by Jolene Perry
Now Tara and Trent are chatting about things I don’t understand and people I don’t know. I’m sure Aunt Nicole and Uncle Rob have talked to them about me, my past, or whatever, but I doubt my cousins know much. It makes me wonder what they tell their friends at school. Did Lydia give them a line? Or did she pull them aside, like she did with me, so they could come up with their own lie.
Mom home-schooled me. That’s what Tara says. The thought is actually a little funny. I home-schooled myself. I talked to Aunt Nicole when I was about eight and had never gone to school. Aunt Nicole said school was a big deal and that I should talk to my mom about it.
Mom was dating a decent guy at the time. One who left me alone. He took Mom to the school district to sign me up for home school. Once I was signed up for one year, registering for the next year was a lot easier. I filled out the forms every fall and kept myself in school. Without the movie Matilda, I wonder if I would have ever attempted to learn or study anything. The number of times I tried to make things happen using my mind so I could be more like her …
Sadness sweeps over me. It never worked—moving things with my mind. No matter how hard I concentrated. I was never able to keep Mom from drinking. I wasn’t able to keep the people out of our house that she’d invite over. I wasn’t able to keep myself from getting hurt. Over and over.
I lay my head back against the headrest and I stare at the ceiling of the car, letting my tears pool up on the edges of my eyes. Hopefully they’ll soak back in before we stop. Leaning forward right now would make them spill over. I don’t want to cry in front of my cousins. I don’t want to cry in front of anyone. Actually, while I’m wishing, I don’t want to cry at all.
“Dinner!” Aunt Nicole calls.
I’m already in the dining room. Like maybe if I’m still enough or quiet enough, no one will notice me. I’m hungry today and dying for dinner, which is why I’m here. Uncle Rob cracks open a beer. My spine freezes. Trent grabs a sip when his dad sets it down and gets a dirty look for it.
The smell hits my nose. That’s it. My stomach clenches up, and it takes everything I have to not fall into a panic attack right at the table. Beer and cigarette smoke. Nothing takes me back to that horrible place like the smell.
The Mooresons’ house disappears. The dining room turns into dingy white walls, thick cigarette smoke, and the stale beer breath of the last man who lived with us. He was by far the worst of them.
“Joy?” Aunt Nicole asks. “Are you okay?”
But their house and my old house all swim together in a mess I can’t sort out.
I stand up and run out of the dining room before the picture of him takes over my mind, and then, because I’m crazy, takes over my body. Guilt runs through me, on top of feeling stupid. I know Aunt Nicole worked on dinner for a long time. I run up the stairs to the room, closing the door behind me.
I shove the man’s face from my memory. I don’t want him there. One day we’ll have the technology to erase memories, and he’s where I’ll start.
After a few minutes in the quiet, my heart slows. There’s nothing in here from my old life. Louisa, the social worker from Bakersfield, California, thought I might want something from the trailer Mom and I had called home, but I didn’t. I even threw away the clothes I wore the day I left.
The new room I stay in is clean. The walls are a soft green. The trim and shelves are white. The bed is white. The comforter is white. Aunt Nicole offered to change it for me, but I declined. It feels sterile, safe. I sit on the beige carpet, my legs crossed in front of me.
Footsteps on the stairs about ten minutes later, and I’m sure it’s Aunt Nicole coming to check on me.
“Joy? It’s Tara.”
Not Aunt Nicole. How do I feel about this? I’m not sure. Tara’s okay. She’s been really nice, but I don’t know if it’s because she actually likes me or if she’s just nice to everyone, like her mom is.
“I’m not going to come in and I don’t want to bother you, but I know Mom’s scared. Are you okay?”
I picture her leaning against the doorframe, her face close to the crack. If I was nicer, I’d let her in, but overreacting makes me feel stupid, and I’d rather not face that stupidity any more than I have to.
My mouth opens three times before anything comes out. “Okay.”
“And …” She sounds so hesitant. “I’m sorry for even asking this … Crap. So, um, you’re not going to hurt yourself, are you?”
Her words hit hard, making me cringe in embarrassment. This is something I’m asked once in a while. Kids who have gone through similar stuff as I did have a much higher rate of suicide than normal. There were a few times when I didn’t care as much if I lived or died. But that’s different than wanting to do it to yourself. Isn’t it?
“Joy?”
“Just want to be alone. It’s the smell.” This probably kicks me up another notch on the scale of crazy—kind of sucks to be on the scale at all. My chest feels heavy and I’m embarrassed again.
“The smell?”
“The beer.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause. “Sorry.”
I let myself lie back on the floor. This is okay. I can be in here and be okay. The embarrassment and fear are starting to disappear into the floor.
“I’ll see you in the morning for school,” she says.
Talking through the door seems sort of silly, juvenile in some way. I don’t answer.
The floor is scratchy, but the carpet is thick. I pull my knees up, resting my hands on my stomach and breathe. The slow breaths that Lydia makes me practice to keep away panic attacks. It doesn’t really work, but it does help calm me when I’m not on the verge of panic, and it passes the time.
I listen to all of the talking and shuffling that happens around bedtime. The house is quiet except for my stomach, which rumbles from neglect.
My body aches when I stand from being on the floor for so long. I’m grateful that everyone in this house has to be up early. It means that the late nights are dark, quiet, and peaceful. I walk softly down the carpeted stairs and into the kitchen. It’s all dark. I don’t mind being in the dark. There’s safety in the darkness—I can disappear. In two minutes I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I grab an apple and take my dinner into the dining room. Maybe if I practice sitting in here with no family, it’ll be easier when they’re all here.
“Joy?” Uncle Rob’s voice is a whisper.
A small sound escapes my throat and fear weakens me. I’m frozen—arms tensed against my sides, and legs stuck to the floor.
“I just wanted you to know I was in here.” His voice drops even softer. “Sorry. I was just thinking. I can do that anywhere. I’m leaving.” He stands up at the opposite end of the room and starts to move.
My breathing slows down. Slowly. “You shouldn’t have to leave for me. It’s your house.”
I just spoke to him.
“It’s your house too.” He stands silent in the other doorway. “I’m going up to bed. I’m … um … night.”
“Night.”
I said something else. My heart’s hitting hard, and my breathing definitely doesn’t fall on the normal scale, but I talked to my uncle. Three months. It took me three months to talk to my own uncle. Guess he shouldn’t feel too left out. It took me a month before I really spoke with anyone aside from Aunt Nicole.
He stands and watches me for another moment. His face looks … heavy or something. He opens his mouth like he’s going to talk, but he backs away and leaves the room.
Relief weakens my knees now that he’s gone. I sit in the room by myself, but my heart still won’t slow and I’m not sure what to do. As hungry as I was when I got here, my appetite sort of left with Uncle Rob. For a few more minutes, I sit at the table and then get up to throw my sandwich in the trash before going back to my room.
People are coming over. I’m hi
ding. Maybe she won’t notice I’m gone. Maybe she’s had just enough to drink to not know I went away. I’m eleven. I’m shaking as the voices get louder. Almost everyone who knows Mom thinks I only visit her sometimes. Do their kids stay inside their houses like me? This can’t be normal. None of the kids in the books I read have burns across their backs and have to hide in their rooms. What’s wrong with me?
“Joy!” Mom’s screech. “Joy!” Mom’s screech again. My fists clench the sleeping bag. My eyes squeeze tight. My heart bangs in my ears. No breathing, that’ll make it quiet. That’ll make this disappear. “JOY!”
I sit bold upright in bed. Another dream. Will they ever stop?
A soft knock on my door. “Joy?” Aunt Nicole’s quiet voice. “It’s time for school.”
I’m finally able to take a deep breath. “Thanks.” Now I get to spend another day half-hiding and half-pretending I’m not as crazy as I am.
FIVE
On assignment
Lydia thinks or “feels” that I’m not aware of my forward progress. So I’m writing again. Homework for her on top of homework from school.
I resist the urge to stick out my tongue even though I’m alone because I’m feeling petulant. But once I start writing, I’m pulled directly back into that day.
My first day at school felt like swimming through a crowded fish tank. I remember so clearly how I tried to keep my hands tucked into my sides. My books clutched in front of me. Over and over, I questioned whether or not I should have come. It’s that I already knew I didn’t act like Tara and Trent, so anything I could do to fit in I wanted to try.
I hated that I’d wanted this. As I sat through class after class, wishing to pay attention but mostly wanting to disappear. I wondered about my sanity. The only reason school felt okay was that I wasn’t being singled out. I’d been with the Mooresons for two months. I should have known how to be normal at school.
I should know now how to be normal at school. Though, it’s better. Way better. I sketch in the margins. I used to have notebooks filled with sketches—one of the few things that used to keep me busy during my days at Mom’s. I stop as another flood of memories of that home tries to find its way in, and I start writing about school again.
School is easier now, I guess. Nibbling on one small piece of lunch is enough to get me through the rest of the day. Not being able to eat in front of people is something I can’t explain so I try not to think about it too much. Tara feels comfortable to be around and always finds me for lunchtime. I can breathe in my classes and I can listen to the teacher enough to sort of know what’s happening. The building doesn’t feel foreign anymore. I don’t love how many people there are. I don’t love how enormous the spaces are. I’m grateful every day that I don’t have PE.
I know it’s easier than my first day. That makes me feel like in another month it’ll be even better. I hope.
SIX
Seriously, am I moving backward?
We’re all in a group session with Lydia. My whole extended family. And it’s about as awesome as it sounds. Mostly it’s just one more way I’m messing with their lives and another thing that weighs me down with guilt.
“Why don’t you like these?” Lydia asks me. “Our group chats. I’d think it would be perfect for you because you’re not the focus.”
“Because everyone has to be here.” How is that not the most obvious thing in the world?
“Do you not want them here?” she asks.
“It’s not that I don’t want them here.” I shake my head. I can’t believe she’s asking me these questions in front of them.
“You know I’m going to ask you what the problem is.”
I’m not looking at her, but I can picture her now. She has on her serious face.
I don’t want to see it so I look at my hands clasped together on my lap and let my hair hide my face. “It’s that they already had to adjust their lives, and this just sort of adds to the pile of adjustments.”
Tara leans forward to look at me through my blanket of hair. “It’s totally fine.”
I catch Trent’s smirk out of the corner of my eye. To me it says he might mind a little bit. He flips his phone over and over. No way he wants to be here.
These sessions are the only times I sit in a chair. If I were on the couch for family days, I’d be pressed against someone else.
Lydia talks to Trent and Tara. I don’t hear what they discuss. I’m not into it. I’m just tired.
“Joy?” Lydia’s voice again.
“What?” I lift my face just enough to see her through my hair.
“Do you want to tell them the two things I asked you to do?”
“No.” One of them involves talking to Uncle Rob. I only sort of did that.
There’s silence. Perfect. They’re waiting for me.
I let out a loud sigh. One that I hope says I’m not happy about doing this.
“One thing was that I was supposed to talk to someone from my school. I let him walk with me and then talked to him later.”
Having to share this with everyone sort of ruins my proud moment. It’s such a lame thing to be excited about.
“And the other?”
“I wrote about going to school.”
Lydia frowns. This isn’t the assignment she was referring to.
I pray she doesn’t say anything. I don’t want to hurt Uncle Rob’s feelings. He seems like a really nice guy. It would suck if he knew that he’s on my list of crazy.
“Maybe this week? It’s your birthday this week,” she prompts.
I nod.
“Sixteen.” Aunt Nicole smiles. “We want to do something special but don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“Then let’s just not do anything. Is that okay?” I tilt my head to look at Aunt Nicole. I don’t want a party or anything. My birthday in the past was simply an excuse for Mom to invite people over for a party. A Mom-party was never a kid-appropriate party. I remember two years that she forgot my birthday. Those are still my two favorite birthdays. The house was quiet, and I didn’t have to wish to disappear after her friends drank too much.
“Well, maybe we could concede and do something small? Just our family?” Her voice sounds so … hopeful.
“I still …” can’t eat in the same room. But I keep that to myself.
I feel Lydia’s eyes on me. “Joy, what if you let them just do cake? Maybe that would be something you could manage. And then you could try to think about something else you’d like to do with them, maybe later on.” She takes a relaxing breath. It’s fabulous that someone in here is relaxed. Though Trent’s lounging on the end of the couch and sort of staring off into space, so maybe he is too.
“A movie?” Maybe we could watch a movie and then I could eat my cake and not feel like they’re looking at me.
“Would you like to go out to a movie?” Aunt Nicole’s hopeful voice is back.
“Oh …” I shake my head. “No …” No way. What’s wrong with me? We’re talking about going to the movies. People do it all the time. I just don’t want to sit next to anyone. It seems sort of impossible. It also seems impossible to ignore how many people would be there. Going to a movie and staring at the floor like I do in school sort of defeats the purpose.
The room is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry.” My eyes are filling with tears. “I’m so …” broken.
“You don’t have to be sorry, Joy.” Lydia’s shaking her head.
“I’d still rather pretend my birthday doesn’t exist.” I concentrate on letting my breath out slowly, hoping to hold in my tears.
“Tara and Trent, why don’t you two step outside and I’ll send the rest of the family out in a minute,” Lydia says.
Trent swings his tall body up and shuffles toward the door. Tara stands up behind him. She gives me a small wave as she passes.
“And I know how you feel about it.” Lydia looks at me over her notebook with a half smile. “They’re only here sometimes, and it’s important for them to have some understanding of how difficult things can be for you.”
I start to say something else, but Uncle Rob’s still in the room, and I’m not sure how much I’m ready to talk around him. I clamp my mouth shut.
“How are you two doing?” Lydia asks.
I know without taking my eyes off my lap that she’s talking to Uncle Rob.
“Well, I’m sure when Joy and I can chat a bit, we’ll have a lot in common,” he says. “She plows through her homework the way I used to.” His voice is soft and kind. “We exchanged a few words the other night.”
Now I’m glad Lydia will know I did both things on my list without me bringing it up again.
Uncle Rob sounds so nice, but even now I can’t bring myself to look at him. Deep voices still hit me in places I don’t want to think about.
“Well, Joy and I need a few minutes alone, and then I’ll let you all go.”
Aunt Nicole and Uncle Rob stand up and walk out. I finally relax into the chair.
“I got your email about talking to the boy at school,” Lydia says to me. “That’s pretty cool. And school. You know I was against you starting up, but you’re surviving it. Your letter to me about the difference between now and when you started was great. I hope the assignment made it more obvious to you how much things are going in a good direction.”
“Thanks.” My eyes find hers for the first time today.
“I don’t have to ask why Rob scares you.”
I’m silent and try not to think about the same thing, but I can almost feel the rough hands on my waist, the knife against my neck, the whispered threats. I suck in a breath and press my fingers on the bridge of my nose as my body starts to shake.
“Joy. Look at me.”
The stubble down my neck, the slice of pain when I whimpered and the knife dug in farther.