Impulse

by Ellen Hopkins

I just wonder if

  it’s ‘here’

  or ‘out there.’”

  Speaking of Out There

  Stanley has cornered

  a short, zitty guy, who

  he keeps calling “Flea.”

  Paul moves in, yelling

  for Stanley to shut the hell up

  and go sit this one out.

  Flea retreats to a corner

  to smirk in Stanley’s

  direction, which stirs

  everything up again.

  Stanley stands, heads

  in Flea’s direction.

  Paul goes after Stanley,

  warning, You’re going to

  be sorry, shithead.

  Kate moves toward

  Flea, warning, If he

  goes down, you go down.

  Tony pushes me back

  toward the wall.

  This is going to he ugly.

  Stay behind me.

  He’s right, as Paul

  wrestles Stanley down,

  leveraging one fat body

  with his own not-so-svelte one.

  The room dissolves into howls

  as Flea moves forward,

  We hear from Justin Ha-ha, asshole.

  And Kate takes him

  down, easy as pie.

  What did I tell you?

  I start to cry because

  this place is insane, and if

  I’m here, I must be insane too.

  Tony turns, wraps his arms

  around me. Don’t cry,

  Vanessa. Everything’s okay.

  I’ll always be here

  for you.

  Conner

  Now I Could Tell

  A sordid tale of one

  twin envying another,

  of relentless competition,

  even money on the win

  until we were old enough

  to learn the finer points

  of cheating. You’d think

  getting caught might concern

  us. Not! Both of us had one

  real goal in mind: attention,

  especially from Dad, who seemed

  to think his familial role

  was demanding respect.

  It’s hard to respect someone

  who outlines expectations

  without regard to feasibility.

  But I’m not going there,

  so I’ll try to placate

  the bulldog. “Cara is bright,

  I won’t deny that. What I

  don’t understand is why

  she feels the need to one-up

  me, from clothes to stereos

  to the finest wheels good

  old Dad’s money can buy ….”

  Just as I decide maybe

  there’s more to the story

  I’d like to confide after all,

  Dr. Starr’s telephone rings.

  One minute … uh-huh … oh!

  On my way. Sorry, Conner.

  Looks like we’re done for the day.

  Dr. Starr Jumps Up

  Almost overturns her big

  armchair, moves swiftly

  across to the door. Something

  major has happened somewhere

  in the building, that’s for sure.

  Who knew the bulldog could

  move so fast? I wonder what

  I should do—stay or follow?

  As if reading my mind, she

  demands, Hurry up, Conner.

  She sprints down the hall,

  pumping her hands forward

  and back. Stay right behind

  me and don’t interfere.

  Then, to herself, What were

  they thinking? This isn’t TV!

  Dogs, cops, and takedowns—

  grandstanding! And tomorrow

  is visiting day. How many

  parents will be understanding?

  Dogs, cops, and takedowns?

  And I missed all that, under

  interrogation by Dr. Starr—

  our weekly one-on-one tryst?

  She swings a wide right toward

  the dining hall, mutters

  under her breath, Damn if I’ll

  take the fall for this one.

  Not Again

  This room is a setting

  for lunacy. Paul and Kate

  have a couple of guys down

  on the floor. One is Stanley.

  That dude is a walking

  time bomb, always ready

  to detonate, even when

  his demeanor is calm.

  So there he is, under Paul’s

  substantial knee. Little Kate

  has proven she’s more than

  the mouse she appears to be.

  And to my right, just inside

  the door, Tony is holding

  Vanessa like they’re an item.

  There’s definitely more

  to that relationship than

  one might guess. As Dr. Starr

  storms into the room, they pull

  apart, press back against the wall.

  I join them. “So, did you guys

  get to see any of the action?

  I was stuck in the confessional.

  Can you tell me what happened?”

  We’re guessing it was a meth

  bust, Tony says. They hauled

  Todd out of here in handcuffs.

  rest is just Stanley.

  We watch Dr. Bellows

  and Dr. Starr extricate

  Stanley from Paul’s grasp.

  Another bizarre day at

  Aspen Springs.

  Tony

  Rumors Travel Fast

  We hear from Justin,

  who heard from Dahlia,

  who heard from who

  knows who, that Todd’s

  supplier was his brother,

  who stashed the meth

  in a hollow-handled

  toothbrush. How this

  deception was discovered

  will be debated for weeks.

  “Probably a random pee

  test, don’t you think?”

  That, or his brother

  got busted and turned

  narc, Conner says.

  Vanessa has another

  theory. Maybe guilt

  got the best of him.

  Conner and I just laugh.

  “Cranksters rarely feel

  guilty about what they do.

  More likely, he felt proud

  of himself—smug, even—

  for getting away with it.”

  Yeah, until the dog came

  through the door, Conner

  adds. Then he probably

  felt like a total dumb shit.

  Jeez, he’d already made

  Level Three, hadn’t he?

  “Yes, and hey, guess what!

  I did too. Dr. Boston

  told me yesterday.”

  Me too, says Vanessa.

  I hope that means

  a trip out of here soon.

  I Don’t Tell Them

  The one condition

  of my newly acquired

  Level Three status—

  a successful interaction

  with my father, who’s

  coming to visit tomorrow.

  To quit stressing over

  the thought, I ask,

  “Do you have visitors coming?”

  Vanessa answers, My

  grandma will be here.

  Can’t wait to see her.

  Conner nods, stiff

  as a mannequin. My

  mother has finally

  agreed to come. I’d rather

  not see her, but have to,

  to make Level Three.

  “You haven’t seen

  her yet? How long

  have you been here?”

  Six weeks, give or take.

  She hasn’t even asked

  to see me until now.

&
nbsp; Vanessa snorts. Sounds

  like your mom is almost

  as wonderful as mine.

  “Neither of them could

  be half as screwed

  up as mine was,” I say.

  We’ll have to compare

  notes one day, Conner

  says. You in, Vanessa?

  Face the color of death,

  she replies, Talking about

  Mama makes her real.

  Major Insight

  In only six words.

  “Well, someday

  we’ll swap stories.”

  I offer Vanessa my most

  engaging smile, and

  she tries to return it.

  Conner plays the game,

  plays it well. No need

  to swap, really. I’ve

  got stones enough for

  all of us. And if I include

  my dad, that will keep us

  entertained for hours.

  Oh, hey. Speaking of

  entertainment, here

  come the fine doctors,

  looking rather distressed.

  Suppose dinner will be late?

  I’d say that’s a given.

  Drs. Starr and Bellows

  sweep across the room,

  faces red and chests

  puffing. Bodies move

  to let them by, a wave

  of agitation. All right,

  everyone, back to your

  rooms, commands Dr. Starr.

  Dinner will be a little

  late tonight, but I promise

  you won’t go hungry.

  She’s a regular sweetheart!

  People begin to shuffle

  past, and as Vanessa

  moves to join them, I

  reach for her hand.

  “Remember—you’re not

  alone.”

  Vanessa

  Just Another Day

  Trying to keep my head

  above water—the azure water

  I’m sliding down into now.

  Too much confusion.

  Too much upset.

  Too much time

  without a mood adjuster.

  I’m sure I’m not

  the only one, either.

  The Pill Patrol better

  put it in high gear.

  Conner says he’s been

  here for six weeks,

  which means I’ve been here

  at least seven, maybe

  closer to eight.

  And I don’t feel better.

  Don’t feel healed.

  Don’t feel clearer.

  I could stay in a place

  like this forever

  and never get well.

  You’re not alone, Tony says,

  and I believe

  he believes that.

  I’m here for you.

  And I want to

  believe that, too.

  Don’t cry, Vanessa.

  But I can’t

  help crying now.

  I Will Admit

  Through flowing tears

  that Tony has become

  more than a friend to me.

  He’s a bright planet

  in the dark morning

  sky of my existence.

  Somehow seeing him,

  even with his varied flaws,

  buoys me with hope.

  I am better for knowing him.

  Conner, too, although he’s more

  like a faraway star, brilliant,

  but cold in his distance;

  beautiful in his perfection,

  but likely to burn too brightly,

  snuff himself out.

  I wonder where he came

  from, what random joining

  of energies created

  such complexity.

  My mother finally asked

  to see me, Conner said,

  and I wonder

  what kind of

  mother she is.

  I’d rather not see her at

  all, but have to….

  Now that I

  can relate to

  completely.

  If I include stones about

  my dad, we’ll be entertained…

  Stories about

  Daddy are the stuff

  movies are made of.

  One Time He Came Home

  For Christmas—an unusual

  event in itself. We probably

  saw him on holidays

  two or three times over the years.

  We worked and worked

  to make the house beautiful

  with paper chains, tinsel,

  dollar-store candles, candy canes,

  and a homemade gingerbread village.

  Daddy arrived on Christmas Eve,

  arms laden with presents—wrapped

  in newspaper, cheered by colorful bows.

  We wanted to open them right

  then and there, but he made

  us wait until morning,

  because the best things

  are worth waiting for.

  We woke, filled with anticipation,

  ran to the Christmas tree.

  Daddy turned us around,

  made us march down the hall

  with respect for the meaning

  of the day.

  We sat on the floor, newspaper-

  wrapped presents in our laps,

  imagining all the wonderful

  things inside. We opened them carefully,

  peeling back layers of newsprint

  until we reached the boxes,

  sliced the Scotch tape with our fingernails,

  lifted the flaps, and each of us found …

  One MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat—

  turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce,

  in foil pouches); one Hershey bar;

  and a handful of bullet casings,

  because this is what

  my men are getting today.

  And one more thing: a scrap of paper

  with a hand-scrawled

  I love you,

  Dad.

  Conner

  Tossing and Turning

  Every lump in this mattress

  a boulder against my back,

  every wrinkle in the sheets

  a two-by-four in my shoulder,

  sleep denied by the fear

  of what tomorrow’s visit

  will bring. I squeeze my eyes

  shut, try to focus instead

  on the events of today,

  find some relief, conjuring

  Vanessa’s face. But then

  visions of another face come,

  black-and-white, frame by

  frame, like in an old film noir.

  Dark, my love for her was very

  dark, a source of secret shame.

  I get out of bed, go to

  the window, look out on

  a surreal scene—moonlight,

  and in its muted glow, hints

  of lacy flakes. Late March,

  and snowing. Spring skiers

  will be happy, but for me

  it means a growing sense

  of claustrophobia. To

  sleep, I swallow Ativan.

  Dr. B prescribed it when I

  told her how nightmares keep

  me awake. Every evening,

  they bring me two. Usually,

  I take one, stash the other.

  Tonight I pray three will do.

  A Voice Rouses Me

  It’s Kate, rattling my bars.

  Wake up, Sykes. It’s almost

  eight and you missed breakfast.

  Dr. Starr will give you a break

  this time, mostly because

  your parents are coming

  today. Usually, missing

  a meal will score you a

  level drop. I know you

  don’t want that, so haul

  your ass out of bed. Her

 
arrogant tone is a taunt.

  I rouse myself, try to

  clear the Ativan fog,

  lifting inside my head,

  leaving fear in its place.

  Dreams I cannot remember

  have stirred another part of

  me. I decide to let Kate see.

  Without a word, I toss back

  the blankets and climb from

  bed, pajamas pointing stiffly

  in Kate’s direction. She just

  smiles. Was it something I said?

  Your parents arrive at nine.

  I suggest you get rid of that,

  one way or another, then get

  dressed in something decent.

  No problem. I need neither

  palm nor cold shower to

  shrivel me instantly.

  My mom is on her way.

  Nine A.M. Exactly

  I knock on Dr. Starr’s door.

  Voices inside fade to black.

  Despite the rumpled Lauren,

  I reach for some semblance of pride.

  Come in, Conner, calls Dr.

  Starr, but my slippery hand

  fumbles the knob and it’s

  Dad, on the far side of the door,

  who opens it, pulling me

  through and right up against

  him. It’s the closest we’ve ever

  been, two strangers touching.

  Immediately, he comes to

  his senses, jerks backward.

  H-hello, son. Good to see you.

  Every muscle tenses, as if

  I might try to hug him or

  something perverse like that.

  “Hello, Dad,” I answer, also

  shifting into a quick reverse.

  Will you please come inside and

  close the door? Mom gives me

  a cold once-over. I see you haven’t

  learned to care for your clothes.