through the foyer, almost thuglike, as if the sight of me struck fear in the hearts of the crazies and old people who littered the hallway. I wish real life had Level IIIs.
Outside, the light was overpowering. Real, direct sunlight cannot be replaced with fluorescent bulbs and a screen-covered window. For the first time I saw how pale everyone looked, almost blue. Justin and Matt O. had poofy bags under their eyes, and Matt O.’s hair was a flat, grayish-black color I never noticed inside. I worried that they were picking out my faults, too, but we began walking, and soon the sun started soaking into my skin. My whole body felt five degrees warmer, but in a good, nonsweaty way. Big ’Do walked us to a busy intersection, stuck out her hair, er, arm, and caught a cab. She sat in the front seat, which allowed me automatic leg access to Justin. I sat in the small middle seat. You know when you sit in the middle seat next to someone you’re really close to, so you lean your leg against them without even thinking about it? Or how when you’re next to someone you don’t know very well, you keep your leg tense the whole time so it doesn’t touch theirs? Well, on the Matt O. side I could sense the tension from him, and every time we turned a corner and our legs accidentally touched, he jerked away. On the Justin side, at first our legs weren’t touching. There was kind of enough room to not have to touch, especially with Matt O. backed into a corner. But when the first abrupt cab turn happened, and Justin was forcefully slid in my direction, our legs touched and didn’t stop touching for the rest of the cab ride.
Big ’Do sat in the front, chatting away with the cab driver, who kept nodding and looking at the fare meter. When we got to the museum, ’Do said to us, “Be sure to get out on the curb side,” and she handed the money to the driver.
The Shedd Aquarium is a beautiful, old building in itself, but the view of Chicago and the shores of Lake Michigan was like a postcard. I looked for Lake Shit amongst the skyscrapers, but I had only seen the outside of it twice. The city was endless in every direction, but all I could think of was how I had been in the exact same place for almost three weeks. In the back of my mind, I worried that a stomachache was coming on, but I took a deep breath and let all of the excitement and anticipation push that away.
“Everyone is so quiet.” Big ’Do looked at us. Robotically we hadn’t said a word since we left our rooms. I had assumed that the rules were the same on our field trip as they were at the hospital, and talking, unless told to, was forbidden. “It’s OK if you talk to each other. This is your reward for doing such a good job in your treatment,” Big ’Do said. Treatment. What an icky, sickly word. But seeing the pale faces of my friends, I guess it was fitting.
Justin, Matt O., and I looked at each other. With all of that freedom to talk, we didn’t know what to say.
“Um, hi?” I said to both of them.
“Hi, yourself,” Justin said, and if I wasn’t such a petrified, inexperienced wuss, I would’ve kissed him right there.
“I hear that we’re allowed to buy and eat any foods we want on this field trip. Is that correct?” Matt O. asked Big ’Do.
“As long as you don’t go overboard, I don’t see why not.”
“Then I propose we begin with ice cream novelties.”
“Matt, it’s ten thirty in the morning,” Justin told him.
“And your point is?”
“Lead the way,” I said. Who could argue with ice cream novelties?
Outside of the aquarium was a man on an ice cream bicycle cart. He reminded me of Chilly Willy, the man who rode his bicycle cart every summer day through my subdivision at home. “What can I get ya?”
Matt O. ordered a SpongeBob Popsicle, while I opted for a Chipwich. Justin chose a Screwball, and Big ’Do surprised us all by ordering a Choco Taco. Before I ate, I wondered if Justin thought I was a cow for eating ice cream at 10:30 in the morning. But he was eating it, too, and it looked way too good to pass up.
While I enjoyed the ice cream immensely, I worried how it would make my breath smell. I hoped at some point there would be the option of gum. Like an answer to my prayers, Big ’Do pulled a pack of sugarless mint gum out of her purse. “Gum, anyone? It helps protect your teeth if you don’t have a toothbrush handy.” I gladly accepted, even though Big ’
Do was freaking me out with her impression of a Stepford Wife.
We finally walked into the aquarium, and it was just as I remembered it: the same damp and fishy smell, the cavernous echo of hundreds of voices as kids and parents yelled, and the giant gift shop where I was always compelled to purchase fish-themed jewelry. I couldn’t believe I was there with my two mental hospital inmates and a therapeutic chaperone.
The rest of the morning was spent looking at fish displays from all over the world. For some reason I didn’t feel as bad for the fish as I normally feel for animals in zoos. I mean, the fish were trapped in these little water areas when they should have been living in the vast foreverness of oceans, lakes, and rivers, but they were so expressionless it was hard to feel pity. Did they know they were trapped? Were they sad? Content? Bored? They did kind of look bored. Actually, they looked pretty boring. After an hour of watching what looked like the same fish in different display cases, Matt O. declared, “I’m hungry. Can we get lunch?” Was he hungry from looking at fish? I began to wonder what kind of food they served in the cafeteria and just how fresh it was. Thankfully, the caf was filled with the usual crap that all museums serve: pizza, salads, and pre-made sandwiches with too much mayo. My decision was bittersweet: I would finally have a chance to eat pizza, my absolute, 100% favorite food in the entire world, but ordering reminded me that since I would be leaving on Friday morning, I would miss the Level III pizza party.
Get Well Soon Page 14