Despite my self-imposed birthday gloominess, this year was different. Because today I turned eighteen.
Yep, eighteen.
I was finally a socially mandated adult. Able to vote, buy tobacco products and porn. I could join the military and open a checking account. But these typically exciting rites of passage meant shit to me. Sure, it was great and all but I wasn’t going to rush out and buy a pack of Camels and a Playboy (not like I could go anywhere anyway). Nope, this birthday was about something even sweeter.
This particular day was all about freedom. Because for the first time I was free. Free to make my own choices. My own mistakes.
Free to live on my own terms.
For the rest of my life freedom would taste like birthday cake. And I was good with that.
Control was well and truly mine. I had never really allowed myself to think about what I would do when that magical day arrived. And here I was, minutes into my adulthood and I felt almost overwhelmed with the possibilities.
This all felt like a dream. And dreams had a way of crashing down around you. So I always tried to stay away from dreams. They were nasty business for a guy with no future.
But there was a time not so long ago when dreams and a future weren’t a ludicrous delusion. And that had led to something one hundred times more beautiful. And a thousand times more dangerous.
Hope.
Hope. That thing that got you up in the morning and made living that much easier. Hope. The indescribable emotion that had the power to level you when it was taken away. Because mine had died a tragic death at the hands of my own selfishness and fear. And even as I tried to reconcile my guilt and shame about ruining the one good thing I had, I still felt it like a sharp pain in the gut.
But today that pain twisted into something else and I recognized it for the amazing thing it was.
Hope.
It was there, hanging out in my heart with a polka dotted party hat on, waiting for me to realize that perhaps it had never really left me.
I woke up to Tyler blasting The Beatles “Birthday” accompanied by some of the worst dance moves I had ever seen. And coming from a guy with two left feet, that was saying something.
I sat up and wiped the sleep out of my eyes, trying to wrap my brain around the image of my normally shy and introverted roommate, gyrating around the room completely out of time to the music.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, laughing. Tyler pumped his fists over his head and jumped on the desk chair, singing at the top of his lungs.
Not thirty seconds later, there was an authoritative knock on our door and I shot Tyler a look as he scrambled to turn the music down. Jonathan, the aide on duty poked his head in the door and gave us a stern look. Jonathan was probably in his late twenties and already balding, poor guy. But he was nice enough, in that I-still-live-in-my-parents’-basement kind of way.
“Guys, it’s seven in the morning. You know the rules about music. I’d hate to confiscate your stereo.” Tyler looked sheepish and switched the music off. The Grayson Center was all about rules, birthday or not.
“Sorry, man,” my roommate mumbled, clearly embarrassed by the reprimand. I got out of bed and stretched, scratching the back of my head.
Jonathan gave us a smile. “Just don’t let it happen again. I hate having to be the bad guy.” The aide looked over at me and threw something in my direction. I grabbed it before it fell to the floor. It was one of those cheesy “I’m the Birthday Boy” buttons that you wear when you’re a kid.
“Happy Birthday, Clay,” Jonathan said, grinning as I stuck the pin into my shirt. I grinned back, displaying my button proudly.
“Thanks, Jon. Just what I always wanted,” I joked as the aide left. I went to my dresser and pulled out some clothes and then gathered my shower stuff.
“Hurry up, Clay. The kitchen staff will make you whatever you want on your birthday. So unless you want to choke down a shit tasting bagel with the rest of us, make it snappy.” I snorted at Tyler.
“Yes sir, I’ll make it snappy,” I replied sarcastically. But Tyler was right. I wasn’t missing out on a southwest omelet for nothin’. I couldn’t get rid of the ridiculous smile on my face as I got ready for my day.
This happy stuff was pretty awesome.
***
By around two in the afternoon I was officially in the birthday spirit. Maria, Tyler and a few of our other friends made a big production of wheeling out a cake during lunch time. Maria insisted I wear a pointed birthday hat made of cheap card board. I played along, not being able to help but enjoy the whole thing.
The counselors had gotten me a new journal (oh joy) and some books about loving myself or whatever. I didn’t get hung up on the cheesiness of it and just appreciated the fact that they thought to get me anything at all. Louis the center’s administrator gave me some coupons redeemable for different privileges, like extra TV time and a few “get out of chores” tickets. It may not seem like a lot, but to the patients at Grayson, those coupons were like gold.
Everyone was going out of their way to make me feel special. Which was definitely needed when by late afternoon it became apparent that I wouldn’t be getting a phone call from my parents. I received the obligatory greeting card of course. It looked cheap, like something from the dollar rack. I was pretty sure it was something my dad’s secretary had picked up at Wal-Mart. It had only been signed “Mom and Dad.” And I was almost positive that it wasn’t even their handwriting.
It wasn’t as though I was surprised by their lack of sentiment. But I had to seriously tamp down the hurt and bitterness that threatened to swallow my good mood. I really wished I could just turn off the juvenile expectation that my parents would for once act like…well, parents. Setting myself up for the disappointment was way past old.
I had met with Dr. Todd right before dinner. He had wanted to touch base with me about my ongoing treatment. He explained that he was legally bound to inform me of my rights now that I was of age. I technically had three more weeks left at the center according to the treatment plan my parents and I had signed when I was admitted. But now that I was eighteen, my treatment was my own. Given that I had made significant progress and no longer posed a threat to myself, I could be cleared for discharge as early as the end of the week.
I cleared my throat; taken aback by the information I was just given. “What about my parents? Couldn’t they fight that?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine my parents sitting by and letting me discharge myself. Not without some serious legal wrangling. But just knowing that I could do as I liked was empowering.
Dr. Todd sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, to be brutally honest with you, Clay, your parents wouldn’t have much to stand on legally. Yes, they had you admitted, but they have been, well, less than involved in your treatment here. Despite efforts by staff to engage them. You have made progress without their input. But I must say, as your therapist, that you still have a lot of work ahead of you. With the regulation of your medication, you’ve been able to focus on getting your self-injury and suicidal ideation in check. But this will be a lifetime battle.”
I nodded, not feeling defensive or irritated by his assessment. He was only stating facts. “And when the time comes for you to leave Grayson, we can discuss my recommendations for your continued treatment. Leaving in-patient is difficult and usually requires a transitional program, such as going to Langley’s the group home over in Miami Springs.”
A group home? That sounded about as much fun as a freaking funeral. But I got what the doc was saying. I didn’t want him to think that just because I was eighteen now, I would forget everything I had learned since coming to the center. I felt the need to prove myself. To show him I was getting better.
“Doc, I’m not going anywhere. I’d like to make it through the rest of my stay and then we can discuss what comes next,” I said confidentially, watching as Dr. Todd tried to control the look of relief that flashed across his face.
>
He got up went to sit back behind his desk. “I’m glad to hear that, Clayton,” he said, giving me that calming smile of his. After that, our session was more lighthearted. No delving into my gnarly past or reworking my twisted thoughts. Instead, we engaged in benign chitchat. Including an almost heated exchange about college basketball.
Yep, today was shaping up to be one of the good ones.
***
After dinner, Maria, Tyler and I were heading to the common room to watch some TV, when Jacqui, the night administrator asked me to come to her office. I shrugged at my friends who looked at me questioningly. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit,” I told them, following Jacqui down the hallway.
“I didn’t do it, I swear,” I teased as we entered her office. Jacqui’s normally sour face jerked into an almost smile as she patted my arm.
“Nothing to worry about, Clay,” she assured me, waving me in so she could close the door. As soon as I was inside, I was enveloped in a set of warm arms and the pungent scent of patchouli. My Aunt Ruby gripped me like her life depended on it. And I suddenly realized that I should have been more than a little suspicious when I hadn’t heard from her yet today. As if Ruby and Lisa would ever miss my birthday.
But I had never thought she’d travel thirteen hundred miles to see me though. But that was Ruby. She had always loved me more than I sometimes deserved.
“Ruby,” I said, smiling at my much shorter aunt. She beamed up at me. She was dressed in her typical gypsy getup, complete with flowing skirts and some crazy scarf thing around her neck. She even had tiny shells sticking out her hair. Where the hell she got the ideas for her outfits, I had no idea.
Ruby reached up and patted my cheek, the way she had done since I was a little kid. “My Clay. It’s so good to see you.” Her grin was infectious. Ruby radiated a positive energy that was impossible to ignore. She had helped pull me out more than my fair share of dark places by just being her. I would do anything and everything for the woman who stood in front of me. She was the mother I wished mine could be. She had been down at least four times in the last three months. Lisa had come with her whenever she could, but work kept her pretty busy.
Four times, my aunt had been to see me and my parents hadn’t come once.
“What are you doing here? And where’s Lisa?” I asked as she hugged me tightly again. Ruby pulled back and gave me a mock scowl.
“As if I would miss your eighteenth birthday! Don’t be silly. And Lisa would have been here but her work has been crazy,” she explained, swatting my arm. She pulled me over to the small couch that sat in the corner of the office. Jacqui had left, giving us some time to visit. Ruby hefted a heavy canvas bag that she had with her.
“Are you carting around a ton of bricks in there?” I joked, watching as my aunt pulled out a squished cardboard box.
“Oh darn. It’s all smooshed,” Ruby complained, peering down into the box. She closed the lid and handed it to me. “Well, it should still taste good.” She had brought me a freaking birthday cake. My name swirled in blue icing and tiny paintbrushes decorated the surface. I felt my chest seize up. Christ, I was seriously turning into a mess. Crying over every tiny thing. What happened to being a man? I needed to find some shit kickers and a Stetson. Channel some Marlon Brando or something.
But fuck me, I couldn’t remember the last time I had a birthday cake. And today I had been given two. Even I wasn’t immune to the warm fuzzies that brought on. Ruby then pulled out two plates.
I watched her as she cut me a large slab and I attacked it like I was starving. I was always a sucker for anything sweet. Ruby ate delicately around the icing, complaining that she should have gotten carob instead of chocolate because it was healthier. I let her grumble about white sugar being worse than rat poisoning and how ingesting white flour was like personally asking for your pancreas to shut down. I just listened silently and ate the hell out of some diabetes slathered in chocolate.
“I still can’t believe you came down here. It really means a lot to me,” I said after I was finished. Ruby’s eyes started to water and I braced myself for the tear fest. Ruby was notorious for being overly emotional and once upon a time I would have run for the hills at the slightest hint of the touchy feely stuff.
I had spent a long time creating a very thick, impenetrable wall around myself. A wall that made it easier for me to live each day inside my own very screwed up head. If I didn’t let people get too close, then I didn’t have to feel the guilt of disappointing them later.
But that had been blown to pieces by a pair of beautiful eyes and a snarky attitude.
Can’t go there. Not now. Not when I was feeling good. Otherwise I’d end up a blubbering mess alongside my already blubbering aunt.
Ruby wrapped her small fingers around my arm and squeezed. I covered her hand with my much larger one. I was learning to be okay with showing people that I cared about them. That it was good to share your feelings. That I didn’t have to protect people from the person that I was. That damn it, I was worth loving. This was drilled into my head every single day. I was told over and over again that gosh darn it, people like me. But it still stuck in the back of my throat. This insane notion that I was a decent human being.
“Clayton Reed, I would have moved into your room if I was able to. But something tells me they might frown on that here.” I snorted. Even though she was joking, I wouldn’t have put it past Ruby to try. “Lisa and I love you as if you were our own. We will always be here for you. No matter what,” Ruby said, giving me another hug. My throat felt uncomfortably tight, but in a good way. A really good way.
“I love you guys too. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me,” I told her quietly, proud of myself for being able to express my feelings in an appropriate way (thank you coping skills 101). Ruby furiously wiped at the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose nosily. Nothing like a cotton wad full of snot to kill the heaviness.
“Enough with all of this crying. It’s time for gifts!” Ruby enthused, giving me a watery smile before pulling three packages out of her bag.
“Ruby. You didn’t have to get me anything. You being here is more than enough,” I said, though I couldn’t help but feel the anticipatory excitement that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of bubbling in your stomach that you only feel on Christmas morning. Or before you get behind the wheel of a car after getting your license.
Or before you kiss your girl for the first time.
Anyway…onto presents.
Ruby watched as I unwrapped the gifts. She and Lisa had gotten me a new charcoal kit, a ridiculously expensive set of paint brushes and a bunch of new sketch books. I couldn’t stop the goofy grin that spread across my face. There was nothing in this world she could have given me that would have meant more.
Drawing and painting were everything to me. I had become almost obsessive about it. But it was that indelible part of me that I refused to ever give up. I had lost so much already, but I would always have my art.
“I wasn’t sure exactly what you used, but the girl at the art store in Charlottesville assured me these were the best,” Ruby said a little nervously, as though worried I’d hate what she had gotten me. I ran my hand through my hair, a little overwhelmed by those prickly emotions again. But I didn’t worry about what those feelings could cause. Medication, when done right, was a fantastic thing.
“They’re great Ruby. Thank you. I’ll call Lisa later to thank her as well. This is just…” my voice trailed off and I grinned like an idiot at my aunt who was equally excited about my response to the presents.
Then suddenly Ruby’s mood sobered. The change in her demeanor threw me and I was instantly on edge. She reached into her bag and pulled out another gift. This one wasn’t wrapped in the traditional birthday paper as the others had been.
Looking closely, I could see that this one was bundled up meticulously in the Davidson Gazett
e, the local paper of Davidson, Virginia. I looked at Ruby questioningly. She was staring down at the mysterious gift and I could tell she was uncomfortable. What the hell was hiding in that paper? A fucking bomb?
“More gifts, Ruby? You shouldn’t have,” I joked, already hating the seriousness that had overtaken my typically jovial aunt. Ruby clutched the object in her hands and held it out for me to take. Slowly I reached for it. It was heavier than it looked. I couldn’t get a read on its contents through the thick paper.
I started to pull at the tape when Ruby covered my hand, stopping me. She looked at me with concern and I dropped the object on the table. “What is it Ruby? Just spit it out,” I said feeling more than a little annoyed by the evasive bullshit going on. What was so scary about a damn present?
Ruby sighed. “It’s from Maggie,” she said quietly.
Light in the Shadows Page 6