Dismantling Evan

by Venessa Kimball

  The social toxicity he describes rekindles my frustration, but also my sadness. All my friends, these good people have been made to appear toxic because of who they have chosen to protect and stand up for. Someone that has never stood up for himself - Gavin.

  Brody’s voice is scratchy and rough as he speaks in a low tone. “There was a time I thought I could change things, take a stand too. A year ago, when Spencer and I got suspended, I tried to fight back, take a stand, show them that I wasn’t going to let them treat me or my brother the way they had been. Talking their shit about my dad being a deserter...” He trails of into silence. I look over at him and see the redness creeping in around the corner of his eye and I understand his silence.

  Brody turns his head to look at me now and I take in both of his glassy reddened eyes and the torturous sadness pulling at his face. “Gavin told me everything you said to Mr. Thompson.”

  He shifts his eyes down to the space between us. “It’s funny how Gavin remembers every single thing you said in that classroom, but can’t figure out where he puts his damn toothbrush every single night of his life.”

  I can’t help smiling, picturing Gavin telling Brody that I told Mr. Thompson that he was fucking wrong.

  “Everything?”

  “Yeah, everything. Even down to your use of a certain F-bomb vernacular that you and I have come to appreciate regularly,” Brody adds with a smile.

  Rebelliously, the stiff lip I am trying to maintain curls into a smile.

  Brody starts the car and drives.

  With the air partially cleared I ask, “So, why didn’t you ever bring Gavin over to finish enlarging the prints of the film from... that night.”

  I keep my eyes straight ahead on the swishing windshield wipers, not wanting to feel the weight of his stare as I bring up the memory of the kiss.

  “You mean the night I kissed you in the darkroom?”

  I don’t say anything in response and it takes him a while to answer.

  “After that night, things got complicated with my work schedule and Mom’s. It has been crazy juggling work, Gavin, cooking dinner, and attempting to study,” Brody says. “I wasn’t avoiding you Evan. I can’t avoid you. I don’t want to.”

  I think I stop breathing and I try to tell myself to start up again, but my mind is numbing quickly and I have to do something before I become a babbling idiot. Snap out of it Evan! Pretend you didn’t just hear what you THINK you heard Brody say and ask him about Gavin!

  “Well, I was just wondering because I know Gavin might enjoy doing the prints,” I comment as I lean my elbow where the door and window meet.

  “He would like that,” he says, then quickly adds, “I would like that too.”

  I glance at him, as he looks away from the road to meet my eyes. “Tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow is my appointment with Dr. Larson. “Uh... yeah, but later in the afternoon. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

  Too much information, Evan. He is totally going to ask you what is wrong, idiot!

  “Is everything okay?” he asks

  “Yeah, uh just a checkup.” I say and clear my throat.

  He pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. I don’t rush to get out. I have something to tell him. Something that he needs to know. I’m curious though why he isn’t rushing to get out either.

  I look over at him. “I just want you to know that I can handle it.”

  He looks at me with a furrowed brow.

  “I mean, I can handle what comes my way. Brody, I want to be there for Gavin. And, I want to be there for you too; through all of this.”

  A knot of emotion lifts into my esophagus and I know that any second I am going to be a mess of waterworks. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, I make my escape. “See you later.”

  I have an absolute number of strides to pull my emotions together and get me from Brody’s car to my front door and I count them off one by one. Below the sound of counting in my mind, I listen for Brody’s car door to open, but it never does.

  November 2013

  “There is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.”

  J. R. R.Tolkien, The Two Towers

  Cold front came in last night after Brody got home from school. This morning it is fifty-one degrees and is supposed to only rise to sixty-five degrees. I don’t think it will make it out of the fifties though. Last night Brody and Mom were arguing about what happened at school and something about a huge meeting a lawyer wants to have with them about the insurance. I stayed in my room until Brody knocked later. He said that Evan wanted them to come over tomorrow to her work shed. I watched Mr. Phillips and Evan’s grandpa building it for the past few weeks. Many times I wanted to go over and look inside when no one was around, but I was afraid Mr. Phillips might catch me and get mad so I didn’t.

  Brody says it is a dark room for photography and that we are going to develop the pictures from Hamilton Pool.

  I’m excited to see them. Maybe Evan will let me keep a print.

  Oh, yeah...almost forgot; my quote.

  Dad would always say this and yesterday at school, Evan showed me what Tolkien might have meant. There is good in this world and she fights for it. Something I have never done.

  God, I wish Dad would come home. He would like Evan so much. He would tell Brody that she is a keeper; I think she is too. Mom and Brody wouldn’t have to work so hard and we could all be home together, a family. Christmas is coming. If I had one wish, it would be that Dad comes home...Well, make that two...that the kids at school would accept me and like me. Spencer, Chad, Celine, and so many others say things then laugh like they are joking with me, and sometimes I imagine that they are and that they like me.

  If I could imagine them liking me, find the good in them, then Brody, Evan, Ash, Nikki, and Lia wouldn’t have to fight for me because there would be nothing to fight about.

  I could try to pretend. They might have good in them. Maybe that is what I need to do.

  Ok, Gotta go.

  -G.F

  “CURSING AT YOUR TEACHER, EVAN?” Mom bellows.

  I stand there a moment, wondering if I should even attempt to explain myself.

  “You blew up in the middle of class! Why Evan? Why are you doing this! Please tell me because all I can sum up right now is that the only logical reason is because YOU AREN’T TAKING YOUR MEDICINE!” Two orange bottles with the white caps appear from behind her back and she tosses them at me, hitting the leg of my jeans before rolling to the wooden floor.

  I start to reach down to pick them up when she growls, “Don’t touch them. Leave them there. It’s not like you are going to take them or anything!”

  “Lucy, enough! It’s pouring down rain out there! How did you get home, Evan?” Dad asks.

  “I got a ride.”

  “Mrs. O’Keefe texted me and said that Celine saw you leaving school with Brody,” Mom added to my lack of detail.

  I kind of lost it all over again when Mrs. O’Keefe and Celine’s names come up. “Why the hell is it any of her business, Mom?”

  Mom’s eyes widen, revealing her seething frustration. “Because they were worried about you!”

  “Yeah, right,” I scoff loudly then try to move around Mom, but she and Dad both block my way.

  “He doesn’t have a good reputation, Evan, and to be honest, the more we have learned, neither do the other friends you have made since we have been here in Braxton Springs.” Dad crosses his arms over his chest.

  “What you have heard? From the O’Keefe’s?” I ask.

  “And the Morietti’s,” Dad adds as he rocks back on his heels.

  Hearing Spencer’s last name opens up a whole new level of pissed. I look between them both. “The two families of the two assholes that have given Brody and Gavin Ferguson hell almost their entire lives! Of course!”

  “They are upstanding citizens in this community, Evan, and I work for the O’Keefe’s,” Mom argues.

  “What? My friends’ fami
lies aren’t? You don’t know anything about them! Only what you have heard about them! Gossip!”

  I shake my head at my mom and dad as they watch me start spiraling again. I don’t give them the satisfaction of getting the full effect though. “Screw it. You go ahead and believe them over your own daughter!” I charge past them, into the kitchen.

  Mom is on the verge of tears as she follows behind me, raging. “Why should we believe anything you say, Evan? You have been flushing your medication for weeks now! Look what happened today in class! You aren’t trying to get better! You are falling apart again! Just like you did in San Francisco!”

  All of a sudden Dad says something that makes me stop mid-step as I climb the stairs. “I thought we were doing the right thing bringing her here.”

  The way he says it doesn’t sound right, almost like I was the reason for the move. I turn on both of them as they stand at the bottom of the staircase. “So now you are going to blame me for the move? We moved here because of your job, Dad!”

  Dad stumbles over his thoughts, “We did... but it also was a good move for you! We thought it would give you a fresh start where no one knew who you were!”

  What he says makes me speechless, breathless, and light-headed all at once.

  Mom must see the shock on my face, because she scoffs. “Uh, now everyone knows who you are, Evan. You are the new girl that went off on her teacher in the middle of class! They are going to think you are crazy, Evan!”

  “Lucy, they will not!”

  “They will, Aaron! People talk! Word gets around!” Mom yells.

  Infuriated, I unleash on her again. “I don’t give a rat’s ass anymore, mother! Apparently with you and Dad’s new friendships, you feel like my reputation is your reputation too!”

  “You are a reflection of your mother and I, Evan, like it or not!” Dad says, evenly.

  I focus on Mom and raise my hand daintily and mimic her high-pitched, annoying-as-shit voice. “We wouldn’t want the folks of my mama’s home town, Braxton Springs, to think that I am just plain crazy would we now? Those types of secrets should be swept under the rug and kept in the family... a deep dark family secret... RIGHT MOM! What about your reputation, Mom? What happened to you in high school? You never finished telling me your story. Is that a deep dark secret that our little family needs to keep from the rest of Braxton Springs too? Tell me, have you shared your secrets with Mrs. O’Keefe... or Dad?”

  My mind churns as I spit out the cutting words at Mom. Dad and Mom look hurt and shocked. I leave both of them, standing at the foot of the stairs.

  Dad knocks on my locked door a few times throughout the night to check on me. Each time I go to the door and tell him I’m fine and to just leave me alone. The entire night, I think about Mom; she didn’t deny or stop me at any point in my raging dialogue about her secrets. Months ago, Grandma made a comment about Mom and some kind of trouble at high school. Mom had curtailed the discussion, and Dad probed her, like I did, as if he’d never heard the story, but she just shut it down. Then, the first trip home from Dr. Larson’s office, I asked her about it again and she side stepped it like it was nothing.

  Am I reading too much into my own rant, to help myself feel better? Like I’m normal and this is what a normal teenage girl’s life in an average American high school looks like. Are Mom and Dad vain; are they afraid of what others may think about our family?

  “SO, IT SEEMS THERE HAS been quite a bit happening at school and home over the past few weeks, since we last met, Evan.” Dr. Larson comments in her “shrink” tone. She makes sure to look over at Mom and Dad to apologize for her not being able to meet sooner before she settles back on me. Sitting side by side, Mom and Dad nod appreciatively, but maintain their looks of distress.

  “Your parents say that you haven’t been taking your medication, Evan. Is that true?” she asks.

  “I’m not even sure the medication is going to help what is going on with me.”

  “What do you think is going on with you, Evan?” she asks.

  “I think that I am just growing up. I’m a teenager and I am going to have mood swings...”

  I’m interrupted by Mom, “But flipping out in the middle of class and yelling profanity at your teacher isn’t a normal mood swing, Evan.”

  I keep my eyes on Dr. Larson as she looks from Mom to me. “Do you really think that is normal, Evan?”

  Remembering what happened and feeling again the charge of emotions that came with it, I tell her, “Yes, I do... under the circumstances.”

  “And what circumstances are those?” she asks.

  “I stood up for Gavin in class. It isn’t right how Mr. Thompson called him out in the middle of class and made a spectacle out of him.”

  “This is the Gavin you spoke about before in our sessions, right? His brother’s name is Brody,” Dr. Larson asks.

  I simply nod.

  Dad speaks up, “We understand that Evan is a teenager and she is changing emotionally, but we are worried about her volatile reactions which haven’t gotten any better... and now the company she is keeping...”

  I scowl at Dad and fold my arms over my chest.

  “She is hanging around a group of friends that, I have been told, aren’t a good influence on her,” Mom slips in.

  I’m about ready to bite Mom’s head off, when Dr. Larson addresses me, ignoring Mom, “Evan, I’m going to go through a little check list with you. Kind of like we did when we first met a few months ago. It is a check up to see where things are with your depression and the symptoms of bipolar.”

  “Okay,” I say as I look over at Mom and Dad, wondering if they are going to leave the room.

  “Is it all right that your parents stay? I would like them to hear what you have to say so they understand how you are feeling and maybe we can all come up with a plan together.” Dr. Larson’s logic calms me a bit about them listening in.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, Evan have you had any suicidal thoughts since we first met?” Dr. Larson asks.

  “No.”

  “Have you had any outbursts?”

  I glance at Mom and Dad. “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  I think for a minute. “Maybe three.”

  “Does that include yesterday’s?”

  “No.”

  “Were they all equally strong spirals?”

  I am impressed by her recollection of my coined term for my outbursts. “No. Well, not the first two.”

  “Have you made friends at school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which is something you hadn’t managed in the past, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Have you been sleeping?”

  I consider lying, but since she already knows I’m not taking the medication, I’m sure she knows the answer. “No.”

  “What has your sleep cycle been?” She asks this so nonchalantly, like it is a typical questions to ask someone like me.

  “This week has been four days awake, two normal sleep.”

  “What is normal sleep?” she probes for an answer.

  “Five hours.”

  I catch Dad shaking his head as he looks down at his joined hands. Closing my eyes, I sigh deeply. I know hearing this bothers him. It hurts to watch his reaction.

  She writes fastidiously on her notepad as she probes, “The week before?”

  I think back. “Four awake, two normal.”

  She continues to write as she questions me. “Can you remember the week before that?”

  It takes a minute, but I place that week, I think. “Two awake, four normal sleep.”

  She looks up from her scribbled notes at me then back down. “And when you slept, did you feel rested when you woke?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Are you seeing things or hearing things out of the ordinary?”

  “You mean am I hallucinating? No,” I respond curtly and shake my head.

  “Hearing things?” she asks again, since I didn’t co
mpletely answer her question.

  “I hear my inner voice say things. It isn’t someone else’s voice if that is what you mean,” I snap at her.

  She stops writing again and looks at me. “That isn’t what I mean. So, you do hear a voice? It sounds like your own stream of conscious thoughts?”

  I notice her body shift forward on her seat like she is suddenly more curious about the voice in my head... that small gesture frightens me a little. It can’t be a good thing to be a curiosity for a shrink.

  “Yes, they are my thoughts,” I say, firmly.

  “You are sure?” she asks, stoically.

  I nod and clarify, annoyed by her continual questioning, “Yeah, I mean, I am thinking them.”

  She goes back to writing. “Are they telling you to do things?”

  “Like what?” I ask, defensively.

  “You tell me.” Her psycho-shrink dialogue is starting to work on my nerves now.

  “Well, it didn’t tell me to murder my parents in their sleep or kill myself,” I say, snidely.

  “Evan!” My dad warns.

  Dr. Larson doesn’t flinch or miss a beat though. “I’m sure it didn’t, Evan, but what does it say? Give me an example.”

  “Just little things, like I’m an idiot for thinking something or that I should say something about a comment someone has made.”

  “Nothing that could bring harm to anyone?”

  “I would never harm anyone,” I say shakily.

  Dr. Larson keeps her eyes on me for a second too long, then looks down at her notepad and scribbles more notes. She stops and places her notepad behind her on her desk then folds her hands on her lap as she looks between the three of us, then rests on me. “Evan, no one ever wants to be told that they are mentally ill or have a mental disorder.”