Authors: Julie Halpern
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Depression & Mental Illness, #Love & Romance
Get Well Soon (16 page)
AFTERNOON
Mother F-ers! When I got back from school today, I stuck my fingers out of my bedroom door. I was all ready to give my rousing “Abby seizure” speech so I could jam in the Quiet Room, but it took someone, I swear, ten minutes to come to my door. It’s so annoying because I know that either a) they couldn’t see my fingers because we’re not allowed to wave or call out or anything or b) they saw my fingers just fine, but they were too busy doing all the nothing that they always do to come over and see what I wanted. When Bettina finally came over, I said, “Um, I’m really freaked out because of Group today.”
“What about Group?” Bettina scolded.
“Abby’s seizure really freaked me out, and I need to go to the Quiet Room to, you know, let off some steam.”
“Are you in trouble for something?”
“No, I just told you why I want to go.”
“It doesn’t matter. Being in the Quiet Room is for punishment only. If you go in there, we gotta supervise you, time it, and put it in your record. It’s a lot of work for us. You just stay in your room. You’ll feel better soon, I’m sure.”
And that was it. Lazy turds. The whole reason they don’t want me to go in is because it makes extra work for them? I need to sing so badly, but I can’t do it in my room with Sandy moping on her bed. I was so ticked off at her for lying to me and so pissed at this hospital for trying to help me, so I snapped.
“Why did you lie to me?” I blurted out at Sandy.
“Lie to you? What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? You told me you were pregnant. You made me feel sorry for you. I helped take care of your ‘baby’!” I used angry finger quotes.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t really think I was lying to you. I was lying to Derek.”
“Derek isn’t here! I thought you trusted me—that we were friends!” I was embarrassed to say this. It felt like the whole mental hospital popularity that I experienced was all in my head.
“We
are
friends. I thought if you knew the truth you wouldn’t have any reason to like me.”
are
friends. I thought if you knew the truth you wouldn’t have any reason to like me.”
“You thought I’d like you better with a baby? I have never had a friend with a baby! Not that I couldn’t, but … There are a lot of things to like about you besides the fact that you can reproduce.”
Sandy laughed. “Like what?”
I reminded her of all the games we played that she came up with. How funny she was. How skinny she was. How she actually made me look good in her portraits. “Those are friend things, not pregnant girl things.”
“Oh,” she smiled at me. “Thanks, Anna.” She dragged Morgan off the floor and plopped down on my bed. “Can I interest you in a plastic babydoll with a dented head?”
“Not really.” I took the doll and got up, opening our bedroom door quietly. I looked back at Sandy and then whipped Morgan as hard as I could down the hallway towards the check-in desk. Sandy and I bolted to our beds and pretended to read.
Instantly, Bettina opened our door. “Who threw this?”
Innocently, I said, “I don’t know. She must have walked.”
“But this is your baby,” Bettina accused Sandy.
“She doesn’t have a baby. Ask her doctor,” I challenged.
“Young lady, come with me.” Bettina pointed the doll at me.
THE QUIET ROOM
So I finally figured out how to get into the Quiet Room: throw a baby down a hallway and then talk back to an adult. Who knew it would be so easy? Or natural?
I followed Bettina next door to the Quiet Room. She unlocked the white door with one of the thousands of keys on her key ring. “One hour,” she said. “Then I’ll let you out.” I walked inside, and she shut the heavy door behind me.
The Quiet Room wasn’t exactly what I expected. The walls were white cinder blocks, not the padding I pictured. The floor was also white, and there were screened windows just like the ones in my room. The only object in the room was a large mirrored half-bubble on the ceiling with a camera inside.
I walked around slowly. Hesitantly, I spoke to myself to get used to the sound of my voice in such an enclosed room. “Well, here I am in the Quiet Room.” My cautious words echoed slightly. I spoke the words again, louder. They bounced back to me. Forgetting about the camera, I yelled a primal scream from the bottom of my stomach. I waited. No one came in or knocked on the door. I was alone. I started to sing. I sang my heart out,
loud and fast and screeching. Every time I finished one song, I thought of another that I’d been dying to hear for almost three weeks. I sang every song from beginning to end. I even played a little air guitar, but quickly stopped when I looked at the camera bubble. I felt kind of stupid, but amazingly free. I even felt a little
bad.
I did something wrong, and I was punished for it. GETTING IN TROUBLE was always this huge scary monster hanging over my head. Why? It turned out to be kind of fun. Maybe that’s why the bad kids don’t seem to care when they get in trouble. Really, it’s not so bad at all.
loud and fast and screeching. Every time I finished one song, I thought of another that I’d been dying to hear for almost three weeks. I sang every song from beginning to end. I even played a little air guitar, but quickly stopped when I looked at the camera bubble. I felt kind of stupid, but amazingly free. I even felt a little
bad.
I did something wrong, and I was punished for it. GETTING IN TROUBLE was always this huge scary monster hanging over my head. Why? It turned out to be kind of fun. Maybe that’s why the bad kids don’t seem to care when they get in trouble. Really, it’s not so bad at all.
In the middle of one of my favorite Ramones songs, I heard the door lock click. I stopped abruptly, and Bettina motioned for me to come out. She walked me back to my room, the silence echoing in my ears.
I slowly eased myself onto my bed. My arms and legs were sore from moving around so much and my throat felt raw, but I finally got to hear my music again. It was so worth it.
MONDAY AFTER DINNER
After congratulating me on my moving musical visit to the QR, Matt O. reported that he, Justin, and I would be visiting the Shedd Aquarium on our field trip this Thursday. That’s so cool. I love field trips. Whenever we went on one during school in the real world, it was like everything changed. Every student and teacher looked and acted differently. Popular kids talked to the dorks, and the jocks talked to the punks. Bus rides and lunches
were like another world. Teachers lost interest in the students and chatted the whole day with each other. They even fell asleep on the bus rides home. I don’t know what the Shedd field trip will be like on Thursday, since there are only three of us. Will we even take a bus? How many chaperones will there be? Eeew—will Eugene go? Will we have to do some kind of special fish therapy? Ohmigod—what if they have us swim with the dolphins? Poor dolphins. It’s so sad that they’re trapped in Chicago and are forced to perform stupid dolphin tricks for measly rewards of fish. If we get to swim with them, I will do my best to set the dolphins free (although I don’t think a bunch of dolphins would fare very well in Lake Michigan).
were like another world. Teachers lost interest in the students and chatted the whole day with each other. They even fell asleep on the bus rides home. I don’t know what the Shedd field trip will be like on Thursday, since there are only three of us. Will we even take a bus? How many chaperones will there be? Eeew—will Eugene go? Will we have to do some kind of special fish therapy? Ohmigod—what if they have us swim with the dolphins? Poor dolphins. It’s so sad that they’re trapped in Chicago and are forced to perform stupid dolphin tricks for measly rewards of fish. If we get to swim with them, I will do my best to set the dolphins free (although I don’t think a bunch of dolphins would fare very well in Lake Michigan).
Speaking of freedom, the field trip will be my first time outside in twenty-one days. I wonder what it will feel like. Will I get instant sunburn because my skin isn’t used to sunlight? What if I go blind? What if I start sweating profusely from a weird chemical reaction between the sunlight and my new armpit hair, and Justin thinks I’m a repulsive, sweaty pig? What if going back into the real world starts up my panic attacks? Ugh. Who would have thought a field trip could cause so much stress?
AFTER FREE TIME
Level III. This is the life. Justin and I sat on opposing green and yellow fart chairs next to the stereo. We decided it was fair for each of us to take turns tuning the radio dial until we found a station we both agreed on. We started low on the dial and worked
our way upward. I would have liked to have found a cool college station, but Lake Shit doesn’t get good reception and I wasn’t sure if Justin would OK the obscure music they play. We passed adult contemporary (snore), slow jams (gag), and hip hop (shouts of “Leave it! Leave it!” from the rest of the Free Time crowd). Justin’s finger stopped on the classic rock station, which seems to be the mental hospital standard. “How about this?” Justin looked eager. It was a Who song, I believe, which I could tolerate. I mean, as long as it wasn’t a god-awful Eagles song that my dad used to force upon me as a child, it wasn’t that bad. And how could I say no to that face? We didn’t really talk the rest of Free Time but instead enjoyed being able to choose (sort of) and listen to music. Of course, I know it was the perfect opportunity to talk to him about his hand, but he looked chill. I didn’t want it to look like the only thing I ever noticed about him was his hand. Besides, wouldn’t he have told me about it already if he wanted me to know?
our way upward. I would have liked to have found a cool college station, but Lake Shit doesn’t get good reception and I wasn’t sure if Justin would OK the obscure music they play. We passed adult contemporary (snore), slow jams (gag), and hip hop (shouts of “Leave it! Leave it!” from the rest of the Free Time crowd). Justin’s finger stopped on the classic rock station, which seems to be the mental hospital standard. “How about this?” Justin looked eager. It was a Who song, I believe, which I could tolerate. I mean, as long as it wasn’t a god-awful Eagles song that my dad used to force upon me as a child, it wasn’t that bad. And how could I say no to that face? We didn’t really talk the rest of Free Time but instead enjoyed being able to choose (sort of) and listen to music. Of course, I know it was the perfect opportunity to talk to him about his hand, but he looked chill. I didn’t want it to look like the only thing I ever noticed about him was his hand. Besides, wouldn’t he have told me about it already if he wanted me to know?
The only moment of Justin-and-Anna interaction came when that embarrassing song “Feel Like Makin’ Love” came on the radio. I didn’t know it was that particular song at first because it started out all acoustic and generic classic rock-y. But then it went all jammy, and the guy was yelling, “I feel like makin’ love!” over and over, and finally added, “ … to you!” So sick. I couldn’t help but sneak looks at Justin every five seconds or so to see what his face looked like and if he was looking at me. I couldn’t tell, though, because I didn’t want to move my body and make it obvious, so I kind of just peeked at him from the
corner of my eye at frequent intervals throughout the song. I hope he didn’t think I was some leering freak. Or maybe he thought that I thought that whatever I was doing with my eyes was flirting, and he just pretended not to notice because it was not turning him on at all. Did he feel like making love? Would I ever know if I felt like making love? I glanced over at him so many times that I got a crazy headache and had to close my eyes. When Free Time ended, Justin and I got up, exchanged quick glances, and said, “Good night.” Crap. Now he’ll never feel like making love to me because he thinks I’m some creepy-eyed pervert. Do people actually say that anymore? Making love, I mean. What sounds better, though, “having sex?” “Getting nasty?” Never mind. Pretend I never wrote any of this. Justin would have to touch or kiss me or do anything before I ever have to think about what I’ll call it, and that is not going to happen. When could it happen?
corner of my eye at frequent intervals throughout the song. I hope he didn’t think I was some leering freak. Or maybe he thought that I thought that whatever I was doing with my eyes was flirting, and he just pretended not to notice because it was not turning him on at all. Did he feel like making love? Would I ever know if I felt like making love? I glanced over at him so many times that I got a crazy headache and had to close my eyes. When Free Time ended, Justin and I got up, exchanged quick glances, and said, “Good night.” Crap. Now he’ll never feel like making love to me because he thinks I’m some creepy-eyed pervert. Do people actually say that anymore? Making love, I mean. What sounds better, though, “having sex?” “Getting nasty?” Never mind. Pretend I never wrote any of this. Justin would have to touch or kiss me or do anything before I ever have to think about what I’ll call it, and that is not going to happen. When could it happen?
Maybe Justin is just shy, and maybe he can’t tell if I like him because I’m sending him weird sideways glancing eye signals that he can’t comprehend. What if somehow I make the first move? Not sex, of course, but what about trying to kiss him? What have I got to lose, except for my dignity, having to deal with the horrible pain and humiliation of rejection, and the pathetic knowledge that I may never actually kiss a human being in my entire life and that some guy in a mental hospital won’t even kiss me … Plus, the fact that I’m too big a wuss to ever ask him about his hand, let alone kiss
him.
Will the pain never end?
him.
Will the pain never end?
BEDTIME
Snack tonight was pretty good—white chocolate–covered raisins. Sandy didn’t want hers, which was different, since she’d been eating for two and more. I guess her acid-washed jeans were getting a little snug, and she wants to get back into shape for her reunion with clueless Derek. They talked on the phone for about five minutes tonight, and she came back beaming.
“He still loves me. He can’t wait until I come home, and he’s glad we won’t have a baby to take care of.”
“He wasn’t mad at all?”
“Well, he kind of thinks it was another miscarriage.” I rolled my eyes. “I won’t do it again. I swear.”
“As long as I don’t have to be around when you do.”
Even though Sandy was still lying, at least she wasn’t lying to me. Plus, she was the only friend I had in the room with me for the next ten hours, and I really needed someone to talk to about Justin. I said, “I have to tell you about something.”
“Don’t tell me: You’re pregnant!”
Was she kidding? “Um, hardly. But there is someone here I kind of like.”
“Oh, I know. Justin. And I don’t blame you. He’s a real sweetheart.”
Ohmigod! She knew? Was I that obvious? Did everyone know? Was I following him around like a roly-poly puppy? “How did you know?”
“Because he always smiles at you. Whenever I talk about you
in Group, nothing bad, of course, just when we’re talking about roommates and stuff, he listens. And you guys sit by each other and …”
in Group, nothing bad, of course, just when we’re talking about roommates and stuff, he listens. And you guys sit by each other and …”
“Wait. Everything you just told me has to do with what
Justin
is doing.” I was confused.
Justin
is doing.” I was confused.
“Well, yeah. I just assumed it was mutual.” Sandy shrugged.
“Mutual? As in I like him and he likes me?”
“That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it?” Sandy didn’t get it.
“So what you’re saying is, you think he likes me?”
I was waiting for a “maybe” or “possibly” or an “in your dreams,” but Sandy said, “Totally.” I was quietly taking in this bizarre fact, when Sandy asked, “Is that all you wanted to talk about? I want to fall asleep so I can dream about Derek.”
I nodded, and she flicked off the lights.
This conversation was like a revelation. Not that it’s really, truly official at this point (’cause what’s the point of knowing someone likes you if you don’t hear it from them), but if someone else with actual guy experience is noticing things, then maybe the things are really there.
Please, God, let me dream about Justin tonight.
MORNING
For the first night in forever, I slept well. It was wonderful not having Morgan in here to wake us up. I did have a weird dream, though. Morgan was driving the pink getaway car while Sandy
and I sat in the backseat eating Cap’n Crunch and singing “Feel Like Makin’ Love.” I wonder what Freud would say about that one.
and I sat in the backseat eating Cap’n Crunch and singing “Feel Like Makin’ Love.” I wonder what Freud would say about that one.
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