Impulse

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Impulse Page 21

by Ellen Hopkins


  not to mention what will follow:

  going home, back to our families,

  friends, schools, and hangouts.

  The very things that put us here

  to begin with. Am I ready?

  Dr. Starr wants to know.

  Are you ready to leave

  Aspen Springs, Vanessa?

  Even beyond that, you’ll be

  eighteen in a few months.

  Can you take responsibility

  for yourself, live on your own,

  and deal with your BPD?

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “But I’ve got to take care

  of myself sooner or later.

  I know the lithium is working,

  at least most of the time.

  I hardly ever swing manic

  anymore. Sometimes I do

  feel depressed, but not near

  as much as I used to.”

  What about your mother?

  Are you ready to deal with

  what happened to her?

  Okay, now I feel depressed.

  “I don’t know if I can ever

  deal with what happened.”

  You have no choice, if you

  want to get well and stay

  that way. Can we talk

  about her now?

  Fifteen Minutes Later

  I’ve said all I’m going to

  say about Mama, except,

  “I can’t remember her being

  happy after Bryan was born.

  I thought she should be happy—

  he was such a beautiful little

  baby, no trouble at all, really.

  But she was seriously depressed,

  almost psychotic.”

  That’s not unusual for someone

  with bipolar disorder, Vanessa.

  Especially if that someone

  was not being treated for

  the condition. Had she been

  diagnosed yet?

  “No. Not until Bryan started

  kindergarten. It was actually

  his teacher who pointed

  out the symptoms to Grandma.

  Gives you some idea of how

  parent/teacher conferences went.”

  Dr. Starr smiles. Yes, I can see that.

  You know, Vanessa, the stress

  of pregnancy and the postpartum

  period triggers depression

  in a lot of women. If they have a

  history of mental illness, they can

  become dangerous. Was your mother

  a danger to your brother or you?

  What the hey? I’ve got

  nothing to lose by telling

  her and it might be good

  to get it off my chest,

  now that I don’t have to worry

  about Mama’s fierce

  brand of retribution.

  I Said Mama Wasn’t Happy

  “But the truth is, she was

  a total psycho some of the time.

  When Bryan was a baby,

  I was afraid to leave him

  alone with Mama. One

  time I came home from

  school and he was screaming.

  Mama had him in the kitchen

  sink, giving him a bath.

  The water was way too hot.

  I yanked him from her hands,

  his baby skin all red and steaming.

  I have to scrub away his sin,

  Mama said. Jesus expects it.

  “A baby has no sin, Mama,”

  I tried to tell her.

  We are born into sin and must

  be cleansed. Damian says so.

  Dr. Starr interrupts,

  Who is Damian?

  “Mama’s personal ‘angel,’

  who followed her everywhere.

  I didn’t think he was very

  nice, for an angel.”

  I see. Well, it was a good

  thing you came in when

  you did. Was that why you asked

  your grandmother to step in?

  I nod. “That, and the fact

  that Mama beat me

  for ‘arguing with the will

  of the Lord.’ I didn’t think

  much of the Lord for a very

  long time.”

  Conner

  Tomorrow We’re Off

  To the far distant side of

  the Black Rock Desert, where the

  mountains tumble down to crash-

  land on the playa. Talk about

  wilderness—rabbits, and

  the coyotes who love them, that’s

  all we’ll have for company except

  each other and a watchdog or two.

  Dr. Boston is worried

  about me. The Challenge is

  not the place for heroics,

  Conner. You’ll be physically

  tired and mentally drained

  by the end of Day Five, no

  matter how good the shape

  you’re in. You tend to want

  to play savior. Promise me

  you won’t. Not out there, okay?

  “I appreciate that you’re

  worried, Dr. B. Don’t be.

  In fact, you’ve got me all

  wrong. No savior complex

  here. All I want is the key to

  the front door. Adios. So long.”

  Her smile fades. What then, Conner?

  How will you deal with the kind

  of pressure that brought you to

  us? You cannot allow everyday

  stress to make you put a gun

  to your chest and pull the trigger.

  I don’t want to read in the paper

  that my best patient has died.

  Best?

  “What do you mean by ‘best’?

  Least trouble? Cutest? Most

  likely to succeed after he’s

  released? ’Cause I’m not that.”

  Why not, Conner? You were on

  a fast track to success. No

  reason to derail, is there?

  You’ve no lack of ambition.

  She gives me this great smile

  and I wonder, for maybe

  the thousandth time, what’s

  under her short little skirt.

  I decide on the direct route.

  “My main ambition, once

  I leave here, is getting laid

  by some gorgeous older woman….”

  I see, says Dr. B (Heather?).

  You know, we’ve never resolved

  this older woman thing. Can we

  possibly do that before you go?

  “Since I’m leaving tomorrow,

  I suppose that means right now?”

  It does. Sometimes a feeling

  of attraction grows because

  a specific incident spurs it.

  You said your mother rarely

  touched you. Remember when you

  were small? Who did touch you?

  I gasp beneath the weight

  of memory, recollection

  so evocative it dwarfs

  all thought of Emily.

  Eyes closed, I find her there

  in the dark, hands like silk,

  the kind you want to wear close

  to your most private places.

  Hands to Guide

  Little boys to exactly those

  places they want to see, to touch,

  to taste. Perfect hands, that

  flaunt her beauty. “Leona.”

  Your governess, the one who …

  Heather halts midsentence,

  changes direction. Can

  you talk about the assaults?

  I shake my head. “I never

  thought about it that way.

  Leona never assaulted me,

  and the things she taught me

  didn’t hurt. I was always

  expected to act all grown up.


  She made me a man for real,

  and no one suspected a thing.”

  No adult has the right to

  turn a child into a man,

  nor to teach him things

  he’s too immature to learn.

  Leona was a prefator, and

  you were a willing victim—

  a child in need of human warmth

  can easily blur the line between

  affection and perversion.

  Your trust in Leona was not

  deserved. She did assault you.

  It just didn’t hurt until now.

  Too much to take in, too

  much to purge. Why must

  every memory, once sweet,

  dead-end in such ugliness?

  Too much …

  Tony

  Off We Go

  On our grand adventure—

  most likely the only grand

  adventure I’ll ever have.

  Better make the most of

  it—grab life by the scrotum

  and squeeze real hard.

  We pile into a big Suburban,

  Sean behind the wheel and Raven

  taking shotgun. Dahlia, Lori,

  and Justin grab the middle

  seat, leaving the back to

  Conner, Vanessa, and me.

  Just the way I like it. We head

  east from Reno, drive for miles

  across vast, high desert.

  Vanessa’s knee rests against

  mine. You can see forever!

  It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

  “Not as beautiful as you,”

  I say, loving the way

  it makes her blush.

  God, Tony says Lori, if

  I didn’t know better, I’d

  say you were playing her.

  Subtle as dreams, I reach

  for Vanessa’s hand. “Nope,

  not playing. Not at all.”

  Vanessa snakes her fingers

  around mine, comfortable

  with them there. I know.

  I would expect Conner

  to say something, or at

  least notice. But he just

  stares out the window, silent

  as death. I wonder where he

  is right now, ’cause it’s not here.

  Eventually, We Turn

  North off the interstate,

  onto a backwater highway.

  To the east, the Black

  Rock Desert stretches

  emptiness as far as the eye

  can take in. I’ve heard

  it’s an inferno come summer.

  But spring has softened it

  with wildflowers and little

  creeks that fill big cracks

  in the playa. I’ve never been

  here before, but I’ll be back.

  “Hey, Conner, you ever been

  to the Black Rock before?

  Ever done Burning Man?”

  I have, interrupts Dahlia.

  I went with my boyfriend

  last year. It was awesome.

  Finally, Conner turns from

  the window. You crazy?

  Getting naked, scarfing tofu,

  and chanting mantra for three

  days with a bunch of dope-

  smoking pyromaniacs?

  Dahlia laughs. That about

  covers it, okay. It was

  a total, out and out gas.

  Conner notices Vanessa

  and me holding hands.

  He scowls. Whatever.

  “I always meant to check

  it out but never managed

  to find a way out here,” I

  say. “Hey, Vanessa, if I can

  get us a ride, want to

  come with me this year?”

  Before She Can Answer

  Raven launches into

  a whole discussion

  about the Burning Man

  Festival—how it started

  as a fan Labor Day party,

  with campouts and bonfires.

  How it has segued into

  a major assault on the

  landscape, despite the best

  efforts of BLM officials

  and every good intention of

  the partiers in question.

  This desert may not look

  like it deserves respect,

  she says. But it is unique.

  Fragile. And it is up to

  us to protect it. I hope

  your time out here will

  convince you of that.

  We are going to take

  you places few people

  ever see. The journey

  will not be easy. It will,

  as the name implies,

  challenge you, in mind

  and body. But once

  you complete it, I

  guarantee you will

  come away with new

  respect for yourselves

  Respect for myself?

  The concept is totally

  foreign. Improbable.

  If Challenge by Choice

  can do that for me,

  I will always be

  grateful.

  Vanessa

  We Stop for Lunch

  In Gerlach, the last town

  (if you could call it that)

  before leaving civilization

  completely. There’s one gas

  station, one post office, and

  one restaurant—Bruno’s.

  We always stop here, says

  Sean. After this, it’s MREs,

  except for what we might

  catch to eat fresh.

  “Catch? You mean like

  bugs?” Images of gross-out

  TV shows come to mind.

  No, says Raven. He means

  like fish. Or maybe crawdads.

  Ever try crayfish, fresh

  from a mountain reservoir?

  “Eeeeuuuuu! Those little

  lobster-looking things?

  You actually eat those?”

  Ask anyone in the Deep South,

  they’ll tell you they’re heavenly,

  Raven says. And this time of year,

  they’re hungry—easy to catch.

  I decide I’d better eat every

  crumb of this giant cheeseburger

  and fries. It may be the last thing

  I’ll feel like eating for a while.

  Sounds like we’ll have some

  serious choices to make.

  Miniature shellfish. (You don’t

  eat the antennae, do you?)

  Or just-add-water-to-refortify

  meat, potatoes, and gravy.

  Mmmm. I can hardly wait!

  Back on the Road

  And now it’s a gravel road,

  rutted and scarred by winter,

  slow going in this old four-by.

  Everyone seems subdued, lost

  in daydreams, anxiousness,

  or the hypnotic lull of the sameness

  outside the windows. This is high

  desert at its most monotonous—

  the cracked, white playa, giving

  way to miles and miles of sage,

  greasewood, and cheatgrass.

  And yet it’s riveting, beautiful

  in its starkness.

  “Look.” I point at deep impressions,

  stamped in the playa.

  “Wagon tracks. Can you believe

  you can still see them? They’re

  more than a century old!”

  Beside me, Conner rouses.

  My great-great grandmother

  came to Nevada in one of those wagons.

  He pauses, then finishes.

  If she had stayed in Pennsylvania,

  I wouldn’t be here now.

  It sounds more like a wish

  than an observation, and it makes

  me sad. “I’m glad you’re here,

  Conner. I
don’t know what

  happened when you went home,

  but you’re not the same person

  now. I miss the Conner who left.”

  He slides his arm around my

  shoulder, pulls me close, whispers,

  I’m sorry, Vanessa. You are

  the most incredible girl I’ve ever

  known, and you deserve much

  better than me.

  Okay, That Worries Me

  Conner has always acted

  completely self-assured,

  in control. It’s part of what

  makes him so damn attractive.

  I let my hand settle on his thigh,

  wish we were somewhere

  I could kiss him. Really

  kiss him. “What’s wrong,

  Conner? Talk to me.”

  He sags slightly, weighting

  the arm around my shoulder.

  Do you know how great

  it would be to live a simple

  existence, like the pioneers

  did? Okay, I know they died

  from diseases we now kill

  with little pills. And I know

  life was tough without electricity

  and running water.

  But think, just think, how

  awesome it was not to worry

  about college, or an upwardly

  mobile career. No pressure,

  no expectations beyond staying

  alive and keeping your family safe.

  He covers my hand with his.

  Think how people must have

  loved each other when all they had was each other.

  That does sound nice, but life

  wasn’t really easy back then, not

  that it’s easier now. I’m still

  not sure what’s going on

 

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