“I don’t know.”
“Of course you do.”
“She was in despair.”
“Why was she in despair?”
“She had no hope.” I knew these kinds of answers weren’t going to cut it. But how was I supposed to talk to this person?
“I know what despair means—I think you’re circling around the question.”
Great. I’m being cross-examined. Shouldn’t I have counsel present? Isn’t she supposed to be my counsel?
“So,” said the persistent doctor. “Why’d she do it?”
“It’s just a story. It’s not me.”
“But you wouldn’t be a good writer—and I’m told you are—if you didn’t know what motivates your characters.”
I didn’t know how to reply to this. She was right, in a way, and I started to get interested in the question. Not because of the flattery—it was more the way she talked about the motivation of the character. The trouble was, the answer wasn’t all that clear in my mind. The Cassie in my story did what she had to do—it was who she was, it was fate, karma—I knew it was right but couldn’t really explain it.
“Does something happen that makes her feel that she has to commit suicide?”
“Yes,” I said, then changed my mind. “No. That’s sort of the point of the story. It’s not what happens. It’s just what has to happen.”
“Why?”
“Because it does.”
“You’re circling again.”
“No, I’m not,” I said, getting irritated because I knew it sounded like I was. “You can’t tell me,” I stumbled. “It’s my story.”
“Maybe I would understand if I read it.”
Here we go again, I thought. Everybody wants to read the story to find out how psycho I am.
“Will you bring me a copy?”
“I don’t think so.”
She didn’t say anything, and the silence began to weigh on me until I felt like I had to say something.
“I went with what I felt about the character—it wasn’t all that conscious.”
“Ah!” she said. “The subconscious. Now we’re getting into real psychiatry.”
She smiled, and I liked her showing that she didn’t take herself too seriously.
“I’m sorry, Cassie. I know this isn’t easy for you, to have me grilling you. And I think I understand what you mean about writing it as you feel it. That’s probably why it’s so good, and why it freaked your teacher out. If you’d plotted it out, or done a bunch of pre-writing on your character’s motivations, it might not have seemed so real.”
Exactly.
“I have an idea,” she said, getting up and opening a drawer in her desk, pulling out another depression inventory. “Why don’t you fill out another one of these, but this time, do it in character, answering for the girl in your story. I can look at yours while you do one for her.”
Tricky, huh? I took the clipboard she handed me, and got to work. It set my head spinning a little, as I wondered how fictional Cassie would answer the questions. Maybe I didn’t have a clear idea of who she was at all. I’d just written her as me, but more me. I’d invented things that happened to her and made her reactions more dramatic. By the time I finished the survey, and scanned it over, a clear picture came out—someone who was very depressed in some ways, very strong in others. She was me, as if I didn’t already know that, but before the good things that had happened after the trip. And without something that I began to think I might have—maybe just a stronger survival instinct, something that makes me unable to let go.
I passed it back to Dr. Velez, who skimmed down, comparing the two sheets.
“Interesting,” she said. “Your character’s pretty extreme, huh?”
She looked up.
“But let’s get to you. Your character can find her own shrink. How are things going with you, Cassie? Since you wrote the story?”
“Good.”
“Why is that?”
“People are bugging me less at school. I have a couple of new friends. Sort of a boyfriend.”
“How is your mood?”
“Up and down. Mostly up. My boyfriend isn’t allowed to date, but we still get to see each other.”
“Any headaches?”
“No.”
“How are you sleeping?”
“Okay.”
“Eating?”
“Pretty good.”
“Any health problems? Muscle aches, cramps, back, neck, shoulder pains?”
“No.”
“Do you exercise?”
Hadn’t I answered all these questions on the survey? Twice?
“I hike when we’re in the mountains, and I walk. But only to get places.”
“How is your energy?”
“Okay, mostly.”
“Any trouble concentrating?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that is?”
I picked up a cushion that was lying next to me on the couch, held it on my lap, and traced its Persian patterns with one finger.
“I’ve been wondering about that. Changes, I think. I have a new haircut, clothes, friends—I just feel like a different person sometimes.”
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“DJ.”
“When you do get to see each other, what do you do?”
“Watch movies with our friends, go for walks—I help him with his homework in the library before school. We haven’t been seeing each other too long.”
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you sexually active?”
“No.”
“Are you attracted to him?”
“I guess so.”
“What do you do about it?”
“How confidential is this, Dr. Velez? I mean, how much of this are you going to tell my mom?”
“I’ll give her my diagnosis. And I have to tell her if I suspect that you will endanger yourself or others. I try to keep this as private as I can, but since you’re a minor, there are some things I have to pass on. Does that help?”
“I guess.”
“So. Though it seems silly, some kids do better with the baseball thing. What base are you and DJ on?”
“First.”
“Tell me a little more about your mood. Do you feel better or worse than one year ago?”
“Better.”
“Six months?”
I counted the months forward on my fingers, “Better.”
“Three months.”
“I was pretty happy most of the summer. Maybe about the same.”
“Six weeks.”
“Better now. Way better.”
This sort of thing went on for a while. At first, she seemed to be hitting the questions on the survey, but then she just got me talking. She had a nice manner, once we got going, straightforward, paying attention. I felt I could be honest without making her think I was a freak. I ended up telling her a lot about my troubles at school and how hard I’d had to struggle to keep it together. Before I knew it, my time was up, and we went out to the waiting room.
Mom looked worried, so I tried to give her a reassuring smile.
“After our conversation,” said Dr. Velez, “I don’t believe that Cassie is depressed or suicidal—at the present time. I think she’s had some close calls, though, and that she’s not out of the woods yet.
“Cassie, I need to talk to your mom for a minute. Nothing confidential, just more on my diagnosis. Is that alright with you?”
“No problemo.”
They went back this time, and I waited, but it wasn’t too long. Mom seemed less worried on the way home and told me that I didn’t
have to go on medication, but I had another appointment for next week. The doctor was “guardedly optimistic.” And at home, we need to “keep the lines of communication open.”
So that was the last word, Di. I am officially a psychiatric patient now, though at least I am not thought to be in immediate danger. Mom was mostly relieved, but still worried. Since I didn’t feel much like dealing with school after all that, I took her up on the offer to skip the rest of the day. Now I better go back to school to get my books. Mr. History is cramming in one more quiz before the end of the quarter, and I want to be ready for it.
Hello again, Di. My homework trip got interesting. School was just getting out, and I ran into DJ and the gang. Mommy must be lightening up, because when she called to check on his grades, they were all Cs and Bs—thanks to yours truly—and she ended his groundation early. They were all going to the track meet, so I called Mom and asked if I could stay.
Unfortunately, my language arts teacher was selling tickets and told me that I couldn’t attend school activities after being absent that day.
So we all took off for the pines, which was different with Kel there. The guys went looking for sticks to use as swords, while Liz and I talked. We had a lot to catch up on. Lately, she and Quill have been together non-stop. Her mom never says no when she invites him over because she likes Liz to be at home instead of out.
“So where were you all day?” she asked.
“I got to skip most of the day,” I said. “But I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. A psychiatrist, actually.”
“No way! My mom wanted me to see one of those—or a counselor or something, but I said forget it. Are you psycho, or what?”
“Or what.”
“So, what’s going on?”
While the boys played sword fighting, I told her about my story, the big talk with my parents, and my trip to the shrink.
Liz and I had caught up and were watching the boys get increasingly violent in their swordplay when Kel got his knuckles whacked, and they quit fencing. Quill and DJ sat by us as Kel walked around in circles holding his hand and muttering. I scooted over to DJ and lay back against his shoulder. Suddenly, he said, “Time?”
Nobody had a watch, so we all hustled back to school. His mom was coming at 5:30, and he had to be there waiting. The two of us walked on ahead of the others, and I got a chance to tell him about my appointment. I think he was a little hurt that I hadn’t told him I was seeing the shrink today, but I said I wanted to concentrate on his homework this morning, and hadn’t it paid off? No more groundation.
It was only 5:15 when we got back to the meet, but Mommy pulled into the parking lot just seconds later. Very close call. DJ sort of pretended that I wasn’t there and ran to meet her. Liz and those guys went in for the rest of the track meet, and I headed home.
Dad and I had dinner alone again, and I told him about Dr. Velez. He and Mom had talked on the phone, of course, but he wanted to know what I thought about it all. Tired of it, already, but relieved that the diagnosis hadn’t been worse.
We were pretty much finished eating, though Dad seemed like he wanted to talk a little more, when the phone rang. It was DJ!
He wanted to apologize for cutting out on me without saying goodbye. Sweet.
As usual, we didn’t get a long time to chat, but he wants to do something this weekend—maybe without Quill and Liz. The trouble is, what’s his excuse going to be? We’re going to think about it.
I wish I could invite him over here. I’m so jealous of Liz and Quill who get to see each other every day. DJ and I aren’t even allowed to have a relationship.
Couldn’t he just ask if he can come over? Maybe we could lie and say that Quill is going to be here too, although that could backfire if she finds out. So, what if he just asked? He wouldn’t have to tell Mommy that we’re going out—oops!—seeing each other. He could say that I’m the person who has been helping with his homework, that we’re friends, we’re going to do some homework, my parents are home, what’s the big deal?
I’m going to call Liz and get her take on it.
She doesn’t think it would work. Not only would Mommy say no, but if he asked to go over to a girl’s house alone, then she’d be on the lookout all the time.
I still think it’s worth a try. She can only say no, and then we can lie low for a while. Wait—are we going to the cabin this weekend? That would be perfect. We could invite him up there for the day, say my dad is taking us fishing—that’s a good, wholesome activity.
But she won’t want to drive all the way up there and pick him up, so we’ll have to bring him home. How is this going to work?
What am I thinking? It won’t work. Mommy will say no. Still, I want to try.
18 October
School was okay, history test felt pretty good, grade updates show me with a B- in math, a B+ in English. We’ll see about science and history.
Tonight we’re going to Liz’s house to play pool; we worked it all out at lunch. I asked Mom and Dad if DJ could come up to the cabin with us, and DJ is going to ask Mommy. Liz still thinks it’s a bad idea. Quill thinks we should try, though he suggested that my whole family join their church.
“You don’t have to believe,” he said. “All you have to do is put money in the plate.”
“And they’ll know we are Christians by our checks,” he sang.
“I’m a pagan,” said Liz. “I got this cool book on Wicca from my aunt. But it’s all spiritual—there aren’t even any spells. Still, maybe we can find a spell somewhere for making parents let you date.”
“I think my mom’s, like, protected from your goddess, Liz,” said DJ. “And don’t forget that she prays for you.”
“Hey,” said Liz, “you really should invite Cassie to church. She couldn’t say no to that.”
“But I could,” I said.
“Suffer the little children to come to me,” Quill said. “And the tall and buzz-headed children too.”
Before dinner, DJ’s mommy called. Here’s what I overheard:
First, Mom told her all about the cabin and the property and the fishing stuff, then about how the two of us met in Mr. Griffin’s clubs and what a motivated student I had always been. After that, Mom did a lot of listening, mm-hm-ing, agreeing, and sympathizing that ended up with her saying that I never had shown much interest in boys, and how Sean had started dating late too, and how, of course, she did think it was good for kids to have both boys and girls for friends. Finally, Mom said how happy she was that DJ was coming, which set me literally twirling around the room with happiness.
After she hung up, Mom said, “I guess you know that DJ is not allowed to date?”
“Ummmm … that might be one reason why we’re only seeing each other.”
“I’m not so sure I feel good about this, but I didn’t let on that you two are a little more than just friends.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mom. We’re really not much more than friends.”
“She’s going to find out, you know. It would be better if DJ would tell her the truth.”
“But she wouldn’t be letting him come if she knew.”
“Here’s that trust thing. If you’re happy with him lying to her, how do I know that you’re not lying to us?”
“But you’re not unreasonable and overprotective, Mom. I don’t need to lie to you.”
“Don’t think I don’t know, Cassie, how quickly that could change. As soon as I don’t give you what you want, suddenly I become unreasonable and overprotective, too. I was fourteen once, and fifteen and sixteen, and furthermore, I will not keep your secrets.”
“But, Mom—”
“Nor am I going to call this woman back and tell her. But if it comes up again, I’ll sing. You two better straighten this out.”
“Okay, Mom, we wil
l.”
“Now, how late are you going to be tonight?”
“Midnight?”
“Eleven. It’s going to be an early morning.”
I got home well before curfew, it turned out, because Mommy picked up DJ at ten, and I decided to go home and not be a third wheel. I also got to meet her, which was interesting. I don’t know what I expected—someone like Momma in Carrie, someone with holier-than-thou written all over her, someone overweight and pasty with a southern accent. I guess I’m as full of prejudice as anyone.
She turned out to be younger than I would have thought, and pretty, and normal looking, if a little too put-together for ten o’clock at night. But maybe she had been out Bible studying or whatever those people do. She was also very nice and polite to me—though she did have a certain tightness, like her eyes and mouth were smiling, but inside she was a ball of stress.
Before she got there, we played pool and darts and ordered pizza. DJ actually shared my half of the cheese-free pie, which the others could not understand at all. That’s about it. I got a nice goodnight hug and some kisses—well before Mommy got there, just to be sure.
It feels like such a luxury to be with DJ all evening and then look forward to seeing him first thing in the morning.
Good night, good Diary.
19 October
What a day. It was damn near perfect.
The ride up was a little awkward—DJ was not exactly at ease with Mom and Dad until Dad got him talking about The Lord of the Rings.
I felt a little funny about the fishing—I don’t believe in it, of course, and it seemed strange to have used it as an excuse for inviting him to the mountains. But it was something for him and Dad to do together. He got the hang of the casting right away, and landed a couple of brookies, getting all flustered and stripping the line in by hand instead of reeling in. Since I was just watching, though, he quit early, and the two of us walked up to the Carrock. He thought it was incredible that we actually have a carrock, though we speculated that a true carrock might have to be in the middle of a river.
As Tolkien said, pleasant tales are soon told. We basked in the October sun until lunch, taking turns using each other for pillows, but keeping it cool because it wasn’t exactly private up there. Then we had lunch with Mom and Dad and went for a hike.
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