by Brian James
—I don’t want that— I tell him—my voice muffled by my sleeve.
—So you’re with me then? You’ll stop taking them?—
I nod—slowly at first but more decisive once he squeezes my hand. —Okay— I say. —But what if they find out?—
Alec reaches for the hand near my mouth so that both of my hands are now wrapped up in his. —Don’t worry about them— he says. —All that matters is you and me.—
CHAPTER
SEVEN
I have to be careful not to use too much glue. The magazine paper is so thin that if I use the slightest bit more than a dab, the glue bubbles up and shows through to the picture on the other side. But even being careful, holding the picture flat on the table and measuring the drop with a squinted eye as it seeps from the orange cap, I manage to get too much on the paper. I have to smear it flat with my finger in a spiral pattern until it’s thin enough for me to press the picture on the collage paper without wrinkling.
—This is so dumb— Alec groans beside me. He’s been complaining the entire twenty minutes we’ve been in the art room. I don’t mind though because he’s cute when he’s grumpy and I’m pretty sure he’s mostly doing it to make me laugh.
—I don’t mind. I like it actually— I tell him for the tenth time.
—Art collages?— he sneers. —What are we, in first grade?—
—It’s supposed to help us express our feelings— I say, doing my best imitation of Mrs. Weaver, the therapist in charge of instructing us in this activity. She says sometimes words aren’t the best way to describe our emotions and that making collages might help us get in touch with our inner selves. Today, she wants us to make a piece about our relationship with our parents. For some reason, it bothers Alec more than the others we’ve had to do. —Try to have some fun with it— I tell him. Then I reach over and press my gluey finger on his nose. Before he can wipe at it, I stick a red piece of paper on him that I’ve cut into a circle and now he has a clown’s nose.
He smiles for the first time since we started working on our projects. Looking at himself in the reflection of the windows behind us, he laughs. —Can this be my project?— he jokes. —This says everything about the way I feel toward my dad.—
—I’m pretty sure Mrs. Weaver had something else in mind— I tease him, pulling the paper off his face.
I’ve been in a good mood all day. Last night before bed, I hid the medicine under my tongue until the nurse left. As soon as the door clicked closed, I got up and spit the pills out in the toilet. This morning, I did the same thing. Nurse Abrams was more distracted than usual and I had no problem getting away with it.
Already, I’m noticing the changes.
I don’t feel so on edge today. It’s the same kind of feeling I get after taking a big test in school and can let go of all the memorized information stored in my brain—instantly I’m lighter once it’s been emptied. This morning has been just like that. I’ve been floating all day.
Mrs. Weaver is strolling around the room. The tables in the art room are pushed together into a giant horseshoe. Inside the opening, she wanders from patient to patient, pausing to look at everyone’s work and asking us a couple of questions apiece.
The tapping of her heeled shoes stops inches away and I know she’s examining mine. —That’s very pretty, Sabrina— she says, and I glance up at her with a smile on my face.
—Thanks.—
In the center of my collage is a black-and-white photograph of a mother and young daughter hugging in the snow at night. They are wearing heavy winter coats and ribbons in their hair because the picture is supposed to be of a scene in the 1800s and that was the way most girls and women wore their hair, I suppose. Around the photograph, I glued pictures of flowers I’d cut from the stacks of magazines Mrs. Weaver set out for us to use. The flowers are bright and colorful against the black-and-white snow. I painted the sky with watercolors. I used dark purples and blues and painted them really wet so that the colors ran together in interesting shapes. I used a little bit of pink paint on the girl’s cheeks.
—Can you tell me something about the images you chose?— Mrs. Weaver asks.
—Sure— I say. I love talking about my pictures and I’m smiling like crazy. Even Alec can’t help but grin when he sees me so happy. —Well, obviously this is me and that’s my mom.—
—I can see that— Mrs. Weaver says. She allows a quick smile to flash across her mouth before it turns into a grimace and fades completely. Her features scrunch together then. With a quizzical look, she taps on the image of the girl who symbolizes me. —But why are your cheeks pink in the picture? Are you cold? Is your mother hugging you to keep you warm?—
I shake my head. —No. I’m not cold at all.—
—Oh. Okay, then why? Did you have a reason, or did you just like the way it looked?— she asks.
—Not exactly. My cheeks are painted because I belong with the flowers and the sky. They are colorful and that’s where I’m going.— I tell her. Right away I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that about going someplace else. It’s probably the wrong answer but then again, I’m not sure I care. Alec says I shouldn’t hide what I see and I trust him.
—What about your mother?— Mrs. Weaver asks.
—She’s trying to keep me with her. In this place …— I say, drawing an imaginary circle around the black-and-white scenery with my finger. —… this place with all the snow. Because that’s where she belongs.—
—Why don’t you feel you belong in the same place as her?— she asks me, and I shrug.
—I don’t know— I say. —I just … don’t.—
—Hmmmm— Mrs. Weaver says, twisting up the corner of her mouth. There’s a look of concern on her face that makes my stomach drop. —What about your father? Where is he in this picture?—
—Somewhere nearby— I say, thinking of him running toward us. —He’s coming to help her. They both want me to stay.—
There’s a brief moment that passes where neither of us makes a sound. She stares at my collage and I keep my eyes fixed on her. There’s something about the way her eyes focus on the image that makes me wish I’d never told her. I could have just said I liked the way it looked and she would have moved on the way she always does.
—I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind me showing this to your doctor once you’re done?— she asks.
—I guess not— I whisper nervously. She’s never asked that before—not of me or any other patient as far as I know.
Alec hears my voice crack. He notices my hand dive into my pocket where he knows I keep at least one stone at all times. Once he sees my fingers moving like insects inside the fabric, working over the rough edges, he looks in Mrs. Weaver’s direction and sighs. —Something wrong, Alec?— she asks, turning toward him.
—Yeah— he says. —Why do you have to interrogate her?—
—I’m sorry if you feel I’m interrogating anyone— she says, straining to remain calm. —My job is to try and help you all explore feelings you may not even know you have.—
—What a load of crap— Alec says under his breath—just loud enough for her to hear and quiet enough so that she can pretend to ignore it. She takes a step over to stand in front of him.
—Mind if I look at yours?— she asks.
—No problem.— Alec pushes his paper across the table so that it takes flight just above the table’s surfaces and slides nearly onto the floor.
Mrs. Weaver catches it before it falls and holds it in her hand. She examines it for a few seconds before turning it around. It is a picture of a man in a suit, carrying a briefcase. Next to him is a woman in a suit, carrying a briefcase. Alec has used the red paper nose I gave him and made an identical one. He’s glued both on the foreheads of the two figures with squiggly red lines running down from them.
—In this picture … who do you imagine is the shooter?— Mrs. Weaver asks. —Is it you?—
—No— Alec says. —It’s nobody … because it’s just a stup
id picture. There is no shooter because nobody got shot.—
—Yes, I understand that. But what would you say this means?—
—They’re photos from a magazine!— he shouts, pushing against the table with both hands so that the legs squeal across the floor. The violence of it startles Mrs. Weaver but not me. I know how much he doesn’t like her. —It doesn’t mean anything … none of these mean anything, so why don’t you just leave us alone!—
Like all of the nurses and doctors, Mrs. Weaver is very good at not getting upset but I can tell she’s struggling this time. —I’m going to ask you not to speak to me in that tone.—
—Then why don’t you stop harassing us.—
—I’m sorry? Harassing?— she asks.
—Yeah. You kept picking on Sabrina when she obviously didn’t want to talk anymore. Then you accuse me of wanting to kill my parents or something— he says.
—It’s okay, Alec— I say because I don’t want him to get in trouble. If he gets in trouble, we’ll be separated. Even if it’s only for a few hours, I hate when we’re separated. —It’s fine.—
—No it’s not— he says. —This whole thing is ridiculous.—
—Maybe it would be best if you left for the rest of this session?—Mrs. Weaver suggests.
—And maybe it would be best if you went off to teach grade-school art class— Alec barks, but Mrs. Weaver is already walking away. She’s on the other side of the room using the phone on the wall to call the nurses’ station. —I don’t even belong here! They put me in this place as a favor to my dad! Some favor!—
The rest of the kids are staring at him—at us really, because I’ve locked my elbow in his hoping to keep him close the same way the mother in my art collage is doing with me.
When the door opens, the nurse has two security guards with her and Alec shakes his head. Once they approach, he throws up his hands. —This is crazy— he says. A guard puts a hand on his shoulder and asks him nicely to come along. —Fine! I’m going. Happy?— he shouts at Mrs. Weaver on the way out.
I want so badly to follow him but I’m not allowed. As soon as I take one step, Mrs. Weaver stops me. —He’ll be fine, don’t worry— she says to me. She sends me back to my station where I finish my collage without much interest. She doesn’t ask me any more questions. And when it’s time for me to go to group, she doesn’t ask for my picture. The only picture Mrs. Weaver keeps is Alec’s.
I follow the other kids out of the room. All of us have group sessions next and I shuffle a few paces behind. Even in the middle of their voices, I feel lost. My hand feels empty without the familiar shape of his long skinny fingers. The sooner he’s back at my side, the better I’m going to be.
They are talking about him—the two girls in front of me who I don’t know. I hear them say they were scared when Alec yelled. They don’t know he was only protecting me—that he would do anything to protect me.
Before we enter group, one of the girls turns around and stops me. —You must have been relieved when they took him away, right? Did you see his eyes? I thought he was going to kill somebody.—
Her eyes are the color of rust around the edges.
She has a habit of biting her nails until they bleed.
I shrug and avoid answering her questions.
—You’re with him a lot, aren’t you?— she asks. I feel small when she turns to stand in front of me. She’s so much taller—she’s a redwood and I am a sapling shrinking from her glare.
—Uh-huh— I mumble.
—Thought so.— When she nods, the longer strands of hair look like soft teeth chattering against the shaved parts of her head. —I’d be careful if I were you.—
The other girl stands with her hands curled into fists. She’s breathing sharp and fast through her nostrils. Her behavior gives the words she says next the ferocity of a dog bite. —Alec is bad.—
—I don’t know what you mean— I say as soft as a whisper.
—She means just what she said. He’s no good— the first girl tells me, pronouncing each word clearly.
—Why would you say that?— I ask. —Alec would never hurt anyone.—
—Don’t you know why he’s in here?— she asks in a high-pitched voice as if she’s just won a game of some kind. —I bet he never told you, did he?—
—It doesn’t matter why— I whisper.
All that matters is that we’re here and we found each other and understand each other as well as two fish forever swimming as one in a circle. That’s how perfect we fit together and that’s all that matters.
—Well, he told me … our group anyway— the other girl says. —He talked all about it during our session yesterday.—
—You’re not supposed to say what others tell in group— I remind her.
—Yeah? Well, you’re not supposed to shoot no one either— she says. —You should know your new boyfriend planned on shooting up his school and half of everybody in it.—
I shake my head violently.
—You’re wrong— I say. —He’s here because people don’t understand him, that’s all.— She shrugs and keeps walking to her group, talking loudly with the other girl again, and I’m relieved when they’re gone.
I go into group and take a seat in the circle. I try to ignore what they said. I try telling myself there are a lot of reasons why Alec might have said those things in group—why he would lie. Or even if it isn’t a lie, I’m sure he had a reason that those two don’t understand. Nobody but me would.
I hope he’s not in too much trouble. I’ve seen other patients yell at nurses and stuff. They’re usually put back into a regular routine by the end of the day. I hope it’s the same for Alec.
My fingers work over the sharpest edge of the stone in my pocket. It hurts quite a bit to keep scraping my skin against it, but already I can feel it wearing down. I’ll only have to suffer a little longer. It’ll all be worth it when my wish comes true.
* * *
Later in the afternoon, I’m out on the lawn when I see Alec coming. I’m sitting in our spot by the tree and he waves at me. I’ve been waiting for him and I hold my hand up quickly before putting it back in my lap. I need to see for certain that it’s still him before I let myself get too excited. I’ve seen how they change people here. There was a girl in the common room not too long ago who didn’t stop screaming because someone changed the channel on the television. When they brought her back, she was just a shell—a shadow of a ghost and nothing more. If that’s happened to Alec too, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Part of me knows how crazy it sounds because he’s walking and waving. But the other part of me can’t let go of doubt. Right now, that side is stronger. Every thought I have is more magnified today—especially doubt. Maybe it’s because my medicine is floating somewhere in the hospital’s plumbing instead of running through my bloodstream, or maybe I’m just anxious. Whatever it is though, today is a struggle to figure out what I believe.
A panic rushes through my body as he gets closer. My heart thumps and my hands tremble terribly. I bring them up to my face where I can steady the shaking by placing the corner of my sleeve in my mouth.
I remember my breathing then. I remember to take deeper breaths the way Dr. Gysion showed us before group once. He says careful breathing is a technique to relax us whenever we get worked up.
It helps.
—Look … I’m a free man— Alec says, holding his hands up at his side and spinning around once. The sun shines directly on him and his shape is lost for a moment in the afternoon light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and see features within his silhouette. Once they do—I see his familiar smile and my hands stop trembling.
Alec is still Alec even if we have been apart most of the day.
I stop worrying about what those girls said to me too. They’re wrong about him. I knew they were. I’ve always been able to tell good people from bad. Everyone’s soul gives off a light. Some are bright and soothing like shadows illuminated under a full moo
n. Others are the color of dark corners in basement closets.
I have nothing to fear from Alec.
His glow is blinding.
He sits next to me and immediately lies down with his arms stretched out in the grass behind him. The sun begins to warm his skin and he purrs. His rib cage shows through his T-shirt. I watch it rise and fall at a sleepy pace. —That was exhausting— he says.
—What did they do to you?— I ask.
—Bored the life out of me until I thought I’d turn into stone— he says. He opens one eye and looks at me. This time he’s the one having to squint to see through the glare of the sun. —It took a while to convince them I wasn’t going to snap and go on a killing spree.—
—Is that because of what you did to get sent here?— I ask.
Alec pushes himself on his elbows and looks at me curiously. —Yeah. I’m sure it is— he says in a more serious tone. —Did somebody say something to you?—
—Kind of— I say.
—Yeah? What did they say?—
—That you were going to shoot kids at your school— I say.
Alec blinks and I can almost see his heartbeat increase in the movement of his eyelids. —Who was it? It was that psycho girl, Pam? The one with the shaved head?— I nod and he shakes his head. —Figures. She’s one of those girls who needs to stir things up, even if it means lying, you know? Everything that comes out of her is exaggerated for effect. People like her are why I did what I did in the first place.—
—What did you do?— I ask.
—Nothing really— he says. —One day in class, I just said that most everyone at my school might as well already be dead and that killing them would be doing the world a favor.—