Tales from the Gateway

by E. E. Holmes

  “Nothing! Don’t try anything! Just stop!”

  “Why?”

  “Because the last thing I need is even more weird shit happening around me!” I cried. “Do you want to get me sent to solitary, or worse, kicked out and sent to the state hospital?”

  “No, of course I…”

  “Then stop with the poltergeist tricks!” I begged.

  “Okay!” Milo said, zipping away from my desk and raising his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop!” He lowered them and smiled. “But at least you’re looking at me!”

  I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “Only because you tricked me.”

  “I didn’t trick you!” Milo insisted. “But hey, isn’t this preferable to the pillow thing?”

  My eyes filled with tears. “You don’t get it, Milo.”

  “What don’t I get? Explain it to me!”

  “I don’t want to see you like this!”

  “But—”

  Both of us froze as we heard the handle on my door jiggle. Milo vanished on the spot just as the door swung open. A beautiful, blonde, statuesque girl stood on the threshold clutching a suitcase in one hand.

  “Carley!” I gasped. “What are you doing here? I thought…”

  “You thought I was done with this place? Yeah. Me, too.”

  She brushed past me to the bed that used to be hers and heaved her suitcase up onto it. Carley had been my roommate at New Beginnings until about three months earlier when she had been cleared and released to go home. Her half of the room had been empty ever since. Every day I’d expected to walk in and find myself with a new roommate, but it had never happened. Colleen told anyone who would listen that she’d overheard two of the nurses talking and saying that Carley’s parents had continued to pay for the space, because beds in programs like New Beginnings were in high demand and they wanted to make sure she had a guaranteed place to go.

  “You know, because, like, all they do is travel. They can’t be bothered to take care of her if she, like, relapses or whatever,” she had insisted.

  “Rich people are such trash,” Jake had added.

  “Shut the fuck up, Jake, your parents are loaded and everyone knows it,” Meghan added with a well-practiced roll of her eyes.

  “Hey, my dad owns a couple of auto body places,” Jake replied, firing up at once. “He does alright, sure, but not like Carley’s parents. They’ve got more money than they can spend.”

  Everyone knew that Carley’s family was really rich. Her parents were famous socialites and Carley had exploited her family’s position into an enormous social media following that hung breathlessly on her every update. Her stints in and out of places like New Beginnings were nothing more than dramatic episodes in the weird internet reality show that was her life. The staff even allowed her phone access—which was supposed to be prohibited—just so she could manage her views and comments. She even made money off them, getting paid stupid amounts to endorse stuff as an “influencer.” Everyone around her was rabid to bask in just a single reflected ray of her fame, which was weird, when you saw how much she actually hated all of it.

  “It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but… what happened?” I asked Carley as she opened the suitcase and started putting clothes away in her drawers.

  “Life,” Carley sighed. “Turns out there was more of it out there than I remembered. You probably read all about it, didn’t you?”

  Carley always assumed that everyone followed her exploits religiously, which I suppose must just be a mindset that famous people get. The truth was that I’d never spent more than a few sad moments scrolling through her posts on a rec room computer before deciding I didn’t want to contribute to the system that, as far as I could tell, was slowly crushing her twenty-four-seven under pressure so powerful it was a miracle she hadn’t already been reduced to Carley-dust. But the other kids at New Beginnings had made no such decisions, and so all the details trickled down to me eventually. Partying. A much older playboy as her on-again, off-again paramour. Feuds with other social media darlings. A viral paparazzi photograph in which her left breast was prominently featured. About five million comments that somehow seemed to suggest, at the same time, that she was way too skinny and also had gained a ton of weight.

  I nodded and left it at that. I really didn’t want her to have to go into the details. Instead, I just asked, “Are you okay?”

  She shrugged again. “You know,” she said. “The usual.”

  She started hanging gorgeous designer pieces in the closet next to my sweatshirts. Everything still had a tag on it, as though she’d stopped on her way over and walked into Bloomingdale’s with an empty suitcase. “Anyway, what are you asking about me for? I feel like I should be asking about you.”

  I frowned. “About me? Why?”

  She stared at me. “What do you mean, why? Hello? I heard about Milo.”

  I swallowed hard. “Oh. Yeah.”

  “That must have sucked,” she said. The words sounded trite and dismissive, but she didn’t mean them that way. That was just how she talked. Her eyes, as she looked at me, were full of sympathy.

  “Yeah, it did. It still does,” I admitted.

  “I hope he at least had a chance to tell that dick of a father of his off before he went,” Carley muttered.

  I just shrugged. Milo had left a letter for his family. He didn’t tell me what was in it, and I would never ask him. None of that belonged, in any way, to me.

  “I see you’re keeping things neat again,” Carley pointed out, gesturing over to my side of the room, where evidence of my ‘keeping things neat’ or, as my doctors liked to call it, obsessive-compulsive disorder, was abundantly apparent. Every book, organized by color, size, and alphabetical order. Every pen and pencil lined up in perfect parallel lines. Every speck of dust scrubbed away, every fold of my sheets and blankets tucked and crisp and perfect. I’d had it under… well, not total control, but more control recently. I’d loosened my crushing grip on the defenseless inanimate objects in my life by degrees. I’d stopped focusing on creating right angles, allowed my pens to huddle together in a coffee mug, even left my bed unmade for a whole afternoon. But then, of course, Milo…

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s… um… yeah, I’m…”

  Carley smiled knowingly. “Just a bit of spring cleaning, right?”

  I smiled back. “Yeah. Just a bit.”

  Carley nodded, giving me a wink. “Looks good. So anyway, hopefully this is just temporary. Who knows, maybe we’ll walk out together this time,” she said, squeezing my shoulder.

  She always said this to me, and she’d been in and out six times already since I’d met her. She knew I was never getting out, but it never stopped her from saying it. And honestly, in a weird way, I could sense palpable relief in her every time she walked back in and saw me standing there. There wasn’t much Carley could count on, but she could count on her strange little roommate contained within these walls, waiting for her when she slipped up again.

  “Come on, let’s take a selfie! Reunited at last!” Carley said brightly, pulling out her phone and throwing her arm around me. As always, I looked at her before I looked at the camera.

  “No posting?”

  “No posting. Just for us,” she said, crossing her heart, like I knew she would.

  She flung her arm around me and we turned to the camera and smiled. Well, I smiled a bit. She made a sort of enigmatic expression that involved pursing her lips and sucking in her cheeks. She pressed the button and the image froze in time, a gorgeous blinding sun and its insignificant shadow, occupying little more than negative space beyond the reach of her glow.

  Carley was one of the only kids in New Beginnings—or anywhere, really—who wasn’t scared shitless to be around me. I’m not really sure why that was, but it was true. Nothing about my condition seemed to phase her. She barely batted an eyelash when I was less than successful at hiding a visitation, and she never demanded that I explain myself. In
fact, for someone who had lived with me on and off for the better part of two years, she had asked me remarkably few personal questions. She knew I didn’t follow her on social media, though, where every tiny detail of her life was packaged for public consumption, so maybe she was just returning the favor. I never pried, so neither did she.

  I sometimes thought about how very easy it would have been for her to exploit our relationship for social media popularity. I mean, how many sympathy likes and shares could she have gotten on photos and updates of her chronically psycho little friend? But she never did it—never even mentioned me, and while that might make other people feel invisible, it made me feel safe.

  Up close, unfiltered, unedited, I thought Carley looked as unhappy as I’d ever seen her. Even her army of make-up brushes couldn’t hide the deep owlish rings under her eyes, nor the telltale puffy redness that only came from excessive crying. And once she had unpacked her things, she didn’t, as was sometimes her habit, descend at once upon the rec room to bask in the attentions of the rest of the kids. Instead, she slid herself carefully into a pair of black leggings, cozy slipper socks, and a grey sweatshirt that had been intentionally cut and sewn back together so that it hung alluringly off one shoulder. Then she climbed into her bed, her movements strangely fragile, and commenced a long, silent scroll of her phone. Her face grew sadder and sadder the longer she looked at the screen.

  I walked over, plucked the phone out of her hand, and handed her a book. She looked up at me, almost disoriented. “Why don’t you unplug for just a teensy bit,” I suggested to her. “All of that will still be there in a couple of hours.”

  “But I have to respond to—”

  “No, you don’t,” I told her gently. “Don’t respond. Don’t even look at it for a bit. In fact, it will make you even more interesting than usual. Where’s Carley? She’s always here! She hasn’t posted in hours! You’ll be the talk of the internet just by doing nothing.”

  She smiled a little, nodded dazedly, took the book, and rolled over onto her side. I listened for a few minutes to her quiet breathing and the occasional turn of a page, and then I put the phone away in her top dresser drawer and snuck out of the room.

  My gentle knock on Dr. Mulligan’s door was met at once with a friendly, “Come in!”

  I pushed the door open and peered around it. “Dr. Mulligan? Do you have a minute?”

  “Hannah!” she replied, tossing her pen down and carefully closing the file she had been writing in. “I’ve always got a minute. Come on in. I was very nearly on my way down to see you.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m glad I saved you a trip, then,” I said, closing the door carefully behind me. “I just wanted to talk to you for a second, about Carley.”

  “Oh yes,” Dr. Mulligan said, shaking her head and draining the last of the coffee in her tumbler. “I’m so sorry about that. I meant to give you a heads up about Carley’s return this morning in group, but things sort of… well…”

  “Exploded?” I suggested.

  “An apt word choice, yes,” Dr. Mulligan replied, smiling appreciatively. “Anyway, you ought to have been informed that you were getting a roommate again. I apologize for the oversight.”

  “Oh, I’m not upset about that,” I said, stepping around the armchair in front of the desk and dropping into it. There was no need to be asked to sit down in Dr. Mulligan’s office. “I’m not complaining. I’m glad she’s back… well, no, not really, but… you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean,” Dr. Mulligan said with a small smile. “These aren’t the circumstances in which we would have wanted to see her again.”

  “Right,” I said, nodding. “And the thing is… well, it’s about her phone privileges.”

  Dr. Mulligan frowned. “The decision to allow Carley her phone was not made lightly. If that’s something you feel is unfair, you are free to bring it up with—”

  “No, I’m not complaining!” I said, cutting her off. “I’m not asking for special treatment, and I don’t care if Carley gets it. I know she’s… well… famous.”

  I managed to stop myself from saying, “rich,” which I imagined would not have gone down so well. No one wants to be accused of treating people differently because of money. Dr. Mulligan was sharp, though, and I think she knew what I had very nearly said. She raised one eyebrow, and her tone warned me to tread carefully.

  “What about the phone privileges, then?” she asked.

  “I don’t think the access to all the social media stuff is good for her,” I blurted. “She gets kind of… obsessed with it. Phone calls and texting are a different story, but… have you ever even seen her accounts?”

  Dr. Mulligan bristled. “I’m not one for that type of mindless entertainment.”

  “It’s not mindless, and for someone like Carley, it’s anything but entertaining. Every single picture or video she posts gets thousands and thousands of replies, and while lots of them are nice, nearly as many are really hateful and negative,” I said, shuddering.

  “Hateful how?” Dr. Mulligan asked.

  “Like, just judgmental and awful. Telling her she’s too fat, too thin, that she’s ugly, that she needs plastic surgery, that she wears too little clothing, or that she should show more skin, it just goes on and on,” I explained. “And some people might be able to ignore things like that, just choose not to read them, but… I don’t think Carley can.”

  Dr. Mulligan considered this for a moment. “When Carley entered treatment here, it was made clear that she needed access to her phone for a variety of reasons. Those photos and videos you’re talking about are a source of income for her. She’s built a kind of internet brand for herself, and while I’m not entirely clear on how all of that works, it seems she has to continue interacting on those sites regularly in order to maintain her contracts.”

  “I understand all of that, but…”

  “Her parents made it quite clear that unfettered access to social media was a stipulation of her admittance here.”

  “Why do they care?” I asked, feeling anger start to froth in the pit of my stomach. “They’ve got more money than they know what to do with! Whatever money she’s making from her brand, it can’t be more important than her getting better!”

  “I will bring up your concerns at the next staff meeting,” Dr. Mulligan said, her tone a bit clipped and dismissive. “But I don’t expect they’ll budge on that matter. Carley’s parents were very clear…”

  “Carley’s parents aren’t doctors!” I cried. “Why should what they want carry more weight than what Carley needs to get better?”

  Dr. Mulligan did not reply, and in her silence was all the answer I needed.

  “Money, huh? So, how much are they donating to the place?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Hannah, that is inappropriate. I shouldn’t even be discussing this with you,” Dr. Mulligan said, her face quite red now.

  “But someone has to be advocating for her!” I cried, rising out of my chair. “Someone has to care more about whether she’s okay than whether they can put an aquatherapy lounge in the east wing!”

  “Enough!” Dr. Mulligan snapped, and I quickly sat again. She looked angrier than I’d ever seen her, and when she spoke again, I could barely hear her clipped and quiet words. “Thank you for bringing your concern to me. I will assess the situation, and perhaps suggest to Carley that she… allow herself some time each day to take a break from her various internet obligations.”

  I shook my head. “She won’t do it. It’s like an addiction, Dr. Mulligan, she’s obsessed with…”

  But the look on Dr. Mulligan’s face effectively ended the conversation. It was no good. I’d done what I could do. “Anyway,” I said, standing up, “thanks for listening.”

  I turned, but she stopped me. “Hannah, your concern for your friend is admirable, but you’re not a medical professional. And in any case, I think your focus right now should be on yourself, how you are coping with Milo’s death
, and how you are going to move forward in your treatment.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, automatically, because there was no point in contradicting her. “I’ll, uh… start focusing on that.”

  She wasn’t going to let me off this easily, and I knew it. Sure enough, she pressed onward.

  “How are you doing? With everything?”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Hannah, you know that word isn’t allowed in my office,” Dr. Mulligan said sternly. “It either means nothing, or the exact opposite of what it should. Descriptors, please. Feeling words.”

  If I could have rolled my eyes without her seeing, I would gleefully have done so. Instead, I sighed resignedly and told her the part I could tell her. “I’m sad. Really, really sad. And lonely.”

  Dr. Mulligan gave me an encouraging smile. “We’re all sad. But you’d be less lonely if you could bring yourself to participate a little more fully in the communal times. Play a card game. Watch a movie. Share a little more in group.”

  “No, that makes it worse.”

  “How?”

  “Because Milo was the one I did all that stuff with. So, doing it alone just feels ten times worse than not doing it at all.”

  “But you aren’t alone. All of the other residents are—”

  “You heard Meghan today,” I cut in. “She thinks I’m a freak. They all do. Why would I torture myself by trying to engage with them, just so they can watch me like a science experiment the whole time?”

  “But if you don’t even try, Hannah, if you don’t make an effort to show them that you aren’t what they—”

  “I shouldn’t have to! It’s exhausting! Why is it on me to earn basic decency and respect? That should be a given. They should be the ones making an effort!”

  “Why did you call out Milo’s name today in group?” Dr. Mulligan asked suddenly, pulling me up short. I panicked, stalling for time for my brain to work.

  “What?”