“Well, dinner’s at five, visitors come at six, and then you can make personal calls at seven,” Damian says. “But you only get six minutes, and it’s first come, first serve. It gets pretty busy during phone hour.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“You’ll be okay,” Damian says.
“I need to lie down. Can I take a nap?”
“Sure, I’ll see you later.” And with a quick wave, Damian leaves your room.
You crawl into what you assume is your bed since the bed on the right has slippers on the floor nearby and a robe at the end of it. You put the pillow over your head and dream of Ben.
44
“It’s dinnertime.”
The girl is standing over you, staring at you as you move from sleeping to waking. You had been dreaming that you and Ben were hiking up a hill and were about to fly over a shimmering, glistening lake. Now some strange girl wearing a Hello Kitty T-shirt is demanding you get up for dinner.
“Huh?” You’re confused, lost in the memory of your dream of Ben, not fully aware of where you are.
“Dinner. Five o’clock. I’m Savara.”
“Hi,” you say.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Pea.”
“Pea? Is that short for something?”
“Just Pea.” You decide that no one here is going to learn your real name. Ever.
She turns away from your bed and you sit up. She’s got skinny jeans on to go with her Hello Kitty T-shirt and she’s wearing dirty socks. She’s scrawny, pale white, and delicate as a piece of loose-leaf paper. You can see right through to the veiny makeup of her insides. You’re guessing drug addict, if you had to choose Reason for Admittance. Then you wonder if she’s wondering about you.
And she is, because her next question is this:
“Why are you in here?”
You rub the sleep from your eyes and wonder the same thing.
Why am I in here?
“I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think I belong here.” Then you realize how that sounds and you try to retract the words when Savara scowls at you.
“I … uh … I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, someone called in an anonymous tip at school about me and now everyone thinks I’m suicidal. That’s why I’m here.”
“Oh.”
She’s not buying it.
Then Savara says, “It’ll all come out in therapy anyway. It always does. Get up. We have to go to dinner. If we’re late, they mark it in our files.”
You follow her out of the room to the dining area, which is near the lounge area. The shiny aluminum tables are long and seating is bench style. Everything is bolted to the floor. You guess it’s so no one can hurl furniture at people. By the looks of it, there’s room for about fifty people, tops. There are about twenty kids there—in one section there are younger kids who all look to be about six to twelve years old. Savara takes you through the food line and dinner is served to you on a Styrofoam plate by someone behind a glass window. Your meal consists of a piece of lasagna, some wilty salad, a roll with a pat of butter, and a brownie. There is a carton of milk too. You get to eat with a spork. No knife. Of course, because you could try to kill yourself with a plastic knife.
You feel sick to your stomach.
Savara sits next to a group of odd-looking teens and you sit next to her because what other option is there.
“New girl.” Savara nods in your direction and you glance at each of them quickly, but don’t really look at them yet. Then she says, “Her name’s Pea.”
A couple of the kids say hi, and one of the guys grunts his greeting, and then they all continue to talk as if you aren’t there. They eat their food like it’s no big deal, like it might even taste okay. You take this time to look at everyone.
There’s a black girl with tragically straight hair and tons of split ends, faded red like she dyed it at home from a box, but did a terrible job. Next to her is a boy who looks to be the youngest—maybe thirteen—he’s also black and he’s rapping to some music in his head in between bites of his lasagna.
Across from Savara sits the most angry-looking guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. From the looks of him, he’s exactly who you’d expect to be in the Crazy House. Dark clothes, dark hair, dark demeanor. You can tell he’s had his lip and eyebrow pierced, and he’s got about eight holes in each of his ears. His eyes are a fierce color of green, mesmerizing and eerie at the same time—you don’t want to stop staring, although he looks like he could tear you apart with one scowl. You can also tell he’s been hurt more than anyone deserves to be hurt. He stares back, challenging you, and you glance away.
At another table there is a group of kids who are loud and laughing and you can’t believe that there is laughter in this place. That people can be happy in here. You’re curious as to what makes them feel that way.
You pretend to busy yourself with your spork, like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. The monster is whispering something to you but you’re not sure what he’s saying. Maybe, You’re hungry, you’re hungry, you’re hungry. Or, You’re trapped, you’re trapped, you’re trapped.
Either one, he’s right.
You take the roll and pick off a piece. You place the bit of bread in your mouth and chew.
Now everyone is staring at you.
“So,” the black girl says, “what got you sent here?”
You swallow the bread and feel tears welling in the corners of your eyes.
She’s not being mean. She’s just asking a question.
“I guess I might have tried to kill myself.” Although you know it’s not true. You didn’t try to kill yourself. But it’s easier than attempting to explain everything to a bunch of strangers.
It’s actually easier than the truth.
The others at the table nod. Like they know.
You take another piece of your roll. Your stomach growls so loud that everyone at the table hears it and they laugh.
“Damn, girl, you’re hungry!” Savara says.
You look down at your plate. You will not eat the lasagna, and the salad looks pretty disgusting. You will finish your roll and eat the brownie though.
The black boy speaks. “I’m Malik. I tried to do it too. Three times. I thought the third time would be my ticket out. My grammy finally had enough and brought me here.”
“Next time, Malik, tie that rope tighter.” It’s the green-eyed boy who says this. He’s staring directly at you even though he was addressing Malik.
“Nah, man,” Malik says. “Rope’s too hard.”
Green-eyed guy laughs. Then to you he says, “What about you?”
“Me, what?” you ask.
“How?” he says.
You pull your wrists quickly under the table and shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He shrugs. “You just told me.”
Savara says, “You’re going to have to talk in group. They make us all talk. If you don’t talk, you don’t leave.”
45
After dinner, parents arrive to see mostly the little kids. Savara doesn’t get a visitor and neither does the black girl, whose name is Starling. Malik’s grandmother comes to visit but green-eyed fierce boy doesn’t get a visitor either. He goes to his room, and since doors have to stay open at all times, you can see him lying on his bed from the lounge area, where you sit with Starling and Savara. The lounge area isn’t very “loungey” because the chairs are more like Lego blocks lined up in rows, bright yellow and red and blue. They’re also bolted to the floor. There are a couple of throw pillows to try to give it a homey feel, but this place feels nothing like home.
There is an episode of Full House on TV and you wonder how none of those girls ended up in the Crazy House, living there with that nut job Uncle Joey with his cut-it-out shtick and the OCD dad who was always cleaning the house.
Savara and Starling tell you about the routine of the days: how you have breakfast, then there is therapy, then lunch
, and some outdoor time, quiet time, and more therapy … It sounds pretty bleak to you. You see that the boy with the green eyes has shifted his position and has now moved to the end of his bed. He’s on his stomach, his head resting on his hands, and he’s staring at you.
You nudge Savara. “Why’s he doing that?”
“Oh, Chad? He’s just weird,” she says. “He tries to intimidate all the new kids. Especially the girls who are cute.”
“What’s his deal?”
“His dad beat him up pretty bad. His mom was an alcoholic.”
“Was?”
Starling and Savara exchange looks. “His dad killed his mom,” Savara says.
Your eyes go large. You turn your head to Chad’s room and look at him. He’s staring at you still, but this time you hold his gaze. This time you don’t see him as intimidating or fierce. This time you see Chad as a boy with his own monsters.
* * *
Damian comes by after all the parents leave. You’re still watching TV with Savara. Starling has gone to her room.
“How are you doing?” he asks. “She teaching you everything you need to know?” He nods in Savara’s direction.
“We’re busting out at midnight.” Savara smiles.
“Watch it,” Damian says, laughing.
“I’m fine,” you say.
“I came by to tell you that you can make a call now,” he says.
A smile spreads across your face. “Really?”
“Sure. There’s a line, but you can wait your turn.”
You’re dying to talk to Ben. He has no idea what’s going on. This day has gone on forever. And you want this nightmare to be over with. At least, you think, you’re almost through with Day One in the Crazy House.
You also want to call Shayna because she needs to know what’s going on and you’re not sure that your mom would have called her. You’re positive you don’t need to be here—you’re not suicidal, so the people here are not going to help you. Shayna’s going to help you. You need her. You need the therapy at Healthy Foundations. You don’t need the Crazy House.
But first … first you need to talk to Ben.
You get up from the Lego chair and wave bye to Savara. As soon as you stand up to leave, Chad readjusts his position on his bed so he’s no longer looking out into the lounge area.
Damian takes you to the phones and there is a line of kids waiting for the two available phones. You’re praying these kids hurry up because it’s already seven-thirty. A little girl who is about seven is on the phone begging to go home. “I don’t like it here, Mommy,” she cries. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. Finally, a nurse takes the phone from her and tells her mom that yes, her child is fine, and she can come tomorrow at visiting hours.
Three more children make calls and then a teenager who you haven’t seen before gets on a call. Two kids get tired of waiting and leave the line. Then it’s your turn. You pick up the phone and you’re sweating and shaking and praying. You dial Ben’s number, and then you hear his beautiful voice. Like magic.
But it’s his voice mail.
“Hey, it’s Ben, leave a message and if you’re lucky, I’ll call you back.”
Your voice cracks as you try to form words but all that comes out is: “Ben.”
You can’t think clearly and you want to get the words right, but you’re not sure what to say, what to tell him. So you tell him only what you’re sure of. “Ben, it’s me. My parents had me admitted to St. Joe’s. I can only call you between seven and eight. Can you call my mom? She’ll tell you more. They sent me away. And I’m so scared.”
You rattle off your house phone number and tell him you miss him so much. Then you hang up the phone and start to cry.
46
The next morning you wake and for a split second you don’t remember where you are or what happened. Then the realization hits when you see Savara sleeping in her bed. You have no idea what time it is, but you hear some activity in the lounge area so you slip out of bed. Since you don’t have any clothes other than the ones you arrived in, Damian gave you a hospital gown to sleep in, which leaves your back bare. You grab the blanket from your bed and wrap yourself in it for coverage and warmth and go out to the Lego chairs.
Chad is reading a book.
“Hi,” you say.
He nods in your direction but continues to read.
You sit on a yellow Lego chair. He’s sitting on a blue one.
“What do we do today?” you ask, even though the girls clued you in last night.
Without taking his eyes away from his book, he says, “Food, talk, food, minimal sunshine, lots more talk. If you have a book”—he lifts up his book—“you get to read.”
“How long have you been here?” you ask.
“About eight days.”
“Oh.”
He continues to read and you watch him. You can smell food from the kitchen, but it doesn’t mean anything to you.
Since you can’t think of anything to talk about, you ask, “When are you getting out?”
“Dunno.”
“I can tell you’re not mean.”
He nods. Then he says, “I’m not really here to make friends.”
“Shit. I don’t even want to be here,” you say.
“Agreed.”
“What are you reading?”
“Catcher.”
“In the Rye?”
“Is there any other Catcher?”
“I hated that book.”
“Me too.”
“Why are you reading it then?”
“Today’s literary options were Harry Potter or Catcher, and I hate Harry more than Holden.”
“Me too.”
He lowers the book and slips his eyes above the top and you see the start of a grin form on his lips. You might have just won him over.
“So last night you said you ‘might’ have tried to kill yourself. What’s that mean anyway?” Chad asks.
“I think it was more I was trying to cope, you know? And now I guess my parents are worried that I might be suicidal.”
“Are you?” he asks.
“Am I what?”
“Suicidal?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t actually try to kill myself. I’ve just got a mess of other problems. And being stuck here is one of the biggest of them all.”
Chad nods, and then turns back to his book. He’s done talking to you.
A couple other kids come out of their rooms and someone turns on the TV so your conversation is over. Savara comes out and sits next to you. “Hey, you wanna borrow a clean T-shirt until you get some fresh clothes?”
“Sure, that would be cool.”
You had no idea that screwed-up kids could be so nice, you think, as you follow Savara back into your room. She grabs a T-shirt and hands it to you. It’s an Elmo Sesame Street shirt.
“Remember,” Savara says, “Elmo loves you.”
“Thanks,” you say, laughing. This is one monster you actually like.
You take off the hospital gown and put on the Elmo shirt and your shorts from yesterday.
“So you and Chad have a deep conversation this morning?” she asks.
“Kind of,” you say. “Turns out we both hate Harry Potter.”
* * *
Malik isn’t at breakfast. You don’t think it’s anything strange, because you don’t know how things work here. But then Savara says, “If you’re late for breakfast, they mark it in your file, and if you get three late checks, it’s bad news. Bad news.”
There is some whispering among staff and then someone’s radio buzzes, alerting them to meet in the main lobby. An announcement over the loudspeaker mandates that all patients remain in the dining area. You were almost excited about eating pancakes for breakfast but now there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when all the adults except for one guard head to the lobby.
You know something bad has happened.
The silence is eerie.
“We shou
ld eat,” Starling finally says. You pick up your spork to eat the pancakes. It’s a food you like, one you can actually eat, so you do. Because you have no idea what lunch might be, and judging from last night’s dinner, the meals are not going to be things you can tolerate. You eat all three of the pancakes.
The only thing you can hear is the scraping of sporks along Styrofoam.
None of the staff has come back and it’s been fifteen minutes since the announcement was made.
“What do you think happened?” you ask. “Where do you think Malik is?”
Starling, Savara, and Chad shrug. There are two other teens sitting with you and you don’t know them, but one of them offers, “Maybe he did it, killed himself.”
You swallow hard at the thought.
Finally, the kitchen staff comes in and they go back to their positions, and some of them start cleaning up. Someone else comes in and says, “Therapy at ten, guys. Teens in Room 100. Under twelves, you go to the rec room.”
No one says anything else and you pick up your tray and throw out your trash.
* * *
At your first official therapy session in the Crazy House, your suspicions are confirmed.
“I have some very sad news,” your brand-new therapist, Dr. Lawrey, announces. “Malik committed suicide last night.”
Starling begins to cry, and Savara puts her arms around her.
Chad clenches his jaw and makes his hands into tight fists. “How?” he asks.
“This is a private matter that we can’t discuss,” Dr. Lawrey says.
You can’t believe that this has happened. That you’re here because people are worried that you’re a suicide risk and you’re in a place where kids can do the job right under the noses of the people who are supposed to be protecting them.
You want the hell out of here now.
This may be the first time in your entire life that you are taking control over everything. Over the monster. You’re not going to take shit from anyone any longer.
You stand up. “I need to call my parents. And my therapist. Now.”
47
You ask one of the nurses if you may use the phone.
“I’m sorry, you can only make calls at seven.”
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