Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred

by Melody Carlson

  I act like that's what I mean. But what I'd really like to tell her is that it's because I might be gone tomorrow. Still, I don't mention this. For one thing, I don't know for sure that it's really going to happen. And besides that, I'm not so sure I really want to go. I mean, what will this place be like? Then there's the fact that my dad was actually acting pretty civilized tonight. And I'm not even grounded anymore. Maybe things can change without me going off to some weird cutting clinic or whatever it is. I mean, I have no intention of cutting myself right now. Maybe I'm better already.

  "Well, have a good night," says Abby finally.

  "Yeah. You too."

  About five minutes after I hang up the phone, it rings. To my pleased surprise, it's Glen.

  "Abby said you're not grounded anymore."

  "Did she call you?"

  "Yeah."

  "How pathetic is that?" I say. "Did she tell you that I was home alone on a Friday night?"

  "Something like that. But I wasn't really wanting to go to the lake party either. I thought maybe we could hang together. That is, unless you'd rather stay home alone and wash your hair or watch reruns or something."

  I laugh. "No, I'd love to hang with you. I need to go out to celebrate my new freedom."

  So it's settled. He will pick me up in twenty minutes, just enough time for me to do a little primping and to change my clothes. I see my mom, the green phantom, slipping down the hallway as I come from the bathroom, and I'm tempted to say something to her. But just like that she's gone. The bedroom door closes silently.

  Then Glen is here and we're off to see what kind of fun we can dig up on a Friday night. The town feels full of life as Glen drives down Main Street. It's balmy and warm, and for the first time in a long time, I'm feeling really alive and hopeful.

  "I think things are changing," I say to Glen. "I got a job and my dad's acting nicer, and I think maybe it's going to get better."

  He smiles, but I can see a trace of concern in his smile. "I sure hope so, Ruth. For your sake."

  We finally decide to go to a movie and get there just as it's beginning. As a result we have to sit in the front row, and because it's an action adventure flick, I start to feel like I'm actually participating in the film. But it's a good distraction. Otherwise I'm sure I would be obsessing about tomorrow. I have no idea which way this thing is headed. I'm not even sure which way I want it to go. Finally the movie is over and we're back outside.

  "That was pretty good," I tell him as we walk back to his car. "Thanks! "

  "Sorry about the seats," he says.

  I just laugh. "Hey, it added to the excitement."

  We go out for coffee again, just like we did on our first date, and I'm really tempted to tell Glen all about Ms. Blanchard's plan for me. But that would mean revealing my little problem. And I'm not ready for that. In fact, I'm not sure I will ever be ready for that. Besides, I'm telling myself, I think I'm over it now. I think I've got the upper hand in this. I honestly don't think I'll ever need to cut again. Why should I, if life keeps going like this? I'm not grounded. My dad will respect me because I have a job and am contributing. And there's Glen. How much better can things get?

  Even so, I tell Glen that I should get home by eleven. And just as I say this, it occurs to me that I totally forgot to write my dad a note. Oh, crap! I feel like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. If Dad gets home before me, I will be in serious trouble.

  "What's wrong?" asks Glen as we walk outside.

  "Oh, nothing."

  He reaches for my hand. "Come on, Ruth. I know something's wrong. You've got the worst look on your face. What's up? Did I say something-"

  "No. It's not you." I turn and look at him. His face, lit by the overhead streetlight, shows his concern. "You're great, Glen. It's really nothing you did. I just realized that I forgot to leave my dad a note before I left. So I'm just hoping he's not home yet." I take in a deep breath. "Chances are, he isn't. I mean it's a Friday. He's probably at The Dark Horse, putting away another beer even as we speak."

  Glen nods then moves his face closer to mine. "Yeah, I bet that's what he's doing." And then, right there on the sidewalk, he leans down and kisses me. I'm so surprised and amazed. It's like the sweetest, best feeling I can imagine. Then I kiss him back. And we kiss for a few seconds. And, man, it is so good.

  He stops suddenly. "Just in case, Ruth, I should get you home right away. I mean, I don't want you getting grounded again after just one night of freedom."

  But it's funny. After kissing Glen, I don't feel nearly so worried about my dad. I have no idea why this is, but even when I sec my dad's pickup in the driveway, I don't totally freak.

  "Hope it goes okay," says Glen. "You probably don't want me to walk you to the door, right?"

  "Yeah. That'd probably be better. Thanks for everything. It was great."

  "See ya," he calls as I get out.

  Now I'm heading up the walk toward our house, telling myself to just chill. Everything's going to be fine. I've got a job and Dad was in a good mood tonight. Things are changing. Also, the lights are on. That's a good sign. But as soon as I'm inside, I know that I'm in for it.

  "Where have you been?" he booms at me before I can even close the door.

  "I'm sorry. I totally forgot to leave a note. It's just that Glen called and-"

  "I can't believe you, Ruth! You're barely out of trouble and the next thing I know you're running out of here half-cocked and you screw up all over again. What is wrong with you?"

  "I'm sorry, 1 just-"

  "I don't want your worthless apology, Ruth! I want you to obey my rules. I want you to respect me. I want you to use your head! Things have got to change around here! I'm sick and tired of the crap I get from you kids, from your mom. This whole family makes me want to..."

  But I'm tuning it out now. As best I can anyway. The words are so familiar that I know them by heart. The rhythm, the beat of his speech. I think I could do it in my sleep. Then he uses the word that cuts deep. He calls me "half-breed" a few times, and he probably sees me flinch and consequently thinks he's gotten my attention.

  "I don't know why I even try," he's saying now. "You guys are all just a bunch of losers." Now he leans down and looks at me, and to my surprise he seems almost sad. "I was starting to have some hope for you, Ruth. I thought getting a job would help you to grow up and take on some more grown-up responsibilities. But you just keep letting me down. Again and again. I guess that's all I should expect from a half-breed." Then he turns and walks away. And it's weird, I think I would prefer being yelled at. This other thing, a guilt trip or whatever you want to call it, actually hurts even more than just plain yelling and swearing.

  And as I go to the bathroom, I'm thinking he's probably right. I probably am a loser. I mean look at me. Here I am hiding out in the bathroom, sneaking out my precious razor blade, and slicing into my own flesh. What kind of a freak really lives like this?

  seventeen

  AI `T ER I'M DONE, AFTER I'VE BANDAGED MY ARM, AFTER I'VE EXPERIENCED A brief form of relief, I am sorry. Not so much for the actual cut. I'm used to that. But I'm sorry that I couldn't control myself, couldn't keep myself from doing what I didn't want to do. I'd been telling myself all day that I don't really need help, that I can stop this thing myself. And then, during my date with Glen, I was actually convinced that I didn't need to go to some stupid clinic for cutters. I was ready to tell Ms. Blanchard, "Thanks, but no thanks. I can handle this myself." Now I'm not so sure.

  It doesn't help anything to know what I'll be losing if I do decide to go. First of all, there's Glen. It's like that relationship I really, really want is just starting to happen. And now I have to go off and leave him for a whole month? During the summertime? There's no way he'll wait that long for me. Especially when he finds out why I'm gone. And how do I keep that a secret? I'm sure Abby will figure it out. Abby. I'll miss her too. Our friendship is already in a rocky place. When she finds out that I never really
quit cutting, what then?

  Then there's the job. Not that I want it. I really hate the idea of working in the tire store, being under my dad's ever-watchful eye. But I wouldn't have minded earning some money, taking some of the stress off my family.

  And what about Caleb and my mom? What will happen to them? All these worries pile up on me like a bunch of heavy stones until it seems I can barely breathe. Until I feel certain that I must stay home. How can I possibly leave?

  Even so, I follow Ms. Blanchard's instructions and pack a bag-just in case. And then I go to bed and try to sleep, but I think it's about three in the morning before I actually do.

  When I wake up, it's almost ten thirty. I'm glad my dad's not around to see how late I slept. I can just hear him saying that I'm a lazy, good-for-nothing half-breed as I crawl out of bed and head for the bathroom. It's amazing really, the way his words echo inside of me even when he's not around.

  I shower and dress and go through the paces of my chores without really thinking. I feel like a robot, like my dad has programmed me and this is the only way I can actually operate. I remind myself of how stupid I am when I take the trash out to the garage. Our can is packed full, and I've had to put the additional trash in a plastic bag that keeps falling over and spilling. I don't know how many times I've picked up bits and pieces of garbage from the garage floor. All this because I forgot to put the can on the street last week. I really am pathetic!

  Even so, I manage to have all my chores done by one o'clock. Knowing my dad will be home any minute, I go to my room and just wait. I don't want to have to talk to him before Ms. Blanchard arrives.

  It's weird, but I'm actually getting worried that she might not come at all. I'm thinking that maybe I got my facts wrong, that maybe I even imagined this whole thing. And the possibility that I really do want her to come is downright freaky. Maybe I really do want to get out of here. Then I consider my mom. If I really am leav ing, maybe I should go tell her good-bye. Or would that just upset her? Or would she even care?

  So I tiptoe down the hallway, knock on her door, wait a few seconds, and then go in. As usual, she's in her green bathrobe, sitting in her rocker, bright afghan in her lap, vacant look across her face.

  "Mom?" I move closer, unsure whether she even knows I'm in here. Then she looks up and almost smiles. Or maybe its her eyes that are almost smiling, because her mouth is a straight line. Or maybe it's just a glimmer of recognition, like she really does remember me after all.

  "I just wanted to talk to you," I tell her.

  To my surprise she reaches out and takes my hand. This gesture alone almost makes me cry. Almost. But she doesn't say anything.

  ' 1 just wanted to tell you I love you," I say in a slightly shaky voice. "And no matter what happens, I will always love you. And I hope you get better soon. I hope we all get better soon."

  She sort of nods now. And her eyes are shiny, like she's about to cry too. But she doesn't. Neither of us shed a single tear. We just sit there until I hear a door opening in the house, followed by heavy footsteps that belong to my dad. I can tell by her eyes that she hears them too.

  Then I lean down and hug her and quickly leave. Slipping back into my room, I hole up there and listen to my dad moving through the kitchen. I know exactly what he's doing. He goes through the mail, sets the newspaper aside, then checks to see if I've done my chores, including whether I've made him some lunch. Fortunately I have. It's just another tuna-fish sandwich, but I'm sure he'll eat it.

  I hear the squeak of the kitchen chair as he settles down with his lunch and newspaper. And I wonder if Ms. Blanchard has contacted him like she said she would. I wonder if she is coming at all.

  Despite my longing to stay here and make myself stop cutting and keep dating Glen and everything, I am suddenly sure I will fall completely apart if Ms. Blanchard does not show. I'm hanging onto this last tiny thread, and if it breaks ... well, I just don't know.

  I hear the doorbell. I get up and open my bedroom door just slightly, enough so that I can hear who is there. I can tell by the sweet ringing voice that it is Ms. Blanchard. And I can tell that Dad is taking her into the living room and she is doing most of the talking. I can't quite discern the words, but I know she's explaining something. And then 1 hear my dad calling me. "Ruth!" he yells for the second time. "Come out here."

  Feeling like a trapped mouse, I go out and stand in the doorway between the hall and the living room.

  "Hi, Ruth," says Ms. Blanchard with a smile. She is wearing a soft yellow shirt and white pants with coordinating accessories. Her purse and shoes match.

  "What's this she's saying about you, Ruth?" asks my dad, using his controlled voice as if he were talking to an irate customer. "Ms. Blanchard says that she's taking you somewhere, that you have a problem. What's this about, Ruth?"

  I look at Ms. Blanchard, hoping she'll handle this, give me some kind of clue, or better yet, just take over.

  "Ruth needs to go away for treatment," she says calmly, as if this is something that happens every day. "I'm taking her to a place where she can get the help she needs." She nods to the packet of papers sitting on his lap. "I need you to sign the forms where they're marked with those yellow tabs." She looks back at me. "You go get your things, Ruth. I'll finish explaining the legalities to your dad."

  The way she says legalities seems to give her the upper hand, and so I go back to my room and add a few more things to my bag. I think maybe I really am ready to leave.

  "Well, I'll sign these," my dad is saying. "And you can take her today. But I'm calling an attorney and I'll have her back here by Monday. You can count on that."

  "Do what you think you need to do," she tells him.

  "And don't you be thinking I'm paying for any of this nonsense." He holds the pen in his fist like a weapon. "Because I'm not forking over one cent for the state's stupidity"

  "It's all been taken care of," she assures him.

  I hover in the hallway waiting for him to finish signing the papers. I have no idea what she said to him while I was in my room. But apparently he has agreed to this. At least for now. I'm guessing she mentioned something about Caleb and the protective-services people. I suspect she has my dad cornered, and he knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on, at least for the moment.

  He's scowling when I come out. "I don't know what kind of nonsense you think you're pulling now, Ruth, but you can be sure I'll get to the bottom of it."

  "Feel free to call the caseworker," says Ms. Blanchard. "Her number is on that card I just gave you. She can answer any of your questions. Or your attorney's." Then she turns to me. "Ready, Ruth?"

  For the first time that I can remember, my dad is perfectly speechless. His mouth is partially open, but he's just standing there with some papers still in his hand, saying nothing. But, oh, is he ever mad. I can see it in his eyes. Like a smoldering volcano, he is ready to blow.

  "Let's go," says Ms. Blanchard, and I wonder if she feels it too.

  There are two cars in the driveway. And I remember how she said she'd be bringing backup. She hands the packet of papers to the man in the other car, and we get into her car, and finally we are pulling away from my house. I think I can breathe again.

  "I'm worried about my mom," I say suddenly.

  "Is she home?"

  "Yeah. She's always home." It hits me full force now. "And now that Caleb and I are gone, I'm worried ... what if he takes it out on her?"

  "Do you think he'd hit her?"

  "I don't know. He'll yell at her at least. And that can be just as upsetting, you know."

  "I know" She considers this. "Is there anyone you can call? A family member or friend who can check up on her."

  "Her brother," I say suddenly. "I'll bet Uncle Rod could help her."

  Ms. Blanchard hands me her cell phone and before long I am talking to my uncle. I explain that I am leaving home for about a month and that I'm worried about my mom. I manage to do this without actually mentioning exactly why it is that
I have to go. And, to my relief, he doesn't ask.

  "Don't worry, Ruth. I'll check on her. Maybe I can even talk her into leaving now. Now that you kids are gone, she doesn't have any reason to stay"

  "That's true," I say with realization. "She really doesn't. Maybe this can be her ticket out too."

  "I sure hope so."

  And so I feel a little relief as Ms. Blanchard drives me down the highway. "Where are we going?" I ask.

  "Promise House is a couple of hours from here. About twenty minutes from Crawford, kind of out of the way."

  "That sounds out of the way" Now I'm feeling a little worried. "Is it the kind of place where you're locked up?"

  She laughs. "No. Trust me, I think you're going to like it."

  I want to trust her. So far she hasn't given me any reason not to. But at the same time I feel this blanket of sadness covering me. Like, how pathetic am I that I have to be transported to some nuthouse where people are treated for hurting themselves? Really how sad is that?

  But I keep these thoughts to myself. I just stare out the window and watch the countryside pass by. I watch cows in a pasture and wish my life were as simple as theirs. Just eat your grass, drink your water, soak up the sun, and sleep whenever you like. Oh, sure, they're destined to become hamburger or somebody's new shoes, but they don't know that. Maybe ignorance really is bliss.

  Don't think about anything. Just chill and see what happens next. And, hey if this place doesn't work out, I can just leave. Right? But where will I go?

  Don't think about anything.

  eighteen

  Ms. BLANCHARD TURNS DOWN A LONG DRIVEWAY THAT LLADS 10 WHAT LOOKS like an old farmhouse and several outbuildings. But it's not rundown at all. In fact, everything appears to be in good shape, like someone actually cares, and there's a big wraparound porch, where several girls are sitting on the steps.

  She parks off to the side and I get out, pull out my bag and backpack, and slowly walk with her up to the porch. Why is this so hard? As I get closer I can see that the girls on the porch are smoking. And for some reason this surprises me. Not that I've never seen anyone smoke. I mean, Caleb does and a few of my friends do. Even my dad does, although he likes to pretend he doesn't. But I guess because I sort of assumed this was a clinical kind of place, I never figured that smoking would be allowed.