Or Not

by Brian Mandabach

  Then they wanted to know if we could talk about some of those options that they had suggested when my Grand Plan fell through. We might see if there are any spaces in one of the other middle schools or in the charter middle school. We also might consider some kind of alternative high school for next year. They don’t feel so good about Tabor anymore, after what has been happening to me there, and they want me to get a good start in high school.

  I couldn’t muster the energy to put up a brave front about it, but I said that I would rather just tough it out for the rest of the year, and then go to Parker next year. I was not up for another big, intense thing with them, but it was obvious that I was down again. They kept asking me what it was, and I kept saying I was okay. But when they wanted to know what had happened to DJ after the dinner at our house and the fight the next day, I had to tell them about him going to Christian school.

  Then they were getting all worried again. To reassure them, I explained my new philosophy on death—how I was over the suicide thing for good, that I realized it was not the answer to life—that living was. They very much approved of this, and thought that it would be good to talk this over with Dr. Velez. My next appointment is Tuesday.

  “But I don’t need her anymore, then, do I?” I said in my English accent. “I’ve got it sorted out on my own.”

  “Just because you have your thoughts together,” said Mom, “doesn’t mean you don’t need to keep going to therapy.”

  “I don’t see why I should.”

  “Because it is easier to decide what you’re going to do than it is to act the way you’ve decided,” said Dad.

  “But my mind’s made up. I’m going to keep living, but I’m not going to any more therapy. I tried it once, it was okay, but I don’t need it.”

  “How about four more sessions?” said Mom. “And then if the doctor thinks you’re ready, you’ll be done with it.”

  “How about none?”

  “Maybe six would be better.”

  “Mom, I’m not five years old and we’re not bargaining over M&M’s. This is my head that you want to shrink, and I should say if I want it shrunk. I don’t.”

  “We don’t want your head shrunk,” said Dad. “She’s not Nurse Ratched, and we’re not sending you off for a lobotomy. We want you to be healthy and safe.”

  “Good. I am.”

  “Cassie, I spoke to Dr. Velez,” Mom said. “She thinks you are still at risk. And now, you’ve just suffered another loss—don’t you think you should have a little extra support, at least until you see how it turns out? Things are going to be really different for you and DJ now.”

  “Different? It’s over. I’ll never see him again.”

  “But you might—you never know.”

  “Cassie, why are you so opposed to this?” Dad asked.

  Thanks a lot, Dad, I thought. Will the probing questions ever end? Will I ever be trusted to make a decision without the cross-examination?

  “Because I am,” I said, then foolishly turned the question back on them. “Why are you so unopposed to it?”

  “Because we are,” said Mom.

  Okay. I asked for that one.

  “Yes,” said Dad. “We are. We’re taking you to a few more sessions. You can talk to her, and if it helps, you’ll thank us. If it doesn’t, you won’t be out more than a few hours.”

  “What if I sit there and refuse to talk to her?”

  “Then you’ll guarantee that it will be a waste of time. But you’ll go nonetheless.”

  “Fine,” I said. “May I be excused, already.”

  “Fine,” he mocked. “Be excused, already.”

  27 October

  Last night after writing, I lay around and stewed and tried to read a little. This morning I was still mad about the therapy thing, and I didn’t feel like hanging around Mom and Dad. I hate the way they are watching me now—they didn’t even want to let me go on a little hike by myself. Not that it would have been much fun anyway. Wherever you go, there you are.

  I’d hoped to find a message from DJ when we got home, but no such luck. I tried calling him, three times, but nobody picked up, and there was no anwering machine or voice mail.

  I did have a message from Liz, who said she was “sorry for being such a witch with a capitol B.” She promised to call me if she heard from DJ.

  Then I called Quill, who saw DJ at church this morning. Mommy isn’t letting him use the phone at all, and they couldn’t talk much before DJ was whisked away. He starts at SCCS tomorrow. He wanted Quill to tell me that he’s going to see me soon—he’ll figure something out.

  That made me feel better, but not by much. Part of me wants to believe that we can salvage something, the rest of me knows that it’s over.

  I did some homework, and then I went out to my balcony. It’s back to warm autumn weather, the trees bare against the blue sky. We gained an hour today, so the sun was gone behind the mountains a little after four, and the cool air was coming down.

  28 October

  I couldn’t go to school today, Di. Couldn’t do it. I was all ready with my books and homework and lunch, but I ducked into the pines.

  Okay, I guess it wasn’t all that spontaneous. I brought an extra sweater, though the warm weather is holding, and you, Di. And since I never bring you to school, I must admit that I had this idea in the back of my mind all along—leaving myself an out, in case I decided against school.

  Mom has no rehearsal today, so I can’t go back home. It looks like a day in the pines—I think my tipi in the mountains or the Oregon beach house are the only places I’d rather be.

  I brought my Fellowship paperback and spent the morning reading. It was cold at first, but I had my sweater and DJ’s jacket. Now the sun is overhead and shines down onto the fallen pine needles in the middle of the clearing. I took off my sweater and jacket, spread them out, and I’m lying down in the sun. There’s a layer of warm, sleepy air on the ground, smelling dry and brittle with pine needles. Up in the treetops, the wind is blowing, but down here all is still and quiet except for the drifting screams of recess at the elementary school.

  Last time I was here alone, I imagined Middle Earth, and being there with DJ. Now I don’t see any point in imagining, and though the book keeps my mind occupied, I’m getting drowsy. Maybe it’s time for a nap.

  After dozing off, I woke up cold and disoriented—about half an hour after school let out. Oops! I rushed home, and Mom was in her studio with a lesson, so I had time to get myself together before fibbing to her about hanging around after school with Liz. I called Liz, in the meantime, half to make sure that she hadn’t called or anything.

  “Are you okay?” she wanted to know. “Quill and I were worried about you.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “I just couldn’t deal with school today. So, I sort of stayed home.”

  “Is your mom cool with that?”

  “She doesn’t really know. She left early with my Dad, and just got home a while ago.” I don’t know why I made that up, but I didn’t want to tell her I was at the pines all day. Maybe it seemed too strange, and also, I wanted to keep it a secret. Never know when I’ll want to do it again. Like tomorrow.

  “So you caught the attendance robot?”

  “What?”

  “The attendance robot that calls your house between four and four-thirty if you’re unexcused.”

  “Shit,” I said. “I’ll call you back.”

  I hit speed dial for the voice-mail as I flew down the stairs to check the caller ID. Sure enough, there was a message: “This is the Tabor Middle School attendance office. Cassandra Sullivan was absent and unexcused for one or more classes on today, Monday, October 28th. Please contact the attendance office. Goodbye.” I hit delete, and checked the caller ID. That just said “School District,” so I left it
. Since she hadn’t caught the call, I could say I had called home to tell her I was late.

  I rang Liz again.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You saved my life.”

  “No problem. You erased the message?”

  “Yeah. Will they call again?”

  “No, but it’s gonna show up on your report card unless you get it excused.”

  “Not bloody likely.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, well, I could call in for you, but I don’t sound too parental.”

  “So. Have you heard from DJ?”

  “Nope,” said Liz. “What about you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “He’s gotta be hurtin’. I can’t believe his mom harshed out this bad. How are you?”

  “Terrible.” And suddenly I was. I think I had been in shock. I said before how I would go in and out, thinking I’d tell DJ about something, wondering when I’d see him next, and then remembering that I wouldn’t get to. This was the worst yet. I felt all bruised and raw inside.

  “I have to go,” I said. “Bye, Liz. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I stuck my face in my pillow, getting ready to let loose with a few sobs, when I heard Mom creaking up the stairs. I tried to get myself together, but I must have looked a mess.

  “How was your day?” she said and then when she saw me, “Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little privacy right now, please. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  When I came down, I swore that I was all right, just had a moment of sadness. That’s understandable, I’m told. It’s hard to lose someone you care for, and she could tell I really cared for DJ. But maybe I’d still see him. I should give it time, and keep a little hope that it won’t end up too badly.

  Inevitably, the subject of Dr. Velez came up at dinner. I didn’t fight about it, but I didn’t act like I was going to put my best foot forward, which they were dying to hear. I confirmed that I remembered it was at 4:30 tomorrow, with drop-off by Mom and pick-up by Dad.

  The other night, I was thinking that I need some sort of plan to get through school’s wall of hostility, to get through afternoons and evenings and weekends of time. I’m coming up with a big, fat goose egg. Not only am I done with plans, I appear to be out of ideas.

  After brooding on this for a while, I decided that I might as well try to call DJ again. It rang and rang and rang, and I hung up. Then I started calling every five minutes, and letting it ring for a minute. After half an hour, I just let it ring. I put down the phone and went to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and washed my face and got ready for bed. When I picked up the phone again a voice was saying, “If you want to make a call, hang up and try again.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I would like to make a call.” I hung up, pressed redial, and got a busy signal. DJ has got to know that this is me, I thought. At least he knows I’m trying.

  But maybe he doesn’t. It’s just so wrong. You can’t keep people apart like this. Ever since I pulled myself together after my last call to Liz, I have been numb and dumb. Now I’m getting mad again, but it’s not doing me any good.

  I picked up the phone to try DJ again, but Mom was on the line. I’m going to listen to his favorite of all my records, Zeppelin. And LOUD. Was it only five nights ago that we were on this bed together listening to this record?

  Oh, God. Here come the tears.

  Journal Eleven

  29 October

  Morning, Di. I don’t even think I am going to bring my books today. Why haul all that dead weight up to the pines? I’ll go up to the secret glade and read for a while, then I’ll double back home. Mom has a quartet rehearsal and should be out of the house by nine. This will all come back to haunt me, I know, but I need some time to myself.

  Unbelievable. I hope Liz does get a needle stuck in her eye. I should have known I couldn’t trust her when she wouldn’t swear by the ring.

  This morning, as I came up from the creek, I heard laughter. I thought it was coming from people going to school on the bike path until I recognized Liz’s voice.

  I climbed the hill, my footfalls as quiet as a hobbit’s on the pine needles. The woods are thinner on the lower side, but because of the slope, I could stay hidden until just before I got a view of the glade. As I crept up, I knew it was Liz for sure. Then I saw her, her sister, Lonnie, and three other people—high school friends of Lonnie, I think. I ducked out of sight behind a tree.

  I sat there, listening to the laughter float down to me. I smelled weed and then cigarettes on the wind. After it had been silent for a time, I got up and made my way to the grove.

  I was surprised not to find any cigarette butts lying around, and glad, though I figured it was because Liz knew I would freak if I found them. Probably her way of being discreet, but it didn’t matter. Soon this would be a well-known party site. I stayed and brooded for a while, but I didn’t want to spend any time there. It wasn’t my place anymore, not that I ever owned it or had any claim on it. Discovery, maybe. I should be surprised that it hadn’t been found out before.

  I left the way I came and caught the alley up to my house by the downstream bridge. By that time it was nine, and I was sure Mom was long gone, but I checked for her car before I went inside.

  It was too good a place not to share, I guess. Not that I forgive Liz. A promise is a promise. Needle eye, hope to die. No crosses count.

  I’m up in my room now, and it feels strange to be here in the middle of the morning, alone, on a school day. But the pines feels all sick to me now, so where can I go? I wish I was up in the mountains, lying on the Carrock in the wind. That’s where I should be—I could breathe up there. I could think.

  I closed my eyes, took a few deep, slow belly-breaths, and came to a conclusion: I’m lightin’ out. I’m headin’ for the hills.

  But how? I don’t want to hitchhike. Even if there weren’t weirdos to worry about, I don’t think the cops would just drive by a kid my age in the middle of a school day—even if I stopped thumbing and was just walking. I wish we had trains or buses or something. Wait—maybe I could take the casino bus and get dropped off at the forest service road up to the cabin.

  Well, that was too perfect to work. I cut down the alley, over through the college, caught the free shuttle, and I made the bus stop just as the Gold Rush pulled in. But the stupid driver wouldn’t let me ride.

  “We don’t take unaccompanied minors, kiddo. Company policy.”

  Now I’m having a coffee at the Feed & Read, while I figure out what to do. Luckily, people downtown are used to seeing high school students around, and I look old enough. I risk running into Dad—but his office is south, by the courthouse, and he’s probably stuck in court right now.

  I’m resolved more than ever. I’ve got to get out of town, get my head together, get to a place where nobody will bug me or try to shrink my head. I need to go where the air is clear and cold and free from the sound of machinery. I need to be high in the mountains, tucked safely into a valley of the land and open to the sky.

  The question is, how am I going to get to the mountains? I don’t want to hitch, but how else am I going to do it? The city bus goes as far as Manitou. But then what? Find some tourists to give me a ride? Hitchhike from there? Walk?

  I guess I could take the trail up the Peak, then hike down the back side. But I don’t have a tent or sleeping bag. I could stay tonight at Half-Pint Camp—if they’ll take an unaccompanied minor—but I don’t know if I could make it the rest of the way in one day. If I knew the way. I could get topo maps at the mountain store …

  Forget it. It’s crazy.

  But maybe not. I think I’ll check out the mountain store, pick up a map, and then catch the bus to Manitou. That’s at least one step closer to my destination.

  On the bus—

  Insane. There is no way
I could do that hike without a tent and sleeping bag, let alone a whole pack full of warm clothes, a flashlight, campstove, water—even if I did know the way. It could snow. It could blizzard. I could be dead.

  Hitching’s dangerous too, but I think I can choose my rides—avoid anyone who seems bad. Maybe only ride with women.

  There’s a ramp up to the highway on the west side of Manitou, and the bus stops there, at the Windigo Caverns and Indian Dancing Show. I’ll try to catch a ride with someone pulling out of there. Anyone who goes to Windigo can’t be a psychopathic murderer. Stupid tourist, yes, but bloody psycho? Probably not.

  We’re almost to the end of Manitou Avenue. My stop is coming up.

  Geronimo.

  Hi again, Di. I am riding in a giant motor home, and it’s taking me all the way to the forest road. My luck’s holding.

  I got to the caverns, but they were having a slow day. It seemed like I hung around forever, expecting either the police to drive by or somebody from the caves to come out and ask me what the hell I was doing loitering. Finally people started coming out. The first were two guys, so I hung back and looked away. Then these three hard-living sort of Lynyrd Skynyrd women came out, laughing and lighting cigarettes. When a family came out and piled into a motor home, I went over and waved to the driver, who rolled down his window.

  “Excuse me, sir, I need some help. Are you headed west?”

  “Woodland Park,” he said. “Go ’round the side.”

  The wife, Sherry, opened the side door. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young lady, hitching a ride in times like these. You better thank the good Lord we came along. Now, get in here.”

  “Boys,” she said to two kids, about eight or nine, “you make room for this girl and get her anything she wants out of the fridge. This is our boy, Brandon,” she said. “And this is his friend, Donny.”

  I always sort of looked down on motor homes. Dad loves to tell the story about the time he was camping at the Sand Dunes. A big camper pulled into the site across the road, and he and his friends watched as this guy got out, climbed up on the roof, set up his TV antenna, and went back inside. The next morning he got out again, took it down, and drove away. Now that’s taking advantage of our National Monuments.