Impulse
Ellen Hopkins

This book is dedicated to my daughter, Kelly, who helps young people like these, and to my friend Cheryl, who always puts others first.

Without Warning
Sometimes you're traveling a highway, the only road you've ever known, and wham! A semi comes from nowhere and rolls right over you.
Sometimes you don't wake up. But if you happen to, you know things will never be the same.
Sometimes that's not so bad.
Sometimes lives intersect, no rhyme, no reason, except, perhaps, for a passing semi. 1
6
Triad
Three separate highways intersect at a place
no reasonable person
would ever want to go.
Three lives that would have been cut short, if not for hasty interventions by loved ones. Or Fate.
Three people, with nothing at all in common except age, proximity, and a wish to die.
Three tapestries, tattered at the edges and come
unwoven to reveal a single mutual thread. 2
7
The Thread
Wish you could turn off the questions, turn off the voices, turn off all sound.
Yearn to close out the ugliness, close out the filthiness, close out all light.
Long to cast away yesterday, cast away memory, cast away all jeopardy.
Pray you could somehow stop the uncertainty, somehow
stop the loathing, somehow stop the pain. 3
8
Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest. 4
9
Arrival
The glass doors swing open, in perfect sync, precisely timed so you don't have to think. Just stroll right in.
I doubt it's quite as easy to turn around and walk
back outside, retreat to unstable ground. Home turf.
An orderly escorts me down spit-shined corridors, past tinted Plexiglas and closed, unmarked doors. Mysteries.
One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor so
I don't have to focus the blur of painted smiles, fake faces.
A mannequin in a tight blue
suit, with a too-short skirt
(and legs that can wear it), in a Betty Boop voice halts us.
10
I'm Dr Boston. Welcome to
Aspen Springs. I'll give you the tour. Paul, please take his things to the Redwood Room.
Aspen Springs. Redwood Room. As if this place were a five-star resort, instead of a lockdown where crazies pace. Waiting. 6
11
At Least
It doesn't have a hospital
stink. Oh yes, it's all very
clean, from cafeteria chairs to the bathroom sink. Spotless.
But the clean comes minus the gag-me smell, steeping
every inch of that antiseptic
hell where they excised the damnable bullet. I wonder what Dad said when he heard I tried to put myself
six feet under--and failed.
I should have put the gun to my head, worried less about brain damage, more about getting dead. Finis.
Instead, I decided a shot through the heart would make it stop beating, rip it apart to bleed me out.
12
I couldn't even do that right. The bullet hit bone, left my heart in one piece. In hindsight, luck wasn't with me that day. Mom found me too soon, or my pitiful life might have ebbed to the ground in arterial flow.
I thought she might die too, at the sight of so much blood and the thought of it staining her white Armani blouse.
Conner what have you done? she said. Tell me this was just an accident. She never heard
my reply, never shed a tear.
13
I Don't Remember
Much after that, except for speed. Ghostly red lights, spinning faster and faster, as I began to recede from consciousness. Floating through the ER doors, frenzied motion. A needle's sting. But I do remember, just before the black hole swallowed me, seeing Mom's face. Her furious eyes followed me down into sleep.
It's a curious place, the Land of Blood Loss and Anesthesia, floating through it like swimming in sand. Taxing.
After a while, you think you should reach for the shimmering
surface. You can't hold your breath, and even if you could, 9
14
it's dark and deep and bitter cold, where nightmares and truth
collide, and you wonder if death
could unfold fear so real. Palpable.
So you grope your way up into the light, to find you can't move, with your arms strapped
tight and overflowing tubes.
And everything hits you like a train at full speed. Voices. Strange faces. A witches' stewpot of smells. Pain. Most of all, pain. 10
15
Just Saw
A new guy check in. Tall, built, with a way fine face, and acting too tough to tumble. He's a nutshell asking to crack. Wonder if he's ever let a guy touch that pumped-up bod.
They gave him the Redwood Room. It's right across from mine--the Pacific Room. Pretty peaceful in here most of the time, long as my meds are on time.
Ha. Get it? Most of the time, if my meds are on time. If you don't get it, you've never been in a place like this, never hung tough from one med call till the next. 11
16
Wasted. That's the only way to get by in this "treatment center." Nice name for a loony bin. Everyone in here is crazy one way or another. Everyone. Even the so-called doctors.
Most of 'em are druggies. Fucking loser meth freaks. I mean, if you're gonna purposely lose your mind, you want to get it back some day. Don't you? Okay, maybe not. 12
17
I Lost My Mind
A long time ago, but it wasn't exactly my idea. Shit happens, as they say, and my shit literally hit the fan. But enough sappy crap. We were talking drugs.
I won't tell you I never tried crystal, but it really wasn't my thing. I saw enough people, all wound up, drop over the edge, that I guess I decided not to take that leap.
I always preferred creeping into a giant, deep hole where no bad feelings could follow. At least till I had to come up for air. I diddled with pot first, but that tasty green weed couldn't drag 13
18
me low enough. Which mostly left downers, "borrowed" from medicine cabinets and kitchen cabinets and nightstands. Wherever I could find them. And once in a while--not often, because it was pricey and tough to score--once in a while, I tumbled way low, took a ride on the H train. Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. A hot shot clear to hell. 14
19
I Wasn't Worried
About getting hooked, though I knew plenty of heroin addicts. I didn't do it enough, for one thing. Anyway, I figured I'd be graveyard rot before my eighteenth birthday.
It hasn't quite worked out that way, though I've got a few months to go. And once I get out of here, I'll have a better shot at it. Maybe next time I won't try pills.
I mean, you'd think half a bottle of Valium would do the trick. Maybe it would have, but I had to toss in a fifth of Jack Daniels. Passed out, just as I would have expected. What I didn't 15
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expect was waking up, head stuck to the sidewalk, mired in puke.
Oh yeah, I heaved the whole fucking mess. Better yet, guess who happened by? You got it. One of the city's finest.
Poor cop didn't know what to do--clean me up, haul me in, or puke himself. So he did all three, only dispatch
said to take me to the ER. Hospital first. Loony bin
later. 16
21
Cloistered
I can't remember when it has snowed so much, yards and yards of lacy ribbons, wrapping the world in white.
Was it three years ago? Ten?
Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.
Sometimes my focus is sharp, every detail clear as the splashes of ice, fringing the eaves; other times it is a hazy field of frost, like the meadow outside my window. I think it might be a meadow.
A lawn? A parking lot?
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Is it even a window
I'm looking through, or only cloudy panes of vision, opening on drifts of ivory
linens--soft cotton, crisp percale-- my snow just a blizzard of white
noise?
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I Hate This feeling
Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air. I consider the streets beyond, bleak as the bleached bones of wilderness scaffolding my heart. Just a stone's throw away.
But she's out there, stalking me, haunting me. I know she can't get me in here. Besides, I'm too tired to pick myself up and make a break for it. So I just sit here, brain wobbling. Tipping. Tripping on Prozac. 19
24
I wonder if they give everyone Prozac on their twice-
daily med deliveries. Do they actually try to diagnose first, or do they think everyone is depressed, just by virtue of being here?
My arm throbs and I look at the bandage, a small red stain beginning to slither. Did I pop a stitch? Wouldn't that be luscious? 20
25
The First Cut
Wasn't the deepest. No, not at all. It was like the others, a subtle rend of anxious skin, a gentle pulse of crimson, just enough to hush the demons
shrieking inside my brain. But this time they wouldn't shut up. Just kept on howling, like Mama, when she was in a bad way.
Worst thing was, the older I got, the more I began to see
how much I resembled Mama, falling in and out of the blue, then lifting up into the white.
That day I actually thought about howling. So I gave myself to the knife, asked it to bite a little harder, chew a little deeper. The hot, scarlet rush felt so delicious I couldn't stop there. 21
26
The blade might have reached bone, but my little brother, Bryan, barged into the bathroom, found me leaning against
Grandma's new porcelain
tub, turning its unstained
white pink. You should have heard
him scream.
27
Pain Isn't the Worst Thing
At least you know you're not just a shadow, darkening someone's wall, a silhouette thrust haphazardly into their lives.
My fingers trace the sunken scar as I pace the plain room, counting steps from near wall to far, right to left. Eight by ten.
Eighty square feet to call my own for the next how many days? Eighty square feet, with no television or phone, only two
tiny beds, a closet, and one vinyl chair near the window-- a window that doesn't open, not even a crack for air.
Two beds. Does that mean I might get a roommate soon? Some paranoid schizo, rambling on through the suffocating night? 23
28
Well, hey. Maybe he'd think
that he was the one who drew the short straw, having to share a room with some totally
whacked-out freak. I wonder
how long it would take him to realize I'm right as sin-- it's the rest of the world that's wrong.
I'm not even sure how I qualify for admission to Aspen Springs. Does wanting to die equal losing your mind? 24
29
It Doesn't Seem
So incredibly insane to me. In fact, it seems courageous to, for once in your life, make
others react to a plan you set in motion. Not that I meant to cause anyone pain, only to make them realize that everyone has flaws. Even me.
Especially me. Hell, I'm so flawed I wound up here, with sixty defective humans. Odd, to think I made the A-list.
I open the dresser drawers, start to put away my neatly folded clothes. No Sears. No Wal-Mart, but Macy's. Nordstrom's.
I can see my mom, stalking aisle after aisle of designer jeans, intent on the latest style, perfect eye-catching fit. 25
30
I hear her tell the silicone
saleslady, Nothing for me
today. I'm shopping for my
son. He fails to comprehend
fashion. If it wasn't for me,
I swear he'd choose nothing but T-shirts and khaki. Now
where will I find the Calvin Klein? 26
31
I Reach
For a lavender Ralph Lauren shirt, ironed into submission, collar starched into crisp, straight
Vs, no hint of dirt or sweat.
Back at school, clothes like this
made me the cream of my senior
class, at least in the eyes of twisted dream girls and cheerleaders.
Oh yes, Mom's expensive tastes
went a long way toward getting
me laid. Did she have a clue that all those dollars spent on haute couture allowed her sweet
young son to feed his appetite for carnal pleasure--to divvy himself among a stable of fillies?
As the vile green walls defy my stare, some evil makes me wad Lauren shirt and Jockey underwear into a wrinkled lump. 27
32
Okay, maybe that's a little crazy. Maybe I belong here, after all. Maybe crazy is preferable to staying strong
when you just want to break down and weep. But big boys don't cry.
Do they? So instead I'll just keep jamming clothes into drawers, grinning.
33
When You Try
The big S, the first thing they do is lock you away by yourself, like you might try to do someone else in, 'cause you didn't do yourself good enough.
Then some lame nurse's aide checks in on you every fifteen minutes, probably hoping you've found a way to finish yourself off and save them a whole lot of trouble.
After a couple of days the main person you want to strangle is the annoying dude who keeps poking his head through your door. How ya doing? Okay? 29
34
So by the time you finally get to see your shrink, you're irritated to begin with. And she asks you to tell her how you feel and all you can think to answer is "pissed." Then she wants to know just whom you're angry with and you decide maybe you shouldn't tell her the friggin' nurse's aide, in case they worry
you might try to strangle him. So you try to think of someone else you're mad at, and the unavoidable
answer pops into your warped little brain: everyone. 30
35
They Kept Me
Locked up in isolation for almost two weeks. See, you have to make Level One to go to school and eat with everyone else. You arrive here at Level Zero.
Nothing. That's exactly what you are until you can prove to them that you won't save up your meds and OD or lynch yourself with strips of your sheets.
So you hang out in your room, maybe reading a book (approved literature) or journaling with a felt pen. No pencils (no leads). No pens (no points). 31
36
Maybe I could think up a way to kill yourself with a felt pen. Maybe I could sell the idea to the dozen or so freaks in here determined to do themselves in. Maybe I'll use it myself. Am I saying that I'm a freak? Effing A! I quit worrying about it a long time ago. Better a freak than a total loser. Better a freak than a liar.
So far, everyone I've ever met has been a liar. Everyone but Phillip, my only true friend, my savior. Never hurt me, never coerced me. Never lied to me. 32
37
The Worst Liars
Are the ones everyone thinks would never, ever tell a lie. The teachers who act like they care about you, then turn you in for smoking a cig or kissing someone in the hall.
Or the plain Jane, churchgoing soccer moms who plaster on some anonymous face, then sneak out once a week or so, pretending they're off with girlfriends when they're really
looking for ways to get laid. No, my ma wasn't one of those. She made no bones about getting laid, something she did plenty of. Laid by no good, nasty losers, single, 33
38
married, it didn't matter, long as they had a few bucks and the necessary attachments, in good working order. Beat up.
Knocked up. Messed up. She got all of those things, didn't care. Worse, she didn't give two cents about what her "lifestyle" did to me. Her son. Her only son, because after one particularly
ugly abortion, her body decided it had had enough of Ma's mistreatment and formed scar tissue around her ovaries. The odds of my having a sibling shrank to nil. 34
39
I Heard My Brother's Scream
Through the cloud that had veiled my brain, coloring everything crimson. It seemed to last forever, that scream. Poor Bryan. He's only eight, too little to understand that dying isn't something to fear. It's a comfort.
I felt comfortable, dying that afternoon, and would have, except Grandma happens to be a nurse-- a good nurse, hard, wise, through and through. And she happened to be home. She calmly dialed 911, wrapped my arm in a soft yellow towel which looked ochre through the scarlet mist.
Stay with me, Vanessa, she repeated over and over. 35
40
I remember that, and I remember one EMT with blondish hair and a killer mouth
that refused to say a word, except to his partner. I remember his eyes the most-- brilliant blue, and filled with disgust.
Grandma rode in the ambulance with me, and the last thing I remember is telling her I was sorry for staining her new bathtub.
Screw the tub, Vanessa, there help for that. And there's help for you. 36
41
Which Is How I Wound Up Here
Left hand stitched neatly back in place. They tell me it will be good as new, but my fingers feel like they belong to someone else and don't want to be attached to me. Nothing does.
I've been here about a week, I think, watching it snow and listening through the walls to other girls, sicker than I am. They talk about themselves, about the things they've done, the things they'd like to do. Parents. Teachers. Counselors. So-called friends. They'd all better run when those sociopaths find their way back outside.
There are boys here too, somewhere. I know because sometimes I hear the girls call to them down the hail. 37
42
The things they say! A truck driver would blush. I would never talk that way to Trevor. He walks on water. I want him to think I do too. For a while, he did, or at least he pretended to.
I did things with Trevor
I wouldn't dare confess to anyone--things I didn't
know anyone did. But he wanted me to, so I did. That's what you do
when you love someone, right?
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The Door Opens
Death watch crew, come to check up on me. They've been after me all week, first every fifteen or twenty minutes, then every hour or two, making sure I don't rip stitches and let my hand drop off after all.
Hello, Vanessa, says Paul, who is fabulously tall and almost as wide as the door. He hands me
my morning pill, unwraps
my bandage, peeks underneath.
Dr Boston says if you join us for group this afternoon, she'll
award you Level One.
You could start school tomorrow.
So far I've avoided group, preferring to semi-vent my pent-up insanity in private 39
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therapy sessions--Vanessa Angela O'Reilly, closed book.
But I have to admit I'm tired of this room, weary of these auburn walls. Maybe, if I stash my meds, I can keep my mouth shut and just listen to the sob
stories, passed around the big circle like joints. Maybe I'll find them entertaining.
So I tuck the Prozac under my tongue, nod. "Okay." 40
45
Suitcase Emptied
I walk to the sealed window, stare at the glistening world outside. Buried in snow. Glare threatens my eyes but I don't turn away. I like it. Up the hail come deliberate footsteps. Suddenly they stall and the door creaks open.
It's Paul, the rather large
guy who escorted me here.
Everything good? It's almost a sigh. All settled in?
"Uh-huh." I offer a (not) genuine smile. "Unpacked and ready to party. When does the shindig begin?"
Paul, who is not amused, tosses a pair of gray sweats on the bed. Put these on.
He crosses the room, opens 41
46
drawers, assesses sundries and wrinkled clothes as I slip into the sweats. You'll wear
those except for Sunday services or when your parents visit.
Now Dr Starr would like to chat.
Please come with me.
He draws to the far side of the door, allows me by, takes his place at my elbow, reminding me I no longer own the space around me. 42
47
Dr. Starr Isn't Like Dr. Boston
No tight navy suit, no miniscule skirt. Nothing about her hints nymph or flirt. She's a bulldog.
She motions for me to take a chair, studies me as I move, as if the very way I plant myself there
can tell her something of import. She stays silent for several long seconds. Finally, as if holding court, she lifts her chin, sights down her nose, and asks, Why are you here, Conner? An unsettling energy flows through the room, and it emanates from the canine Dr. Starr. Her patronizing tone activates my inner 43
48
mute button. I answer with a small shrug, and she gives me a grin worthy of Hannibal Lecter--evil, overtly smug.
You don't know? Don't you think it's time to find out? The "f" elicits a saliva spray. The bulldog doesn't even blink.
I realize you don't want to be here. But until you give
me a hint about just what you fear, you can't get better
Her voice is almost gentle, and part of me wants to give her what she wants. The smart part says no way. 44
49
Play the Game
I instruct myself, give her a little taste of what she wants to hear. After all, we don't want to waste a perfectly good shrink session. So I settle deep into my chair, search for some vapid confession.
Finding none I wish to give voice to, I decide
Dr. Bulldog has given me no other choice but to lie.
"It was really all a huge mistake. I was goofing around and the gun just went off, for God's sake.
I mean, you'd think my dad would have left the safety on." I almost feel bad for blaming him. 45
50
But her eyes tell me she's
heard the line before. With
quiet ferocity, she says,
Not another word, Conner.
You believe this is a game, and you may be right. But if you think you can
play it better than me, think again. 46
51
I'm Glad I'm an Only Child
Ma didn't deserve kids. I mean, if it had been up to her--impossible, all things considered--I'd be back on the streets right now. Or maybe I'd have already
finished myself off. No, it wasn't dear old Ma who paid my way to Aspen Springs. According to Dr. B, it was, in fact, dear old dad. Dad, who dumped Ma and me
when I was still shitting green. 'Course, looking back, I guess he had every reason to leave Ma in his dust. But did he ever once think about me? 47
52
Anthony Ceccarelli III. Medium height. Medium
build. Medium brown hair. A medium chip off the ol' block. Where was medium Dad all that time?
Dr. B says he lives at Tahoe, has his own insurance office, makes decent dough. Ma never left Reno, except when she was working out at "the ranch" near Dayton.
Ranching hookers. They do that in parts of Nevada.
Funny, if it wasn't so sick. Did Dad know? And what
made him decide he gives a damn about me now? 48
53
The Clock Reminds Me
Its time for group. I open my door, nudge my hand into the hail. A faceless voice shouts, What's up, Ceccarelli? "May I go to group, sir?" Stay polite. Earn ten points.
You may. Don't get lost along the way, though. Old joke, not funny. Still, I chortle and say, "I'll do my best, sir. You know how confusing
these halls can be, though." Yeah. Follow the yellow line to the classrooms, white to the dining hall. The blue one leads to the conference rooms. 49
54
Mommy Long Legs waits, black widow--style, in room C-3. Most guys would call her a fox, I guess. But to me she's all spider, poison stashed in hidden fangs. Yes, Dr. Boston's questions sink clear through flesh, into bone. She's after marrow, but she hasn't managed to get much of mine yet.
Funny thing. No one but me seems to recognize how her Barbie-doll act covers up a real lack of charm. She's a user. Same as everyone here. 50
55
We Gather
In room C (for Conference)-3, six crazies, looking to unload. Or thinking of ways to avoid it. There's Schizo Stanley, three hundred pounds of loaded gun, who tried to off his little brother. Yeah, he denies it, but hmm. wonder how Daddy's Xanax got mixed into Junior's milk. On the far side of the table sits Lowball Lori, princess of depression. I bet at home she wore nothing but black--clothes, makeup, mood. Next to her is Do-Me Dahlia, who uses sex like most people 51
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use money. I heard she tried to put the moves on Dr. Starr, even. Yech! What an ugly picture! Jesus-save-me Justin lurks in one corner, greasy hair hanging in his eyes, while Toot- it-all Todd rocks back and forth, as if his past pursuits haven't quite deserted his system.
Just as Dr. Boston says it's time to start, the door opens. Someone new steps inside. She's pretty (did I think
that?), with copper hair and startling eyes, and her name's
Vanessa. 52
57
Seven Pairs of Eyes
Pierce me as I walk into the room. I already know I can't measure up to Dr. Boston's expectations--she'll want me to open my head and let this crowd of eyes peer into my psyche. I want to turn and run.
Please sit down, Vanessa, urges Dr. Boston. We're ready to start.
If I can't run, I want to scream. I want to scream, but I can't find my voice, hidden somewhere in the indigo sea that has swamped my brain. Blue. Blue. Deep, dark blue. The blue that fills me with desire, the desire to find a small, sharp blade and watch blood run, red. 53
58
Vanessa? Dr. Boston's
voice swims down through the blue, disturbs me enough to set my feet in motion.
The eyes follow me as I sit beside the guy with the most startling eyes of all-- round, dark eyes, with gold flecks. Eyes that look like they've glimpsed behind the gates of hell. 54
59
So Why Are His Eyes
The only ones mine want to meet? I can feel the girls, taking measure, and part of me wants to turn and offer my own assessment. The bigger part is consumed by blue.
Hey, Vanessa, I'm Tony, says the guy with hellfire eyes. I would have expected a deeper voice from someone who has shaken hands with the devil.
And why do I think that? He seems friendly enough. In fact, he's the only one in the room who bothers with introductions. The others sit, staring, in impassioned silence. Tony glances around the room. 55
60
What's up, people? Usually you won't shut up. Now you've got nothing to say
just because a pretty girl walks through the door?
Well, that woke them up! Everyone looks simply stunned, including Dr. Boston. Is it because I'm anything but pretty? Or a less likely reason?
The guy with dishrag
hair finally opens his mouth. I thought you
only thought dudes were pretty, Cascarilla.
The room explodes with laughter. I guess the session has officially begun. 56
61
Forty-five Minutes Later
I know a lot more about most of the people in C-3. Tony is pretty cool, for a gay guy who tried to commit suicide. He didn't really talk about why, only said that it's not easy being queer and living on the street. "Queer." His word. To me it means strange, but he doesn't seem near as strange as Justin, who expects Armageddon any second, or Todd, who lost a few too many brain cells to crystal meth, or Stanley, who's a total lunatic.
I mean, he spoke at length about torturing insects--
I tattered their wings and tore off their legs, joint by joint, watched them crawl in circles, like little lost infants, until they decided to die. 57
62
Somehow, I doubt bugs were his only victims. Dahlia hasn't said one word, just sits there with her nose in the air. Every once in awhile, she licks her lips, like a lioness lording it over prey.
Finally, Lori begins to talk about the pain that forces her down into a figurative
grave--deep, damp, just her size. It's hard to climb out sometimes.
I try to look inside her head, see if the color in there is navy blue, like the space I'm treading now.
63
Brain Poked and Prodded
But still holding secrets, I glance over at Dr. Starr, who's locked in a computer screen trance, typing words--
my thoughts, her analysis-- at a steady thirty-per- minute pace. I tingle, heady with a synthesis of emotions. I feel satisfied, that I didn't break down, didn't confess major sin, open my mouth too wide.
I feel lonely, displaced, yet secure within the silence curtaining each cubicle. This is a detour, that's all.
I feel relieved to have to admit a little of what's inside my head. Sometimes I think it might split wide, 59
64
cracked by the upheaval bubbling beneath my skull. But most people think there's nothing troubling me at all.
At least they didn't used to. Who knows what they think of me now, which way the wind of small-town gossip blows.
Finally Dr. Starr looks up. We've got a lot of work to do, Conner A lot of work, indeed. But not today. You may go. 60
65
Dismissed by the Bulldog
Stephanie guides my way along the blue line. She could pass for a Stephan, tall, broad, and strong, but her eyes
tell a different story. I discern a softness there, compassion I want to wade into. We turn a corner and the blue line merges with a thread of yellow, another of white. I wonder where all the crazies have fled, and just then I hear voices, leaking out of the rec room. Two are shouting, one merely speaking, trying to keep a handle on the unfolding situation--from what I can tell, the probable annihilation of one 61
66
of the dueling duo. Stephanie
shifts into takedown mode.
Wait right here, she commands.
It's a mistake to leave me
alone, and we both know it. I choose not to play the wild card she's dealt me. One day I'll use it to my advantage.
A woman like that will work like clay--soften her up, touch her just right, the sculptor is guaranteed to have his way. 62
67
Back in My Room
Walled in by this impossibly ugly shade of green, I wait for my evening meal, no doubt delayed by the incident in the rec room. Will I ever get used to living with paranoid mutants who endeavor to win games of pool by swallowing the chalk? Between that, no food, and Dr. S wanting me to talk, all in all, it's been a miserable day, almost as rotten as those leading up to that one, the one best left forgotten unless
I want to drop down again into a pit of despair. God knows I've spent much too much time floundering there. 63
68
I suppose I could have shared that information with dear Dr. Bulldog. But no, I spared us both a sordid tale of Conner the incompetent. Hard to believe that perfect me underwent such complete
demolition in the space of four short months. First-
string to benchwarmer, grades through the floor, and all because of her. 64
69
Watching
Pretty Vanessa as the group tries to freak her out, whether
that's spilling spine-chilling tales or clamming up altogether.
Nothing really fazes her, except maybe Stanley's bullshit.
The longer we sit here, the further she withdraws, like a turtle holing up in its shell, expecting a major rollover. I want to reach under and yank her back out again. "How about you, Vanessa?" I ask. "What brings you to our home away from home? Are you really flicked-up or just totally misunderstood?" 65
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Everyone laughs. It's an inside joke, one we're all privy to, except Vanessa, whose brown velvet eyes stay hitched to the tabletop. Not good enough.
"'Cause personally, I'm both flicked-up and misunderstood. Can't somebody get me, please?" This time, even the Black Widow laughs. Finally Vanessa lifts her eyes and she gifts us with a smile. Then she shows us the arm she's been hiding, the one wrapped in white like a ball-game hot dog. She smiles. I guess this is why I'm here. 66
71
One Cut or More?
That's the first thought to grab hold of my brain and give it a rattle. Was this charming little thing into self-mutilation, or shopping for a coffin?
Before I can open my mouth to ask, Stanley slobbers, Hey, cool. Tell us about the blood. Did it make a big puddle? Did it spurt or just dribble?
Dr. Boston clears her throat. I think we're finished for today. Odd. You'd think she'd want to jump all over that bit of psychology. Then I notice her face has drained, white. 67
72
Hmmm. Something about blood? Have to file that away for another day. Good ol' Stanley has caused quite the commotion. And now, as he walks out the door, he adds, I still want to hear about the blood.
Which makes Todd grin and Justin start praying. Lori and Dahlia lean their heads together and whisper.
Vanessa falls to the back of the pack, and though I know I should have no contact, I touch her arm. "I'm sorry" I say. And she turns. It's okay. Not your fault. 68
73
The Grim Reapers
Appear in the hail. Dr. Boston must have buzzed them, afraid of--of what? 'We're all behaving quite peaceably, though a part of me would like to rip Stanley to pieces. Join the club, he'd tell me. Paul and Stephanie divide us according to gender and herd us up the hall. At the far end, the girls
turn left and we go right, with me bringing up the rear of the pack. Move it, Ceccarelli, urges Paul. You walk like an old woman.... His unfinished 69
74
thought hangs in the air: or maybe a young woman. I wonder if I'm his kind of woman....Never
know about these big mooks. "Gym-dandies,"
I call 'em. Before he got sick, Phillip was a big guy, at least that's what he told me. And I believed
him. Phillip was the one person who never lied to me.
I glance back over my shoulder at Vanessa's retreating behind. Damn, she's something special. But why do I think so? Why would I care in the least? 70
75
Brain Swimming
In swirls of blue, I follow the other girls up the corridor.
I feel eyes on my back and turn to find Tony, staring at me. He waves and I half-wave back, unsure of his motivation. Can't be lust. Friendship? Daddy would die if he thought I'd made friends with a gay guy.
Once he told me,
God had a plan, and it didn't include
wangs in hung holes.
Gross, I know, but it's how they talk in the military, just another way of cutting themselves off from the truth of what they do. Not that I'm complaining. 71
76
It's tough, being a hostile presence in a more hostile land, he said one time.
You do what ya gotta
do to stay alive. And
you trust your instinct.
Aspen Springs is a hostile land, the people here crazier than most soldiers I know. And at the moment, my instincts are shouting to do what I gotta do just to get by. 72
77
Drowning in Blue
Pulled deeper and deeper into the void, I dig down into my pocket, find the capsule I stashed, first beneath a flap of tongue, then in a cave of fleece. I hold it like a jewel, the key to some magic kingdom where only good feelings are allowed.
Funny, but sometimes all I feel is good. More than good. Great. Invincible. When Mama felt like that, Daddy called her manic. But why is mania bad, if it means you're on top of the world, where everything is white? Bright. 73
78
I wish I were up there now, instead of treading water in this damn blue hole. This magic pill won't fly
me there. It will only take
me halfway, to what others
call normal and I call gray--
toeing a straight gray line is all medication is good for.
Bad genes have doomed me to seesaw, white to blue and back again, for the rest of my pitiful life.
And the thought of that
makes me want to open a vein, experience pain, know I'm alive, despite this living death.
79
I Swallow the Capsule
Wait for the flood of silver to gush through my bloodstream, settle in my brain. Outside, darkness comes to rest upon the snow, shadows the ordinary world. Why can't I live, ordinary?
Which brings me back to my mother, who gifted me with this odd disorder--up, down, right, left, never a straight line, until I got here, to this house of control, where they believe they can tell you how to think, how to manage the feelings that never quite go away. The funny thing is, they still haven't diagnosed my manic-depressive playground. 75
80
Oh yes, I know all about the disorder. Its everywhere on the Internet--clinical
studies, message boards, bipolar chat rooms. Yet these so-called health-
care professionals can't
see past the cutting, to the highs and lows that invite such release.
I guess I'm supposed to tell them--isn't that
what therapy's all about?
But it's a lot more fun watching them flounder
about, halfway trying to earn their annual
60K.
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I Haven't Let Myself
Think about her since this whole stinking mess began. Emily. The name suggests she has a soul, but where she hides it is a complete mystery. I can't believe I fell so hard for someone with a heart of lead. Emily.
Her smile is like summer moonlight--beautiful and magical, with a fire that could melt the night.
I flop on the bed, close my eyes, try to conjure her beside me--the scent of her skin, the silk of her thighs, the breathless melody of her voice. I would be with her now, if she had allowed me that choice. 77
82
But no, she had to worry, not about right or wrong, but about how people might talk. What would they say, she asked, more than once, if
they knew? I wasn't sure exactly who "they" were, but it was certainly true
that nasty tongues would gossip. At stake were both our worlds. I didn't care, but it was a risk she wouldn't take. 78
83
Now That I've Opened
That bottle of memories, they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet. Ignoring the throbbing pain,
I think back to a crisp fall Saturday morning, my parents and sister hundreds of miles away in California.
Cara is my twin, though we're about as alike as snowflakes--a general resemblance, but peer under a microscope, and we're completely different. Cara's in-your-face, while I handle things much more discreetly.
You might call me sneaky, though I'd call me clever, and on that particular day, all by myself, clever 79
84
me was in need of company.
Emily and I had not yet been together, but she was most definitely on my radar. She was far above the usual objects of my lust--sleek and bronzed, fearless of the star
raining radiation on this ozone-deprived planet. The only thing she ever feared was our short-lived love. 80
85
I Knew None of That Then
I only knew she was the prettiest thing ever to run by our house. She was a falcon on the wing, and I wanted to fly along. She jogged past every morning, around eight. That day I stood like a fisherman waiting to cast his line and reel in something worth trawling for. I watched her sinewy body run by before calling out her name.
"Emily." She turned and gave a probing look, as if she'd never seen me before. And here I'd been disrobing her regularly in my overactive imagination. I guess she was lonely too. Unseemly fascination 81
86
made her do an about-face.
Panting gently, she drew even.
Hello, Conner How can I
help you this enchanting day?
Several things came quickly to mind, things to save for later. My eyes poked hers. "I just wanted
you to know I find you quite
beautiful." 82
87
Dinner's a Little Late Tonight
Guess there was some kind of problem in the rec room. Figures it would be a night when I could chow down a horse. Okay, maybe not a horse. But half a cow.
Food's a funny thing. When I was a little kid, we never had much food, but I don't remember being hungry. Wonder how Ma managed to feed
me when I was an actual baby. Formula, I hear, costs major bucks, and I just can't see her letting me snuggle up against her titties. Those things 63
88
were bait, and not for babies. No sir, I can't imagine how I made it past the mewling stage.
I feel like mewling now. At least here, they can't
slap you around to shut you up. Not that they don't ever touch you at all. Takedowns. Cavity searches after visits from home.
Once in a while, when someone "in charge" is in a bad mood, you might even catch a "playful"
kick in the seat, or a teeth-
rattling shoulder shake.
89
But Bloody Cuts and Bruises
Are not something you're going to see here. No sir. Except maybe for Vanessa's. And why is she in my thoughts again? I have to admit I'd like to peek beneath that bandage.
I'll probably see her at dinner tonight, not that they let the guys and the girls sit anywhere close to each other. I guess they think crappy food is an aphrodisiac.
A time or two or three, I have seen some serious make-out sessions-- male/female, male/male, female/female. Love. Lust. The need to feel close.
90
The need to feel safe because someone dares to wrap their arms around you in this cold, sterile place. The need to feel. I even half-believe the story about Dahlia and Dr. Starr. What better way to grab preferential treatment? Oh my lovely, deep-creased psychologist, let me stick my tongue down your throat.
Nothing new for Dahlia. Would be nothing new for me, either. What's new is that I haven't strayed down that path since I've been here. 86
91
Mostly Because
For once in my life, I don't have to have sex. No one demands it in exchange for drugs, ten minutes of disgust for a well-deserved rush.
No one expects it in exchange for food, just a burger and fries, please; for a hot shower to wash off the streets, a warm bed to crash in.
Most of all, no one is forcing me to. I try not to look back on the moment when my pitiful life turned unbearable. Unthinkable. 87
92
Try to blot it out, scrub it out, rip it out of my brain completely. But you can't forget something like that, no matter how much you
drink, snort, or shoot into your veins. The memory stalks you forever and creeps up to maul you like a rabid dog, when you least expect it.
Like now.
93
Vanessa
Thank God
The intercom squawks.
Okay, Happy Campers, dinner is served.
Happy Campers? Must I join that sorority? Doesn't much matter. My days of dinner arriving by burly butler have come to a Level One end. My (non) performance at group today has netted me a trip to the communal dining room. Mmmmm. Can't wait to share meat loaf or fish sticks with a table of friendly, smiling faces.
Like Dahlia's and Lori's. I wonder how you make friends with people who think everyone is out to get them.
What is friendship, anyway? I have no clue, never lingered long enough in one place before, 89
94
not with Dad in the military. We only settled down in Reno when Mama got so bad she couldn't find enough white space to grocery shop or get us to school, let alone make sure we bathed and brushed.
Grandma, the fool, stepped up to the plate, volunteered to look
out for Bryan and me. Poor woman had no idea what she was getting herself into--
that Daddy had not only married a gear shifter but fathered one too. 90
95
I Didn't Realize It Myself
Until a couple of years ago. Interesting, considering I'd watched Mom straddling that seesaw for as long as I could remember. Except her highs and lows lasted for days. So when I started shifting gears three or four times in a twenty-four-hour period, at first I blamed hormones.
Didn't PMS make you irritable? Didn't boy trouble drop you to your knees (in more ways than one)? Normal adolescent feelings, right? Well, no, see ... not when your mother's a stark raving psycho. For years she went undiagnosed. 91
96
"Bipolar" had no meaning when I was a little girl, and "schizo"
wasn't short for schizophrenic, not in the clinical sense.
It only meant that some
days Mama was fine--
eyes not muddied, hair
combed into submission, speech precise. Those days, her hugs and kisses were warm as summer rain, washing away the hurt.
The hurt that was sure to fall again. We just couldn't guess
exactly when.
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When It Fell
It was a rock slide, crushing, smothering, bruising, bone twisting. By the time I was ten, I knew to hide when Mama started talking to the air.
Don't worry, Nessa, He's an angel. Can't you see
him, standing just there?
I figured if someone was there, invisible and all, he must be more demon than angel, especially when Mama started yelling.
Go away, you bastard. I'm tired of listening to you. You make my head hurt.
That was the thing about her manic phases. 93
98
They didn't always make her feel what you might call good. Sometimes they made her head hurt.
He's pounding nails into my brain. Stop!
Make him stop!
Angel. Demon. Whoever he was, inside her head, his pounding made her rage. Rant. Weep. Sometimes, to make herself feel better, she took to hitting things with her fists.
Walls. Doors. Herself.
Me. 94
99
Ten Days Now
All by myself in this peppermint green room, nothing to do but read, eat, collect lint, reflect on afternoons lazily spent, in the arms of my
Emily. Yeah, yeah, I'm focused. Bent. Obsessed.
I have to see her again, which means I've got to lie
my way out of here, make the perfect self-sales pitch.
Dr. Starr will never buy into "Conner the saint," but Dr. Boston might award me that honor.
I've almost got her right
where I want her--on her knees, my hands caught in her silky blond hair as she
100
whispers, I want you, Conner
Let me chase away thoughts of your Emily. Come to me
when you get out of this place.
I'll show you how a real
woman makes love to men
such as you, and I don't give a damn how high the stakes are.
Think it's all smoke and mirrors? Perhaps. But at our last session, I noticed a small lapse of judgment. 96
101
It Was Our Second Session
The first session, I'd pouted, told her nothing except that life was tough at home, and I was sick of being controlled.
She didn't give much ground. Rules are a part of our lives, Conner: Only children and fools believe they're immune.
I also noticed her slate gray eyes and how they kept assessing me, in an intensely provocative way.
I mulled that over for two days, decided it must have been sexual attraction, plotted the coming chase.
I arrived at our second session prepared to win her sympathy. I opened my head, bared my brain-- 97
102
or what was left of it after a major dose of Prozac. "When Emily refused to see
me anymore, it almost
broke me in two. I loved her like Romeo loved his Juliet, and I know that lightning won't strike again."
Her eyes held sympathy.
Feeling loss is normal,
Conner. Attempting suicide
isn't dealing with it so well. 98
103
She Wanted to Know
All about Emily, exactly what made her so outstanding, so necessary, that I'd rather die than unknot myself from her.
"She made me feel like the world turned in my hands, like I could walk on clouds." Talking about her, my body churned desire.
Dr. Boston took notice, on one level or another. Her own hands trembled, and she spun her chair toward the bookcase. When she turned back around, the top button on her Jaclyn Smith blouse had found a way to open.
A hint of cleavage drew my stare. Why disguise my obvious interest? I swear she did it on purpose. 99
104
Lots of guys lose girlfriends,
Conner Most just go out and find someone new. Please try to trust me enough to explain.
I closed my eyes, ignoring both request and décolletage. "I can't think about her anymore." Distressed, I stood.
Dr. Boston rose, neck-
line dipping. It's hard to share
secrets. Trade, next time? One of yours for one of mine.
Right. 100
105
Toy, They Tell Me
My dad is coming to visit. Wanting an accounting of what his money's buying, is my best guess. No doubt he'll be disappointed. I'm still just crazy Tony.
I remember the last time I saw him. I was nine, and peeing my pants, waiting for the judge to tell me what a bad boy I'd been. Oh yes.
I'd been very bad, and Dad stood at the back of the courtroom, hat in hand, a tear in his eye. 'Course, if he'd really cared, I wouldn't 101
106
have been there to start with. He never once came to visit after he heard my sentence: Nine years (the max) in a juvenile detention facility.
They let me out early due to good behavior and funding cutbacks. Seemed the voters didn't give two cents about feeding and schooling hardcore kids. Rather than build
bigger facilities, so they could lock up more kids longer, as space was needed, they cut delinquents loose early. Lucky me, they didn't care who the kids happened to be. 102
107
I Learned a Lot
In juvie, before they sprung me. Learned when to shut my mouth, when to scream; how to glom on to the guys with power, tap into it and suck real hard, suck them inside out. Learned to play-- sports, people, the system; learned that there was no such thing as love, only lust. I knew about lust already. I'd grown up immersed in it, and it was at the core of my young incarceration. Ma never admitted her part in that, never even acknowledged that the whole thing happened. 103
108
Larry is a decent man, she said, when I told her about it the first time. A bit rough around the edges, yes, but he'd never ever do such a thing, little liar
Like an eight-year-old child could make up something so evil and perverse. She wouldn't even believe it when I pulled down my jeans.
The proof was right there on my underwear, streaked pink with blood. You sat on something, that's all. Or maybe you did it to yourself Pig! 104
109
Enough Fond Memories
The clock hiccups "two forty--five," almost time for the meet 'n' greet with Tony Sr. Fuck me, what will I say? "Hey, Pa, thanks for making time in your busy schedule to drop by once in the last eight years." Part of me wants to turn my back and walk away, like he did, so many years ago.
And what do I remember of that day, a major turning point in my minor life? Shouts. Accusations. Denials. Nothing new, except that day, he walked out the door 105
110
and never came home, except to pack his things, escorted by a policeman to keep him safe from Ma.
He called a few times, asked about school, friends.
He sent a birthday present once--a baseball glove and a hardball or two. Like I ever had anyone to play catch with. Like I'd ever make a team.
But once Dad decided enough was enough, I wasn't enough to make him face the ugly truth of Ma. And Tony Jr.
would always remind him of her. Severed ties.
Severed me. 106
111
Saturday, Visiting Day
Grandma's here, somewhere, and I'm on my way to see her. Half of me feels like I'm walking a high wire. The other half feels like I'm fighting my way through quicksand.
I've missed her so much, but I don't want to disappoint her. I mean, I'm not exactly sane and sober. Definitely not ready to go back home, back to school, back to me. Right now my brain feels like a soggy sponge.
At the end of the hall,
Dr. Starr shadows a doorway. In here,
Vanessa. Your grandmother's
waiting to see you. 107
112
Without meaning to, I slow my pace, try to picture Grandma's
face. Will it look exactly the way it used to--smooth and pink, despite all the care it's wrapped around?
Or will she wear a brand-new set of worry
lines and creases, and will she look even older than she is, because of me?
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She's Waiting Just Inside
The door. Definitely a new wrinkle or two, but she's beautiful anyway.
She hugs me into her. How have you been? We've missed you. Bryan, especially.
I gulp down guilt. "I've missed you, too. And Bryan. How is he? What's he been up to?"
She shrugs. School. A science fair project. Mostly, he c got his nose in his books.
Dr. Starr allows several minutes of small
talk, finally reels us in, asks us to sit opposite each other across a narrow table. 109
114
Vanessa has done very
well, at least on the surface.
But sooner or later we'll hove to scratch that surface, crack her she'll, and look inside.
Grandma's smile falls away. Will you want me here for that?
Dr. Starr nods. Eventually. For some of it, anyway.
Anxiety deepens Grandma's creases. Somehow, she feels responsible.
"Don't worry, Grandma. You're not to blame. 'Crazy' runs on the other side of the family." 110
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Grandma's Face Drains
You're not crazy, Vanessa. You've had some rough years, is all. We'll get you through this and everything will be just fine.
I want to ask her if bleach got the tub white, if Bryan still has nightmares, bubbling red with blood. I want to ask if she has visited Mama, where no one wants to go. Instead I say, "You're right, Grandma. We'll come through fine." Then I ask, "Have you heard from Daddy?" 111
116
Just got a letter from Afghanistan.
He couldn't tell me
much, of course.
Rangers keep tight
lips. He c safe but won't he home any
time soon. He sends
you and Bryan his love.
He always loved us better from a distance, especially Mama, something she found hard to swallow. So she found something easier to swallow. Which reminds me. "Does Daddy know about Mama?" 112
117
Trading Secrets
Sounds intriguing, and I see Dr. Boston again today. Saturday--no rest for the wicked, which must include me.
I've been thinking about her deal. Can the good doctor
have a secret worth knowing-- a true glimpse of the real Dr. B?
I do want to gain her trust. But first I have to think about my own secrets, pretty damn bad to worst.
There is the major one, really major, in fact, about Emily, and exactly what kind of person she happens to be.
There are a couple about Cara, my evil twin, things I have done to keep her out from under my skin. 113
118
There is the awful one, the surrogate mother of all
secrets, you might say. No, I'll
tell any other secret but that.
It's psychological tug-of-war. Finally I decide the best way out is to tell her more about my mad adoration for a woman twice my age. I can only hope the price tag isn't too steep.
119
My Escort Arrives
Someone short and sour smelling, someone new-- the weekend shift, no doubt. No telling who'll open my
door without knocking next.
Ready? Dr. Boston is waiting. She doesn't offer a name, just a steady stare.
I haven't a clue what's behind that ice-cube gaze. "Hi, I'm Conner. Would you mind telling me your name?"
Can't you read? It's right here on my name badge: Kate! She's practically yelling. Anger? Fear? Of me?
Whatever. I've got my own fear to deal with. The hallway buzzes today--kids, adults. As I veer toward Dr. B's 115
120
office, I hear shards of conversation inside a conference room. The door is open, an invitation to listen. Does Daddy know about Mama? Such sorrow in the voice, I hesitate, wanting to find out the answer.
Kate shoves me past before the reply. Seconds later a girl sweeps into the hall. Behind me, I hear her cry and I turn, wanting to see her face. It's a gift, despite the sadness etched there. What brought her to this place? 116
121
No Time to Figure Her Out Now
Dr. B is waiting for me, a knockout in knockoff designer suede. The cut of the suit leaves little doubt about her luscious figure. I've got to stop thinking that way, or I won't have a shot at controlling
this situation. Maybe I won't anyway. Hell's bells, maybe despite my plans I don't really want control.
A light must have gone on in my eyes, because Dr. B suddenly gives me a wry smile. What is it, Conner?
I shake my head. "Nothing. Just thinking about control and how my need for it seems to be shrinking." 117
122
Her smile grows wider. Oh, I doubt that, Conner Now, what did you decide about confiding secrets?
My eyes lower to the V of her blouse. "You have to go first, but I guess I'm ready to play your game."
Okay. When I was younger than you, but old enough to know right from wrong,
I had sex with a teacher too.
She knew? 118
123
Hands Sweating
I walk, heel-touch-toe, toward Room C-6 where I'm told I'll find Tony Sr. I stroll slowly, making him wait, like he made me wait all this time.
As I round the corner Vanessa comes hustling along the sticky floor, eyes glistening. I wonder what stroke of luck has put us both in this space.
"Hey, Vanessa, you okay?" She doesn't look okay, but we won't have much time for small
talk before someone notices we're here. Alone. 119
124
Vanessa sniffles, Not really, but thanks for asking. Why do they make you see your family when all you want to do is curl up in a little ball?
"They call it therapy, sweetie. Don't you feel cured?" I laugh and she tries too. "I'm off to see my own warped next of kin. Feel better."
I start to skip and, a half smile in her voice, Vanessa calls, I already do. And Tony? I'll keep my fingers crossed that things go better for you than they did for me. 120
125
Crossed Fingers
Are not enough. Dread sledgehammers my gut as I approach the door. Inside, I hear voices: Dr. Bellows's grunt and a stranger's whine.
The coward in me wants to turn around, but screw him. The kid inside wants to see his dad again, and the avenger wants to grill him alive.
I step through the door, and the man who turns to face me looks nothing at all like I remember. His hair is silver--how old is he, anyway?-- 121
126
and his weepy eyes are shrunk back into skin like alligator hide. Will I look like this person one day? He can't really be my father, can he?
He stands and holds out a hand to me. Hello, Anthony. Long time no see. You sure have changed! How have you been?
All the stuff I wanted to say slips from my brain like oil-slicked turds. I stutter, "H-hello, Pa. I'm okay, I guess." I even shake his hand. 122
127
I Draw the Line
At hugging him, though. Shit, I haven't hugged anyone since Phillip. The last time was in the hospital, when I hugged him good-bye.
Pa tries, and I duck, slumping into a chair. He does likewise, eyes never leaving my face. Then we sit, silent as death, until Dr. Bellows says,
I gather it's been quite a while since the two of you have seen each other. How do you feel about that, Tony? He squirms in his own chair. 123
128
The question stings like alcohol. "You're the psychologist. How do you think it makes me feel? Deserted. Unworthy. Fuck it. I'm pissed."
Finally, Pa looks away. I'm sorry, Anthony. I know I should have been there for you. It was a difficult situation, all the way around.
Difficult? For him? My hands shake and my face erupts fire. I struggle to find words worthy of the emotions churning inside, in desperate need of release. 124
129
Seeing Grandma
Made me want to go home, made me want to stay here, made me miss her and Bryan and Daddy. Made me scared to think about Mama again, and how I left her that day. Blue. I should be tumbling low and blue, but instead I'm swinging the other way.
I'd rather be going blue, where no eyes can find me. I think about the eyes I saw today--
Grandma's, hopeful, then nothing but sad and confused. Dr. Starr's, ringed by sleeplessness. Tony's, a strange jumble of anticipation and fear. That other boy's, curious 120
130
Who is he, anyway? I haven't seen him in group, not in the cafeteria, not in the classroom. He must be new, new and gorgeous, the kind of guy every girl
dreams will want her, but it never quite works
out that way. So why did he look like he might want to get to know me?
There is another pair of eyes too, eyes that never saw the light.
Little eyes, that haunt me deep in the night.
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Mania Blossoming
My brain won't quit churning. I keep seeing pictures, like movies. Faces. Eyes. Hands. Bodies. My body, next to Trevor's. That's what I'm seeing. He wasn't my first, wasn't my only, but he made me feel how none of the rest could. How I wish he was here no to put out this fire, this low bank of coals, smoldering between my legs. But Trevor isn't next to me, never will be again.
I can't deal with your
freaky mood swings,
Vanessa. One minute
you're solid, the next
you're like water
Boiling water. I love
you. But not enough to stay with you. 127
132
His words were fists, pounding my belly, snatching the air from my lungs.
I couldn't talk, couldn't breathe, so how could I answer? He turned his back, walked away, and I wanted to die right there. Instead I went home, where my hungry new razor blade lay in wait.
133
I Hurried Home That Day
Salivating for steel, the cold caress of metal, skin at the mercy of my own hands. I could still taste Trevor. He kissed me before he dumped me, and my mouth held ghosts of tobacco and Budweiser. I expected the house to be empty-- Grandma at work and Bryan just about ready to climb onto the school bus for an hour ride home. But when I opened the door,
I heard voices in the kitchen-- one voice, actually. Mama's. You can't hurt me now, not anymore. Why couldn't you just leave me alone? It's cold here, very cold. Will it be like this forever? 129
134
I didn't want her to know I was there, not while she was talking to air, but it was eighty degrees in Grandma's
house. And why was she there, anyway? I tiptoed toward the kitchen, peeked around the doorjamb. Saw her lying on the floor, an empty pill bottle near her quiet form. I walked over, looked down into her unfocused eyes, saw
something resembling peace.
I should have called 911. Instead, I backed slowly away, exited out the front
door. 130
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Dr. B Is Psychic?
Or have I given more away than I can recall? I lose my smile. "How did you know? What did I say?"
You didn't say a thing. But Emily Sanders did. You tried to kill yourself What did you think she'd do?
I never thought that she'd confess, open herself to the authorities, the school board, the press.
I'm not surprised you didn't
know. We keep things rather
insular here. But I just couldn't see us making
progress unless you found out. Since it's all in the open out there, I hope you'll talk about it in here. 131
136
I shrug. "Do you want details? The way she cries when I kiss her, or how she never fails to orgasm?
Or maybe you'd like to hear how sunlight dances, bronze upon her hair, how she begs me to pull her hair, to excite her."
Details, yes. But not like those. I want to know how
you felt after and why you
chose a woman twice your age. 132
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She Set Herself Up
"You mean someone like you, with experience, someone beautiful and willing? Do you think it's a myth that guys
my age want to learn how to please a woman? Sex with a high school girl is like screwing a deep freeze."
I'm not sure you could label me "willing," Conner. But I can't say that I'm unable to understand an attraction to someone older It true that I had a relationship with a teacher first as a shoulder to cry on when my life went totally crazy. Caring turned to passion, but we never meant for that to happen. 133
138
"It was the exact opposite for me. At first all I wanted was sex with her, but soon I wanted more.
More sex, yes, in unusual places, and all different kinds.
But that wasn't all. I wanted her to fill the empty spaces
left by a father who never once praised me, 'friends' who used me, an ice princess mom who raised me with glass kisses." 134
139
I Can't Believe
She got me to say all that, pried open my lips for such truth to spill out. Dr. Boston has managed a total eclipse of Conner the Silent. Flushed, I chance a glimpse of her eyes, find sympathy in their gray, fluid trance.
Define 'glass kisses,' Conner. I want... urn... I don't understand what you mean. Nervous hands
defy her nonchalant tone.
Conner the Silent shrugs, gives way to Conner the Eclipsed. "Smooth. Cold. Flawless. Tasteless. Glass. Agate. Sugarless sorbet."
She mulls that for a second, shakes her head, frees blond
feathers. Glass and agate are hard.
Not so sorbet. Please explain. 135
140
My turn to think, to try and unravel my own riddle. Every inch of me feels weighted, like I'm treading gravel.
"My mother is the hardest woman ever--cool, perfect. She'd be a diamond, except you'll never melt one of those.
Sometimes, rarely, influenced by full moon or emptiness, she'll rain a single kiss, monsoon on desert, melting
glass." 136
141
Want to Jump Up
Leap across the room, grab my pa by the neck and choke him until he owns up--confesses why he can't stand the thought of me.
Okay, that's not such a great idea, so I shove it back into my dream cabinet, the one I dare open only when I sleep. Lots of bad ideas in there.
Tony? reminds Dr. Bellows. Don't you have anything else to say? Your father has come all this way to try and make some sort of amends. Can you do that? 137
142
The guy is pissing me off. Both of them are, in fact. I tell myself to stay in control, but it won't be easy. "It's only twenty miles from here to Tahoe.
Some people drive that far every day. It's been eight effing years, Pa. Don't you own a car? Or a telephone? What the flick is your problem?
Do you know how many nights I lay in bed, wondering what I'd done to deserve your silence? What had I said? What did I ever do, but love you?" 138
143
A New Problem Pops Up
One I never expected. I can't remember, not even once in my miserable life, crying. Not when Pa first walked out the door.
Not when the judge sent me away to live in a nest of juvenile delinquent hornets. Not even the day I sprinkled Phillip's ashes over his secret Truckee
River fishing hole. So that damn eight-
pound rainbow who keeps giving me the slip will never forget me completely, he requested. 139
144
Okay, I almost cried that day, tears welling up black, like thunderheads boiling up over the Sierra. But they never slipped down my cheeks, not like they're doing right now. This is totally insane. All because of this strange guy, perched across from me, this completely strange guy I've never really known as my father.
So how can he make me cry? Why should he even want to try? "Why now, Pa? Why come back into my life now? Are you hoping to become someone's beneficiary?" 140
145
Until I Said It
The thought hadn't crossed my mind. But now that it has, I want an answer. "Well?" How can you say such a thing, Anthony? No, I don't want one. I want to make you mine.
"You think I want your money? I've lived just fine without it up to now." Just fine? I know how you live, son. I know where you've been, what you've done.
That can't be true, can it? Has an invisible eye been looking my way? I can forgive you for all of it, Anthony. The drugs. The men. Even the... thing.
Now the tears really make me mad, chinks in my invincible armor. 141
146
That's a hard thing to forgive someone for... to forgive a son for.
Screw it. Tears or no, he's got it coming now. "You forgive me? I didn't turn my back on you, didn't leave you under Ma's thumb.
You knew what she had become, what kind of life that meant for me. Where were you, Pa, when I went hungry? Where were you, Pa, when that bastard...
never mind." 142
147
Prozac Can't Help
Lift me out of the place I'm in now. Thinking about my mother always drops me here, abandons me clear below mania into a field of solid blue. Maybe I should confess my condition, request a lithium fix. The Prozac has lately left me tossing and turning well into the night. Then, despite its antidepressant buzz, I'm tired from staying awake.
Sleepy by day; wound up at night, brain fighting my body's need for REM refreshment. I suppose I could ask for sleeping pills, but they'd drop me way down into the blue, maybe so deep I could never crawl back up. Or I could own up, ask for lith, but once I start, I can never stop. 143
148
And it has side effects, too--
lethargy weight gain, massive diarrhea. (Thirty extra pounds, despite chronic runs?)
Something else can help, the thing I crave more than clarity. Self- medication--of the most critical, physical type. I should wait until after dinner. Can't go to the table like Hansel and Gretel, trailing crumbs of red. Besides, waiting, anticipating, can be the best part. 144.
149
The Dinner Crowd
Seems quite subdued, the usual chatter strained, as if no one really wants to discuss their visit from home--or lack of one. Only Stanley seems his usual obnoxious self--poking and pushing and asking the questions no one wants to answer: So how did it go? Any cool news? Anyone die? What's your sister look like? God, he's such a clod. I go for my plate--fried chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes. They definitely wanted to impress any parent who might inquire about tonight's meal, which is definitely the best I've had since I've been here--just enough salt, for once. As I turn toward the girls' 145
150
tables, Tony comes through the door. I try to catch his eye, but he keeps both of them fixed on the floor.
Stanley calls, Hey, dude. How did it go? Any cool news? Hey, man... what's up with your eyes? Tony glances up, and even from here I can see the problem with his eyes-- they're red, swollen, and that can mean only one thing, something well beyond the realm of Stanley's business. 146
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Tony 's Fists Clench
As he turns toward the offensive lout. Shut the hell up, you fat fuck. I'm sick of you and your whining shit.
You'd think Stanley
would get the message, but the idiot dares,
I'm whining? Looks like you're the one
doing the whining today.
Suddenly the room moves--guys push away from their tables, expecting (hoping for?) a fight. Girls jump up, move in for a close-up view of the action. Tony is ready to deliver. I've never seen anyone so intent on bestowing a blow or two--or anyone quite as deserving as 147
152
Stanley, who finally
finds some semblance of brains and says,
Hey man, just kidding.
Besides, if you hit me, it's back to isolation.
Tony grabs Stanley by the cheeks, pinches them
pickled beet red. I don't give two fucks about isolation, or you. Screw with me again, you're
dead. 148
153
Melted Dr. Boston
All those pretty words worked, just like I wanted them to. Who knew a poet lurked inside my brain?
I understand better now, said Dr. B. Thank you, Conner, for opening up instead of playing it cool.
But I did play it cool, and in the end, she rewarded me with Level One. I can't pretend it wasn't my goal.
So I'm on my way to the dining room, where I'll sit with hungry lunatics, all of whom will turn to stare at the new guy. Paranoid?
No more than I need to be. Trust is just a five-letter word, one that comes before "not." 149
154
Still, I've got to make Dr. B believe I trust her completely, that I, Conner Aaron Sykes, wear my heart on my sleeve.
Don't you feel better with all of that out in the open? she asked. Sharing your feelings is no small accomplishment.
Despite her corny way of putting it, I do feel somehow relieved, like I'm cutting teeth on psychoanalysis. 150
155
They don't bite one of the hands
that feed them. Speaking of food, a decent smell drifts toward me, arousing at least one basic need.
I step through the dining room door and stumble upon an interesting scene--a guy threatening to polish the floor with a dude three times his size. Everyone's watching them, but, as I predicted, all eyes now rotate toward me.
Catcalls quiet, as if everyone mistakes me for a member of the goon squad--where are they, with the stakes anted this high?
The smaller guy pushes off the fat dude's face. Don 't forget
what I said, Stanley, and that
includes messing with my friends.
156
He and I need to become friends. I trail him toward the serving line as an eerie silence descends on the room.
A pretty girl--familiar-- with Hershey bar eyes and auburn
hair inserts herself between us.
She and tough guy trade hellos.
He had it coming, Tony.
Are you okay? Shall assume the outcome of your
visiting day was like mine? 152
157
That Explains a Lot
A visit from home could push me straight over the edge too-- Tony mumbles something about his father, fills his plate.
The girl reaches out, covertly caresses his shoulder, gentle and warm as September wind. Tony presses into her touch.
Inexplicably, jealousy pierces my chest. To be touched in such a way! I could easily become obsessed with this girl. She returns to her seat, but not before gifting me with her smile. Gift? I remember her now--
she's the one I saw earlier, in the hail. Hi. I'm Vanessa, she says, and I think I could drown in her husky drawl. 163
158
"I--I'm Conner," I sputter, but she's already gone, something altogether new to me--a girl, walking away.
I stare at my fried chicken, corn, mashed potatoes, not
enough salt, wondering why
Vanessa and Tony mourn for families, happily living without them. Mourning them means forgiving them, something I'll
never do.
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Cardboard Chicken
Lumpy potatoes, way too much salt. It all tastes like crap, and this most definitely is better than most meals in this freak parlor.
Guess I bit the bullet. I pretty much expected a mad rush of orderlies, hell-bent on a takedown. Maybe they were busy giving each other head or maybe they just looked the other way. I bet more than one of them would like to stick a fist in fat boy's megamouth.
160
The mouth in question has wisely disappeared from the room. Everyone else has decided to steer wide of me--everyone, that is, except for Vanessa.
She is an angel, and she's looking at me now. Studying me, no doubt trying to figure out what makes the gay guy tick. I wish I knew the answer myself. But even if I did know, I wouldn't tell her. For some left-field reason, I like the idea of her trying to figure me out.
161
The New Dude
Keeps checking me out too. Maybe he's into guys after all, or maybe he's trying to decide whether or not I am. All he's gotta do is ask.
He's sitting with Todd, who keeps probing him with stupid questions. Hey, man, what's up? Ya got a name or what? What are ya in for?
The name is Conner, he says. Why do you think I'm here? I dunno. Maybe you're schizo? You don't look like you use. 167
162
Not meth, that's for sure. He's way too buff to be huffing that shit, and way too clear to be cleaning himself off downers.
Conner grins. I might very well be schizo, but that's not why I'm here. Then you must a tried to off yourself That's all I can think of
A very good guess, but it's not something I'm ready to talk about.
Looks like the new guy and I have something in common, after all. 158
163
Funny How Much
You can learn about someone, by opening your ears while they talk about themselves. 'What did I learn about Conner just now?
That the guy is smart, maybe almost as smart as me. That he's strong, in control, definitely more in control than I could ever be.
Take, for example, my idiotic performance in front of my father today. I should have stayed cool. Instead I crumbled like a cracker. 159
164
But that crap about forgiveness really blew me away. I've done no more or less than I needed to, to get by. Forgiveness? For what?
And now suddenly he appears, like a ghost
materializing from out of my forgettable past--a place I'd rather just leave behind.
A place where faces wear death masks, where cold, white bodies walk the walk of zombies, where memories jump out, scream "Boo!" 160
165
It's Good to Peel Bad
For someone else, instead of myself for a change. Poor Tony looks like he's seen a ghost. I guess that's how his dad looked to him. Funny, Daddy would look the same way to me. He has only come home four times in the last six years, only stayed a week or two when he visited. Each time he's older, grayer, with meaner eyes, from seeing all he's seen.
Yes, your father knows about your mother Grandma said. How could I keep such a thing from him?
But he doesn't know about the role I played. Of course, Grandma doesn't know either. 161
166
She probably wouldn't believe it if someone told on me--not that anyone
else has a clue. Only me.
Just another dirty little secret, a nasty filthy secret that won't quit nibbling at me. Mama's better off where she is now, so why can't I leave myself alone?
167
Enough Introspection
I'll focus on something interesting--like Conner. In five minutes flat, he put Todd in his place, without even being mean. All he did was straighten real tall, look Todd in the eye, and basically tell him to mind his own business. You have to admire his tableside manner. Not to mention the vivid aquamarine of his eyes, the wave of his well-styled hair, the width of his shoulders. He catches me staring, smiles, and I feel like ice cream on an August sidewalk.
Lori and Dahlia sit nearby, and they're analyzing him too. He's so cute! says Lori. How would you like to rub up against that? 163
168
Just like a kitty cat, agrees Dahlia. In fact, my kitty's purring. Meow!
They are so incredibly gross, always talking about sex, as if it's a commodity something to be bartered. I know some people believe that, and I guess, thinking back to Trevor and me, I traded sex for a chance at love. 164
169
Breakthrough Moment
That's what Dr. Starr would call that sudden bit of insight. Sex, for me, was only about feeling good when vines of mama snared me, pulled me into this space where my brain felt so great, my body didn't want to get left behind. I can't really blame Trevor for taking advantage of that, only for telling me he loved me. Liar.
Conner gets up, goes over to Tony, extends a hand. I'm Conner. How long before we have to go back to our rooms?
Tony looks into Conner's
eyes, as if trying to find
some ulterior motive.
He shrugs. You've got
ten minutes to finish your pie. 165
170
I watch them interact, and this odd shot of envy hits. The two of them are allowed to talk. But I, being a girl, am supposed to stay on "our" side of the room, when what I'd really like to do is plant myself between them.
Soak up the warmth of them.
Fall asleep listening to their voices, snowing down all around me.
To sleep at all tonight, I'll have to self-medicate. With a whole different kind of drug. 166
171
Ten Minutes to Finish
I sit across from Tony, who's picking at his meringue. Wonder why I feel like kicking it with him anyway.
I mean, he's really not the kind of guy I'd hook up with at school--not a jock, not refined, surely not moneyed.
There's just something about him, something attractive, but not in a physical way. On a whim, I tell him,
"They just let me out of my room today, and I've only had shrinks to talk to. I feel like I've escaped from a tomb."
He gives me this strange look, like he needs to climb inside my head, walk around in there, see where that path leads. 167
172
Finally he says, You know
I'm gay, in a tone that
adds, This is a test. You can
leave if you want. It's okay.
Part of me gets a failing grade. If I stay, will the other guys think I want to get laid--by a dude?
Most of me couldn't care less about what a bunch of freaking losers think. Why try to impress the brain-dead? 168
173
Still Another Part of Me
Stresses over a simple fact, In a major way. I thought he was attractive. Can that possibly make me gay?
I really don't think so. I mean, from the time I was twelve I had an insatiable urge to climb into the sack with any girl who would let me. Then it was older girls, coeds, who would seduce a kid simply to get
even with a boyfriend. Or to play teacher. Cool game. Finally, it came down to women, the perfect score.
But men? No, the thought has never crossed my mind, except in a voyeuristic way. Like, does a gay guy ever 169
174
want to be with a woman?
Which I guess could translate the other way, which
will continue to stress me a bit.
The weird thing is, Tony
says he's gay and I'm guessing he really believes it, but he doesn't seem that way to me.
Anyway, gay or no, something about Tony has piqued my interest. So I'll step out of my homophobic shoes.
175
Homophobia Stashed
I'll probably have to lie to pass Tony's litmus test. "No problem," I tell him. "Some of my best friends are gay."
Tony arches an eyebrow. Really? And here I had you pegged for a total jock. But he smiles freely, and I
realize he's mostly kidding. I'm up for some fun. "You saying gay guys can't be jocks? Ever heard of Dennis Rodman?"
His laugh breaks whatever
ice was left between us.
Good point. But let me give you some advice--
never wear a dress to group. The girls don't even wear
them. Stockings, heels, and pearls are also on the "don't" list. 171
176
Okay, I like him, can trust my instincts again. I notice Vanessa, taking mental notes, know I must
cozy on up to her, too. Part of it is my old self wanting nectar from a new
flower, the beat of a new heart.
Part of it is a simple need to connect with someone who might understand me, might reach out to imperfect
Conner.
177
Amazing
To find Conner the stud, sitting across from me, trading gay jokes. I don't get a gay vibe from him at all. In fact, I notice a probable interest in Vanessa. Like she's even close to his type! No, he looks more like the sorority/socialite type. Anyway, I'm most likely not his type.
Not that I mind having him at my table, literally or tongue-in-cheek. (Where else does Conner
put his tongue? I wonder.) Quit! Just go with his flow.
"Did they let you out of isolation already? That was pretty quick." 173
178
Was it? Well, it seemed like a long damn time to me--eight days.
"That's not so bad. They kept me locked up for two weeks." Two frigging weeks, pacing that room, I'd be a basket case by now.
"You must have worked some kind of magic. Eight days is cake." Conner grins. Magic, yeah, that's it. I put Dr Boston under my spell. 174
179
I Don't Doubt That at All
The Black Widow believes she's a player. But players are easily played by better players, someone, for instance, of Conner's caliber.
"Yeah, well, what about Dr. Starr? You'll have to work voodoo on her." She's a special case, okay. Voodoo, huh? Have a couple strands of her hair?
"Shee-it! I wouldn't touch that greasy gray hair with Stanley's fingers."
Good point. And speaking of Stanley, what's his story? Can't be meth, that c for sure.
"Definitely not crystal. Rumor has it he tried to kill his little brother."
180
Conner's smile vanishes.
No shit? They let total nutcases in here, huh?
"Enough money can buy a total free ride. His parents were just a little short." More likely they wanted him locked up somewhere. Just not behind real bars. 176
181
An Excellent Observation
One I consider as I give my plate to the girls working kitchen duty. No, there aren't always girls in there--this just happens to be their week to play Martha Stewart.
One thing I'll say, chauvinistic or not, the girls are much better cooks. As far as dish washing, I can't see that gender makes a difference.
The dining room buzzes with after-dinner activity. The goon squad stands by, making sure everyone heads in the right direction-- rec room or bedroom,
182
depending on what level they've achieved. Dr. Starr awarded me Level Two, so I get my choice. This is a favorite time for a little male-female
interaction, and Conner takes total advantage, moving in on Vanessa before Kate or Paul can get the chance to move in on him,
As they wander toward the door, he whispers something in her ear. I'm not close enough to hear, but I'm close enough to notice her blush. 178
183
Credit Where It's Due
I've got to hand it to Conner. He walked into a room that hovered on the brink of chaos, and the simple weight of his entrance seemed to put everything right.
Tony didn't hit Stanley, didn't wind up in isolation. Stanley left the room in what would have been a state of shame for anyone who could feel ashamed. I think he mostly felt lucky to have survived the incident with only the slightest hint of a bruise on either cheek.
Then Conner had the nerve to go sit with Tony, who was stewing alone at the back of the room. 179
184
He even joked him into smiling, something I couldn't do. Now, as we get ready to go back to our rooms, close ourselves in, fall into our lonely vigils, he comes to me, touches the small of my back.
Then he whispers, I just want you to know you light up this dingy room.
Yeah, I know it's a line. But it makes my face heat up--and something else, too-- in a very good way. 180
185
Play It Cool
As if boys say stuff like that to me all the time--no big deal, right? I whisper back a plain-
Jane, "Thank you" but don't dare turn around, show him how red my face has grown, a clear indication that I am not used to such compliments.
I think the best thing Trevor
ever said to me was, You're pretty cute, with your clothes off
Clothes off is actually the worst view of me, a few too many pounds of flab, in all the wrong places (i.e., my thighs, but not my breasts). Of course, Grandma says I'm just right, a perfect size seven. Size three would be preferable. 181
186
Still, I feel almost desirable, with Conner's breath against my neck, his voice like a warm wind in my ear.
At the very least, he's pulled
me way up out of the blue, into a new bloom of white.
Two swings in one day.
Something is majorly going on.
187
The Refuge of My Room
I almost decide sleeplessness is better than the monster, come knocking at the little door smack in the middle of my forehead, begging for a teaspoon of Prozac. I know what I have to do but don't quite know how to do it. They check my stitches, make sure they're not infected. Or messed with.
Wouldn't want to come in and find your hand hanging by threads again, the nurse
told me once.
I don't want that either. But I do need release. I've saved my "secret weapon" for a night like tonight, when nothing else will suffice. 183
188
I borrowed it from Dr. Bellows's
desk one day, when his attention
turned to a ring of his cell phone, stashed in his briefcase on the floor.
The paper clip sat in plain sight, almost an invitation.
I retrieve it from my hiding place, beneath the leg of my bed.
It's cool and comforting in my hand as I slowly unfold it, test its semisharp point with one finger.
Careful not to probe too deeply, draw too much attention,
I insert it just below the skin of my right wrist, down into a single blue vein. Oh God! Not enough! Easy now, right to left, vein to vein, connect the dots. 184
189
Wailed in Again
I walk to the window, sit in the chair, try to dissect the darkness with my eyes. How black it is out there!
And how green it is in here. Still, I can almost stomach it tonight, just a few hours until I can escape it again.
My head is light, cluttered with emotion, a jumble of lust, love, pride, hate, jealousy, devotion.
I still want to protect Emily, the secrets we shared. But I'm not sure why--she turned on me, broke down and confessed every detail of our love affair. Dr. Boston says she won't go to jail 185
190
because I'm past the age of consent. But her days of teaching high school went out with the recycling.
Weird, because they wouldn't
have suspended me. The same
sex that was okay for me
ended Emily's career.
I wonder if what I did made her hurt as much as she hurt me. Only fair, to trade hurt. But life isn't fair.
191
Life Isn't Fair
My dad has told me that at least a hundred times. Life isn't fair and luck? That is something you create.
He's spent forty-five years, creating a monster stash of luck, working twelve-hour
days, hating every minute he had to devote to problems at home. Mom isn't much better, but at least she can remain calm when everything
turns ugly--like the day I spurted blood on her new Berber carpeting. Amazing, how she skirted the puddle, staunched the flow with a towel, and barely touched me at all--
didn't dare stain the Versace.
Mom rarely touched Cara 187
192
or me, though, not even when
we were spotless. Diaper changing and bubble baths she left in the hands of our nanny.
Leona pulled "Mommy" duty until Cara and I turned fourteen. She was plump, pretty, and I will always remember her with a love far beyond what a child might feel for his substitute mother. When Leona
smiled, all was right in my world. 186
193
The Memory Stirs Sadness
It scatters around me like dust. My heart beats against the dent in my chest and I feel far apart from the things in my life that brought me to this place. My evening meds have yet to kick in. I get out of the chair, pace.
One, two, three, four, halfway to the piss green wall. Five, six, seven, eight. Pivot, hit replay. One, two, three...
It occurs to me that just hours ago, all I wanted was to get out of here, to crawl back to Emily.
I planned on trumping her with the guilt card, showing her how a .22 bullet had scarred both body and psyche. 189
194
But now I don't think she'll
see me. Won't open the door or answer the phone, which
leaves only my family to go home to. I know I'm not ready for that. Suddenly I find myself caught by a wave of nausea.
Was it the chicken? I fall on the bed, close my eyes, hope the churning wake
will vacate my head, let me
sleep.
195
Sunday Morning
I slide into a clean pair of black jeans, a button-up blue work shirt. Comb my hair, brush my teeth, ready for God.
But is He ready for me? Funny, but the person who gave me my first real taste of the Good Lord was dear, gay Phillip.
"Do you really believe in an all-powerful Creator?"
I asked him, one Sunday morning, a year or so ago. "And in some place we go after we die?" 191
196
I do, indeed. I can't say exactly what He is, or where Heaven might be. But I believe there's a place there for me.
It made no sense at all to me, but I followed Phillip to church that morning, and something (Someone?) there spoke to my heart.
You're safe here, it (He?) said. No judgments, no worries, you're one of My children, and a special part of the Grand Plan. 192
197
Okay, It Sounds
Like some weird soap opera. But that's what I heard, or maybe I felt it. I don't know. Don't care. And hey, if I'm wrong, nothing lost.
It does comfort me to think there might be something after we close our eyes for the final time-- a light to walk toward.
I hope Phillip took that walk. According to the Book, all that's required is faith. He believed, so he should be There, waiting for me.
"But what about being gay?" I asked Phillip once.
"Some say that dooms you." 193
198
I think God cares more about how you treat others than who you sleep with.
Which worries me some. I did once mistreat a man about as bad as you could do someone. Though I asked Him for forgiveness, maybe
I don't deserve it, because I don't feel even a little bit bad about what I did. I know He knows why. I only hope it matters. 194
199
He understands why I tried to kill myself and that He doesn't turn His back if I one day succeed. Surely that's better than taking up room on this dying planet, when so little room is left. The hardest part about this religion thing is that every "believer" believes something different.
Anyway, I don't really believe like this visiting chaplain does. He's pure hellfire and brimstone--
too Baptist for my taste. Oh yeah, I know Baptists, 195
200
Catholics, too. I sampled both along the way, in deference to the two sides of my family. Ma wasn't a churchgoer, obviously, but her ma was a Texas Southern Baptist who took me to a revival or two when we went to visit once. Holy rollers! Who could qualify for their Heaven?
Pa's people were Pope lovers, and the Vatican view of right or wrong leaves me reeling too. I bet Pa's at mass right now, spouting Hail Marys for me. 196
201
I'm Told Level One
Means Sunday services, an hour or more being scared silly by some volunteer preacher. They even make the little kids go. Church didn't used to scare me. But that was before Mama introduced me to her angel. He was so real to her, I used to wonder why I couldn't see or hear him, when Mama could.
Plain as day. And if you can't hear
him, little girl, it means
you haven't qualified to enter the pearly gates.
You'd better ask for forgiveness.
She never said what for, but she sat me at the table with a dog-eared King James, made me read for hours. Out loud. 197
202
There's that other thing, too. Most women in that situation move on with their lives. No second thoughts. No guilt. Most other women aren't me. I did ask for forgiveness then. Still don't know His answer.
My bad wrist throbs, and my good one pulses pleasant memories of a paper clip.
One more little poke couldn't hurt.
I tiptoe to the door, listen for movement in the hall. No footsteps. Out comes my little friend. This time I insert it just behind my knee, where a long skirt will cover it so no one but God can see. 198
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A Long Flowing Skirt
And a long-sleeved blouse disguise all signs of SI--no, not Sports Illustrated. SI stands for self-injury; another term I learned surfing the Web. The best thing about those boards and blogs is knowing I'm not alone.
I cut to focus when my brain is racing. I cut to make physical what I feel inside. I cut to see blood because I like it. I don't like to cut, but I can't give it up.
I have felt all those things, cut for all those reasons. But now I cut for another, much more substantial reason. 199
204
I cut when I think I hear a baby crying. When I think
I hear Mama calling. Knowing those things are impossible but hearing
them just the same. And that's something I'll never break down and admit to anyone but myself. Bipolar crazy is one thing.
Schizophrenic is another.
Could I have inherited both?
205
I Sit at the Back
Of the dining-room-turned-
chapel. It's the only room big enough to accommodate all of us. And attendance is mandatory. Do they really think they're saving souls? If so, my suggestion would be not to bother. In my admittedly limited knowledge of religion, desire to change is a requirement.
Glancing around the room, I can find only a few who might qualify. Justin, of course. A couple of girls whose names I don't know, with beatific grins lighting their plain faces. And--this is weird--Tony, who's sitting two rows up. It seems to me that "gay" and "God" make strange bedfellows, in the most figurative sense, of course. 201
206
But Tony seems caught up in the drama of the morning--
singing hymns, praying the Our Father, listening
raptly to the sermon, a ramble
straight out of Revelations.
There's a lot more to Tony than what's on the surface, that's for sure. Wonder how deep I'd have to dig to find it all.
207
Mandatory Church Services
What other surprises does Level One have in store? I don't believe in God, don't believe in the devil.
Unless you want to count my mother. She might be Satan's sister, I suppose. What other explanation
could there be for someone sizzling hot on the outside, yet frozen solid beneath the skin. Not quite human.
Anyway, I get to wear my wrinkled Ralph Lauren. It's worse than I thought, having stayed crinkled against the back of the drawer going on a dozen days now. At least my Dockers aren't showing signs of mistreatment. 203
208
Whatever. It's good to be out of sweats, feeling half human again. I arrive just as the minister says, Let's
get started. Turn your eyes to the Lord, fill your hearts with gladness, reach out for your heavenly reward.
He's a poster board preacher and I hate him already. I spy an empty chair in back, suddenly glad I'm late. 204
209
I Sit Beside Vanessa
I can't believe the chump on my right left a place next to her for me. I settle in as the brainwashed recite a well-worn prayer, not
completely foreign to me: Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...
It's not like I've never been to church before. My parents make us go on holidays, fighting sin
twice every year--the day Mary gave birth, the day her son died, so the stories go. All to save me? Right.
Vanessa leans over, sweeping my cheek with an auburn wisp. I'd rather
be sleeping, she whispers. 205
210
She smells of industrial-
strength soap, but so do I.
At least we're clean. I notice the length of her skirt, which covers too much, if
you ask me. One slender
arm comes to rest on one
knee, and at the wrist, a few
drops of blood, scarlet clues to the mystery that is Vanessa. I lean back, watch her secret ooze.
211
After the Last Amen
We're allowed some time to mingle, guys and girls together as if, now holy, not a single indecent thought
could cross our commingled minds. Vanessa's knee brushes mine, raising some quite improper thoughts. A voice reminds
me we're not exactly alone. Good morning! Hope I'm
not interrupting. Tony's eyes
fall, a warning to Vanessa to hide her wrist. But she doesn't, maybe because she doesn't care, or maybe she just doesn't see.
He reaches out, touches her arm. What's this, sweet
lady? He disguises concern with charm. Unexpected. 207
212
Vanessa snatches her arm away. Nothing. No worries. I poked myself with o fingernail. Her eyes betray the lie.
Tony and I exchange a glance, brimming with disbelief.
But we know it's a delicate dance and keep our mouths
shut. 208
213
Vanessa's Cutting
And the only thing I can do is point it out to someone in charge--betray her to the enemy. Not really an option. I wouldn't want her to tell on me. So I shrug. "Hope it doesn't get infected. You should clip those fingernails!" Yes, Mother I'll put it near the top of my list. Right after flossing.
Conner asks, Are Sunday services really required? What happens if you say you won't come? Will they lock you up, throw away the key?
"They'd drop you back down a level," I answer, as the resident expert. 209
214
Back to being a big
zero, Vanessa says. Back to isolation.
"Only if you're Level One. But hey, lucky me, I've been promoted to Level Two. Just wait. You get to play pool, get to watch TV."
No kidding? says Conner. And what do you get for making Level Three? 210
215
Level Three Privileges
"From what I hear, you get trips to the mall, movies, sometimes, always well supervised. You also get to go home for weekend visits."
Maybe I'll just skip Level Three, Conner comments. Level Four? "That's the wilderness camp--Challenge by Choice, they call it."
Vanessa chimes in, If you complete the Challenge, you get Level Five. "And that," I add, "is when they let you out of here for good." 211
216
Sounds like it would be easier to wait it out until I turn eighteen, Conner observes. Not so long, only six months, two weeks, three days.
Speak for yourself says Vanessa. It's eleven months until my birthday. And I don't plan to celebrate that party in here! I'll be out long before then.
"They'll probably kick me out next week," I say. "I gave my dad hell yesterday, and he's footing the bill. 'Course, I've got his guilt train steaming real good." 212
217
Time to Vacate
The room, so they can turn it back into a place to eat lunch. I volunteer to help. Nothing better to do than fold down tables, set chairs around them.
Conner has apparently digested our recent conversation, because he volunteers to help too. Anything extra you do goes in the "plus column."
Vanessa doesn't dare. Someone might notice the seep on her wrist. Someone less discreet than Conner or me. We watch her hustle off.
"That girl is something special," I say. "Wonder what her story is.,' 213
218
Other than cutting herself you mean? The why behind the blade?
"Exactly. She seems so grounded, compared to other losers in here." I might say the same about you. But you tried to off yourself too. Didn't you?
"Yep. Failed miserably, too. Some things take practice. Suicide, for one." Conner laughs. You're right. And who knew? Next time I'll be more
careful. 214
219
All This Talk
About reaching levels and getting out of this place makes me want to put myself on a fast track to freedom. I guess that means opening up in group, succeeding in school, which I started again last week, hopeful I might catch up after missing so much.
I hadn't even cracked a book in over a month. Magazines, yes. Plenty of those in the hospital, and I've borrowed a Cosmo or two from my pal Dahlia. Pretty tame stuff, for her. Hustler is more her style.
I've seen a couple of those, thanks to darling Trevor, who five-finger-discounted them from the local liquor store. 215
220
I can't believe women would let themselves be photographed like that! Nothing "artsy" about fake rape scenes or lying naked with a dog. It's pure nasty. And all for money.
I'm not sure what I want to do for money when it's up to me to make it. Not sure what I can do, bouncing white to blue. But I don't plan to use my body to make it. I plan to use my bipolar brain. 216
221
Monday Morning
Up early, shower, breakfast at seven thirty. Not so different from living at home, except none of it is by choice, everything choreographed, right down to the soap we use, the toothpaste we're allowed, the exact amount of eggs on our plates.
It's easy, really. Easy and frustrating.
Classes, remedial for many here, start at nine. Lucky me. The month off didn't put me too far behind, which means I get to be with the advanced group, and that includes Tony.
He's book smart. Street smart.
I never knew for sure the two
could go together, but they're
intertwined, inside of him. The more I get to know him, the more I like him. My first gay friend. 217
222
I've never really had much in the way of friends before. A few little girlfriends, army brats all, and tough to keep when you change bases like clothes. But I'm pretty much stuck here for a while. A friend seems like a good thing to have, and I think I have two.
Tony. And Conner. Cute. And devastating. A daunting duo. 218
223
They're Both in Class
Of course Conner would be in the advanced class. He's college prep all the way. Maybe he can tutor me in the fine art of finesse. Girls sit on one side of the classroom, guys on the other, in alphabetical order. Easier to keep track of. Guess Mr. Hidalgo isn't as smart as his students.
Good morning, all, he says.
Today, we're writing essays.
Topic: The Patriot Act, right, wrong, or indifferent.
A half-dozen groans answer his request, but I like putting my opinion on paper for the world to read. Conner raises his hand. 219
224
Excuse me, sir, but can
you tell us, please, how the Patriot Act affects the rights of minors?
I mean, we were basically
locked up here without a hint of "due process."
How is that any different than treading all over the due process of a so-called adult?
Mr. Hidalgo clears his throat, considers how to answer a student as impertinent-- yet polite and somehow correct, in context--as
Conner. 220
225
Okay, I Should Have
Kept my mouth shut, gone with the flow, especially the first day in Mr. Hidalgo's class. But I need to know
what makes every teacher tick. Some really care about their students' reasoning processes. Others just stick to the three Rs--rote learning, recitation, rhetoric. In here, I didn't expect to find a discerning
teacher. But Mr. Hidalgo does seem pretty reasonable. He even allowed me to expand on the theme
"due process and minors." Why do I care, anyway? "Life" has lately not meant much. I haven't a clue why 221
226
"liberty" should concern me.
Like I've ever really been free? (Or ever could be.)
Whatever. At least I've got
something to do besides pace my room. I start to write, in a perfect hand so I won't have to erase.
One thing I won't stand for is a sloppy paper, and I
refuse to write a first draft, then have to copy over.
227
Duplicating Effort
Is a true waste of time, one I watch others take unusual pride in--spilling mistakes, which must be undone before turning in their papers. Why not just do it right the first time? Working around the knot in my neck, I write:
Our forefathers envisioned the Bill of Rights as a safety net--necessary corrections of the Constitution c oversights.
But where did they write that one must be at least eighteen for those rules to apply? Would they have found such a provision just, when many patriots of the day, who died in the name of freedom, were themselves only boys? I've made the same argument 223
228
before, in a different school, with another teacher. Like her, Mr. Hidalgo is cool with my opinion.
You've made some excellent
observations, and conveyed
your thoughts clearly. I have
high expectations of you.
High expectations--great, I burned myself again. You'd think by now I would have learned to underachieve. 224
229
Especially in Here
Where underachievement is an art. Not that success isn't possible for these people, that they're not smart.
If Justin could just get past his Jesus fetish, he'd likely be an algebra whiz, but such linear
thinking conflicts with his four-dimensional ideals. Then there's Nathan, whose unconventional theories about extraterrestrial visitation defy known laws of science: E.T, the brains behind creation.
Tony, at least, is rooted in reality tinted as his view might be, intertwined with his iffy sexuality. 225
230
He puts his words on paper well; writes with clarity and passion; is not afraid to tell us how he feels:
Freedom is a double-edged
ideal, because true freedom
comes without the protection of laws that also enslave us by defining us--female, male; Christian, Islamic; good, evil. All at the whim of a frail minority.
Right on. 226
231
Odd Thing Happened
When I started school here, at Aspen Springs. I found out I'm good at it. I never was before. Of course, I never had much chance to excel in the juvenile detention center. Anything I learned was because I wanted to, not because someone expected me to. I'd be a total ignoramus
if not for Phillip. Now he expected great things from me. And being an ex-college professor, he was just the gentleman to teach me. 227
232
He taught me the basics-- algebra, biology U.S. history. He taught me the extras-- trig, chemistry world affairs. He taught me the necessities-- philosophy, religion, psychology.
I could have learned from him forever. But we didn't have forever, only two almost-perfect years, years that might have been perfectly perfect except he got so sick. I'm not sure how I've managed to avoid that whole vicious viral thing. Then again, maybe I haven't. I can only wait and see. 228
233
Anyway, I Don't Worry
About it, not on a daily basis. The weird thing is, I don't really worry about much anymore, not with Phillip gone. That was my biggest worry for the last couple of years. I had no idea what I'd do when he died. He had put me in his will, but his son contested and won, claiming his house and every possession.
Yes, Phillip was married once, back when most gay men remained in the closet, at least to family and friends, taking their need to be with other men to the darker parts 229
234
of town--bath houses, bars, back alleys, and cars. No wonder AIDS spread like it did. Everyone was afraid to talk about it. What if the wife found out?
Phillip was one of the brave ones who couldn't stand sneaking around. So he told his wife, who promptly ran off to tell her priest and get a divorce, in that order.
Poor Phillip lost his wife, his son, his friends, and his church, all within a few days. Luckily, the university where he taught was in San Francisco. At least he kept his job. 230
235
Mr. Hidalgo Clears is Throat
Brings me back to my essay: "The Patriot Act, Who Cares?" I write: I think it's totally messed up that cops can arrest anyone they want, just because they don't like how a person looks. But what, exactly, is so new about that? The only difference I can see under the Patriot Act is the authorities
don't have to tell anyone they've busted the guy. They can keep him for days, even weeks, and no one who cares about him will know where he's gone. 231
236
They call that patriotism? And wiretaps? Or investigating what a person reads? Who, then, gets to decide what reading materials constitute terrorist training guides?
When will America quit living in the shadow of 9/11? When will her people decide to stop living in daily fear? When will they think
twice about who they should be afraid of-- some would-be terrorist a thousand miles away, or some U.S. politician, hell-- bent on peeking behind closed doors? 232
237
Writing Essays
Is usually easy for me. But I'm having a hard time with this one, for a couple of reasons. The first is Daddy, who's been fighting terrorists on their own turf ever since 9/11 went down. Ask him, the Patriot Act doesn't do nearly enough to keep America safe. Ask him, he'd send every "damn towel head" back to where they came from, with a stop at Guantanamo for a little debriefing.
The second is Grandma, who is quite vocal about patient confidentiality and the need to keep medical records inviolable. I know I wouldn't want just anybody to be able to take a look at mine. 233
238
Nope, no job for Vanessa.
She's crazy, you know.
I may very well be crazy, but the manager at McDonald's doesn't need that information to decide if I'm safe to flip burgers. Not like I'd freak out and off someone because he complained the fries were greasy. At least, I don't think so. 234
239
The Third Reason Is Mama
Everything always comes back to her, doesn't it? Plenty of times, tripping around town, no meds to stabilize her schizophrenic mood shifts, she looked like a regular lunatic--the kind that sleeps in the park, digging through trash cans for dinner and talking to pigeons like they can talk back. In fact, she did all those things.
Sometimes cops will look the other way. Other times, bad day or whatever, they decide to roust "the wackos," rough them up, haul them in, whatever their mood dictates. Once in a while, if the wacko takes offense and puts up some sort of a defense, the cop goes overboard. More than once, Mama came home with bruises. 235
240
But what if one of those times, she never came home at all, and no one knew where she'd been taken to? She's got red hair, green eyes, no ties to the Middle
East. But under the Patriot Act, everyone is fair game.
I have no problem with increasing security to keep this country safe. But how do we decide who poses a threat? And--bigger question-- who decides? 236
241
Mr. Hidalgo Comes Over
You haven't written anything,
Vanessa. Having a hard time
getting started?
I could tell him everything I've just been thinking, but that would take us all the way to lunch. "Just organizing my thoughts. I tend to do most of my writing inside my head."
He smiles. Okay. But don't let it get lost inside there. I'd like a first draft today.
I glance around the classroom. Conner is already finished. I can tell by the satisfied expression on his face. Tony is scribbling away. Guess he knows what he wants to say. 237
242
Others are chewing pencils, staring off into space. I don't want to look as scattered as they do, so I start:
Once we believed ourselves safe from attack, here on our
home turf hallowed ground.
The events that occurred on September 11, 2001, altered our "pie in the sky" view. The sad fact is, no one is completely safe. I've 're all going to die someday. What's
important is how we choose to live until the day of our judgment
comes... 238
243
Six Weeks in Aspen Springs
The doctors say I'm making progress, however they define that. I'm mostly over Emily, I guess, so something inside me has changed. I no longer feel mad with desire for her, deranged by my inability to see her, talk to her. I haven't heard what happened after she broke down, admitted guilt. Not a single word, though I've begged Dr. Boston to ignore the rules, confide details of Em's self-imposed destruction. Despite our rapport, she maintains, You know I can't
do that, Conner It could adversely affect your therapy.
Please don't pursue this further 239
244
Once I even went so far as to reach across her desk, rest my hand lightly on hers, and say, "Then teach me how
not to care about someone who was everything to me. All I want is to know she's okay. Is that too much to ask?"
She flinched but didn't move her hand. No. But it's more
important that we talk about you. Understand? 240
245
The Only Way
To find my answers, learn anything more, is to do what it takes to let Level Three take me out the front door.
Even supervised outings should give me the chance to make a covert phone call. Until then, I'll play "good."
I've swallowed most of my pride, dressed down in sweats, showered naked with creeps, some of them way too obsessed with checking out other guys.
It's worse than any football locker room, because while jocks can be crude, perverse
even, they all have girlfriends
waiting outside. These losers
have no one but each other, one reason I haven't tried 241
246
to buddy up too close. Still, I stay cordial. No need to make enemies. Besides, halfway going along with the Aspen Springs
game plan has netted me Level Two. Unimpressive. Funny, I never regretted not
learning Ping-Pong until now. Even Stanley can beat me, and I haven't a clue how--he's too fat to move fast, so it must have more to do with spin. Whatever. Losing
every game to Stanley is beginning to wear thin. 242
247
So I'm Pushing Hard
To graduate to Level Three. I've kept my nose to the grindstone in school, stroked my way past Dr. B.
Now I've just got to convince Dr. Starr. The bulldog is waiting for me right now, sitting as far back from the patient's chair as the wall will allow, as if "suicidal" were contagious. Working the bulldog takes more than skill.
It takes subtlety. "Good afternoon, Dr. Starr. You look lovely in that shade of maroon." Okay, not great.
She grimaces. Let's get down to business, Mr. Sykes.
When we last left off we were discussing your sister 243
248
I don't want to talk about Cara, but we're playing by Dr. Starr's rule book. I shut my eyes, see my twin's
face, so like my own--soft, toffee brown hair; startling
hazel eyes; skin the color of coffee with lots of cream.
"She's really very beautiful.
Takes after our mother, outside and in. Meaning
she's a bitch." My heart aches, remembering.
249
Commotion in the Hall
Voices. Shouts. Shuffling feet and the scratch of claws against linoleum. Dogs can mean only one thing-- a drug search. I stick my head out the door, looking for the source of all this excitement. Uniforms, with real guns attached. Two German shepherds, sniffing along the corridor, asking to go inside rooms which, one by one, empty. Guys, some half-dressed. Girls, ditto. Which most definitely makes an impression on the guys.
Hey, Dahlia, calls dim-
wad Stanley. Nice pair of tits you got there. 245
250
Hey, Stanley, she yells back. Some to you, but more of them!
Despite the situation, everyone has to laugh. Everyone, that is, except Todd, who has just been led out of his room, face in his metal-cuffed
hands, by a tall deputy and a short German shepherd. I thought he seemed buzzed the last time I saw him, but didn't go there at all. 246
251
As Todd Is Marched Away
The search continues. He may have shared his contraband, after all. Meanwhile, Paul and Kate appear. Half- dressed or fully clothed, we're herded toward the dining room, where we're instructed to wait until the operation is over. A sting, in Reno's premier RTC--residential
treatment center. The press will love this one, not that it's so uncommon. I've even seen drugs delivered to inmates at the juvenile 247
252
detention center-- left by a Dumpster within semi-easy reach behind the chain- link fence surrounding the exercise yard.
Paul and Kate pace nervous circles around the loosely grouped Aspen Springs flakes. Out in the hallway, I hear the muffled
voices of the younger kids--all under twelve-- who live in a different wing. Most of them have suffered abuse: physical, sexual, or (please specify) other. 248
253
Which Takes Me Back
Home to Ma, a string of "uncles" and their friends. Reno, small as it is, is home to a wide variety of perverts. Think how many there
must be on this poor, sick planet! The worst part is, since scientists tell us perverts beget perverts, you almost have to feel sorry for them.
Perverts aren't born-- they're created. I wish I could give every kid the kind of childhood I didn't have--one filled with toys, warmth, love. 249
254
Speaking of love, here comes Vanessa. Not only do I love her, but, funny as it sounds, I think I'm in love with her. Crazy
But how else can I explain the way I break out in a sweat when she's near, the way I look for opportunities to make that happen?
Hey, Tony, she almost sighs. Too bad about Todd, huh? I thought he was over all that. And as she talks, I shiver at a cool hint of sweat. 250
255
Watch Tony
Listen to the voices of the little kids, out in the hail.
A strange expression creeps across his face. I wonder what he's thinking, but my intuition whispers it's one of those things he'd rather not talk about. At least not yet.
So I make small talk about Todd. "It's sad how people give their lives to meth. I mean, if you're going to kill yourself, there are faster ways than letting something chew up your brain one lobe at a time." 251
256
Tony shrugs. Do enough
crank, your heart will give up before your brain does.
Most people don't
do enough to die, though.
They just do enough to keep getting more and more stupid.
"Like stupid enough to smuggle meth into a place like this?"
Exactly. What was the guy thinking?
Now he'll do serious
lockup, and that am 't pretty. Trust me. 252
257
The Funny Thing Is
I do trust Tony. But why? A gay guy, from the wrong side of town, who I only met a few weeks ago? Why do I feel like I've known him forever? Were we friends in another lifetime? I've read about reincarnation. (Had to hide the books so Mama wouldn't find them-- she'd have skinned me alive) It doesn't sound so unreasonable. So I ask, "Do you believe in reincarnation?"
Tony shivers. I'm not
sure what I believe in,
Vanessa, other than there
has to be a better reason for living than what I've
seen so far 253
258
Such an incredible waste of energy, to work your ass off for sixty years, then shrivel up, die, and be nothing more than a memory--if you 're
lucky enough to leave someone behind who will remember you.
There must be more. Don't you think?
Well, that conversation took a sudden sharp mm. I look him in the eye, find total sincerity and a need for someone to share his universal questioning. "Sure, Tony. I think there's more. I just wonder if it's 'here' or 'out there." 254
259
Speaking of Out There
Stanley has cornered a short, zitty guy, who he keeps calling "Flea." Paul moves in, yelling for Stanley to shut the hell up and go sit this one out. Flea retreats to a corner to smirk in Stanley's direction, which stirs everything up again. Stanley stands, heads in Flea's direction. Paul goes after Stanley, warning, You're going to be sorry, shithead. Kate moves toward
Flea, warning, If he goes down, you go down.
Tony pushes me back toward the wall. This is going to be ugly. Stay behind me. 265
260
He's right, as Paul wrestles Stanley down, leveraging one fat body with his own not-so-svelte one.
The room dissolves into howls as Flea moves forward, Ha-ha, asshole. And Kate takes him
down, easy as pie. What did I tell you?
I start to cry because this place is insane, and if I'm here, I must be insane too. Tony turns, wraps his arms around me. Don't cry, Vanessa. Everything's okay. I'll always be here for you. 256
261
Now I Could Tell
A sordid tale of one twin envying another, of relentless competition, even money on the win until we were old enough to learn the finer points of cheating. You'd think getting caught might concern
us. Not! Both of us had one real goal in mind: attention, especially from Dad, who seemed to think his familial role was demanding respect. It's hard to respect someone who outlines expectations without regard to feasibility.
But I'm not going there, so I'll try to placate the bulldog. "Cara is bright, I won't deny that. What I 257
262
don't understand is why she feels the need to one-up me, from clothes to stereos to the finest wheels good
old Dad's money can buy... " Just as I decide maybe there's more to the story I'd like to confide after all,
Dr. Starr's telephone rings. One minute... uh-huh... oh! On my way. Sony, Conner. Looks like we're done for the day. 258
263
Dr. Starr Jumps Up
Almost overturns her big armchair, moves swiftly across to the door. Something major has happened somewhere in the building, that's for sure. Who knew the bulldog could move so fast? I wonder what I should do--stay or follow?
As if reading my mind, she demands, Hurry up, Conner.
She sprints down the hall, pumping her hands forward and back. Stay right behind me and don't interfere.
Then, to herself, What were they thinking? This isn't TV.'
Dogs, cops, and takedowns--
grandstanding! And tomorrow is visiting day. How many
parents will be understanding? 259
264
Dogs, cops, and takedowns? And I missed all that, under interrogation by Dr. Starr-- our weekly one-on-one tryst?
She swings a wide right toward the dining hail, mutters under her breath, Damn if I'll
take the fall for this one. 260
265
Not Again
This room is a setting for lunacy. Paul and Kate have a couple of guys down on the floor. One is Stanley.
That dude is a walking time bomb, always ready to detonate, even when his demeanor is calm.
So there he is, under Paul's substantial knee. Little Kate has proven she's more than the mouse she appears to be.
And to my right, just inside the door, Tony is holding Vanessa like they're an item. There's definitely more to that relationship than one might guess. As Dr. Starr
storms into the room, they pull
apart, press back against the wall. 261
266
I join them. "So, did you guys get to see any of the action? I was stuck in the confessional. Can you tell me what happened?"
We're guessing it was a meth bust, Tony says. They hauled Todd out of here in handcuffs. The rest is just Stanley.
We watch Dr. Bellows and Dr. Starr extricate Stanley from Paul's grasp. Another bizarre day at
Aspen Springs. 262
267
Rumors Travel Fast
We hear from Justin, who heard from Dahlia, who heard from who knows who, that Todd's supplier was his brother, who stashed the meth in a hollow-handled toothbrush. How this deception was discovered will be debated for weeks. "Probably a random pee test, don't you think?"
That, or his brother got busted and turned narc, Conner says. Vanessa has another theory. Maybe guilt got the best of him. 263
268
Conner and I just laugh. "Cranksters rarely feel guilty about what they do. More likely, he felt proud of himself--smug, even-- for getting away with it."
Yeah, until the dog came through the door, Conner adds. Then he probably felt like a total dumb shit. Jeez, he'd already made Level Three, hadn't he?
"Yes, and hey, guess what! I did too. Dr. Boston told me yesterday." Me too, says Vanessa. I hope that means o trip out of here soon. 264
269
I Don't Tell Them
The one condition of my newly acquired Level Three status-- a successful interaction with my father, who's coming to visit tomorrow.
To quit stressing over the thought, I ask, "Do you have visitors coming?" Vanessa answers, My grandma will be here. Can't wait to see her
Conner nods, stiff as a mannequin. My mother has finally agreed to come. I'd rather not see her, but have to, to make Level Three.
"You haven't seen her yet? How long have you been here?" 255
270
Six weeks, give or take. She hasn't even asked to see me until now
Vanessa snorts. Sounds like your mom is almost as wonderful as mine. "Neither of them could be half as screwed up as mine was," I say.
We'll have to compare notes one day, Conner says. You in, Vanessa? Face the color of death, she replies, Talking about Mama makes her real. 266
271
Major Insight
In only six words. "Well, someday we'll swap stories." I offer Vanessa my most engaging smile, and she tries to return it.
Conner plays the game, plays it well. No need to swap, really. I've got stories enough for all of us. And f I include my dad, that will keep us
entertained for hours. Oh, hey. Speaking of entertainment, here come the fine doctors, looking rather distressed. Suppose dinner will be late? 267
272
I'd say that is a given. Drs. Starr and Bellows sweep across the room, faces red and chests puffing. Bodies move to let them by, a wave of agitation. All right, everyone, back to your rooms, commands Dr. Starr. Dinner will be a little late tonight, but I promise you won't go hungry.
She's a regular sweetheart! People begin to shuffle past, and as Vanessa moves to join them, I reach for her hand. "Remember--you're not
alone." 268
273
Just Another Day
Trying to keep my head above water--the azure water I'm sliding down into now. Too much confusion. Too much upset. Too much time without a mood adjuster. I'm sure I'm not the only one, either. The Pill Patrol better put it in high gear.
Conner says he's been here for six weeks, which means I've been here at least seven, maybe closer to eight. And I don't feel better. Don't feel healed. Don't feel clearer. I could stay in a place like this forever and never get well. 269
274
You're not alone, Tony says, and I believe he believes that. I'm here for you. And I want to believe that, too. Don't cry, Vanessa. But I can't help crying now. 270
275
I Will Admit
Through flowing tears that Tony has become more than a friend to me. He's a bright planet in the dark morning sky of my existence. Somehow seeing him, even with his varied flaws, buoys me with hope. I am better for knowing him.
Conner, too, although he's more like a faraway star, brilliant, but cold in his distance; beautiful in his perfection, but likely to burn too brightly, snuff himself out. I wonder where he came from, what random joining of energies created such complexity
My mother finally asked to see me, Conner said, 271
276
and I wonder what kind of mother she is. I'd rather not see her at all, but have to... Now that I can relate to completely. If I include stories about my dad, we'll be entertained...
Stories about Daddy are the stuff movies are made of. 272
277
One Time He Came Come
For Christmas--an unusual event in itself. We probably saw him on holidays two or three times over the years. We worked and worked to make the house beautiful with paper chains, tinsel, dollar-store candles, candy canes, and a homemade gingerbread village.
Daddy arrived on Christmas Eve, arms laden with presents--wrapped in newspaper, cheered by colorful bows. We wanted to open them right then and there, but he made us wait until morning, because the best things are worth waiting for. We woke, filled with anticipation, ran to the Christmas tree. Daddy turned us around, made us march down the hail with respect for the meaning of the day. 273
278
We sat on the floor, newspaper- wrapped presents in our laps, imagining all the wonderful things inside. We opened them carefully, peeling back layers of newsprint until we reached the boxes, sliced the Scotch tape with our fingernails, lifted the flaps, and each of us found...
One MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat-- turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce, in foil pouches); one Hershey bar; and a handful of bullet casings, because this is what my men are getting today. And one more thing: a scrap of paper with a hand-scrawled I love you,
Dad. 274
279
tossing and Turning
Every lump in this mattress a boulder against my back, every wrinkle in the sheets a two-by-four in my shoulder, sleep denied by the fear of what tomorrow's visit will bring. I squeeze my eyes shut, try to focus instead on the events of today, find some relief, conjuring Vanessa's face. But then visions of another face come, black-and-white, frame by frame, like in an old film noir. Dark, my love for her was very dark, a source of secret shame.
I get out of bed, go to the window, look out on a surreal scene--moonlight, and in its muted glow, hints 275
280
of lacy flakes. Late March, and snowing. Spring skiers
will be happy, but for me it means a growing sense of claustrophobia. To sleep, I swallow Ativan. Dr. B prescribed it when I
told her how nightmares keep
me awake. Every evening, they bring me two. Usually,
I take one, stash the other.
Tonight I pray three will do.
281
A Voice Rouses Me
It's Kate, rattling my bars. Wake up, Sykes. It's almost eight and you missed breakfast. Dr Starr will give you a break
this time, mostly because your parents are coming
today. Usually, missing a meal will score you a level drop. I know you don't want that, so haul
your ass out of bed. Her
arrogant tone is a taunt.
I rouse myself, try to clear the Ativan fog, lifting inside my head, leaving fear in its place.
Dreams I cannot remember have stirred another part of me. I decide to let Kate see. Without a word, I toss back 277
282
the blankets and climb from bed, pajamas pointing stiffly in Kate's direction. She just
smiles. Was it something I said?
Your parents arrive at nine.
I suggest you get rid of that, one way or another, then get
dressed in something decent.
No problem. I need neither palm nor cold shower to shrivel me instantly. My mom is on her way. 278
283
Nine A.M. Exactly
I knock on Dr. Starr's door. Voices inside fade to black. Despite the rumpled Lauren, I reach for some semblance of pride.
Come in, Conner, calls Dr. Starr, but my slippery hand fumbles the knob and it's Dad, on the far side of the door, who opens it, pulling me through and right up against him. It's the closest we've ever
been, two strangers touching.
Immediately, he comes to his senses, jerks backward. H-hello, son. Good to see you. Every muscle tenses, as if
I might try to hug him or something perverse like that. "Hello, Dad," I answer, also shifting into a quick reverse. 279
284
Will you please come inside and close the door? Mom gives me a cold once-over. I see you haven't
learned to care for your clothes.
My face ignites and words steam from my mouth before I can stop them. "And I see you're still a supreme bitch."
She doesn't even blink. Even a female dog wants her puppies
clean and wrinkle--free--unless, of course, she's a Shar Pei.
Touché. 280
285
Breakfast Is Cold
Well, okay, the eggs are almost lukewarm, but the butterlike substance won't melt on the toast. Everything gags me, trying to go down.
The mood is cool, too. Too much excitement yesterday plus a late med delivery If everyone else feels like me, we all want to go back to bed.
And then, of course, we have visiting day to deal with. I guess a few of these freakazoids might like seeing their families come Saturday. 281
286
But my hunch is most of them find themselves here because of the scene back home. Someone had to check them in-- like who would volunteer?
Across the room, Vanessa picks at her eggs, like she's looking for bugs. She's sitting alone, like she always
does. Funny, 'cause most of the girls buddy up like hens.
I wonder what pain she's got bottled up inside, what
secrets she refuses to tell. I wonder if making her mother "real" is the only thing she's afraid of. 282
287
I've Got My Own
Fears to face in a few minutes, the main one being I'll blow it again. I didn't even realize how pissed I was at my dad until we were three feet apart.
Anthony, boy, you got the Ceccarelli temper Ma always used to say. Be careful, or it will burn you out early, just like your father.
One of the few things I do remember about him, in fact, was his temper. He'd come home to Ma's less--than-
mediocre housekeeping, 283
288
throw down his briefcase. Emma? Turn off the TV and get your ass out here. What exactly do you do all day, besides soap operas?
That was when he thought soap operas was all she did. I knew about her playing around years before he did. Came home from school more than once to hear
bedsprings squeaking, disgusting human noises. Once or twice I got brave enough to crack the door and peek inside to see what no kid ever should. 284
289
But That's a Different Story
Than the one I'm going to tell now, with Dr. Boston mediating this time. Please come in, Tony, she says. Sit right over there, next to your father
He doesn't stand this time, the "no hug" rule in effect. "Hello, Dad." Hello, Anthony. First, I want to apologize for the last time I was here.
I shrug. "No worries. We both have some things to work through." That's why we're here, chirps the Widow. Let's start with you, Tony.
Can you tell us, in one sentence, why you're so angry at your father? 285
290
One sentence, to sum up years of resentment? I will not cry! Will not!
"Because he chose not to be part of my life, not even when I needed him the most." Fair enough. Can you respond to that in one sentence, Mr. Ceccarelli?
Dad thinks a second. I stayed away because I couldn't stomach the guilt
Communication. 286
291
Breakfast Is Lousy
But even if it were perfect, I couldn't taste a thing. I'm neither up nor down today, just cruising in shades of gray--a cold, colorless place, something like being dead, I guess. Maybe I am dead and just don't know it yet.
Some people say ghosts don't know they're dead, so they keep moving through the same old buildings, the same old streets, trying to talk to people there, to find out why they can waltz through plaster walls like they're water. I think that would give me a pretty good clue. Far as I know, I can't pass through a wall. Think I should try? 287
292
Enough, already. I add my plate to the "scrape and rinse" stack, almost wishing they would give me kitchen duty--unlikely, considering my passion for sharp instruments. But it would give me something to concentrate on besides seeing Grandma in an hour or so. It makes her so sad to visit me here. And that makes me sad. Sad, and cruising gray. 288
293
I Go Back to My Room
Think about trying to walk through the wall, opt for the door instead; dig through my drawers for my favorite denim skirt and a light blue cotton blouse, long-sleeved; lay them out on the bed, as if I were in them. Before I change, there's something I have to do.
The bandage is long gone from my left hand, and my fingers almost work right again. There's a pretty scar, like little knots, joining hand to arm. If I cut there, I'll ruin the artwork. I look at my right wrist, wearing a bracelet of little scabs. Can't cut there. Someone will see. Through the gray haze, a cloud of frustration rises. 289
294
But I've got a new secret weapon. Yesterday, when all was in chaos, I noticed an empty Coke can in a wastepaper basket. No one observed as I reached down, extracted the pull top. I remove it from its hiding place beneath my dresser. Run one finger lightly over its lovely saw- toothed edge. Place it on the fold line inside my left elbow. Close my eyes and let it bite. Easy now, a shallow cut is all I need to slice through the gray. 290
295
Five After Eleven
I walk into Dr. Starr's office, dressed in the clean denim skirt and blue cotton blouse, smiling at the deception, wrapped in toilet paper, hidden beneath long sleeves.
Grandma comes over, gives me a hug, and I hope she doesn't wonder why I don't hug back with much enthusiasm. You look so pretty today, Vanessa. Blue suits you.
Dr. Starr interrupts the syrupy
stuff. Your grandmother and I have been talking,
Vanessa. Please have a seat.
Now, why haven't you
told me about your mother? 291
296
I feel the smile slip from my face but don't know exactly how to respond. "Wh-what about her, exactly?" I bend my left arm, squeeze tightly, wince at the beautiful pain.
You never mentioned her BPD. Bipolar disorder
happens to be genetic.
Did you know that? She waits for me to nod. It's also very treatable.
So why haven't you
said anything?
I smile at the throb in the crook of my left arm. "You never asked." 292
297
Postcards from Home
That's what my parents' visit reminded me of. Dad talked about my straight-A status, my goal of a law degree.
He must maintain his GPA, agreed Mom. I expect you'll see to it, Dr Starr I feel the need to underline that.
That was funny--Mom
made the bulldog blink. That will be up to Conner,
I'm afraid, Mrs. Sykes.
Dad talked about sports. He's a star running back. I hope this experience won't bar him from playing.
Conner will have to remain on medication for some
time. His coach will drug-test--
that's a foregone conclusion. 293
298
And that made Mom blink. Medication? What do you mean? Surely you have no expectation we'll allow
him to use drugs? That goes against everything we stand for as parents. Who knows how he'd end up?
Dr. Starr cleared her throat. Conner is suffering from severe depression. Prescription
medication is his best hope. 294
299
Did They Even Know
I was in the room? Did they care? "Hello, everyone. Conner to Earth. Are any of you even aware
that I'm sitting right here? Quit talking about me like I don't belong in this conversation. Don't you get
that in the space of just a few months I'll be all by myself, out on my own, and none of you will matter?"
Well spoken, if maybe a bit blunt. But it wasn't a touchdown. More like an ineffectual punt.
Mom picked up the ball at a hard sprint. I just don't
understand how you could
treat us with so little regard. 295
300
We have standing in this
community, a reputation to protect. Did you expect to act with impunity?
"I'm sure you can't understand this, Mom, but everything isn't about you." I looked her in the eye, willed myself calm.
"What I did had nothing to do with you. It was about letting myself feel--desire, pain, fear. Emotions you don't permit." 296
301
Totally Straightforward
In fact, maybe as honest as I've ever been, but did they get it? No frigging way. They'll never understand.
At least the bulldog was cool. Let's all relax, shall we? Assigning blame and laying guilt won't change the facts.
Conner seems to be doing
well. He has opened up in therapy and I believe he will excel in the classroom.
What we need to work on now is the family dynamic.
But without your cooperation,
I don't see how that's possible.
Mom reacted about as expected. We're here, aren't we? Don't you dare say that we have
neglected to cooperate. 297
302
What I mean, Mrs. Sykes, is that we must tone down the rhetoric. It's the only
way to mitigate confrontation.
No more, no less, time was up. Dad reached for my hand, shook it good-bye, just like a client. I'm glad you're making progress.
Mom refused to look at me, so I took the high road. "Bye, Mom." And as I turned to go, Dr. Starr said, "Conner? Level
Three." 298
303
Guess My Level Three Status
Is safe for now. It was good to hear from Dad's lips that he took some blame for the things that have happened in my life.
God knows there's enough blame to go around, Anthony, he said. But it breaks my heart to know that maybe I could
have made things easier saved you pain. I had it all wrong last time, Anthony, when I said I could forgive you. 299
304
See, I asked the Man Up stairs for forgiveness. He told me I had to ask you first. Forgive me, son, for not being a father to you.
It was like he dropped a half ton of bricks, straight into my belly. If God really had something to do with this, how could I say no? On the other
hand, how could I be sure, 1. God did have something to do with it and, 2. Dad really meant what he said? "I need to think it over." 300
305
We Left It at That
Better than how we left things last time, for sure. I even let him give me a hug good-bye. It felt really weird, uncomfortable for both of us. I think I even held my breath, and when he let go, I felt numb, like he'd squeezed me too hard. Three hours later I'm still numb.
I don't know if I can step forward, let go of a decade of hard feelings, even if God does want me to. It's a damn hard test. 301
306
Part of me says, What the hell, give him a chance. It's not so much to ask. Another part screams, Another chance to what? Screw you over again?
This totally sucks. I mean I've been given something I dreamed about for too many years--the chance to know my father again. So why can't I embrace him?
Things were so much easier when I was just Tony, who nobody cared about. Maybe not better, but for real-- a whole lot simpler. 302
307
Think I'll Wander
Down to the rec room. See who else has been shredded today. Carmella waves as I walk through the door. Hey, Tony. What's shaking?
"Nothing can shake quite like you, dear. Love your blouse." She glances down at the flawless turquoise silk. This ol' thing? Thanks!
Carmella is great--a part-time house mother at age twenty-three. My hunch is she won't last long. She cares much too much about us. 303
308
In fact, from what I've heard, the burnout rate for staff at places like this is exactly three years. Seems optimistic to me.
I can't even imagine dealing with a bunch of emotional cripples, not to mention a few total wackos, day in, day out, for three years.
And so, Tony, calls sweet Carmella, come here, tell me about your day. Why not? Who knows? Maybe she's got a personal line to the Man
Upstairs. 304
309
The Cat's Out of' the Bag
Grandma told Dr. Starr all about Mama's gear shifting, and how she ended up--minus my relatively major part in the soap opera, of course. Glad Grandma doesn't know all my secrets.
Vanessa is very protective of her mother; Grandma said. She doesn't often share information of such a sensitive nature. None of us do, in fact. Her father would have a conniption fit.
I can understand wanting to protect her privacy, said Dr. Starr. And I can
understand your wanting to protect your granddaughter. 305
310
However, we cannot make
real progress unless we put
everything out in the open, so we know exactly what
we're dealing with.
So now I will start a new regimen of treatment. Lithium, here I come, weight gain, runs, and all. But hey, I didn't break down and confess. Grandma turned traitor, not me. God love her. 306
311
And Through It All
No one noticed how I kept my arm bent tight. Good thing, too. A thin, red line stains my pretty blue blouse, right at the crease in the elbow. Guess I cut a little deeper than I meant to. Better be careful. I'd hate for my arm to drop off at dinner or something. Ha.
A cold-water rinse is called for, but I'd better wait until later tonight, when everyone's back in their rooms and the bathroom offers more privacy. 307
312
Meanwhile, I change back into my sweats, Saturday red, same as all the other Aspen Springs residents. Identity isn't something they encourage here.
My shirt is barely over my head, pants still on the bed, when the door opens suddenly. It's Paul, with goodies.
His eyes immediately fall to the V between my legs.
Sorry for barging in, but
Dr Starr wants you to start on the lithium right away.
Take this, then finish getting
dressed. 308
313
nothing's Different
Level Three. Awesome, movies, mall trips, maybe a barbecue in the park-- small perks for facing up to Mom. Holy crap. I'd almost forgotten just what a bitch that woman can be, a rotten example of humanity. Wonder if she has any, stashed inside. And Dad? He was only civil to free himself of the nagging thought that he might somehow be responsible for the things I've done. Quite likely, Dad.
His parting remark as I
closed the door was so
Dad-like. Be sure to keep an eye on your GPA. 309
314
Still carping about my grades, hoping I'll land a scholarship so he won't have to worry about coping with an Ivy League tuition. A state university won't do for dear old Dad. No, that's a fate worse than death.
Wonder how he would have
felt if I'd done the deed correctly. I wonder if he or Mom would even have cried. 310
315
Another Level Three Perk
Is holidays at home, but I don't care about going home for Easter or Fourth of July. It was a rare
occasion for us to celebrate holidays together, and certainly not without debate over stupid things like turkey or ham; fireworks in Reno, Tahoe, or Virginia City. Damn if I'll miss any of that.
July. Will I still be in this place then? Would I rather be home, biding time in a state of total disgrace?
Would they leave me alone long enough to call Emily? Would she take my call? Could I be strong if she didn't? 311
316
Would she even be home? Or maybe she's moved away from her husband, her students, the hound dog press. And me.
How much does everyone at school know? Stupid question.
The best-rehearsed denials can't fool inquiring minds.
My first day back will be hell-- the debris of my many failures. I wonder how a GED affects GPA. 312
317
None of It
Has much affected my appetite. Dinner, I hear, is served, and I plan to eat
every carb and fat-laden bite.
Why worry about calories, spare tires, lethargy? Living
medicated allows me not to care. Anyway,
Level Three also affords
me the chance to exercise.
Lifting until I ache or jogging myself into a trance are the best ways I can think of to forget about the big picture. Straddling the brink of exhaustion, blood thumping in my ears.
Clawing air, the only thing
worth worrying about, drawing another breath.
318
The very idea makes me high.
God, I sound like a bipolar
lunatic. Pack 'em on, pound
'em off. I could cry, because either way, it doesn't matter.
Dinner table, here I come, salivating at the spaghetti and meatball perfume.
Tony waves me over. Hell, why not? We can trade tales.
Hope his are as juicy as the ones I've got. Downright
messy.
319
Spaghetti and Meat Blobs
Not even sure about the "meat" part, although they kind of taste like dog food. Okay, like dog food smells.
I won't admit to eating it, not out loud. Surprising, the crap you'll eat if you get hungry enough. Worse crap than this, even, and this is pretty damn bad-- Meatball-like Crap in a Can. Served lukewarm over half-
cooked spaghetti. 315
320
Jeez, Conner is sure loading up his plate. I can't believe anyone would want a double helping of this. "Hey Conner, come here."
He sits across from me, grinning like Alice's goofball cat. What's up? I point to his plate. "Not much. I just thought you might want mine, too."
Not sure I want this. I was starving until I got an up-close look. 316
321
We Decide
All the parents must have finished their visiting early and gone home long before the kitchen got busy reinventing dog food.
I don't know if my parents would have been more horrified or satisfied. Conner laughs. My morn would probably have puked.
"We all may puke before the evening is over. Damn, can you see it? Marinara and meat by-products, splashed across stalls and walls. Yeah, man!" 317
322
Conner wrinkles his nose.
Well, I'm gonna chance it. My stomach is turning
cartwheels. Catharsis makes for a healthy appetite, I guess.
"Catharsis, eh? Sounds like you had an interesting day. Want to cough up a few details?" Of course, turnabout's fair play. I don't mind.
Sure, he says, around a big, smooshy bite. Just give me a few minutes to choke down this delicious Chef Boyar-D on 't meal. 318
323
I Knew He Had
A wicked sense of sarcasm--Conner's brand of humor. Mine too, tell the truth. Maybe that's why I like the guy. No one
could be as straight- arrow as the person he lets the world see. Totally plugged up. That's how most people would describe him.
But there's a kernel there... something worth trying to grow. Don't ask me what. Might be worth trying to figure it out. 319
324
He's giving the rundown on visiting day. Dr Starr gave me Level Three, mostly I think because I held my tongue but still held my round.
Dad, at least, tried to pretend he gave half a damn. Yeah, right. Mom will always be the total uptight c-u-you know what.
Interesting, that he doesn't just say the word. Some sort of psychology there. Sheesh, who's the therapist around here, anyway? 320
325
It's the First Time
I've faced this situation. I feel violated. Raped by Paul's eyes. I hold out my hand and he drops my new salvation into my outstretched palm, eyes barely lifting as he says,
It will take a few weeks to really feel the effects, so don't panic if your mood
swings intensify for a while.
We'll keep you on the Prozac, too, just in case.
Oh, great. Fixed and ruined at the same time. Oh, well. They're the experts. Like I really believe that.
Dinner is everyone's favorite, spaghetti à la Aspen Springs.
Hurry up. Wouldn't want to miss out, would you? 321
326
He backs away, eyes still on a point somewhere around three feet off the ground. "Thanks, Paul," I say, turning my back to him.
Not that I'm not positive
he's scoping out my butt in exactly the same way.
The door closes and I rush to slide on my pants before he decides he's forgotten to tell me something. Then I take aim at the dining room.
327
I Guess You Could
Call this mess of red starch spaghetti. Most of the girls around me don't seem to care, gulping it down like chocolate. Or maybe like something else.
Check out my face, says
Dahlia. What does it look like I've been scarfing?
Her grin is ringed a messy, wet scarlet.
You probably would, too, answers Devon.
Personally, I'd wait at least a week.
Gack! Disgusting. What is it with these people? Thank goodness they don't seem inclined to include me in their sick banter. 323
328
Just to prove me wrong, Dahlia asks loudly, What about you, Vanessa? You ever munch carpet?
I consider the best way to answer such a loaded, leading question. My usual way of dealing with such things is withdrawal. Tonight, something wicked comes over me. "Never have, dear. Maybe because the first one I ever saw looked so much like yours. Scared me to death." 324
329
The Table Busts Up
Dahlia's face flares. You sucking bitch.
This is kind of fun. "No, sweetie, I just told you I don't lean your direction, Of course, from what I hear, you teeter- totter. Is that true?"
Her mouth drops and she stares at my face, no doubt
trying to figure out just what
has come over me. Confusion
ping-pongs in her eyes.
Wh-who told you that?
This is really fun. Can it be the lithium, despite Paul's prediction? I don't think so, so it must be a bloom of mania. I'm a long, long way above blue. 325
330
"Why, everyone. Don't you know about the room- to-room gossip chain? 'Trade you two mediocre rumors for one really good one about Dahlia."
She could go either way. Perhaps thankfully, she chooses the easy way. Ha! Who turned you on, anyway, Vanessa?
You're pretty funny once you get going. Who knew you even had a sense of humor? 326
331
The Girls' Side of the Room
Jacks up with laughter, and it looks like lovely Vanessa is involved. Dahlia resembles a cobra, ready to strike, given just a bit more provocation. I wonder what Vanessa said, and what was her motivation to poke a verbal stick at such a reactive serpent. Her willingness to parry makes her even more attractive.
How fin, comments Tony. I think we're seeing a whole
other side of Vanessa. Who'd
have guessed she could cause a stink?
"All women have an evil side. One minute they've got their tongue down your throat, the next they slice you wide open." 327
332
I don't have much experience with the fair sex, but the ones I have known have never given me much trouble. I swear, they are much better friends than men.
Of course, most men either
avoid me like the plague, or swear their undying love.
I smile. "Don't look at me. Love is for children and dimwads." Most of me felt that way long before Emily. 328
333
But I Am Curious
"So... have you ever slept with a woman--tried a walk on the 'other side'? I mean, have you always been gay?"
I expect him to tell me what most gay guys say--that it's not a matter of choice, that they were born that way.
But he doesn't say anything, not right away. His face goes blank while he thinks about the right way to answer.
I've never slept with a girl, but I never really had the chance. I've spent a lot of time in lockup. I try to believe that I was born
gay. But I'm not really
sure that's true. When I was eight, this piece-of-slime boyfriend 329
334
of my ma c asked me to come
back into the bedroom to see
"something special." You can
guess what he wanted to do.
The only thing l knew about sex before that was it made my
ma scream. That day I screamed
too. Ma chose to ignore it.
Later she said it was all
my fault because I--no doubt
something genetic from my
dad's side--was a little faggot.
Not long after, I was confined with boys, looking to act like men. And there were a few guards who used us for their sex toys. 330
335
Way Too Much Information
But hey, I asked, didn't I? I don't know what to say, what to do. Instinct tells me to reach out and touch him, but no
way. The other guys might get the wrong impression. Tony might get the wrong impression. Suddenly I have a strong urge to move to another
table. What I don't understand is how, despite the lurid tales he recited, Tony seems so stable.
Hey, sorry, man. Didn't
mean to unload. Not looking for sympathy. Hope what I
just told you stays between you and me. I haven't even owned up to all that in therapy. Guess I've never been quite stoned enough. 331
336
"No problem, bro. Who would I tell, even if it was important?" And it's not. What the hell? The best thing about our conversation is the realization that others have problems as big as--or bigger
than--my own. Mine are huge. His are insurmountable. 332
337
What Got into Me?
Like Conner needed-- or wanted--to know any of that garbage. Jeez, fire me up, it's hard to put me out. At least he didn't look
too put off by what I said. Wonder what he'd think if I confessed the rest. I haven't told anyone since I spilled to Phillip.
Conner almost gives me no choice. So what did you do, man? I mean, why did they lock you up? And how long were you in for? 333
338
Should I go ahead and tell him? It might make him freak out completely. And I kind of like having his company.
I'm sick of holding it inside, sick of it escaping my head every night when I dream. Thank God for Aspen Springs sleeping aids. I don't remember my dreams.
I decide to compromise. "I was in for aggravated assault on my ma's jerk-off boyfriend. I spent six mother-humping years, beating meat in juvie." 334
339
Conner's Sympathetic
Six years? For that? he asks, eyes flashing anger. The asshole deserved it. Did you happen to get your mom, too? She deserved more.
"Why didn't I think of that?" It's a joke. I definitely thought about it--I had lots of spare time to create great revenge fantasies.
Still, "But she got hers anyway. It wasn't the next boyfriend, or the one after, or the one after that. But one of them nailed her, first with his fists, 335
340
then with a hammer. It wasn't too long after they let me out, maybe a year. By then, I'd emancipated myself. No one missed me."
Shit, man, you were right. Your mom may have been even more screwed up than mine. Hard to believe that's possible.
Maybe I will tell him the rest after all. But not tonight. I've tested the water--calm water. Telling the rest will be like testing a tsunami. 336
341
Think I'll Skip
"Recreating" tonight. My head is too full of too many bad memories. On my way back to my room, I find Paul, letting spaghetti junk clog in my throat. I manufacture a loogie, hawk it into a napkin. "Hey, dude," I say,
"I think I'm coming down with a cold. Can you bring me something for it?" Sudafed and Halcyon (my regular sleep helper in this place) should put me far beyond the reach of nightmares. 337
342
Have to clear it first, Paul says. Give me a couple of minutes.
It doesn't take long. In fact, I doubt he cleared it with anyone, but who cares? He pretended to do his duty anyway.
I gag down a big spoon of the sticky red syrup, chase it with a little white pill, lay down on the bed, and wait for my head to drift. 338
343
TV Tonight
Was a rerun of Fear Factor
Every juvenile space cadet
really should watch six adult space cadets, jumping off buildings and eating mouse entrails. Mmmm.
Looked just like the spaghetti.
What was Carmella thinking?
She's such a ditz, but at least she bothers to relate, unlike the other house mothers--Linda, a hard little woman of forty or so, and Arlene, who must be pushing seventy.
Linda is all business--yes, no, shut the hell up--and
totally capable of a takedown.
Arlene lives in her own oddball world, one she dreamed up before my parents were born.
344
Guess she can't make it on Social Security. But working here? She must be as crazy as the rest of us.
I sit at the window, staring into the darkness, waiting for everything to fall completely quiet before making a bathroom
run. The inside of my
head feels like a blender, whirling a strange concoction of this morning's Prozac and this evening's lithium.
345
Enough Already
I really do need to use the bathroom-- a likely side effect from the blended mess in my brain. And how will I ever sleep tonight?
One problem at a time. I reach under my mattress, extract the blouse, stained red at the elbow, stash it under my sweats. Then I open the door, poke my head into the hail. "May I go to the bathroom, please?"
No answer. Unusual. Someone is always monitoring the cameras in the corridors. I decide to go anyway, plead diarrhea if I'm caught. 341
346
The girls' bathroom is five doors down, on the left. You have to ask for permission to go because once you're
inside, they kind of have to give you some privacy at least in the stalls.
I go on in, turn on the cold water, and as I start to rinse my sleeve, I notice I'm not alone.
347
One Stall, Four Feet
That's what the mirror reveals, and a volley of shushes at the sound of water in the sink. One pair of feet quickly lifts, and as I watch, it comes to me the shoes look awfully large to belong to a girl. That, and the soles are facing out, heels up.
I make a big deal of drying my hands, loudly wadding the paper towels and tossing them in the trash. Then I go to the door, open and shut it without exiting.
Quick! You're squashing me. Dahlia's voice. Just a minute. I'm not finished. Paul's. Well, hurry up. We're gonna get busted. 343
348
Whoever that was shouldn't have been here. She didn't get permission. So what are you going to do? Bust her?
No wonder no one was manning the cameras. Paul was manning Dahlia. Ugh. I make a quick escape before he does finish. And only when I'm back in my room do I remember that I really do have to go to the bathroom. Like, right
now. 344
349
Today We Eave a Visitor
In the classroom. I get there a few minutes before nine, overhear her conversing with Mr. Hidalgo, who whispers behind the half-closed door. These
kids are the best of the worst--
bright, capable underachievers.
It's truly bizarre
that they end up here. For
some it's addiction, for others, abuse. A few simply
succumb to depression.
The others arrive. We push inside. It's the perfect chance to rub up against Vanessa, one I decide to take advantage of.
Nice, how the top of her head nests perfectly under my chin. I want to let my hands circle her waist, lift to her small breasts. 345
350
Something stirs, for the first time in weeks, and it has nothing to do with Emily-- or a taste for expert sin.
Vanessa can't help but react. Unusual way to say hello, Conner.
Rather overt, in fact.
But she doesn't pull away, or move my hand from the curve of her back. And both of us understand the meaning of that. 346
351
Flushed to My Core
I walk stiffly to my seat. Stiff, yeah, that's it, okay. Three rows over, Vanessa smiles, and I wonder if
she's feeling a little "stiff" too. No time to think about it now. Mr. Hidalgo clears his throat, ready to do his thing.
We have someone special
here today. Ms. Littell is an artist-in-residence, and we're going to hear from her all about how to write great poetry. No groans.
I'm sure you all have what it takes to create a poem.
Ms. Littell draws herself up real straight. Teaching us posture, too? Or trying to feel more in control? 347
352
She talks about herself for ten minutes--who she is, w
hat she does, how well
published she is. Then she rambles on for another
half hour about what makes a poem good--word choice, the power of metaphor.
Finally she instructs, Write a poem about your
happiest memory. Excite me with your words. 348
353
Excite Her?
Was she talking to me? Not if she expects that to happen over my happiest memory, whatever that
might be. I sit, dissecting my childhood, think about holidays and vacations, most of them good enough
if you measure by toys, clothes, cool things to do, but can things really make you happy? I suppose some
people think so. I remember one time spending a week with a friend. His family didn't have much. Except fun.
The concept stunned me. Fun, with his mom and dad? Fun, with his sister? He even had fun with his grandparents. Mine bore 349
354
me to death--the two that are still alive, anyway. Dad's parents died before I was born, left him a mint in their will.
Ms. Littell stands, hands on hips, waiting for me to write
something. I'm sure that she's
anticipating something else.
I put my pen to paper, begin: My happiest memories are sun-streaked afternoons in the cinnamon arms of my Emily... 350
355
What Is It
With these artsy types? Happy memories? Excite her with my words? Does she have half a clue what kind of kids she's dealing with?
If we were wallowing in happy memories, would we be here at all? I can't remember a single
group session dedicated to happiness; not one
conversation about the Magic Kingdom called Home. Now Nathan might believe there's a Magic Kingdom in some distant galaxy, 351
356
and maybe he's happy, letting his mind--what there is of it--wander to that place. And no doubt Justin smiles when he goes to bed at night, chants a mantra to his Lord, prays for quick deliverance. I guess he might be happy in his dreams, rocking in the arms of seraphim.
But then I look at Conner, frustrated with his memories, and Vanessa, who stares at the table, longing for her knife. 362
357
I'm Pretty Sure
She knows that Conner and I know. What I don't get at all is that no one else seems to have noticed the way she hides the blood.
Maybe she'll write her poem about how happy it makes her feel to ease her skin open, drown herself in the ebb of tide within her veins. Damn if that's not poetic. Maybe I should write that, here on this blank, white piece of paper. Blank 363
358
as the slate in my brain that is supposed to have happy memories etched on its clean, shiny surface. All I find is black.
I close my eyes, assess my life, search for a scene worth reliving. The first thing that comes to mind is the day I got out of lockup, free to walk wherever I chose, talk to whoever happened
by, without having to ask permission. And then it came to me that I had only one place to go. 364
359
My Ma Picked Me Up
Apparently, like it or not, it was a parent's duty to sign a kid out. Ready to go? Ha-ha! Stupid question. Would you get a move on?
Apparently, she had better things to do than catch up with me. You sure are scrawny. Didn't they feed you three squares in that place?
Apparently, she was worried that she might have to fatten me up. I'm living in a new place--a studio. Have a new man, too.
Apparently, she thought I gave a fuck about who she was sleeping with. 365
360
Watch out for Pete. He's
got a temper, 'specially when he's drinking.
Apparently she believed I would let another one of her lousy boyfriends abuse me--in whatever ways. Wasn't going to happen. Not ever again.
I followed her up two flights of stairs at a fleabag weekly motel. Took one look at the "studio" I was supposed to share with Ma and Pete. Hit the streets. 366
361
Prozac Lithium, and Conner
One, two, or all of them have put me in a completely happy space. Can I write about now--this instant? Pencil to paper, in perfect round cursive, I begin:
Memory is a tenuous thing.... (I know, I've lately said that, but it's true.)
flickering glimpses, blue and white, like ancient, decomposing 16mm film. Happiness escapes me there, where faces are vague and yesterday seems to come tied up in ribbons of pain.
(There must be happiness there somewhere, but I can't find it.) 357
362
Happiness? I look for it instead in today, where memory is something I can still
touch, still rely on. I find it in the smiles of new friends, the hope
blossoming inside.
(Scary, but accurate.)
My happiest memories
have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create. 358
363
Those I Have Yet to Create
That must mean I plan to create them. Funny, when I got here, coasting through life was the best I figured I'd ever do-- managing the seesaw with substances or the slice of a blade.
So much blue in my days, a spattering of white, an abstract of emotions, painting every choice I ever made, hope rarely represented on that deviant canvas. But here it is, a hint of bronze, a shimmer of gold frost.
Can my world fill with color? Will I ever live shades of red? Yellow? Green? 359
364
When I think of Mama, it all goes blue; memories of Trevor are rooted in white.
Conner's hand at my back, and the surge of his masculinity at the tip of my tailbone, made me shiver copper. I don't know what that means. I only know I liked it. 360
365
Suddenly, My Hands
Begin to shake, just a little at first, then building, building, tremoring, an earthquake. My pencil falls to the floor with a loud clatter and everyone turns to stare. I bend to retrieve it, but my hand refuses to go where my brain tries to point it.
Vanessa? Are you
all right? Mr. Hidalgo
jumps from his chair, reaches my side almost as quickly as Tony.
Vanessa? What's wrong? Tony's eyes, frightened, tell me I look even worse than I feel.
Vanessa? Conner joins the party. Let me help you. 361
366
The three of them, all talking at once, make my brain hurt, trying to keep up, churn it into dizziness. And that makes me want to throw up. I feel the blood rush from my face and jump to my feet. "I have to go to the bathroom."
No one tries to stop me, which is a very good thing.
I burst through the door, into a stall, lean over the bowl, let fly.
367
Ms. Littell Looks Horrified
Oh, the poor thing, she says. Hope it wasn't my assignment. She leans over Vanessa's desk, decides to sit, reads the neatly scripted words. This is beautiful, she tells the entire room. I wonder if Ms. O'Reilly would mind
if I shared her poem. So she does, and it is more than beautiful--it lets us see the inside of Vanessa.
She's looking for happiness in today, and some unknown part of me--some stranger-- wants to give some joy away.
I wonder if Vanessa would take it from me. When I look into her eyes, I find surprise. Suspicion. Fear. Curiosity. 363
368
I wonder which of those
brought her to this place, what monsters--internal or external--she has fought.
I wonder what drives her to give in to the goddess of lust and sharp edges, open her skin and bleed, to purposely walk where most
digress, lost in the moment.
I wonder how it feels to possess such courage.
369
I Also Wonder
Why Vanessa got sick. She looked fine just a few seconds earlier. Of course, she's not one to whine about an upset stomach. Still, the way her hands shook was scary--kind of like how my grandfather's used to betray him.
They say Parkinson's isn't genetic, so it probably won't ever affect my athletic abilities, or hinder my GPA. But hey, knowing my luck, I'll beat the odds and shimmy my way into an early grave.
Mr. Sykes, exhales Ms. Littell, would you please share your words?
She sighs, and I try not to notice the view of her neckline. 365
370
I look down at what I've written, smile. "I'm not sure this is appropriate for the rank and file. It's more than a little suggestive." I wait for her to read over my shoulder, expect a swift, negative reply.
Instead she says, You are a skilled poet, gifted with an ear for metaphor. This is filled with passion. Read! 366
371
Guess I'll Excite Everyone
With my words. Oh, well, she asked for it. I glance around the room, face-to-face, find unmasked inquisitiveness.
"My happiest memories are sun-streaked afternoons in the cinnamon arms of my Emily--the evening star
glowing in a dusk-choked sky. She wraps me in pleasure, silent except for her occasional sigh, and I
whisper, 'Keep me here, beside you, where I can breathe you in. Keep me here, inside you, Emily.'
She makes no promises, only tells me I can stay for now. 'Sometimes it's good to be lonely, good to feel 367
372
pain. But not now, my love.
Now I want you here beside me, where you can breathe me in.
And I need you inside me.
You make me young again.'
Pressed against the curve of her back, my fingers trace the contours of one breast, and then the other. Such perfection in the texture of her skin, sublime petals, pressed into recollection.
My Emily." 366
373
Whoa, Baby!
Who the hell is Emily? If I were straight, I'd have to get to know her. Think she has a brother? Wonder why I haven't heard about her before.
The classroom breaks out in applause. "Damn, Conner, could you make my poem look any worse? Here I write about getting out of lockup and you go and write about sex. Why didn't I think about that?" Maybe I would have, if sex for me had ever come close to that.
Conner's face flushes. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. 369
374
"So tell us more. 'Who is she? What does she look like? Blond, I bet."
An odd smile creeps across his face. Yes, she c blond. Everywhere. Things could get out of control, but Mr. Hidalgo reins it in.
Okay, everyone. I think we've heard enough about Emily. Now the room breaks out in a chorus of boos. Mine is loudest. 370
375
Mr. Hidalgo Takes Control
Enough, already. Mr. Ceccarelli, since you seem to be so communicative today, I'm sure you've penned a masterpiece. Please read.
I quit booing, clear my throat. "I can't write poetry, not like Conner and Vanessa can. All I have is some words. Scrambled thoughts."
Ms. Littell comes over, stands behind me, reads. You have a lot more here than scrambled thoughts, and it's most definitely poetry. Please share. 371
376
Here goes nothing. "Six years they took away. Six years not allowed to say much but 'Yes, sir; no, sir.' Today, I breathe a free
man's air, walk without sacrifice anywhere I choose. A woman passes by. Without hesitation, I say, 'Hello. Beautiful day, isn't it?' She turns
my way, smiles, a bright hint of hope that all might one day be right in whatever world tomorrow brings me." Still waiting for that. 372
377
No Applause
But I do get a couple Way to go's. Better than total silence, anyway. And I guess it was good to hustle up a halfway decent
memory. I had one or two others, but they involved Phillip. These voyeurs might like hearing about Conner's romantic
adventures, but I seriously doubt they'd want to hear about Phillip and me. Anyway, that is a very private part of my life, something I keep stashed 373
378
away and only withdraw in moments of weakness. I'd rather share tales of Ma, the ol' dead ho', or Larry the pervert, who got what he deserved.
Thank you for working with me, says Ms. Littell. I hope you'll all keep writing. There's a lot of talent in this room. Please don't waste it.
Ms. Littell takes her leave, and its on to algebra, or in Conner's case, calculus. I think he knows more about it than Mr. Hidalgo, but that's just my
uneducated opinion. 374
379
Kate Finds Me
In the bathroom. The heaves are gone, and I've blown my insides out the other end. My hands still shake and I try to comfort them with cool water.
Dr Starr heard you
weren't feeling well.
Kate's tone is almost
apologetic. She wanted
me to let you know it's
probably a side effect of the lithium.
I knew there were side effects but didn't realize they could be so intense. Depression is bad. This is worse. My brain feels like it's squishing through mud. "Can I quit the lith?" 375
380
You have to give it a chance. We'll reduce the dosage until your
body adjusts. It might
take a few weeks.
Nausea. Diarrhea. Tremors. Thick head. Mouth like cotton balls. "I need water. And I need to lie down." 376
381
No Wonder
Mama refused to stay on the lithium. Yes, she was diagnosed bipolar, with a tendency toward schizophrenia. They tried to correct her brain's mad
zigzag with medication. But she was stubborn--swore the only thing wrong with her was her damnable
sidekick, the angel.
When they locked her up, force-fed her pills, she cleared up. Sooner or later, they always let her out, and she'd be the mama we always hoped she'd be. For a few days.
That last day, she'd only been out of the hospital for a few hours.
382
Still had the bottle of Xanax in her pocket.
The only problem was she swallowed a few too many. One extra is one too
many. She yacked down a half dozen.
Her doctors said she wanted to die. I thought so too. And who was I to argue?
383
My Own Overdose
Or whatever the problem is, is making me sick again. I don't want to go to the bathroom, chance prying eyes or questions. So I lay very still on my bed, give myself to the thrashing surf inside my body, my brain.
Quick, Vanessa, think of something still, something serene. Sand. I think of sand. Lying on a thick carpet of sand, somebody warm beside me. My memory holds Trevor. I replace his face with Conner's.
Drowsy. I am drowsy in his arms, feel his bloom against the small of my back. 379
384
Like today. It is bright in the desert sun--beneath magic clouds of white. Sucked into the white, I give myself to Conner. "Make love to me," I tell him.
And he answers,
I can't deal with your
freaky mood swings,
Vanessa. One minute
you're solid, the next
you're like water.
Boiling water...
It's Trevor's voice, and
I scream. 380
385
Thursday P.M.
Dr. Starr calls me to her office, points me into a chair, laces her fingers under her chin. Where is this going?
Conner; I'm pleased with your
progress, the bulldog says.
But I really think we need to address the issue of your not wanting to go
home for a visit this weekend.
The Easter holiday provides
connection with your family.
I know that frightens you, but I don't know why. There's
no history of abuse. Why shut yourself off from them?
"You've got it all wrong. I'm not afraid of going home. It's just that I'm happier here, where I don't have to evade 381
386
questions no one wants the answers to. At least when you
ask me something, it's because you want to know what I've
got to say. Mom and Dad
expect only what they want to hear, and only then if
it's said with total respect.
Going home can only lead to confrontation. Why
would I want that when I've
finally freed myself of it?"
387
As I Wait for Her Reply
I study her face, find an odd blend of amusement and understanding. But she doesn't pretend sympathy.
You have to face them sometime,
Conner. No parent is perfect, no child always right. Climb into their shoes, take an honest look at yourself Do you like what you see? Can you try just a little to understand their point of view?
Their son tried to kill himself-- a parent's worst nightmare because they must accept blame.
They want to forgive you, but first
they have to forgive themselves.
That's tough for anyone to do; for some, nearly impossible. Do you think they're strong enough? 383
388
I just stare. How can she be so dense? She's only met them a time or two, but can't she see through the pretense?
"You really don't get them at all, Dr. Starr. Blame themselves?
Forgive themselves? For my
fall from grace? Not even!
My father can't be to blame. He's never home long enough to be an influence on me. And Mom? If she ever took
responsibility for this, what would her bridge club think? Nope, the only person
they could blame at all is me." 384
389
We're Not Through Yet
Okay, Conner And who do
you blame? Who do you think is responsible for you? She's made it a whole new game.
I've had plenty of time, alone in my room, to consider that very thing, hours and hours to hone
my reply. "I blame Dad for my drive for perfection. He's always demanded that Cara and I strive to attain the highest grade, highest score, to bring home gold. A silver medal meant losing, nothing more.
Mom I blame for making me cold. What kind of mother flat-out refuses to hold her children, make 385
390
them feel wanted, warm, safe? Emily made me feel all those things and more. Is that really so hard to understand?"
The bulldog's growl softens. No, of course it's not. But
surely you knew your affair
couldn't go on forever.
"Forever has no meaning when you're living in the moment. I wasn't ready for that moment to end."
Amen. 386
391
Easter Weekend
And the place has mostly cleared out. Aspen Springs, graveyard. Kind of fitting, I guess. My dad asked if I wanted to go visit him. Not ready for that.
Apparently, Conner wasn't ready to go home either. He's sitting, staring at mindless television. But I can tell he's not concentrating on the screen.
Unusual, considering this sitcom features big-breasted women, with a minimum amount of clothing covering their silicone.
"Hey, man. Damn quiet in here, huh?" I say. "Kind of spooky." 387
392
Not as spooky as home, he answers. Besides, I don't mind the quiet.
"Uh. Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to crowd your space or anything." No problem. Crowd my space. I'm done brooding, anyway.
Brooding? Good word, one I've never once used. "About what?"
Just thinking about home. Will I ever want to go back there? 388
393
Carmella Bustles In
Hey, you two. Want some company? Looks kind of lonely in here. She plops down on the couch, very close to Conner, who doesn't move.
"You stuck here with us this weekend, Car?" I measure her proximity to Conner, wonder if she's flirting on purpose. "No place better to go?"
She giggles. What could be better than spending time with two gorgeous guys? And, if you want, I've got permission to take you out of here tomorrow.
394
Conner stirs, moves his leg even closer to hers, just a fraction of an inch from brushing. Out of here, where? Like maybe to San Francisco?
Carmella laughs again. I don't think we could get away with that. But we can take in a movie. There are some good ones playing.
"I'm in. But aren't they afraid we might overpower you and hit the road?" Don't even talk like that. Someone might take you seriously. 390
395
Someone Probably Should
But right now, I really have nowhere better to go. And I wouldn't want to get Carmella in trouble. Of course, I can't speak for Conner.
But he seems cool with the plan. Okay, count me in too. A movie would be great. Unless you can figure a way to San Francisco.
I'll work on that for next time. Meanwhile, can we please change the channel? Nothing worse than women with tits for brains. 391
396
Conner laughs. Oh yeah, there are definitely worse things than that. But I wasn't watching this show anyway. Here's the remote. You choose.
It's really kind of scary, sitting here watching TV with two people I like. Almost like having a real family-- not that I'd have a clue
what that was like. The closest I ever came was Phillip. And he was so sick, our time together so short, it almost
doesn't count. 392
397
Grandma's House
Feels completely foreign, completely like home. It's easier to breathe here, where the walls don't gather me in, smother me in their arms.
Hey, Nessa, shouts Bryan, come in the kitchen.
We're ready to color
Easter eggs. If we mix
blue and red, we'll get
purple. Blue and yellow
make green. Come here.
I'll show you how.
He's so excited to have me back, he hasn't calmed down for twenty seconds since they picked me up, yakking nonstop about school and his new buddy, Dean; about Cub Scouts and popcorn fund-raisers. "Be right there," I promise. 393
398
But first I need to take a little detour. I've been pocketing the lithium, so I don't spend all three
days in the bathroom.
I'm not sick this afternoon, but I feel a mad rush of blue coming on.
And here I don't have to use paper clips or pop-tops. My trusty
razor blade is in its cubby, calling out to me. Just a little slice, for old time's sake.
399
I Go into the Bedroom
Close the door, remove my steel lover from its place of honor on the closet shelf. I touch its stainless tip to my index finger. Sharp! Without pressure, it draws a crimson bead.
Peel back my sleeve---- the one that covers the barbed-wire scar, affectionately place the blade beneath my left thumb. This is the best rush of all--the moment right before the cut. It's my decision now, I'm in charge. And just as I think I'll give in to temptation, reopen the old wound, 395
400
Bryan calls, C'mon,
Nessa, please? I'm
waiting for you.
I could still do it, but I see my brother's face, scream frozen in place, and I put the blade back in its velvet sleeve.
"I'm coming right now, Bryan. Save some purple dye for me." 396
401
The Kitchen
Is a Norman Rockwell painting-- Grandma, at the sink, draining eggs; Bryan, at the table, drawing wax pictures on cooled shells, waiting for me to come help with the dye. It's all so . normal, something I rarely feel. And I'm expected to blend in, head backstroking through blue. I'm determined to do it too.
Look, Nessa. I put your name on this one.
And I drew a train on it too.
Bryan always did love trains. Once Grandma took us on the Amtrak, from Reno to Sacramento. I was pretty well bored out of my tree-- except for the cute guy sitting across from me in the observation car. And Bryan loved it so much, how could I possibly complain?
402
I saved lots of purple for you. And all the other
colors too. I know! Let's
make a rainbow.
We go to work, dying bands of blue, red, and yellow. They bleed a little, but so do rainbows. Just as we're dipping the eggs into the green, the front door opens. Grandma turns. Bryan jumps up. I can't believe my eyes.
"Daddy!" 398
403
Talk About Jumping
Through hoops! To get to go to the movie, Tony and I had to put in writing that we know our privileges
will be suspended if we so much as sneeze wrong. And just to make sure, Dr. Boston is coming along.
I suspect that's because she has nowhere better to go-- no spring break for her, I guess. Anyway, I'm happy to share a bag of popcorn with the delectable Dr. B. I hope the movie's an R-
rated romp--something sexy to fire up her pistons. "What are we going to see?" I ask. "A taste of Tarantino? Tim Burton? Don't tell me Disney!" 399
404
Carmella laughs. Heather and I were thinking more along the lines of Spielberg's
new sci-fi flick. Work for you?
Dr. Boston is a Heather.
Sounds about right. And as for Spielberg, well, we
just might catch sight of someone curvaceous and yummy, if not exactly slutty. "Sure, works fine for me. I'm easy to please."
405
We Take the Aspen Springs Limo
A minivan that must be at least ten years old. It wheezes along the icy road, a decrepit old beast, and I
hope we make it the eight miles to the theater. Spring or no, its much too cold to walk it from here.
Dahlia is with us too-- another won't-go-home. Da-hamn, it's cold out here, like a whole other planet.
Weird, says Tony, how you disconnect from what's outside when you spend your life inside.
I never know what to expect
when I walk out the door. April, and snow on the ground. Do kids
hunt Easter eggs in the snow? I was never a kid, so I don't know 401
406
"I only ever went to one egg hunt," I answer. "Our nanny took us because, to be blunt, our parents
considered such frivolity a total waste of time. Once was more than enough for me--that six-foot, pimply-faced
rabbit, leering like a lech, wrecked me for weeks. Poor
Leona thought the experience
just might affect me for life." 402
407
Enough About Giant Bunnies
We reach the theater, all in one piece, buy tickets, go inside. Just as I think this could turn into fun, a familiar voice scratches my eardrums. Hey, Conner
What a surprise. I heard you tried to die. That right?
"Hello, Kendra." Stiffly, I turn around to face the pretty blond cheerleader who drowned in Emily's wake.
I consider the accident excuse, but why even go there? "Guess I did. Next time I'll have to try harder."
Her face goes white. Don't say
that. Believe it or not, a few people care about you. One or two of us even love you. 403
408
Holy shit. How could she love me? I dropped her like a hot piece of tin. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
There's Sean. Gotta go. Hope to see you again soon, Conner.
Give me a call, if you want to.
I'm a good listener.
I shuffle off to Screen Three, settle beside Dr. Boston, try to concentrate on the black-humored movie, mind on Kendra. 404
409
The Greatest Thing
About today is how normal I feel--like totally mainstream. Okay, so I'm at the movies with two crazy people, one lonely psychologist, and one totally demented "house mother." At least I'm at the movies, a place I've only been twice before. And these freaky people feel like family.
Hey, Tony, says Dahlia, check it out. That girl has the hots for Conner
The girl in question, a too-skinny blonde, definitely knows Conner. He tells her something and she looks ready to cry. 405
410
Jeez, man, what's up with that guy? Does he have a magic wand?
"I suppose you could call it a wand," I answer, and we both bust up.
Carmella shimmies up, arms loaded with buckets of popcorn and oversize sodas. Hurry up!! hate missing the start of a movie. 406
411
I Sit in Between
Carmella and Dahlia, passing popcorn and laughing at how the girls hold their ears every time the gunplay gets real loud. Too funny.
Every now and then I glance at Conner, who's way too quiet to be enjoying himself. Dr. Boston notices too. Even in the dark of the theater, I see concern in the set of her jaw. She leans over and whispers something, and he shakes his head. Then it seems to me, 407
412
and I could be wrong, that she moves her knee so it just touches Conner's. Now I don't know which
scene intrigues me more: the one on the screen, or the one two seats away. I divide my attention between the two and make a mental note to ask Conner about the twig-thin blonde,
Dr. Boston, and Emily. Dahlia's right. His wand
must hold magic. For the first time in a long time, I feel a tug in my own magic-free wand. 408
413
I Know I Should Wait
To ask Conner about any of that, but on the way back to Aspen Springs, my mouth springs open. "Hey, Conner. "Who was the cute blonde at the movie theater? Someone you know?" Everyone else stops babbling, waits for the answer we all want to hear. It's slow coming.
Finally, he says simply, Kendra is an old girlfriend. We broke up a few months ago.
Which should be good enough, but not for Dahlia. Why? What happened?
I know Dr. B wants to know. But she says, That's Conner's business, Dahlia. 409
414
I'm guessing, thinking back to his poem, it had something to do with Emily. But Dr. Boston is right. It's Conner's business, and he doesn't
seem inclined to share. Not that I won't ask him again later. In private. When I try to pry information about Dr. Boston and
Emily. 410
415
Bryan and I Rush
Into Daddy's arms-- tan and more muscled than I remember. We kiss him, all over his face, from the apex of his buzz cut to the scrub on his chin. Finally, he pushes us away.
Okay, okay. I'm happy to see you, too. And I've
missed my crew. Stand
back and let me get a good look at you.
His eyes measure us, head to toe, as Grandma
goes to him, gently touches his shoulder. Good to have you home,
Ron. Good to hove you, oil in one piece.
Daddy stands, pulls Grandma to him. 411
416
No need to worry about that, Mama. No need at all. I still got all my
limbs, and all my wits.
But, my God, how
these children have
grown, and grown up.
Grown up? Me? I suppose I have. Killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some, after all. 412
417
I'm Glad
I put away my blade, untested. Daddy would have noticed, of that I'm sure. He and blood are buddies. Grandma's right. It's good to see him, all in one piece. When your father's always knee-deep in a conflict somewhere, you can never be certain if--or how-- you'll see him again.
C'mon, Daddy, we're
coloring Easter eggs. There c no Easter Bunny, you know, so we've got to hide them ourselves.
Bryan gave up on the Easter
Bunny last year. This year
he'll probably give up on Santa, too. Lost faith.
Makes me sad. 413
418
Be right there, son, soon as I put my things in my room. Dad pauses, looks me square in the eye. You and I need to talk. Later.
Apprehension grips my throat. "S-sure." I watch my daddy stride down the hail, one burly arm swinging his heavy knapsack, and, despite a healthy dose of fear about what he has to say to me, I inflate with pride. 414
419
Later
After a scrumptious Grandma-style three-course dinner, Daddy sends Bryan and me to our rooms.
So I can think about stashing Easter eggs, he tells Bryan.
But I know he wants to talk to Grandma in private. I leave my door cracked, hoping to hear snatches of their conversation. I do.
Why didn't you tell me about this... cutting thing?
asks Daddy.
What could you hove
done, Ron? I didn't know
myself, until it was almost... Grandma's voice cracks. 415
420
And I left you to deal with Margaret, too. I'm sorry, Mama, I didn't think... didn't realize... I mean, I knew she was sick. But I had no idea she would do such a terrible thing.
None of us guessed she was so far over the edge.
I'm just glad I was the one who found her.
Have the kids gone to visit her?
I can almost hear Grandma shake her head.
We all will, then.
Tomorrow. 416
421
Dinner Tonight
Was McDonald's, on the way back from the movie. Quarter Pounders and fries--way to pack on empty calories.
Now Tony, Dahlia, Carmella, and I are sitting around, cutting major farts. Dahlia doesn't even try to stifle hers.
Ugh! says Tony. Girl, you'll never catch a man like that. And by the way, didn't your ma
ever tell you to say, "'Scuse me"?
You oughta know 'bout catching
men, freak. And I did say excuse
me, with my butt. Apparently
you don't speak "rectum."
Everyone cracks up, except me. Nothing is funny tonight. My mood wants to swing between reflective 417
422
and halfway terrified. I'm afraid--a strange thing to say, but true--that despite whatever progress I've made, when I get out of this place, everything will be exactly the same as before--even me.
I'll still live in my parents'
shadow; I'll still drive myself to achieve impossible perfection.
And I'll never let myself believe someone really loves me. 418
423
Two Ativans Toward Sleep
I lie in bed, listen to the grind of wind against cinder-block walls. I'm not sure how to unwind this coil of images flashing inside my brain. Some are "borrowed" from the flick we saw today: good people, slain by evil
automatons; the slightly effeminate hero (and why does he come to mind?); the geeky alien zero--
apparently, advanced civilizations send them off in their latest spacecraft to defend home and planet.
The meds kick in and here comes the princess--all curves, in a tight blue dress. Blue... tight... Heather. Pretty name. Sums 419
424
her up completely. Oops. transformation, titian hair bleaching blond, gray eyes tinting blue--Kendra, sweet temptation.
Some of us love you, she whispers, tossing her long, golden hair.
Why can't you love back, Conner? What the hell's wrong with you?
I want to blame Mom, Dad, Emily, and I do. But there's someone else, too, in a sliver of memory. 420
425
Easter Sunday Morning
I wake, not exactly refreshed. Despite the meds, I tossed and tumbled, caught in the claws of a dream-disturbed night.
Beyond the window glass, a silver glint stabs my eyes. I turn on my side, refuse to budge, no hint of sound outside my room. All this silence, wrapped around Sunday morning, reminds me of home. Now I feel trapped beneath my blankets. I throw them off, stomp to the door, stick my head out in the hall. "I have to pee." Nothing. I don't know what's in store for me if I go without permission. But I really have no choice. I pad to the bathroom, hope my morning "condition" 421
426
will allow me to pee after all. I'm still waiting for "deflation" when Tony walks through the door. He gives me a prime once-over.
Hey man. Nice firewood. He grins, then looks away and changes the subject. Kind of creepy
today, with nobody here.
Totally shriveled, I finish my business. "Must be somebody here, somewhere." I wash my hands, splash the crust from my eyes. 422
427
Holy Crap
It's the first time I've seen Conner exposed, and boy, what exposure! The guy is built like a mule. No wonder women lust after him.
I'm lusting a little, myself, but manage to keep it in check, except one comment about his wood. A guy likes to know he's appreciated.
I watch him splash his face. Cold water, I bet, proving himself macho.
Damn, that's cold! He catches my smile in the mirror. What's so funny?
"Nothing. Just thinking about yesterday. Carmella was funnier than shit." 423
428
Conner drops his defensive
stance. Yeah, she was. Too bad I warn 't in the mood to laugh.
He opens the door. "We noticed. What was up with you, anyway?"
Up comes the wall again. I don't know. Maybe they need to up my meds again. 424
429
I Doubt That
But know better than to say so. "Well, I'm catching a shower. Carmella said we can go to church in Reno this morning. Going?"
I don't know. Maybe. Guess it's better than sticking around here, playing with... uh... Something close to panic fills his eyes.
"Your firewood?" I laugh and Conner has to, too, or look like a total fool.
I'd better get dressed. See you at breakfast. It smells pretty good today. 425
430
I turn the faucet to steamy, step under, and let its hot fingers touch me all over, trying not to think about the last time
hot fingers (real ones) touched me all over. It's Easter, the holiest of holy days, and at the moment I'm feeling like a world-class sinner.
My brain tells me it's all wrong, the way my body's responding to thinking about sex, the last time I had it, and when I might have it again. 426
431
Not Quite Free
But out from behind locked doors, for the second day in a row, it doesn't even matter that it's snowing--on Easter.
Dahlia's pissed. We get enough of this Jesus junk every other Sunday.
But Paul had to drive 'cause Carmella freaks when it snows. So it was all of us, or none of us. And Conner and I voted, two to one, to go.
Carmella chose the church. I don't do Catholic anymore, not since I got divorced. 427
432
Twenty--three and divorced already! At least she doesn't have kids. (I don't think.) We turn into a crowded parking lot, and I notice Conner begin to squirm.
Here? he says. Do we have to go to this one? His eyes scan the cars, settle on a black Lexus. They're here, he says. I can't go in. No way.
"Who's here?" I ask, but I suspect the answer, and it's quick to come.
My family. 428
433
All Dressed Up
In the best of our best Sunday clothes, Bryan, Grandma, and I pile into the rented SUV, wait for Daddy. Finally, he comes out the door, in full-dress uniform, boots spit-polished until they shine like satin. He doesn't wear a smile.
I'd forgotten it snows
here in April. I thought
I'd left that behind, in that godforsaken place. Hell, I bet even
Allah doesn't go there.
Oh, well, we'll make the best of it, I guess. Ready?
No! I'm not ready. I want to go back to Aspen Springs, where it's safe, predictable. Where my secrets and I can hang out, undisturbed. 429
434
I don't want to go see her, not there. No one belongs there, just like no one belongs in Afghanistan, if Daddy's word can be trusted. And I have to trust it. Don't I?
All right, then. Here we go. The O'Reilly family, all together again.
Almost all together, he means. 430
435
Giant Flakes
Of heavy, wet snow splat against the windows. Daddy cruises slowly, and I understand he doesn't want to go where we're going either. It's a duty thing.
Thank God for the lithium. It really seems to have kicked into gear the last couple of days. My hands still shake sometimes, and my mouth is dry most of the time, but it is easier to hover up out of the blue.
Dad took me aside earlier, while Grandma helped
Bryan get dressed. 431
436
Nessa, girl, I know it's been tough, trying to take
your mother's place,
'specially seeing her at her worst and all. I want
you to know that she was a real good woman, when she wasn't in a bad space.
"I know, Daddy."
You'll be a fine woman
too. We'll get you the help
you need, hear me? I don't
want to lose you, too.
I'd never seen him so soft before. It wasn't what I'd expected, and it grabbed my breath away. He pulled me into him, where I couldn't see him cry. But I could feel him tremble. 432
437
He's Hard Again Now
And I wonder how soft he'd be if I confessed how I left Mama, blank eyed, in a pool of overdose- induced peace. My arm twitches and, lithium or no, I want to open a vein, bleed out the guilt.
Your grandmother tells me
you'll go into a wilderness
survival program soon, says Daddy.
Really? says Bryan. Cool!
"I guess so," I answer, not sure what "soon" means. "That's Level Four, the last step before I come home."
You've never done anything like that, have you? 433
438
The closest I've come is a hike in the woods with Grandma and Bryan. "No."
When the time comes, you cowboy up. You're tough, just like your father
"No one's as tough as you, Daddy. But I'll try."
Oh. Here we are.
He slows to a crawl and we turn into a snow-covered parking lot. Everything around us is gray stone, frosted white. Spooky. My heart falls into my tummy. Tough?
Not me. 434
439
Almost May
The weather warms, the hills start to thaw, and I can run the perimeter of the big fenced compound. My heart pumps against the scar on my chest, bare beneath the afternoon sun. Tony catches up, and I push harder, dare him to keep up.
Surprise. He can. Not only that, but he's a lot more buff than I would have expected, and completely at ease with my pace.
Mind f I run with you? It's
good to be challenged. I used to run every day in lockup.
I should have kept at it.
"You're still in decent shape. Did you lift in lockup too?" Yeah, and at the gym when I got out. For a few months, anyway. 435
440
At the gym? I had the idea Tony was a basic street kid. But after Philip died, it was all I could do just to eat.
"Phillip? Who was Phillip?" Boyfriend? Brother? Uncle? He was half foster father half my best friend in the world.
We run in silence for another three laps. Hard. Harder. Side by side in friendly rivalry till we're ready to collapse. 436
441
We Hit the Shower
To wash off some well-deserved sweat. Tony makes a point of looking the other way, but I haven't felt uncomfortable yet, being naked around him. Stanley is much creepier. That boy should not be allowed to touch himself with soapy hands.
"So, Tony. How was your visit to your dad's?" Dr. Boston talked him into it--it's a prerequisite for wilderness camp, one I have to face myself, before long. After my gutless performance on Easter, I wonder if I can score the balls.
It went okay, I guess. He's got a sweet house at Tahoe--not huge, but more than I'm used to, on a street with its own private beach. 437
442
His wife, Talia, is nice, not real
bright, but what could you expect from someone who fill in love with my dad? She was polite, and a real good cook. No wonder
Pa married her! 'Course, if she doesn't quit cooking pasta, he'll
end up buried before his time.
"Pasta, till death do us part. A slice of Italian-American life." We laugh, but I think that price isn't so dear for a few good years together, well fed and otherwise satisfied. Nothing at all to dread about that scenario. 438
443
It's Better Than What I've Got
To face at home. Two cold people, who can't remember why they fell in love in the first place. If they were ever in love. I chew on that as we dry off, get dressed. "Did your dad ever really love your mom?" I ask. But I'm betting he'll go to bat for love.
Well, yeah. At least I think so. Hell, maybe not. Fuck, Conner. Maybe there's no such thing. Lots of people rot, waiting for it.
Okay, I was wrong. It's weird, how Tony and I are on the same page, with some regularity. "You don't by some remote chance happen to be a Republican?" Uh. No. I'm not into politics. Why? Are you--a Republican? 439
444
I stop and think--really think. "My parents are steadfast conservatives. So maybe I'm a Dem after all." (Probably not.)
Good to know. Because any
"party" that shuts its doors on the pool gay, or otherwise
"useless" gets my hearty F U
Right on. If I ever actually grow big enough huevos to chance a visit home, I'll consider letting them know I've become a Democrat. 440
445
I Don't Tell Conner Everything
About last weekend. Like how, despite all Pa did to make me feel at home, I was a complete stranger under his roof, and I doubt that will change.
How the big bed in the spotless wine red bedroom made me feel lonelier than ever. I've never, not even once in my life, slept in a bed like that--so much room, such heavy warm covers, deep, fluffy pillows. I felt like I was drowning in comfort, choking on the idea I could ever belong there. 441
446
How even though I had plenty of meds, supplied by Aspen Springs, I sneaked into Talia's bathroom, borrowed a Valium or three.
Pop a Valium with a Prozac, you don't care where you are, or who's talking in the other room, not even if you know they're talking about you. At least the combination put me in a place where it was easy to keep my big mouth shut. Who needs confrontation? 442
447
Apparently, Stanley Does
He's in a mood at group this afternoon, and it's going to be hella interesting because the person he's set on taking on is Dr. Starr.
Life is all about choices, the bulldog says. Let's talk about the choices you'll make when you leave Aspen Springs. Where will you go from here?
Stanley leans his chair back on two legs, sticks a finger up his nose. I'm gonna go find me a cute little girl and show her the business end of Stanley. 443
448
First, I suggest you sit that chair back down on four legs. Now tell us what you meant. Usually, "the business end" refers to a weapon.
Stanley stands, smiling as his right hand falls toward his zipper. That's right. And this right here is my weapon of choice.
Damn if he doesn't yank his ugly little thing right out of his pants. The girls scream, Dr. Starr's eyes go huge, and Stanley starts to laugh. 444
449
No One Dares Come Between
Stanley and his target, except for Vanessa, sitting smack in his path. Come on, Stanley, she says. You don't really want to mess with Dr Starr do you?
Is she crazy? That fat fuck will go right over the top of her. Stay out of this, bitch, or I'll take you out too, promises Stanley.
Everyone pushes back into the wall as I start toward Vanessa. But before I can get close, Conner plants himself right in front of Stanley. Far enough. 445
450
Stanley stops, but only for a second. He raises his hands, fists tight. I'm not afraid of you, preppie. Get the hell out of my way.
Dr. Starr moves toward the door, knowing help lies not far beyond. But Conner takes control, warning, Just give me an excuse to kick your ass.
Believe it or not, Stanley does, moving straight into Conner, swinging. Conner lifts a defensive arm, knocks Stanley off balance, takes a swing of his own. 446
451
OMG!
Conner is so incredible. In one movement, he drops Stanley to the floor like a swatted fly. Paul and Stephanie rush through the door, but the whole ugly confrontation is over. They drag Stanley, sobbing and slobbering, to his feet, shriveled penis still exposed.
Put him in isolation, says Dr. Starr. I'll call
juvenile detention.
The rest of you can go
back to your rooms.
We're finished for today.
Conner may I speak with you for a minute? 447
452
I hold back while the others start toward the door. I want to take in Conner, barely breathing hard after playing hero. I watch Dr. Starr's fingertips rest lightly on his shoulder, and I fight a jealous shiver.
He's fine, isn't he?
"Tony! You scared the bejesus out of me!"
Sorry. But he is fine, isn't he?
"Yes, he is." Suddenly, I notice I'm floating in a cloud of white. 448
453
It's Weird
Because since I've been on the lithium, I haven't gone manic at all, although I have fallen back into the blue zone several times. Dr. Starr says lithium works faster against the white.
Yet here I am, feeling fearless (which explains my earlier lunacy--Stanley could have knocked me senseless); feeling stimulated (by the hysteria and close call, but more by Conner, standing up for me, standing close to me); feeling alive (straddling the razor wire).
You're blushing, whispers Tony.
What have you got on your mind, Vanessa? 449
454
"Like you can't guess." Oh yes, it's on my mind-- Conner, lying with me in a bed of tall, cool grass. Conner, leaning over me, his long, lean body exposed. Conner, kissing me with his luscious mouth...
Here he comes. You
might want to close
your mouth.
You're drooling. 450
455
A Slight Exaggeration
At least I think so. I circle my lips with my tongue, hoping to catch any stray drool, as Conner comes very close.
He reaches out, touches my cheek. You okay?
My heart threatens implosion, but I manage to fake cool. "Just fine. Thank you, Conner."
He shrugs. No problem. He had it coming.
What did the bulldog
want? asks Tony. You in any trouble?
Nah. She thought he had it coming too. Hey, who knew Stanley had the balls? 451
456
Balls? You mean you
could see them, too?
We all crack up and Dr. Starr clears her throat. "I think that's a hint. We'd better go." Tony leads the way.
Conner falls in, very close behind me.
You have to be more careful, he whispers. I won't always be around to protect you.
His voice is chocolate-- sweet, smooth, rich...
... foreboding. 452
457
Actually Dr. Starr
Wanted to strongly suggest I go home this weekend. You're ready, Conner You are stronger than you know.
"Why do you say that? Because I took care of Stanley? He's nothing but mouth. But home? I'm afraid of there. Too many judgments."
You want to get out of here
sometime, don't you? Our next
Challenge program starts in two
weeks. Chew on that for a while.
So I'm chewing. I do want to get out, but where, oh where, will I go from here? I've always looked forward to senior year, varsity football, cheerleaders' panties. But I can't go back to school now. Everyone thinks I'm some kind of nut, and fuck, 453
458
they're right. I am. I've been here, trying to get a handle on my craziness, for months.
But, despite all their prying,
Drs. Starr and Boston are not even close to fixing me. If I told them every secret, an overdose of stinking truth, would they break down and admit I'm damn near as warped as Stanley? That's an eye-
opener and, shit, it's true.
459
But hey, Guess What
Crazy means I'm not liable for my actions. So screw it, I'll go home, propped up on Prozac against distractions like my mom and dad bitching at me, Cara, and each other; like Mom and Dad quizzing me about school, my future and Emily, certainly not in that order. Meanwhile, I'm going to catch up with Vanessa. Someday I want more than her smile.
Does that mean there's hope for me after all? She doesn't have a single crows-foot, no cigarette taint to her laughter.
A wedge of crazies shuffles along the corridor, and Vanessa and Tony walk slowly, at the rear of the throng. 455
460
I watch Vanessa sway her hips and a sudden urge comes over me. Not liable for my actions, I surge straight ahead, push my body against hers. She slows even more, letting me nest against her, as if she knows what I've got in mind.
I lift her hair, bend, and drop my lips to her neck, kiss the soft pulse behind her ear. She slips her hand into mine.
Mmm. She sighs, and I know she wants to kiss me back.
But this is not the place. "Soon,"
I promise her. Very soon. 456
461
Tony Tosses a Jealous Look
Over his shoulder. Weird, but I get the feeling he isn't jealous of Vanessa. Somehow, he seems jealous of me.
"Hey, Tony," I test. "I'll give you a kiss too, if you say please." You wish, he jabs. But I prefer a man who likes to be on top.
"Ouch, little brother! I like it on top. And on the bottom. And standing up. And... Oh, man, I gotta stop or go jerk off'."
Oh, yech, says Vanessa, but she says it with a laugh. Guys are just the nastiest creatures. Don't the two of you agree?
Tony slips right into "gay." Of course, you luscious girl. And that's how I love 'em--
nasty, sweaty, meaty and coarse. 457
462
"That's how I like my women, too." Too brave. Vanessa's scowl could cut me in half. I backpedal, fast. "Except you!"
We reach the gender T-- boys go right, girls straight ahead, past the rec room. Vanessa stops to blow two kisses--one toward Tony, the other to me, and I think maybe I could learn to love someone, after all. I drink the thought, try hard to swallow it. 458
463
Three Days
Since they hauled Stanley away and now, I hear, he'll be back this afternoon. His parents must have way deep pockets. That dude should be locked up like
Hannibal Lecter--behind shatterproof glass, so science might have a chance to discover some unidentified mental defect. Stanphrenia. Yeah, that's it.
Oh well, he'll be Level One again, so I may not have to see him, long as I go to the Challenge. Some people here are afraid to go. Not me. 459
464
A few weeks climbing obstacles, sleeping outside, building fires without matches, and eating out of cans? Sounds about like living on the street.
Six of us are eligible for the Challenge now--
Lori, Dahlia, Justin, Vanessa, Conner, and me.
Well, Conner will be, if he makes it through this weekend. I don't know exactly what's waiting for him at home. I just know he's a lot more scared of there than he is of obstacle courses. 460
465
I Wish I Could Be a Mirror
On one of those walls, but I can't, so I'll head on over, see if I can talk to Vanessa, who's reading in the rec room. The other girls are yakking nearby.
They never ask Vanessa to sit with them. Or if they do, she always says no thanks. She's a worse loner than I am. Not as bad as Conner, though.
Loner or no, I plop down beside her. "Hey, you. Whatcha reading?" Even before she looks up, I can see her smile, in the corners of her eyes. 461
466
Finally she lifts her gaze from her book, and her smile is worth a thousand words. Hey, Tony. Thanks for saying hi. It was feeling lonely in this noisy room. You always seem to know when I could use a friend. Sit down, okay? Her warm hand finds mine, pulls.
I sit very close to her, and I'm glad when she doesn't take away her hand. It's warm. Soft. Girly. Like in the movies, I lift it, kiss softly. 462
467
A Strange Light
Fills Vanessa's eyes. Confusion? Clarity? Disgust? "What? You never had a guy kiss you before? Oh, yeah. You did. I saw, remember?"
She smiles. I'm not quite senile yet, dear To answer your question, yes, I've had lots of guys kiss me. Just none quite like you.
"Quite like me, meaning gay?" I pretend hurt. "And what do you mean, 'lots of guys'? Can you quantify that for me?" My turn to smile. 463
468
"Lots of guys," meaning too many--I didn't even like all of them. Now she brings my hand to her kiss. "Quite like you," meaning special.
Tony, no one in here, including Conner, treats me with the kind of respect and friendship that you do. Anyway, all "gay" means to me is happy.
"It doesn't mean that to me, Vanessa. My lifestyle has caused a lot of pain. I hope to change that when I get out of here."
I do? 464
469
Tony Is So Different
From what I thought him to be, the first few times I was around him. Initial impression: funny, not particularly intelligent, homosexual to the point of caricature.
Current impression: funny, way smart, and not just street smart; sensitive but strong. Gay? Maybe, but there is a definite attraction between us. And gay, straight, or somewhere in-between, I love him.
Suddenly, I want to tell him. "I love you, Tony." I expect a smart-ass reply, or at least surprise. But I'm the one who's surprised. 465
470
I love you, too, Vanessa, and in my life, love is rare.
You are rare--someone who bothered to scratch under my skin and find the person
beneath. No one else ever
did that, except for Phillip.
But I don't have him to fall back on anymore.
"Tell me about Phillip," I say, "and I want to know everything. How did you meet? Were you a couple? Did you love him, too?"
He spends the next half hour telling me all about Phillip. I'm glad he was Tony's friend. I wish I had a friend like that. Or maybe I do. 466
471
After a While
The conversation veers toward Conner. Why is he always on both of our minds? "You and Conner seem pretty tight lately," I say. "I think I'm jealous."
Of me or him? Tony jokes. Either way, no worries. We haven't made out yet. I have seen him in the shower, though. Mm, mm, mm.
"Now I know I'm jealous." We laugh, but the picture of Conner in the shower, water streaming down over his muscular body, lodges in my brain.
You like him a lot, huh? I do too, but not in the way
you think. And I'm not really sure why. He's not easy to get close to, not easy to understand. 467
472
"It's not easy to get close to anyone in here, Tony. Everyone's afraid of everybody else... maybe because we're all afraid of ourselves."
Tony mulls that over, nods.
You know, I think you've got a great future
ahead of you--as a psychologist.
But I'm not afraid of one
person--you. I hope we can
stay friends when we get
out of here. 468
473
I Hope So Too
And I tell him so, but then admit, "My grandma will be good with it, but my dad probably won't understand. He thinks gay people are freaks."
But you don't think that way. Why not?
I shrug. "I take people at face value. Besides, you don't have to be gay to be a freak. Just look at me."
Being bipolar doesn't make you a freak.
"Sometimes it does, Tony. Sometimes it does."
I think you're just about perfect, Vanessa. 469
474
I glance down, notice we've been holding hands this entire time. "I've been pretty screwed up for a while. But I feel a little less freaky now the lithium is starting to work, and the side effects aren't as bad."
I'm feeling better too.
Like maybe there's a place for me--a place I might even
want to be. Phillip told me
there was, but after he died,
I didn't want to look for it.
"I understand." And I do. Death can do that to you. 470
475
Home Sweet Home
I've never really thought about how it looked before-- it was just the place I ate and slept. But now, sitting in Mom's Lexus, parked in the wide, curved driveway, I stare at the oversized Tudor, decide its truly obnoxious.
Maybe it's because I've lived in a tidy, cell-like room for the past dozen weeks, but "home" looks more like a hotel than a house--sprawling, coiffed and manicured, impersonal as hell. Four people, living in five thousand square feet? Absurd!
Mom chauffeured, assaulting
me with regulations: No phone
calls; no unsupervised jaunts; no meds. My expectations 471
476
are high that you can return to a normal life. That won't
happen if you 're constantly
stoned. Are you strong enough to make it through a weekend without propping yourself up on antidepressants? Her eyes
reflected a boatload of doubt.
I shrugged, kept my mouth shut. Nothing I could have said--at least, nothing totally true-- would have made her feel better. 472
477
She's Standing
Just inside the front door, waving for me to come on. I guess I'd better, before she turns into a raving bitch.
The lawn is greening, and in the flower beds, bevies of tulips and daffodils nod colorful heads. Its all so cheerful I want to heave. On the step, I turn, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone familiar, jogging by. Nothing.
I stare hard down the block, don't find her car in her driveway. Would you please come inside? hisses Mom. Are you out of your mind?
That woman doesn't live there anymore. Did you think she would? Anger flares. "Why wouldn't she, Mother? What the hell did you do?" 473
478
What did I do? The real blame
lies with you. Your father and I
simply suggested to her it might be wise to move elsewhere.
"Emily wouldn't cave in and go because of a simple suggestion. Threat is more like it, huh, Mom? Must you always use your claws?"
Call it what you will, Conner.
With that temptation gone, it's safe for you to come home.
End of explanation.
Of course. It's her favorite expression. I feel the serious need for Prozac before depression overwhelms me. 474
479
Not Exactly a Warm, Fuzzy Welcome
Although I didn't really expect hugs, kisses, and a surprise welcome home party. Still, such direct
affirmation of my parent's power wielding is scary. Two "beautiful people" who devour opponents like bread.
Mom disappears and I start down the long hall, lined with photos and trophies. Suddenly I'm a small child, looking up at my parents' accomplishments, knowing I'm expected to hang my own on the wall, knowing I can never climb high enough.
Upstairs, I hear Cara's music. Won't she come say hello? I veer left, into the sunken living room, expecting to see 475
480
white Berber carpet, perhaps with a hint of a rust-colored stain. The carpet is a pale shade of mint--totally new.
Pretty, isn't it? Mom, come to check up on me. I decided
I didn't want white, after all. Will
you please put away your things?
I pick up the overnight bag, start toward the kitchen. Part of me wants to confront Mom. The bigger part just wants water, to push the Prozac down. 476
481
Orientation for the Challenge
Begins today. Mr. Hidalgo says we have to finish up for-credit work before we can "go climb rocks and swing from ropes." Sounds like Boy Scouts to me.
Its not exactly Boy Scouts, says Sean, a Challenge counselor. More like Swiss Family Robinson, in the high desert. You'll have limited water just enough to drink-- you'll stink before you're through, believe me.) Food is MREs--
Meals, Ready to Eat, military style. Think chicken, potato, and vegetable mush. Mmm! 477
482
Vanessa shoots a "gag me"
finger and a huge smile. Can't wait! she mouths, glancing at Conner, who sits off by himself. He's been lost in himself since his visit home last weekend. Vanessa and I have both grilled him about it, but all he'll say is, Nothing has changed. It's exactly the same and always will be.
At least my dad's home is something all new. I might even stay awhile, until one of us decides we've made a major mistake-- or my birth certificate has. 478
483
Meanwhile, Sean and Raven
Tell us all about how to prepare for the Challenge. They say to toughen up mentally; that if we do, the physical part will take care of itself. Uh--huh.
Wilderness survival is mind over matter says Raven, who's probably the strongest woman I've ever seen. Thirst. Hunger. Fatigue. All originate in the brain.
More accurately, the body's reaction to them originates in the brain. But I'll just keep quiet. They've already warned us about thinking we know more than they do. 479
484
We won't put you in harms
way, adds Sean, although it may seem like it from time to time. And we do expect you to push yourselves almost to the point of pain.
No pain, no gain--an old, very warped philosophy. But after weeks and weeks of listening to people gripe about their phobias, complexes, and manic episodes, not to mention abuse, neglect, and molestation by relatives, priests, neighbors, and stepparents, one-on-one with the wilderness sounds like a vacation to sanity 480
485
Sean and Raven Leave
Manuals and study guides, to read in our spare time. "Hey, Conner," I try; hoping to pull him into the moment. "Ever seen a rattlesnake, up close and personal?"
He looks up from his lap. Only my mother the nasty, sidewinding bitch. You? "Yeah, I saw one once. Poor, stupid snake crawled out on the freeway. Ugly!"
We won't see any snakes, guesses Vanessa. Or, if we do, they'll be moving slow. "How do you know? Are you some kind of a herp.... herpe ... snake expert?" 481
486
Not an expert, but I did have an interest in school. Maybe I'll take up herpetology if I ever make it to college. All I know is it's still pretty cold at night for reptiles.
"It's still pretty cold at night for people, too, at least if you have to sleep outside. I slept outside in a blizzard once. Wouldn't go looking to do that again."
I did that once, too, admits Vanessa, because my boyfriend wanted to. Stupid, huh? "The things we do for love... well, sweetie, I'd sleep outside naked in a blizzard, for you." 482
487
We're Up to Our Elbows
In schoolwork, Challenge study, red tape, counseling sessions, and visits from home--all to make sure we're prepared for the "experience of our lives," not to mention what will follow: going home, back to our families, friends, schools, and hangouts. The very things that put us here to begin with. Am I ready?
Dr. Starr wants to know.
Are you ready to leave
Aspen Springs, Vanessa?
Even beyond that, you'll be
eighteen in a few months.
Can you take responsibility for yourself live on your own, and deal with your BPD?
"I don't know," I admit. "But I've got to take care of myself sooner or later. I know the lithium is working, at least most of the time. 483
488
I hardly ever swing manic anymore. Sometimes I do feel depressed, but not near as much as I used to."
What about your mother? Are you ready to deal with what happened to her?
Okay, now I feel depressed. "I don't know if I can ever deal with what happened."
You have no choice, if you
want to get well and stay
that way. Can we talk about her now? 484
489
Fifteen Minutes Later
I've said all I'm going to say about Mama, except, "I can't remember her being happy after Bryan was born. I thought she should be happy-- he was such a beautiful little baby, no trouble at all, really. But she was seriously depressed, almost psychotic."
That's not unusual for someone with bipolar disorder, Vanessa.
Especially f that someone was not being treated for the condition. Had she been diagnosed yet?
"No. Not until Bryan started kindergarten. It was actually his teacher who pointed out the symptoms to Grandma. Gives you some idea of how parent/teacher conferences went." 485
490
Dr. Starr smiles. Yes, I can see that.
You know, Vanessa, the stress of pregnancy and the postpartum
period triggers depression in a lot of women. If they have a history of mental illness, they can
become dangerous. Was your mother a danger to your brother or you?
What the hey? I've got nothing to lose by telling her and it might be good to get it off my chest, now that I don't have to worry about Mama's fierce brand of retribution. 486
491
I Said Mama Wasn't sappy
"But the truth is, she was a total psycho some of the time. When Bryan was a baby, I was afraid to leave him alone with Mama. One time I came home from school and he was screaming. Mama had him in the kitchen sink, giving him a bath. The water was way too hot. I yanked him from her hands, his baby skin all red and steaming.
I have to scrub away his sin, Mama said. Jesus expects it.
"A baby has no sin, Mama," I tried to tell her.
We are born into sin and must be cleansed. Damian says so.
Dr. Starr interrupts, Who is Damian? 487
492
"Mama's personal 'angel,' who followed her everywhere. I didn't think he was very nice, for an angel."
I see. Well, it was a good
thing you came in when
you did. Was that why you asked
your grandmother to step in?
I nod. "That, and the fact that Mama beat me for 'arguing with the will of the Lord.' I didn't think much of the Lord for a very
long time." 488
493
Tomorrow We're Off
To the far distant side of the Black Rock Desert, where the mountains tumble down to crash- land on the playa. Talk about wilderness--rabbits, and the coyotes who love them, that's all we'll have for company except each other and a watchdog or two.
Dr. Boston is worried about me. The Challenge is not the place for heroics,
Conner. You'll be physically
tired and mentally drained by the end of Day Five, no
matter how good the shape
you're in. You tend to want to play savior Promise me you won't. Not out there, okay? 489
494
"I appreciate that you're worried, Dr. B. Don't be.
In fact, you've got me all wrong. No savior complex here. All I want is the key to the front door. Adios. So long.
Her smile fades. What then, Conner?
How will you deal with the kind of pressure that brought you to us? You cannot allow everyday
stress to make you put a gun to your chest and pull the trigger
I don't want to read in the paper
that my best patient has died. 490
495
Best
"What do you mean by 'best'? Least trouble? Cutest? Most likely to succeed after he's released? 'Cause I'm not that."
Why not, Conner? You were on a fast track to success. No
reason to derail, is there?
You've no lack of ambition.
She gives me this great smile and I wonder, for maybe the thousandth time, what's under her short little skirt.
I decide on the direct route. "My main ambition, once I leave here, is getting laid by some gorgeous older woman..."
I see, says Dr. B (Heather?). You know, we've never resolved
this older woman thing. Can we
possibly do that before you go? 491
496
"Since I'm leaving tomorrow, I suppose that means right now?" It does. Sometimes a feeling of attraction grows because a specific incident spurs it.
You said your mother rarely
touched you. Remember when you were small? Who did touch you?
I gasp beneath the weight of memory, recollection so evocative it dwarfs all thought of Emily.
Eyes closed, I find her there in the dark, hands like silk, the kind you want to wear close to your most private places. 492
497
Hands to Guide
Little boys to exactly those places they want to see, to touch, to taste. Perfect hands, that flaunt her beauty. "Leona."
Your governess, the one who... Heather halts midsentence, changes direction. Can
you talk about the assaults?
I shake my head. "I never thought about it that way. Leona never assaulted me, and the things she taught me
didn't hurt. I was always expected to act all grown up. She made me a man for real, and no one suspected a thing."
No adult has the right to turn a child into a man, nor to teach him things
he's too immature to learn. 493
498
Leona was a predator and you were a willing victim-- a child in need of human warmth
can easily blur the line between affection and perversion.
Your trust in Leona was not
deserved. She did assault you.
It just didn't hurt until now.
Too much to take in, too much to purge. Why must every memory, once sweet, dead-end in such ugliness?
Too much... 494
499
O We Go
On our grand adventure-- most likely the only grand adventure I'll ever have. Better make the most of it--grab life by the scrotum and squeeze real hard.
We pile into a big Suburban, Sean behind the wheel and Raven taking shotgun. Dahlia, Lori, and Justin grab the middle seat, leaving the back to Conner, Vanessa, and me.
Just the way I like it. We head east from Reno, drive for miles across vast, high desert. Vanessa's knee rests against mine. Thu can see forever! It's beautiful, isn't it?
"Not as beautiful as you," I say, loving the way it makes her blush. 495
500
God, Tony, says Lori, if I didn't know better I'd say you were playing her.
Subtle as dreams, I reach for Vanessa's hand. "Nope, not playing. Not at all." Vanessa snakes her fingers around mine, comfortable with them there. I know.
I would expect Conner to say something, or at least notice. But he just stares out the window, silent as death. I wonder where he is right now, 'cause it's not here. 496
501
Eventually, We Turn
North off the interstate, onto a backwater highway. To the east, the Black Rock Desert stretches emptiness as far as the eye can take in. I've heard
it's an inferno come summer. But spring has softened it with wildflowers and little creeks that fill big cracks in the playa. I've never been here before, but I'll be back.
"Hey, Conner, you ever been to the Black Rock before? Ever done Burning Man?" I have, interrupts Dahlia. I went with my boyfriend last year It was awesome. 497
502
Finally, Conner turns from the window. You crazy? Getting naked, scorfing tofu, and chanting mantra for three days with a bunch of dope- smoking pyromaniacs?
Dahlia laughs. That about covers it, okay. It was a total, out and out gas. Conner notices Vanessa and me holding hands. He scowls. Whatever.
"I always meant to check it out but never managed to find a way out here," I say. "Hey, Vanessa, if I can get us a ride, want to come with me this year?" 498
503
Before She Can Answer
Raven launches into a whole discussion about the Burning Man Festival--how it started as a fun Labor Day party, with campouts and bonfires.
How it has segued into a major assault on the landscape, despite the best efforts of BLM officials and every good intention of the partiers in question.
This desert may not look like it deserves respect, she says. But it is unique. Fragile. And it is up to us to protect it. I hope your time out here will 499
504
convince you of that. We are going to take you places few people ever see. The journey will not be easy. It will, as the name implies, challenge you, in mind and body. But once you complete it, I guarantee you will come away with new respect for yourselves.
Respect for myself? The concept is totally foreign. Improbable. If Challenge by Choice can do that for me, I will always be
grateful. 500
505
We Stop for Lunch
In Gerlach, the last town (if you could call it that) before leaving civilization completely. There's one gas station, one post office, and one restaurant--Bruno's.
We always stop here, says Sean. After this, it's MREs, except for what we might catch to eat fresh.
"Catch? You mean like bugs?" Images of gross-out TV shows come to mind.
No, says Raven. He means like fish. Or maybe crawdads.
Ever try crayfish, fresh from a mountain reservoir?
"Eeeeuuuu! Those little lobster-looking things? You actually eat those?" 501
506
Ask anyone in the Deep South, they'll tell you they're heavenly,
Raven says. And this time of year, they're hungry--easy to catch.
I decide I'd better eat every crumb of this giant cheeseburger and fries. It may be the last thing I'll feel like eating for a while. Sounds like we'll have some serious choices to make. Miniature shellfish. (You don't eat the antennae, do you?) Or just-add-water-to-refortify meat, potatoes, and gravy. Mmmm. I can hardly wait! 502
507
Back on the Road
And now it's a gravel road, rutted and scarred by winter, slow going in this old four-by. Everyone seems subdued, lost in daydreams, anxiousness, or the hypnotic lull of the sameness outside the windows. This is high desert at its most monotonous-- the cracked, white playa, giving way to miles and miles of sage, greasewood, and cheatgrass. And yet it's riveting, beautiful in its starkness.
"Look." I point at deep impressions, stamped in the playa. "Wagon tracks. Can you believe you can still see them? They're more than a century old!"
Beside me, Conner rouses. My great-eat grandmother came to Nevada in one of those wagons. 503
508
He pauses, then finishes. If she had stayed in Pennsylvania,
I wouldn't be here now.
It sounds more like a wish than an observation, and it makes me sad. "I'm glad you're here, Conner. I don't know what happened when you went home, but you're not the same person now. I miss the Conner who left."
He slides his arm around my
shoulder, pulls me close, whispers,
I'm sorry, Vanessa. You are the most incredible girl I've ever
known, and you deserve much
better than me. 504
509
Okay, That Worries Me
Conner has always acted completely self-assured, in control. It's part of what makes him so damn attractive. I let my hand settle on his thigh, wish we were somewhere I could kiss him. Really kiss him. "What's wrong, Conner? Talk to me."
He sags slightly, weighting the arm around my shoulder. Do you know how great it would be to live a simple existence, like the pioneers did? Okay, I know they died from diseases we now kill with little pills. And I know life was tough without electricity and running water
But think, just think, how awesome it was not to worry about college, or an upwardly mobile career No pressure, 505
510
no expectations beyond staying
alive and keeping your family safe.
He covers my hand with his.
Think how people must have
loved each other when all they had was each other.
That does sound nice, but life wasn't really easy back then, not that it's easier now. I'm still not sure what's going on in Conner's head. All I know is I want to be inside there too. So I tell him, very softly, "We may have more than just each other. But that doesn't diminish what I feel for you." 506
511
Thought I Was Ready
To graduate Aspen Springs, move ahead with my life. I even quit taking the Prozac, to prove to myself that I could.
I figured the Challenge would provide enough stimulation to let me go cold turkey. Four days later I can't decide
if that's why I feel like I'm fresh out of hope, or if it's the big, ugly picture. Never before did I doubt my ability to one day leave Mom and Dad in my dust, carve a niche, climb inside and stay there, satisfied with my personal pit of lust.
But my visit home only served to implode all perception of independence. The thing with Emily showed how focused 507
512
my parents are on exerting control indefinitely. Forever is too long to spend, forced into the "submissive" role.
And then Dr. Boston had to dredge up all that stuff about
Leona. Talk about your psychological sledgehammers.
She confronted me with a demon I had buried a long time ago, exhumed suppressed guilt I had carried far too long. 608
513
And Now, Here's Vanessa
Offering abstract confessions of affection. If I were normal, how would I describe our definite connection?
I love the way she feels in the curve of my arm. I love her unpretentious beauty, her intelligence, her nerve.
But could I ever love her? The concept of falling in love is completely foreign, something I can't bring myself to accept.
Her hair pillows my cheek and her hand on my leg is warm. I care about you, Conner and I hate to see you hurting.
I want to respond but can't find the pretty words I need. 509
514
Tony comes to my rescue. Do you two mind? I'm trying to meditate here, Ohm. Ohm. Damn! Now I'm distracted.
Once again I'm amazed at how he can jump right in and lighten even the heaviest situation. Tony is gold. More than probably anyone, he has earned my admiration.
I know Vanessa loves him too. "Why don't you join us?" I kid. "I can't speak for Vanessa, but I've always wanted to try a threesome. Hetero only, though. You up for that, Tony?" I'll try anything once. And you know, I just might like it 510
515
We Stop to Stretch Our Legs
And take a piss in the desert. Not difficult for the guys, but embarrassing for the ladies. The result is a lecture on wilderness hygiene, delivered with great panache by Raven.
Please spread out to urinate, and if you must defecate, grab this little shovel and be sure to dig at least afoot deep. You do not want to leave
your shit where lions can find it.
Dahlia is impressed. Lions? What do you mean, lions? Raven clarifies. Mountain lions--
plentiful here, but rarely seen, because generally they would
rather not mess with people. Still, the odd cat can have a taste for humans, so let me stress 511
516
the importance of knowing how to deal with a cat if you happen on one. Don't run. Make noise. Fight
back. Don't look like an easy meal.
Dahlia looks like cougar fast food--a no-brain meal. I can't believe I might have to fight a lion. That's totally screwed.
Tony jabs, No worries, dear A cat would take one bite and spit you back out. You're tasteless. Now, f you'll excuse me, I have to make a pit stop. 512
517
Almost Dark
We bump up beside a rock outcropping, get ready to camp for the night. How many of you have camped in the wilderness before? asks Sean.
"Define wilderness," I say. "Does it include the parks and alleys in Reno?" Sean cracks half a smile. That's a different kind of wilderness, Tony.
"Tell me about it. It smells a whole lot better out here in the boonies." We want to leave it that way. You already know about how to relieve yourselves... 13
518
Sean launches into a whole "leave no tracks" routine, even though we've already been over it m our orientation: Carry in, carry out; don't disturb wildlife or vegetation....
Bored immediately, I turn my attention to Raven, who's unloading gear. Some of it looks pretty heavy. Hope we don't have to carry that staff in or out, but something
tells me we do. I spy a steep trail, leading up into the mountains. No way a vehicle would manage that. Looks like we'll be walking from here. 514
519
Raven Shows Us
How to build a portable shelter--four poles and a canvas roof, no walls. Then she gives each of us a backpack, a thin sleeping bag, and barely enough
clothes to get us through three reeking weeks. We arrange our sleeping bags, boys on one side of the newly built fire pit, girls on the other, and suddenly I notice how cold it becomes, once the sun takes a dive. Better gather some firewood, Sean says, before it gets much darker
We all spread out, looking for something that qualifies. Mostly, it's sage twigs. 515
520
Sage burns hot and fast. Better get plenty, Raven warns. It's going to be a cold one.
Raven lights the fire, and just about then I notice there are no lanterns. No cookstoves, either, she says. Did you expect a Coleman display?
All that stuff is heavy, not what you'll want to be carrying in your packs over miles of rough territory, let alone up a rock cliff. 518
521
Things Swim into Focus
For some stupid reason I had it in mind that we'd do a little hiking, a little climbing, then return to our neat little camp for dinner and bedtime stories.
Looks like tonight is the closest we'll get, and we're already miles from anything I pictured. The others look nervous too. Except for Conner.
Since we had a big lunch, says Raven, we'll skip MREs tonight, and stick with fresh veggies and fruit. Even if you don't really like them, you'll miss them soon. 517
522
She breaks out apples, bananas, grapes, raw carrots, and broccoli, plus an assortment of crackers and cheeses. You'll miss cheese, too.
I already miss hot food, which is strange. I've gone for days with nothing more than stale bread and peanut butter. Spoiled by Aspen Springs?
Groans and crunching noises fill the cool air inside our temporary shelter. We all gather around the fire, not quite getting warm. Everyone, except Conner. 518
523
Okay, This Is Less
Than I bargained for--primitive, not to mention cold. Even around the campfire, our breath puffs into the evening air, mixing with smoke as if we're all indulging a nicotine habit. No bad habits out here, except for our meds, dutifully distributed by Raven the Taskmistress.
We sit shoulder-to-shoulder in silence, trying to snatch a little body warmth, as the meds kick in. Only Conner sits off to one side, not affected by temperature, but surely bothered by something. Despite all the ice-breaking on the way here, he's frozen solid. 519
524
One thing I notice, since I can hardly keep my eyes off him, is how he waits for Raven to turn her back before spitting out the pill she hands him. Softly, he digs a little hole in the sand with one hiking boot, slips the med inside, smoothes it over, buried treasure.
My eyes travel to Tony, and I see he is watching Conner too. Finally he glances at me, and we offer a mutual shrug. He scoots closer. Don't worry,
Vanessa. Everything will be okay.
Conner knows what he c doing. 520
525
I Wander into the Sage
For a pre-bed pee, notice how the stars have assaulted the black of night sky. The moon is on slow rise, and I'm sure I have never witnessed anything so stunning. My flashlight illuminates a path, worn through the vegetation, and I choose it as the easy way before wondering about what made the trail to begin with.
As I squat down behind a taller bush, hoping my silhouette won't be seen from the campfire, movement in the brush startles me into rising, pants dropped. I wave my flashlight, left to right, and I find myself eyeball-to-eyeball with a deer, not four feet away. I see no antlers, so it must be a doe, as scared of me as I was of her just a few seconds ago. 521
526
"Its okay, pretty thing," I say, real quiet so I don't make her even more scared. But with a flick of her tail, she dashes away, into the safety of the night.
Vanessa? Where are you? calls Raven, traipsing through the sage, hot on my trail, as if taking off, sixty-some miles to the nearest approximation of civilization, were an option.
I yank up my pants. "Over here." Trading heartbeats with a deer. "I'm coming. It's freezing out here." 522
527
Scrunched Down Into
The relative warmth of our sleeping bags, we listen to Sean, outlining tomorrow's goals:
We leave the truck here, head up into the hills. The higher we
go, the more likely it is we'll
run into snow, so the going
may get muddy. Try to avoid
slushy puddles. If your feet
get wet, you're going to blister, and we won't slow down for that--or anything that can
be avoided, with a little
common sense.
Raven adds, This isn't
TV. You may have watched
Survivor or that show called
Brat Camp. Hard as those
may look, the camera guys following everyone around mitigate real hardship. 523
528
We're not here to hurt you, but we're not going to help in situations you create, or those you can dig
yourselves out of
Back to Sean. There will be
times when you'll have to resort to teamwork to accomplish a leg of the program. Working
together is how you'll get through the Challenge, and how
you'll get through life.
Trying to find sleep, I look out at the stars, and just as I start to settle down, a coyote
starts to sing. 524
529
Coyote Booty Calls
Crack the night's smooth silence, raising quiet alarm among the ranks. "Relax, everyone. A coyote's diet is pretty
much rabbits, mice, and the occasional cat. And if you're concerned about rabies, worry more about the stray bat who happens into our shelter." God, it's great to watch them squirm, every eye straining to find an odd winged creature, flapping beneath the canopy. Yip, yip, yip invites one scruffy excuse for a canine. I hear a sleeping bag zip tighter.
At my right, Tony laughs. Relax, Justin. You know Jesus won't let those coyot's make midnight snacks out of us.
530
Justin answers, Jesus helps
those who help themselves, but I
wouldn't expect someone like you to know things like that.
What do you mean, "someone like me?" I hope that's not an attack on my character Because that is not a Christian philosophy.
Wisely, Justin crawls back into his pit of surly silence.
Quiet down now, orders Sean. You'll be getting up early. 526
531
All's Quiet
Except for the chorus of medicated snores, and I half-regret not joining them in sedated limbo.
Instead I'm lying here, on a hard crust of playa sand, listening to the desert night, inhaling sage-scented dust, blown up by a bone-chilling
wind. Seems you don't notice the cold, cradled by downers, mired in Valium dreams.
Cold or no, I will stick to my decision to rid my body of drugs while I'm out here--
supervision-free detox.
No more a.m. stimulants, p.m.
depressants, which might appeal to a very large crowd of loser
adolescents. But not me. 527
532
Mom and Dad would be proud--
Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? After all the trauma, all the drama, I'll never quite
make their greatest achievements list.
Something cheerful to think about, brain fighting my body's request for sleep. Through a heavy mist of exhaustion comes a blitz of memories--Dr. Boston, Leona, Emily, all women I tried my best to please in whatever ways they asked. And I see that it was all just a warped bid for attention from one woman--Mommy. 528
533
Pale Light
Filters through my closed eyelids, pierces my pupils, rouses me into morning, forbids any hope of sleep.
Rise and shine, happy campers! croaks Sean. Coffee's brewing. What the fuck, asshole? responds Dahlia. What time is it? Like dawn?
It's time to haul your lazy butt out of the sack! says Raven. Dahlia groans. Fine. I'm hauling. But don't expect peak performance.
No worries. No one would ever expect peak performance from you. Tony's jab draws tired laughter. Not that we don't all respect you.
Sean orders, Okay, everyone
pay attention. The morning
routine goes like this: up at daybreak, sleeping bags rolled 529
534
up and stashed in your backpacks, ten minutes for bodily functions
(please go in separate directions), breakfast, teeth, and then off we go.
I drag myself out of my cocoon, roll it up tightly as I can manage, then reach for a cup of coffee to fight the black hole of sleeplessness
I have pushed myself into. I hope Sean and Raven will take it easy on us the first day. I doubt I can cope with a marathon. 530
535
After a Scrumptious Breakfast
(Egg McMuffin--flavored substance, in a foil pouch), Raven and Sean start handing us things to stow in our packs, on top of our already wrinkled clothes.
Rope. More foil pouches. (Guess we have to carry our own gourmet goop.) One roll of toilet paper each. (Guess MREs don't make for megadumps.
Hope they've got laxatives along!) Antibacterial soap. (For hair and skin, safe for the environment.) Flint and steel. Fire-starter tinder. (We're trusting this?) 531
536
Featherlight thermal blankets. (Thank you, NASA.) Pocket hand warmers. (Where are we going, anyway? To the Antarctic?) Lip ice.
Mosquito repellent. Sunglasses.
(Awesome idea. The glare out here is killer. Sure glad someone's
got the system down.) A minifishing kit, with one
hook, one bobber, one sinker, and a small reel of line. (Hope Phillip's watching this. If so, he's smiling.) "Hey, Phillip," I whisper. "Are you there, somewhere?" 532
537
Finally , Sean Gives Each of Us
A whistle on a long red cord, just right to go around our necks and hang in easy reach. Three short blasts means you're in trouble.
Everyone has to give theirs a try. The noise scatters a warren of jackrabbits, out on a scouting expedition. What do rabbits eat out here, anyway? Sand?
Before we head out, we're going to buddy up, Raven says. Airways keep your buddy in sight, or at least know where he or she is at all times. 533
538
Raven assigns partners, choosing Lori for hers. Vanessa and Dahlia. Justin and Sean. Which
leaves Conner and me. A week ago I would
have been fine with that, ecstatic, in fact. But this
thing with Conner eighty-sixing his meds has me worried.
He buried his Prozac again this morning. I know
quitting cold isn't always a problem, but it can be.
What if he drops off the deep end? "How responsible for our partners are we?" I ask. 534
539
Conner Shoots a Curious Look
In my direction. Hell, maybe he's worried about looking out for me. Good question, replies Sean. And the answer is: ninety-nine percent.
"What about the one percent? Can you be more specific, please?" I can. If your buddy decides to run off into the night, don't go too.
Everyone takes a minute or two to digest the buddy system thing. Now, Q & A:
Q: What if my buddy breaks a leg?
A: Blow your whistle. We'll triage on site, call for help. 535
540
Q: What if she won't participate? A: Encourage her. Get in her face if you have to. Q: What if that doesn't work? A: Blow one long blast on your whistle; leave it to us.
My turn. "And what if your buddy flips out completely?" Sean looks at Conner, looks back at me. Is that really a concern?
I turn toward Conner, assess the dark circles around his sleep-deprived eyes. He smiles a very strange smile and gives a little shrug, and I say,
"Guess not." 536
541
Buddies with Dahlia
Wonderful. She and I have probably exchanged a hundred words in the last fifteen weeks. But hey, I guess that's the point. Challenge by Choice-- the way to form lasting (?) friendships. I decide to break the ice. "Are you into hiking?"
You kidding? Most hiking
I've ever done is from my house down to the corner 7-Eleven.
What about you?
"I've been a few times, with my grandma. She's in pretty good shape for her age. She likes to hike Mt. Rose Meadows, and we did part of the Rim Trail, too." 537
542
Holy crap! She must be in pretty good shape. Is she old, or what? 'Cause my grandma is older than dirt.
I shrug. "Almost sixty. But she always seemed younger to me than my mom did. My mom was born ancient."
Your mom is the crazy
one, right? Straight to the point.
So I'll give a direct answer. "She was." 538
543
Before I Eave to Offer Details
Raven rounds us up.
Okay, everyone ready?
Today's leg isn't really
difficult. It's more to assess
what shape you're in than to really challenge you.
Our goal is ten miles before nightfall.
Ten miles isn't difficult? I've never walked more than five at any one time with Grandma. But I guess I'm up to the task. Raven and Lori take the lead as we start up a gradual grade on a wide, well-maintained trail.
Keep a nice, steady pace and watch your posture, or your backs will curse
you. Don't overcompensate for the weight of your packs,
Raven instructs. 539
544
Right about now, I start to feel the weight of my pack. Immediately, I want to compensate--a major trick of the mind? I glance to my right, see Dahlia is fighting the same urge. "Wonder how long it takes before our backs start swearing."
I woke up this morning and my
bock was already cussing big-time,
Dahlia replies. If you can't hear
it, you need a hearing aid! 540
545
Two Hours Later
My back is cussing too. In fact, with all the spinal swearing going on, you almost can't hear the moans and groans of our feet.
Finally Raven directs
us off the trail, into a little
clearing in the sage. We'll
take a breather here.
Everyone drink water, even if you don't think
you're thirsty. Believe
me, you are, and staying
hydrated is vital.
Water never tasted near this good before. I polish off a bottle, realize I can't just toss the empty Hang on to those bottles, says Sean. We'll refill them
when we get to the creek.
Anyone hungry? Tough!
Lunch isn't for an hour.
Backpacks up. Let's go. 541
546
Sean and Justin trade places with Raven and Lori. Conner and Tony move behind them, in front of Dahlia and me.
As Tony passes, he touches my arm. You okay? 'Cause
I'm one sore puppy already.
"Woof, woof," I joke. But right now it doesn't seem
too funny. 542
547
We've Been Walking
For three days, uphill, loaded with heavy packs. Oxen. That's what we are, just like those whose time-smoothed tracks
we follow. I keep wondering if we're going somewhere, or just wandering at random, not even Sean knowing our final
destination. The weather is typical spring in northern Nevada--tepid during the day, and that's a very good thing.
Hiking these hills in the heat of July would be insane. So far the grade isn't bad, the trail well marked and dry.
But we haven't covered near the distance Sean and Raven expected to, mostly due to Lori's insistence that she 543
548
"can't take another step." That's
bull, of course, but her less-than-
adequate speed has kept us from taking full advantage of the relatively easy terrain. Things only get harder from here--steeper, more slippery-- so unless the bitch grows wings
our progress will slow even more. Not sure why it matters, especially if wandering at random actually is the score. 544
549
I Decide It Isn't
Because as we set up camp for the night, I hear Raven and Sean discussing tomorrow. Seems our first real test is in sight.
So what do you think? Are they all up to the gorge? asks Raven. Guess we'll find out, answers Sean. Anyway, we haven't had a fall yet.
I'm a little worried about Lori. She's not exactly fit. She will pose a challenge, but hey, no guts, no glory.
"Glory" is not in her dictionary. I hope "vertigo" isn't either She's your buddy, sweetheart. Just show her the rope-a-dope.
Should be an interesting day. I'll be sure to let Lori and Raven go first. That way I won't miss a thing. 545
550
I unroll my sleeping bag, smoothing the sand beneath best I can, wishing the stone-
free surface was soothing
enough to actually let me sleep. Four nights without drifting all the way off into deep REM refreshment
has left me disoriented. So far only Tony has a clue, but with my thought processes bordering on bizarre, that's likely to change any time. Maybe exhaustion will
conquer my brain tonight, beat it into sublime submission. 546
551
With a Nod
Toward early homo erectus, Tony lights this evening's fire, using only flint and steel. Around bites of pepperoni paste he asks, How did humans ever survive? I mean, people consider themselves so clever but really, learning to light a fire like this had to be an accident, or a direct communication from our Great Dad Above.
Sitting close to the blossoming
fire, Justin squirms visibly. I wish you wouldn't use
terms like "Great Dad Above."
Tony smiles. Why not? Do you really think He cares about terminology? I bet He worries more about how few 547
552
of His greatest experiments
believe He exists. With just
that mustard seed of faith, think
what people might achieve.
"Faith is for little children and giant fools. Don't tell me you believe in Santa, too!" Defiant, I hardly slur at all.
Tony grins. Of course, and the Tooth Fairy, too. All fairies, in fact. Then he grows serious.
I'm sorry you're afraid of truth.
Me too. 548
553
I Am Firestarter
And I feel powerful. Strange, because I never felt that way lighting a match, which really is an awesome invention.
But conquering flint and steel gives me a kind of primal satisfaction. So far only Conner, Dahlia, and I have figured out how to do it.
Vanessa comes over, gives me a high five. Way to go, Tony. If I ever decide to go camping again, I'll invite you to come. 549
554
"Promise? Maybe we could bring along a sleeping bag for two. It would have to be a whole lot warmer than these half-ass units."
No doubt about that. She sits beside me, real close, and for about the thousandth time, I'm amazed at how she makes me feel.
As inconspicuously as possible, I slide my arm around her waist, put my mouth against her ear. "I don't ever want to lose you." 550
555
Losing Her
Would snuff the light out of my life--a light I never believed I could find again after Phillip died. Yet here it is, sitting right next to me.
Shit. Damn. Fuck. On the far side of the flames, Dahlia is working her hiking boots off swollen feet. Check out this blister!
Raven moves into paramedic mode, rushing to Dahlia's side as if she's having a baby or something. She pokes and prods.
556
It's ugly, all right. Vanessa, get the first aid kit. First, we need some rubbing alcohol. Okay, this is going to hurt a little...
Quit screaming. It can't hurt that bad! Now, use this ointment. Dab it all over the blister, then leave it exposed.
Dahlia keeps yelling. You want me to go barefoot? I'll freeze. A blister like that needs air. Later we'll fix you up with a moleskin. 552
557
Dahlia Bitches Until Bedtime
I could kick her ass, but not because she's causing a major scene over a minor problem, making a mountain (ha-
ha) out of a moleskin.
No, I'd like to wring her scrawny neck for taking Vanessa from my side to go play nurse's aide. I can still feel the warmth of her.
I settle into my sleeping bag, wondering at this change that has come over me. Not only do I love Vanessa, I think I want to make love to her. 553
558
Next to me, as if reading
my mind, Conner says, You're really in love with her, aren't you? Do you want to be with her... I mean...you know?
I keep my voice very low. "I'm really in love with her, yes. She makes me feel like no one ever has. As for the rest, maybe."
I think you should. You told me once you weren't really sure who you are. Being with Vanessa might answer that question for you.
It just might. 554
559
It's All So Weird
How things are turning out. A month ago I was hot after Conner. And he wanted me, I know he did. But that has all grown very cool, and it's not because of the weather. I mean, I still love him. But it's not the "hot for his bod" love I felt before, and now I want to save him. Why do I think Mr. Exceptional needs saving?
A month ago I thought Tony needed saving. But I don't think so now. And now, God help me, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with Tony. Not only that, but I'm very sure he's in love with me. Grandma once told me it's easy to overthink love, to dissect and question it until it is no more. 55
560
I'm trying very hard not to do that at this moment.
But the night holds many questions.
On the far side of the shelter, Conner and Tony are whispering, and I get the definite feeling they're whispering about me. I'd like to crawl over, burrow between them, fall asleep listening to them whisper about me.
561
Up at Dawn
I grab the little shovel and my roll of biodegradable
t.p. and head out into the brush, hoping for some private time before everyone else gets up and notices where I've gone. Talk about embarrassing! Privacy is hard to come by, with everyone in such close proximity to everyone else.
As the sun creeps higher, the sky goes from gray to vicious blue. Cold. Clear. Perfect blue. And it hits me that blue has never
seemed so beautiful. And it hits me even harder that I have not felt so good--so
well--in a long, long time. I've only thought about steel--
sharp and real--once or twice in the last few days. 557
562
When I get back to camp,
Tony finds me. Morning.
Conner says we're facing
some major challenge today.
"Other than Dahlia griping about her feet?"
Much bigger than that, although the blister may
make it even more
challenging for her, I guess.
"So what is this major challenge? 'Walking a tightrope across the Grand Canyon?"
The Grand Canyon is in Arizona. But you're close. 558
563
Before Long
Sean lays out all the details of our first real test.
Today we're going to have
some fun, crossing this little
ol' canyon on a rope bridge.
It's not so difficult, unless you happen to have a problem with heights.
I don't think I have a problem with heights. Still, "How high is 'high'?"
Around a hundred and fifty feet, says Raven.
Think of a fifteen-story
building, and you're close.
"And how far across do we have to go?"
Thirty yards. Not so far, really. But you
do need to understand the technique. 559
564
Fifteen minutes later we have a basic idea of how to cross a gorge on a network of ropes, strung at least a decade ago by a bunch of Boy Scouts.
I sure hope they earned their merit badges that day!
(You do have to do things
right to get a merit badge, don't you?) I also hope they
used rope with a minimum
ten-year warranty. As we pack up and head out, a sensuous shiver of fear works its way up my spine.
565
Four Miles
To the gorge, we hike single file. The buzz is constant. Dahlia: My blister is killing
me. I have to sit down awhile.
Tony: I wish that damn blister would hurry and finish you off. Justin: If I were you, Dahlia,
I'd worry about infection.
Lori: Jeez, Justin, don't tell her that. She'll bitch and moan all day. Vanessa: Ain't that the truth? Guess we'll just have to ditch her.
Just after lunch, we crest a small rise, and there in the scrub is a band of mustangs. The stallion snorts in surprise, but for a short moment we all freeze, humans checking out horses and vice versa. Then Lori happens to sneeze. 561
566
With a flick of his black tail, the stallion raises an alarm and charges off to the east, trailed by a battalion of mares.
Dahlia forgets her blister. Oh! My! God! Did you see that? Tony delivers his usual banter. No, D, we're all blind.
Vanessa scoots up beside him. Weren't they just gorgeous? Not nearly as gorgeous as you, Tony answers. But close, okay. 562
567
We Reach a Place
Where winter runoff has carved a fast stream through the rock. It plunges down the mountain with a huge blast of noise.
Over the creek, not very high, is a rope contraption, maybe ten feet across and flimsy. Do they really call this a "bridge?"
It consists of a single thick cable to walk on and two chest high "sides" made of crisscrossed ropes. It looks totally unstable!
Sean doesn't give us a chance to think about it too long.
The trick to crossing is keeping
your hands and fret in sync.
Point your toes to the side, walk on the arches of your
feet. Reach with your hands, move your fret, try not to rock 563
568
from side to side or you'll
lose your balance. If you keep
your eyes straight ahead and use common sense, you'll be fine.
Sean demonstrates the proper
technique, crossing easily.
Okay, who c going first? Come
on. We don't have all week.
We glance back and forth among us, no one especially wanting to step up to the plate. I'm not real keen on it myself, but what the hell? "I'm game." Safety first, Raven decks me out with a harness and helmet. What's the worst that could happen? 564
569
Feet Pointed Sideways
Walking on my arches, eyes straight ahead, I find a good hand/foot rhythm. Even so, once or twice I shift my weight
too quickly, making the ropes creak and sway. A wave of vertigo descends. I feel nauseous. Weary. Weak.
Keep going, Conner. You're doing great, encourages Sean. Water rushes beneath me, spewing foam. I want to spew too, but that would necessitate moving. "I can't." Sure you can. You're almost there now. It's a straight shot.
A gush of anger engulfs my brain. For some reason, I want to grab the guy by the throat, squeeze, cause him pain. 555
570
Not sure why I feel that way, but for whatever reason, it puts my feet in motion--slow
motion, over the water's roar.
Everyone cheers, including Sean, so I guess I won't choke
him just yet. Anyway, with my
success, the anger has vanished.
One by one, the others cross without serious incident. No one says a word about my moment of doubt, except
Tony. 566
571
Never Thought I'd See
Conner look so scared. He's always completely in control--of himself and everyone else. But he just about lost it back there. I swear, he looked like death. No one wants to talk to him about it, hut someone really should, and seeing as how I'm his designated buddy, I guess that someone is me.
"Hey, man. You okay? Jeez, I thought I was going to have to rescue you, and I'm pretty damn sure that was not a rope for two." 557
572
I expect a witty comeback.
Instead, he says, I'm not sure what happened. It isn't like I've ever been bothered by heights. But I got really dizzy.
I've got a pretty good idea what's to blame. Just don't know if I should say something. On the other hand, we have a more daunting
challenge, just ahead. "You haven't really slept so well lately, have you? I mean, since you've been off your meds." 558
573
Now I Expect Denial
But I don't get that, either. I had to quit them, Tony. They made me feel like a total loser geek. "Up" all day, drop down at night, until I wasn't sure just where I was supposed to be anymore. How can I ever feel normal, propped up (or down) by pharmaceuticals?
In a way, I have to agree. "I know what you mean. Someday I'll have to quit them too. But was this really the best time to do it?" 569
574
in hindsight, probably not. But I made my decision, and I plan to stick to it. It will either kill me or heal me. Let's hope for the latter
As we start off again, I'm more worried than ever about Conner. Part of me screams that I should tell Sean or Raven, rat him Out for his own good.
Another part insists I should keep my big mouth shut. It should be Conner's decision, as long as he isn't in danger. He isn't, is he? 570
575
We Hike for Another Hour
And now we're facing the gorge--a huge chasm between two stone walls, over a hundred feet high, and we're standing at the top of one of them.
To get to the top of the other one, we'll have to cross via a rope bridge. It's a lot more substantial than the macrame across the creek. This one has two
narrow boards for our feet. But if it happens to swing, I suspect we'll all feel about like Conner did, stuck out in the middle, nothing 571
576
but air beneath our feet. Speaking of Conner, he looks okay for the moment, stable, if just a little pale. "You cool, Conner?"
I'll be okay. And hey, f I get stuck halfway, refuse to go farther do me a favor and give me a push, okay? Not forward. Over the side.
At least his sense of humor is back. "You got it, buddy. Over the side it is." Still worried, I barely listen to Raven, giving
us instructions. 572
577
Never Knew
I was tentative about heights. Of course, I've never really put myself to this kind of test before. Hiking the Rim Trail, we were up high, but there was plenty of ground beneath our feet. Nothing under us here but a long way down.
No way you can fall,
Raven tells us. You'll be in safety harnesses, tied off to Sean or me. The main
thing to remember is to keep
moving. Stop in the middle and look down, things
might get dicey. Okay, once again, who c first?
This time it isn't Conner who volunteers. (And what was up with him, anyway?) 573
578
This time, Lori steps to the front of the line. I'll go. Always good to get these things over with.
Raven helps her shrug into a harness as Sean
crosses to the other side.
Slowly. One foot in front of the next. No problem.
Do it just like that, Raven
says. Ready? Go for it.
Cautiously, head high, eyes straight ahead, Lori does exactly like Sean did, crossing without hesitation. Across the gorge, she turns and yells, Awesome! 574
579
Justin Goes Second
And as we watch, Tony
comes up to me. You good with this? Doesn't look
too awful. Of course,
Conner would tell me my
false sense of security is due to too many drugs.
"Could be. So can I have some? Cops. Slip of the tongue. What I meant was, can I have some drugs?"
Tony laughs. Feel free to
Slip your tongue any time, long as you slip it my way.
But seriously, you feel
okay about doing this?
Justin has reached the other side. He turns, grinning, and waves. "If he can do it, I can do it." I lower my voice. "But what about Conner?" 575
580
He says he c fine, that he just felt a little queasy for a second or two. He also
said if he stops halfway one of us should push him over the side. He was at least half joking.
A crack in his rock. solid armor? "I figured he'd be the first one to master every challenge out here. Do you really think he's okay?"
Tony turns to look at Conner, standing off alone---his new MO.
No, Vanessa, he says. I don't think so at all. 576
581
As If to Prove Him Wrong
Conner strides over to Raven, climbs into a harness and, without a single misstep, handles the gorge like it was nothing more than a drainage ditch. "Okay then. Guess I'll go next."
Tony lays a hand on my shoulder. Vanessa? Just in case you or I don't make it... He grins, then leans his face toward mine, please remember this. His lips, chapped and cold, find mine. His kiss is sweet, filled with emotion. Love you.
I expect repercussions-- a warning from Raven, a catcall from Dahlia. But either no one noticed or no one cared. "I love you, too, Tony. Now wish me luck." 577
582
The harness is heavier than I thought it would be-- it makes me feel fairly secure. At least I'm pretty sure I won't end up at the bottom of the gorge, no matter what the bridge does.
As she helps me into it,
Raven says, You and Tony
getting serious? I had a different idea about him, you know.
"Yeah, I know. So did I, once." 578
583
Feeling Pumped Tonight
All of us are. Conquering the gorge was exhilarating. For me, it was necessary. Proving I could forge across without flinching means just about everything at the moment. Tonight, I really believe I can make it without meds.
After a delicious meal of pot roast mush, we break into little groups. Justin and Sean go off to talk about life, post-Challenge.
Raven joins Dahlia and Lori's conversation about safe sex, and if there's any such thing (other than masturbation).
Interesting, I guess, but not the right group for me. For once on this trip, I don't want to spend the night sitting alone. 579
584
Which leaves Tony and Vanessa. "Mind if I sit with you two?" Thought you'd never ask, says Tony. You've been kind of antisocial.
Vanessa chides, Leave him alone or he'll go away! "I guess I have been sulky. I'm prone to that, you know."
If we didn't know it before, we sure do now. Tony smiles.
Anyway, we were just discussing
your poor cure for acrophobia. 580
585
It Takes a Minute
To catch his drift. "Oh, you mean heaving me over the side? It was a much better option than leaving me hanging there."
Probably right, agrees Tony. Think how nasty you would have been by the time we headed back. Bet you'd really stink.
"In case you haven't noticed, I don't smell very damn good right now." The whole truth, and nothing but. Oh frigging well.
I think you smell like roses, Tony jokes. Decomposing roses, that is, like a perfumed bathroom at an old folks' home.
G-ross! Vanessa wrinkles up her nose. And anyway, just how
would you know how that smells?
You ever been in one of those? 581
586
Not exactly. Tony grows serious.
But I've spent time with someone
fading toward death--held his hand, inhaled the scent of living
flesh as it rots away. An old
folks' home must smell the same, and no air freshener could
disguise that odor It chokes
you, gags you, but you have to pretend that you're doing
just fine, not trembling with fear because the end is close.
You can feel death hovering, waiting for his very last breath, his final shudder; anticipating taking him away. 502
587
He's Talking About Phillip
Vanessa and I remain silent until Tony stops talking, quiets completely. A sudden chill massages my spine. Ghosts?
Ghosts, spirits, or just unfocused me, suddenly I want to know more about Phillip--what, exactly, he meant to Tony.
"I'm sorry you lost Phillip," I try. "Tell me more about him. Were the two of you in love?" Tony wants to cry.
But he doesn't. I loved
Phillip, yes, and he loved
me. But we weren't in love, not the way you might guess.
We met in the park. He was out for a walk and I was panhandling strangers, bumming
change, hoping for a score, 583
588
even if that meant offering up my body. Phillip rescued me, took me home, took me in, but never tried to have sex with me.
He treated me like a son-- his own son wouldn't talk to his old gay dad--and I let him
be the father I'd never known.
Phillip had AIDS and didn't want to die alone. You might think
that's selfish, but he gave the world to me and I will always
cherish him. 584
589
No Sex with Phillip
Is that what Conner wanted to hear? How about Vanessa? Did she wonder about that too? Probably, and I guess it might have been a fair assumption, considering everyone (except maybe Vanessa) thinks I'm totally gay. "So are you surprised that I didn't sleep with Phillip?"
Conner is slow to answer, but Vanessa speaks right up. Not really. I guess the thought might have crossed my mind, but it didn't matter 585
590
I admire your friendship with Phillip. I never had a friend that I cared so much about. Not, at least, until I met you. I wish I could have met him.
"I wish you could have too. He would have loved you, almost as much as I do." At this moment, my love for her is almost overwhelming.
Finally Conner says, pointedly, I'm confused. Are you gay? 81? In between? Do you want to have sex with Vanessa or just be her friend? 586
591
I Have to Admit
I'm pretty confused myself. I look at Conner, remember the attraction I felt the first time I saw him. Where did that
come from, if I'm not gay, or at least bi? I did ask Dr. Starr once if molestation could cause homosexual feelings later in life.
Some studies suggest a certain correlation, she said, but there is no scientific proof to support that. Truth is, we really don't know 587
592
exactly what influences
sexual preference. Environment? Genetics? Perhaps a combination of the two? Does it really even matter?
Only when you're as messed up as me, I guess. Meanwhile, both Conner and Vanessa are staring, waiting for an answer.
"Do I need a label? I told you once I've never had the chance to be with a girl, so how will I know for sure until I get that chance?" 568
593
I Don't Know What I Am
But suddenly, certainly, I want the chance to find out. And suddenly, certainly, I need to know, "Do I need a label, Vanessa? Is it important to you?"
She moves even closer, so close, we're attached. If it were, would I be here, next to you? hove you for the person I've discovered under your skin.
I don't feel cold anymore. Not outside, not inside. That space, frozen and dead for as long as I can remember, has thawed, come alive. 569
594
Another part of me comes alive, and it strikes me that I might not know what to do with it, if Vanessa--or any girl-- offers me the chance.
I've never "given," only been forced to "take." I've never had sex, gift-wrapped with love. "What's it like?" I ask. "Making love to someone?"
Vanessa takes my hand. I thought I knew, once or twice before, but now I see there was no love at all between us. I won't know until I make love to you. 590
595
Did I Just Say That?
With Conner there? Conner, who not so very long ago I thought I wanted to hook up with? Instead, I find myself head over heels in love with-- and desperately wanting to make love to--"no labels" Tony. My palms break out in a nervous sweat and I whisper, "You don't have a razor blade on you, do you?"
You don't mean that, do you? Tony almost pleads. Vanessa, you've stopped the cutting, haven't you? Please tell me you've stopped.
"No worries. I was only kidding." But I realize that isn't the truth. 591
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For the last three or four years, I've dealt with every nervous moment in my life by slipping away to a quiet place and opening my skin. It's been a ritual, and for some insane reason, I want to go there now.
Tony seems to intuit
my thoughts. You sure
you were only kidding?
Because if you want to cut because of me, I'll
step out of your life so fast!
"If you do that," I say, meaning every word to follow,
"I'll never stop cutting, lithium or no lithium. Only love can make me quit." 592
597
Do I Really Mean That?
Only time will tell, I suppose. Anyway, who knows what will happen between Tony and me? For now, I'll make myself satisfied to sit beside him, believing he really loves me. I glance over at Conner, handsome, self-assured Conner, who tonight looks like a lost little boy.
"Hey. You okay?" He smiles a sad, strange smile. Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about love and the strange places you sometimes find it-- or at least think you do.
You mean like with Emily? Tony asks. Who was she, anyway? And what happened between the two of you? 593
598
Conner hesitates, then launches a lurid tale of loving his English teacher and the inevitable consequences of being in love with an older woman.
What about you and Dr. B? queries Tony. The two of you looked pretty tight. Was there any love there, or just lust?
No love, plenty of lust, at least as far as I was concerned. I thought for a while she might feel the same way.
But nothing sexual happened between Heather and me. 594
599
How Did Tony
Pick up on that? I swear, I never noticed a thing between Conner and Dr. Boston--or should I call her Heather? Holy moley! I wonder if Conner's attraction to older women is why he cooled so completely toward me. Not much I could do about that. Anyway, I don't think he's "relationship" material, and I'm really not in the market for another one-sided fling. Still, I'm curious. "So have you ever fallen in love with someone your own age?"
Conner looks me directly in the eye. One or two, he says. But I'm poison. 595
600
As the old saying goes,
"sometimes loving someone
means letting them go."
Bullshit! says Tony. His grip on my hand tightens, and I sense impatience in my ever- patient best friend. Love means holding on to someone just as hard as you can because if you don't, one blink and they might disappear
forever. 596
601
What Tony Doesn't Get
Is that love and I are like water and oil. Put the two together, blend well, and you get Quaker State quicksand.
The truth is, I don't have a real clue what love is--how to find it, how to give it. Once upon a time I thought I knew.
But all I really understood was sex. Sex and love, I've discovered, are not the same thing. Life is so complex!
Sex. Love. Athletics. Academics. My belief in all of those things is completely shaken. I consider controlled substance relief, think better of it. I'm so tired, I know I'll sleep tonight, wake up feeling energized, ready to go ahead, conquer the Challenge, 597
602
get out of this place, move ahead with some sort of a life. Right? My head is all jumbled. I feel spent. Dizzy. Nauseous. Numb.
Hey, Con, says Tony. Do you
feel okay? Your face is white as milk. His goofy grin does
not conceal his concern.
Which irritates me somehow. Guess I'll change the subject. "So what deep, dark secret did you not break down and confess?" 598
603
Secrets
Yeah, I've still got one or two that none of the good doctors managed to pry out. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"
Vanessa's eyes glaze, like she's slipped into a trance.
She considers something, shakes her head, tight-lipped.
Finally, she settles on this: I killed someone. I didn't know
him, but I loved him. She shivers, chilled from the inside out.
I don't understand. "How can you love someone you don't even know?" And please, please, Vanessa, tell me who.
She thinks a minute, then admits,
I should have known better than to get pregnant, but I
thought maybe it would bring 599
604
the father and me closer When I told Trevor he said to get an abortion. He wouldn't help pay for it, wouldn't even hold
my hand while I waited to do that god-awful thing. I went alone, except for the baby inside me. It may sound odd, but I did love that little blob. Still I made it die. And when I think too hard about it, my insides hurt. Trying not to cry,
Vanessa trembles, and Tony
wraps her with his arms. Go ahead and cry, right here. She lets her face collapse against his chest. 600
605
I Never Expected
Such total, painful honesty Can I be as forthright? I've never told this story to anyone, not even Dr. B.
"I killed someone too. She was our au pair, and her name was Leona...." I know I should
stop there, but somehow I can't.
"I was twelve when she first came to my bed. She taught me
all I ever needed to know, fed my hunger for touch, my need for love. Leona was my night, my day. I thought I'd go crazy if she was out of my sight for more than a few
hours. When I found out she had another boyfriend--a real, grown-up boyfriend--I threatened to tell my mother everything. 601
606
Please don't tell, she begged. I'll never find another position. Like I was going to let her go. I made up my mind to tell her boyfriend instead. He caused an intense scene in our kitchen.
As Leona stormed off, she said,
One day you'll have the sense to know what you've done. She
sped away, and into a brick wall.
I didn't cry when I heard she was dead." I'd like to cry now.
Don't know how. 602
607
I've heard Confession
Is good for the soul. Not sure that's so, but what the hell? It might not make me feel better, but it should make Vanessa and Conner
feel better about their own guilt trips. "I killed someone too. But I didn't love him. I hated him with a passion. You were twelve when you lost
your virginity? I was eight, and I lost it to Larry. I already told you that, and I told you I hurt him pretty bad. Truth is, I killed his sorry ass. 603
608
He kept a gun in a lockbox inside his car. Dumb shit never bothered to lock the lockbox. I knew
that because a couple of times, he pulled out the gun to threaten my ma. One day, after a particularly bad night with Larry I walked out to his car, found the gun under the seat.
Ma had fixed him pancakes for breakfast. I walked into the kitchen, took dead aim at his Aunt Jemima mouth, and pulled the trigger." 604
609
The Whole Rotten Truth
Right out in the open. And only now it occurs to me that it might mean Vanessa turning her back on me. I hold her even tighter, look into her eyes, hoping to find compassion. "Please tell me you don't hate me." Oh, Tony, she says, I could never hate you. I understand why you did what you did.
Okay, everyone, break it up, calls Sean. We've got another big day tomorrow.
I wish I could sit here all night, holding Vanessa, kissing her. More.
But she pulls away. Guess that's my cue. No worries, Tony. I still love you. 605
610
"Love you, too." I watch her slow retreat, filled to the brim with loving her.
Conner taps my shoulder. Hey, Tony. Guess what. I don't think you're gay. It's an amazing concept, and so new. "You know, you just might be right."
We both crawl into our sleeping bags, and into our own little worlds. I bet Conner's thinking about Leona. But there's only one person on my mind. 606
611
Actually, There Are Two
As everyone else falls into Snorezone, I'm still thinking about Vanessa and what she means to me. As I do, Phillip creeps into my thoughts. "You'd like her," I tell him, very very quietly, so no one hears me talking to the dead. "She's incredible, not
that she's perfect. But you once said imperfections create character. She's got character, all right. And, as you know, I lean way toward imperfection myself. 607
612
I was really confused about this for a while. Genetics versus learned (or forced) behavior and all. But it sure feels real. Sure feels right.
I've never felt so right before. Never felt so in love before. In fact, except for you, Phillip, I can't remember ever feeling love for anyone."
Now an old memory of Phillip floats into foggy view. Tony, I've never known anyone as deserving of love as you. When it finds you, don't question it. 608
613
I'm Lying Here Shivering
But not because of the weather. I'm shivering in a frigid indigo sea. Lithium won't help this slice of depression. Thinking about the baby always drops me here. It would be a real baby now, a perfect piece of defective me.
Still, all that was completely my own fault. I think of Conner, whose nanny decided to make him a man. Who knows what sort of damage she did to his psyche.
And then there's Tony, who spent his childhood locked up because of some pervert. He should be a terrible person. Instead, he's the sweetest, least selfish guy I've ever known. How can that be? 609
614
And how can it be he's so in love with me? To grow up without love, and still
have so much inside? Just think who he might have been, had everything been different for him. Of course, then I wouldn't
know him now. Love him now.
As everything falls very quiet, something silent calls to me.
Will the damnable steel never leave me alone, never quit whispering sweet nothings to me?
615
I Wake, Thankful
I didn't give in to temptation, hunt for a knife in the dark of camp, even though I wanted to so badly. Will I ever completely lose the urge to mutilate myself
Everyone up and at 'em, urges
Raven. Are we gonna have
fun today! Today, we learn to climb. You all up for that?
A chorus of halfhearted "sures" and "okays" answers her. But personally, I'm ready. "Come on, you guys. Rock climbing is awesome." Like I have a clue.
Not just climbing, but spelunking, too. There's an outrageous cave not far from here. But first, you
have to master the fine art
called rappelling. 611
616
Like all art, it takes a certain touch to do it well. And before we're through, you will all do it well. Won't you?
This time she mostly gets groans for answers. Only Tony seems almost as enthusiastic as I am.
He stands, salutes her. Yes, ma'am, we will all do it well. He grins in my direction. You really want to do this, don't you?
I nod. "Don't ask me why. Maybe a little of my dad has rubbed off on me, after all." 612
617
Raven Guides Us
To the base of a semishort rock outcropping. First we go up, then we rappel down, I assume.
First you go up, then
you rappel down. But the very first thing you
need to learn is how to belay your climbing
partner This simple
technique can save a life.
Everyone buddy up.
For the next two hours, we learn how about ropes, carabiners, and ATCs; crotch loops, leg loops, and slider buckles. Most important, we learn about the guide hand, the brake hand, and how the two interact. Finally Raven asks for volunteers. My (guide) hand shoots up. 613
618
Dahlia has little choice but to go along. You bitch.
If I die, I'm coming back to get you, too. Don't think
I won't be up for it I'm
half-thinking about it now.
"Fine. You want to be leader or stay down here?" She chooses the latter, and I start to climb, looking for hand and footholds. It's not so difficult, and I feel relatively safe in my harness, with Dahlia hopefully keeping the line slack-free and controlled.
"This is easy," I call. And it is.
So far. 614
619
We Spend All Day
Feeding rope to our buddies, then taking our own turns, scraping and scrapping up rocks. Right now, winded and aching,
I'm taking a breather, high above the blossoming playa. I swear I can take in a thousand square miles of view. Too bad it just looks like a sea of nothing. I should feel accomplishment. But all I feel is numb. Numb and weary, to a surreal degree.
Hey, Conner, calls Tony. Ready? It's our turn to rappel. "Coming." Ready or not, I stand and make myself steady
my trembling legs. I can't believe how weak I am. Hey, man, observes my buddy. You look like you're gonna heave. 615
620
I feel like it too, but I can't admit it. "No worries. I'm fine." You sure? You don't want to be dangling midair feeling like shit.
Anger flashes like lightning. "I said I'm fucking fine." Tony stays cool. Okay, man. It's all yours. Go ahead.
I climb into the harness, fix my ropes just how Raven showed us. Then I lower myself over the edge, thrust myself toward the ground. 616
621
It's a Shaky Ride
But I manage it without puking. One by one, the others follow, whooping like they're actually having fun. Jerks.
Vanessa comes up to me, grinning, softly kisses my
cheek. Wasn't that amazing?
My head's kind of spinning, but the rest of me feels great. She lays one gentle hand on my shoulder, and I notice how
sunlight plays, gold, on her skin.
Suddenly I want her to pull me in, hold me close, absorb me like oxygen. Suddenly I feel lost. Alone.
What's wrong with me? This girl is an angel, and I had every chance to love her. Why must I rebel against the idea of love? 617
622
Now here comes Tony, so in love with her it's all over his face. He gives me an easy shove. Putting the moves on my girl?
A green wave of envy washes over me. Ludicrous! I might want her, but he deserves her. "Save it, Ceccarelli. I tried to steal her from you, but the best she'd do was give me a rain check. I strongly suggest you take good care of her."
Sean interrupts our banter. Great job, everyone. Now we'd
better get moving. Surprises
await you all at camp. 616
623
The First Surprise
Is the two-mile walk to reach our new campsite. We hike up a narrow canyon, between two hulking granite walls.
The grade is relatively steep and I was tired before we began. No matter how hard I try; I just can't keep up.
Tony falls back and walks beside me. Long day, huh? His presence persuades me to lengthen my stride.
"Pretty damn long, all right. I think I need a vacation." He grins. This is your vacation. What I need is a shower I stink.
He does. We all do. "Water and soap? What a civilized concept." Me? Civilized? He sniffs his armpits.
Nope. Not even close. 619
624
Finally Sean signals us to stop and make camp. We repeat our well-practiced routine, then I tramp out in the brush to piss.
I return to surprise number two--candy bars, nuts, and beef jerky, to supplement our roast turkey, stuffing, and gravy goo.
After dinner, Raven offers yet a third surprise. Letters from home. She passes them out like treasure, in the absurd belief
that everyone wants theirs. 620
625
The First Letter
I've ever gotten (except for a couple from the state of Nevada) is from my pa. He never even wrote me when I was in lockup. What can he have to say now?
The others withdraw into neutral corners. But I need moral support. I go over to Vanessa. "May I sit next to you? I promise not to read over your shoulder."
She pats the ground beside her. Of course you can sit here. I don't really want to be alone right now either. Besides... she puffs into the cold air. You're warm. 621
626
Somehow she doesn't notice the smell of today's exertions. Maybe she's olfactory challenged. Or maybe she just doesn't care.
And somehow, her own earthy scent turns me on. I move my leg so it touches hers, ankle to thigh. Her body heat turns me on even more.
Completely turned on, by a girl. The strangest
thing about feeling this way is thinking I've never really been turned on before--by anyone. 622
627
It's So New
My body telling me it really, truly wants sex. It's so new, knowing initiating sex can and will be up to me. I will never be forced to again.
It's so new, this woman thing, yet it doesn't feel
foreign. It feels like where I've always belonged. It's so new, equating sex with emotion. With love.
Again, I think of Phillip, the only person I've ever
felt anything like love for. And I'm sure he's smiling.
About Vanessa. About my being able to love her. 623
628
About the letter in my hand. More than once, he encouraged me to try and contact my pa, but I always refused. Stubborn as tar Phillip called me.
Are you going to open that or what? Vanessa says, rattling the envelope in her own hand. I'll open mine if you open yours, okay? Ready? One, two...
As we slit the seals, I wonder why she has hesitated this long. What secrets of her own is she still hiding? Will she ever share them with me? 624
629
I Start to Read
Dear Anthony, not long ago you
told me you'd have to think about forgiving
me. I hope you have
found it in your heart to do so. I won't repeat the reasons why I kept
silent for so long. But
I will reiterate my deep
remorse for not being a better father to you.
You may not believe
this, but I'm proud of you. After all you've
risen to every challenge.
including the ones you're
Facing out there in the wilderness. I know
you've risen to them, because in our few short
times together, I've come to see what a truly strong
man you are. Stronger than me. Please allow
me the time to get to know
you. Please allow me the time to grow to love
you, and for you to grow to love me.
630
Thought My Letter
Would be from Grandma. It's not:
Dearest Nessa,
As you kNow, I'm Not much of a letter writer. But for oNce the words seem to be comiNg easier, here oN paper. WheN I saw you at Easter, I couldN't believe how growN-up you were. It got me thiNkiNg how much we've lost, with me away all the time. I wish I could chaNge what has happeNed iN the past. I caN't so all that's left is to look to the future.
I had hoped your mother would get well oNe day. But wheN we visited her at the hospital, they told me her catatoNia is likely permaNeNt. She will Never come home. So I sill request for a stateside traNsfer has beeN graNted. I'll be home. For good oNce I fiNish this tour of duty
631
I also kNow how much you hated moviNg all the time. DoN't worry we'll stay with my mother, at least uNtil you go off to college. We caN talk about that later, though. Right Now, I just waNt to you to kNow that I will be there for you from Now oNe.
I caN't wait to hear about your experieNces, bivouackiNg iN the Black Rock. Will you show me arouNd the place, oNe day sooN?
Love, Daddy 627
632
Tony Sighs
Echoing my own feelings. He reaches for my hand, and I gratefully slide mine into the warmth of his. "You okay?"
Yeah, I think so. It's just. kind of confusing.
"What is?"
He lifts my hand to his full, soft lips. Everything.
Three months ago I didn't have a father
Didn't have you. Didn't even have a clear
idea of me. All that has
changed, and I'm scared.
"Why, Tony?"
Because before I had nothing to lose. Now I've got everything to lose
if I somehow flick this up. 628
633
"Life is all about change.
If it were static, think about how boring it would
be. You can't be afraid of it, and you can't worry
that you'll mess things up.
You deserve good things, and I want to be one them."
I glance around. Everyone
seems lost in their own little universe, so I take a big
chance, turning my face up toward Tony's. My eyes
tell him what I'm too nervous to say out loud: Kiss me.
634
Tony's Kiss
Is like no other kiss, ever. It wants, but does not demand. It asks, but doesn't take. It gives, and pleads for more. It is filled with desire, but also curiosity, and it teaches me that a kiss should come gift wrapped, not stripped naked. Most of all, it makes me want another kiss exactly like this one. It will not be tonight.
Okay, you two, break it up, commands Sean.
Six pairs of eyes have turned in our direction, and we are rewarded with a couple of catcalls. We slide a little apart, but not that far. And now, there is so much more between us. 630
635
Complete connection
, in one innocent kiss.
Okay, maybe not totally innocent. Desire stings my body, in places I've half- forgotten exist. But I have to play cool.
Five pairs of eyes continue to chaperone
us. One pair studies
us, digests what it has
seen, then quickly returns to the letter, grasped tightly, tensely, in muscular hands.
Conner's hands.
631
636
Unbelievable
When I heard we had letters from home, an insane little part of me hoped mine might bring some sliver of affection. Instead:
Conner: Hope all is going
well for you, and that your
time in the outback had kept
you fit. You must excel at your
Football tryouts. They expect
you to fail. I'm sure, however, you'll prove them very wrong.
One small detail, which I'll mention
here: You have some makeup work to do to keep you on track for early graduation. If you
pursue it diligently this summer, you won't have to play catch-up in the fall. By the way, your father and I have sent applications to all the colleges on our list.
All you have to do is maintain
Your GPA and, of course, score
well on your entrance exams.
Not really much more to say except to let you know Cara
has already been accepted at Stanford. You can do as well.
After all, you're her twin. Mom.
632
637
Same Old Mom
Same ugly comparisons between Cara and me. Same expectations, and what did she mean, "on our list"?
Sean interrupts my reverie. Okay, you two, break it up. He means Vanessa and Tony, and when I glance their way
I catch the end of a kiss. Another slap of jealousy catches me off guard, jerks my head in the other direction.
My eyes fall to the paper clutched in my hands. I can't remember one time my mom's lips touched a part of my face.
Surely not my own lips--shades of incest. But neither did she ever kiss my cheek or even my forehead. Oh, to be blessed 633
638
by a kiss like the one I just witnessed. I'd trade every kiss
I've stolen for one, given like that. Who could have guessed
such a thing would happen between Vanessa and Tony--
two fractured people, healed
(perhaps) by unforeseen, not to mention unlikely, love. I'm more than jealous. I'm downright covetous. I can't think about it anymore.
Can't think about Cara, Stanford, football. Can't think about my
parents, grades, test scores. Can't
think about any of that at all. 634
639
I Fold the Letter
Into a perfect paper airplane, take a walk under sequined night sky; try to silence the chatter in my brain.
The sound of cheerful voices drifts toward me from camp. Their letters are tucked into pockets and sleeping bags, gifts.
Rewards for accomplishments and, with any luck at all, change. But nothing has changed for me. I'll go home to the same grand
house in the same manicured neighborhood. (Except for the new
neighbors at the end of the block.
Exorcism, "for my own good.")
I'll go home to expectations no way I can live up to, no longer want to. But I've never had a say about my future. 635
640
I close my eyes, and all I can see is my mother's face. Sculpted. Beautiful. Angry. So often angry.
And I am so much like her. A grenade of my own anger explodes inside my head. I am damaged. Decayed.
A gust of wind roughs up my hair. The paper airplane
sits heavy in my hand. I cock
back my arm, release, let it fly
straight to hell.
641
Swim Up into Morning
And thoughts of Vanessa, reaching up to kiss me. I sit up, look for her, but she's nowhere in sight, and a strange jolt of worry strikes.
"Come on, Tony," I tell myself. "She's just off for her morning..." Finishing the thought seems voyeuristic. What's up with me?
Hey, you. Vanessa's voice sneaks over my shoulder, settles softly in my ear. Did you know you snore? She moves around in front of me, eyes lifting to mine. 637
642
"Me? Snore? You must have me confused with someone else!" I answer the shake of her head with a smile. "Well, why were you listening, anyway?"
I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about this guy and how good a kisser he was and how much I wanted to kiss him again. Even if he did snore.
God, I love her. She is just the most incredible person I've ever known. Funny. Smart. Pretty. One day, very soon, I want to do more than kiss her. 638
643
But Right Now
Everyone's staring, like they're reading my mind or something. I excuse myself for my own a.m. stroll. I return to gossip and breakfast, in that order.
Lori's mom and dad are getting back together, Dahlia informs us all.
It was my fault they broke up in the first place, Lori explains. No pressure there!
Justin launches a sermon. Just give it to the Lord, He'll see you through.
Hey, Raven, calls Dahlia. Any candy bars left? I love chocolate for breakfast! 639
644
Blah, blah, blah. Only Conner is quiet. Sulky. Pissed, even. The look on his face is hard to decipher. But I'm guessing his letter was less than inspirational.
"Hey, Conner," I call. "Don't tell me my snoring kept you awake too!" I expect a grin. A finger. Something. But he just sits there.
Half of me wants to go over and hug him. The other half wants to shake him. Both halves agree he wants to be left alone. 640
645
Both Halves Decide
To leave Conner alone. Anyway, it's time to start off the day with a delicious MRE and a cup of black coffee. The breakfast of warriors.
Okay, listen up, Raven barks. You all dida fantastic job yesterday. I think you've all got the hang of climbing, so to speak. Tomorrow
we'll explore the cave I told you about. You'll have to rappel a long way down into a very dark cavern. Then you'll have to climb back up out.
Before we can trust you to do that, we want to test your skills. 641
646
Today we'll practice on some very tall, very steep granite walls.
It is imperative that you double-check your equipment and knots before you begin your ascent. I'll take lead today. Sean will hang
out below. Be sure to have him inspect your ropes before you start to climb. We don't want to have to scrape what's left of you off the rocks. 642
647
Watching Raven
Climb gives me the chills. She works and works for holds in the megalithic wall, fixes protection at strategic points along the way. Up. Up. Up. Makes me dizzy, just looking up that high. So why am I so excited, knowing my turn is coming?
If you smile any wider, you're going to crack
your face right in half
Tony drapes an arm around my shoulder.
You really like this stuff
don't you?
"Yeah. And it definitely surprises me. I've never been much of a thrill seeker..." Except in my manic phases. And the thrills I sought were nothing like this. 643
648
"...I like to ski--wide, groomed
runs. Not trees. Not bumps. I like to mountain bike--ride a chair lift up, coast down. I'm not an athlete. Not even close. This is really hard. But I love it."
I just hope it isn't mania talking. But it doesn't feel that way. In fact, for the first
time in a very long time, I feel completely grounded. Except, of course, when I'm climbing. 644
649
Since Sean's Going Last
He buddies Tony with Justin. Tony takes lead, and I watch him climb, confident and strong. Funny, I never noticed how fit he was until the Challenge. He never complains, never makes excuses. He just accomplishes.
Sean calls, Come on, Vanessa.
You and Dahlia go next.
Let's go over your equipment. He tests
my harness, helmet, ropes.
Hold on a minute. Check
this out. See how you've
got your rope over the gate of the carabiner? That's
called back clipping. Put
any stress at all on the 'biner
it's liable to pop open and let the rope slide out.
Could be ugly. 645
650
With everything adjusted correctly, it's my turn to climb. "Do you want lead?" I ask Dahlia.
You crazy, man? Lead is dangerous, and this wall is insane. You go first.
If you can make it, so can I.
I follow Raven's route, clipping onto the anchors she has already placed in the rocks. Looking up, I see Tony, measuring my every move, nodding to let me know I'm looking good.
And feeling great. 646
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I Reach the Top
Swing a leg over, and here I am, thousands of feet above the playa floor. I can see forever up here, and it makes me feel just about invincible.
Tony runs over, picks
me up, swings me in circles. Isn't this awesome? No
wonder you like this sport.
We'll have to do it again
once we're out of here.
He slows, puts me down.
Gets very serious. I will still see you once
we're out of here, won't I?
Everything has been day-
to-day, and I haven't really, truly thought about what it will be like once we put Aspen Springs behind us. 47 647
652
But one thing's for sure. "Of course you'll see me. Maybe even more of me than you'll want to. I'm the tiniest bit obsessive about the people I love."
Good. We're on the same
page. I don't really know
where I'll go or what I'll
do when I'm 'free."
All I know is my life would
be empty without you in it.
I look into his eyes, and what I find there fills me with hope. He knows all my secrets, even the worst of them. Despite everything, he still
loves me. 648
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God, I'm Tired
I can barely pull myself to my feet, let alone up a hundred-foot rock wall. Sleep-- deep sleep--would be so sweet.
I'm the last to go, and Sean
wants me to take lead. You
can do it. Just clip onto the anchors before you pull
yourself up. If those petite
girls can handle it, you can
handle it better It's all up to you, man. Get climb in'.
I stand at the bottom, looking up at where the others wait. I feel like the idiot kid who can't say no to a dare.
Fuck it. What do I have to lose? The first anchor is maybe eight feet up. I study the rock face, choose the best 649
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way to reach the anchor, clip on, and pull. My fingers ache and I think my knuckles will swell later. This is bullshit.
But then, my entire life is bullshit. The best things in it have vanished, ghosts. Ghosts I'll admit I created.
The rope holding me in place creaks, stressed by my weight. Keep going, buddy, yells Sean. You can rest when you get to the top.
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Keep Going
That's exactly what I tell myself. "Keep going, loser." I'll never be anything else. I step on a narrow rock shelf and it crumbles, making me scramble for a foothold. I find one, push up, smash my
knee into a jut of granite.
Way to go, faggot. The voice I hear belongs to my father. Get hold of yourself You'll never make first string like that. Fear of failure impels me toward the top, as it pushed me toward the goal line so many times before. I don't dare stop.
Don't dare drop the ball. Don't
dare finish second. We only want what's best for you, so spare me your whining. Why 552
656
can't you be like Cara? She never loses. Cara is smarter. Cuter. More talented. I will forever ride in her backseat.
Well, they're fraternal twins, you
see. Now the voice is my mom's.
I want to shut her up, but I know she won't be silenced.
I reach up for a handhold, find I'm almost to the top. And still the home movies rewind... replay... rewind.
Of course I'm proud of Conner. It's just... he's not his sister. With a burst of energy, I thrust myself up and over. 652
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Standing Here
My entire world far beneath my feet, I should be filled with pride. Instead, I feel overwhelmed by a sense of defeat.
Suddenly it comes to me, toes tempted to test the ledge, that there is a way out of this.
Calm surety flows through my veins, and as I turn to wave
good-bye, I wonder if it will hurt or if a single person will cry at my funeral.
I take a deep breath, a final taste of sweet mountain air. I conjure Leona, Emily. Move my feet closer. Closer.
There's Grandma One, Grandma Two, and their spouses, waiting for me. I see Dad. Cara. Mommy. I screw up my courage, step over... 653
658
Raven Screams
Conner; no! Mary, holy mother of God. And then she runs.
Conner? What happened to Conner? We follow Raven to the cliff's edge. One glance over the side tells a simple story, one I refuse to believe.
"Quick! Someone belay me. I'll go get him. Call 911. Maybe there's still time to save him. Will somebody please help me? I've got to get down to him!"
Raven just stands, two-way in hand. Sean's almost up to him. But no one, no one could survive that fall. Within seconds, her radio spits the expected news. 654
659
Guilt balloons inside me, shoves me to my knees. "Oh God, no. It's not true!"
Gentle arms tuck me in. Stop, Tony. He's gone. Vanessa's tear-dampened kisses cover my face. Oh! I can't believe he'd do such a horrible thing.
"I can. And I could have prevented it. It's all my fault, Vanessa. I knew." I push her away, turn my head to one side. My vomit tastes like death. 655
660
Raven Calls for Rescue
Care Flight isn't far away, at least not as the crow (or 'copter) flies. But rather than wait, we opt to climb down. We have to go past Conner.
Part of me doesn't want to look. Most of me has to. He's splayed on a big boulder. His spirit, or whatever was inside, is definitely somewhere
else. All that's left is his broken shell. His eyes are open, as if he couldn't let go of the very last thing he saw. I wonder what it was. Heaven? 656
661
He's smiling, and one hand is extended. Did someone come for him, take his hand, and walk him across that border, into the ultimate frontier?
Some churches say suicide denies him that comfort. But could a true and loving God turn His back on such a tortured soul? Wouldn't the Ultimate Tribunal consider extenuating circumstances? Will it consider them for me? "Please, Father. Please, Conner. Forgive me." 657
662
The "Rescue"
Isn't much of a rescue, of course. They can take their time, and they do. We gather at the base of the hill, watch the crew's efforts.
Another time, another body, it might be interesting, how they lower a sled from the top, gentle the remains into a polyurethane bag, zip...
But those remains belong to my friend. I haven't had many of those. Now this one is gone. Forever.
I should cry, want to cry. All I can do is feel ice cold. 658
663
Vanessa and I huddle together, searching for comfort in each other's touch. "Why couldn't he just talk to me, Vanessa?"
He did talk to you, Tony. I think you were the only person he could talk to at all. In the long run, maybe that wasn't enough. But this wasn't your fault.
"I knew he'd quit taking his meds, knew how depressed he seemed. I never said a word. And that will haunt me for the rest of my life."
Maybe even longer. 659
664
Care Flight Lifts Off
And in its wake, seven people seem unable to move, stunned into silent shock.
Finally Sean decides,
Let's go back to camp.
Aspen Springs will send
transport, but it will take a while to get here.
We walk slowly, trying to absorb what has happened. Everyone deals with the loss in different, personalized ways.
Sean and Raven discuss the possible fallout. I knew he was struggling, Sean
says. But when I talked to him, he seemed okay.
He said he was just tired.
Did I push him too hard? 660
665
Damn, what a waste! Dahlia tells Lori, who agrees, That boy was fine. Justin just prays.
Tony holds on to my hand like if he let go, I might dash over a cliff too. I know he needs me more than ever. The responsibility is daunting, and I think about a kiss from my steel lover, knowing I have to find a way to leave it far behind me.
Do you think Conner's parents
know yet? asks Tony.
"I'm sure they must."
Do you think they care? 661
666
The Question Takes me by surprise.
"Of course they care." They have to, don't they? "Why would you ask such a question?"
I was just thinking about who would care
if I killed myself I never
thought about anyone else
when I tried before.
Of course, I didn't really
have anyone to think about then. Ma was gone, not that she would have
given a fraction of a damn.
Phillip was gone, and Pa was just a memory.
He stops walking, pulls
me tight against his chest.
And I didn't know you.
Would you care, really care? 662
667
I reach my arms up around his neck, pull his face down, lock his eyes with mine. "Yes, Tony. I would really care. Losing you would kill a part of me--the part that has learned what love really is."
And what is that?
"You." This time when we kiss, I feel it in the pit of my stomach, I feel it in my heart. And I realize love isn't about sex. It's about connection. 663
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Camp Feels Empty
While we wait for transportation to carry us out of this place, Tony and I take a walk. It's a perfect spring day on a hill above the Black Rock Desert. "This was an island once, you know, when the playa was underwater. Can you believe all that desert was once a giant lake?"
Tony stares out at the ocean of sage and bitterbrush.
It is hard to believe that something that seems so permanent was once so different. Change. I guess that really is one
thing you can count on...
He is quiet for several
minutes. Finally he says,
I just ca 't figure out why. 664
669
I mean, I can understand
why someone like me
would think suicide was the only way out. But
Conner had it all--he was great looking, smart, rich. He had
everything to live for
So, why...
A breeze blows up, touching my cheek like a little child's kiss. It flutters a piece of paper, lodged in the sage. "Trash, out here? Must belong to one of us."
We move closer, and when I reach for it, I find... 665
670
...a perfect paper airplane.
671
DON'T MISS Ellen Hopkins's
IDENTICAL
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673
Raeanne
Mirror, Mirror
When look into a mirror, it is her face I see. Her right is my left, double
moles, dimple and all.
My right is her left, unblemished.
We are exact opposites, Kaeleigh and me. Mirror-image identical
twins. One egg, one sperm, one zygote, divided, sharing one complete
set of genetic markers.
On the outside we are the same. But not
inside, think she is the egg, so much like our mother it makes me want to scream. Cold. Controlled. That makes me the sperm,
I guess. I take completely after our father.
674
All Daddy, that's me.
Codependent. Cowardly.
Good, bad. Left, right. Kaeleigh and Raeanne. One egg, one sperm. One being, split in two.
And how many souls?
675
Interesting Question
Don't you think? I mean, if the Supreme Being inserts a single soul at the moment of conception, does that essence divide itself? Does each half then
strive to become whole again, like a starfish or an earthworm?
Or might the soul clone itself, create a perfect imitation of something yet to be defined? In this way, can a reflection be altered?
Or does the Maker, in fact, choose to place two separate souls within a single cell, to spark the skirmish that ultimately
causes such an unlikely rift?
Do twins begin in the womb?
Or in a better place?
676
One Soul or Two
We live in a smug California valley. Rolling ranch land, surrounded by shrugs of oak-jeweled hills. Green for two brilliant months sometime around spring, burnt-toast brown the rest of the year.
Just over an unremarkable mountain
stretches the endless Pacific. Mornings here come wrapped in droops of gray mist. Most days it burns off by noon.
Other days it just hangs on and on. Smothers like a wet blanket.
Three towns triangulate the valley, three corners, each with a unique flavor: weathered Old West; antiques and wine tasting; just-off-the-freeway boring.
Smack in the center is the town
where we live, and it is the most
unique of all, with its windmills and cobbled sidewalks, designed to carry tourists to Denmark. Denmark, California-style.
677
The houses line smooth
black streets, prim rows of postcard-pretty dwellings, coiffed and manicured from curb to chimney. Like Kaeleigh and me, they're perfect on the outside. But behind the Norman Rockwell facades, each holds its secrets.
Like Kaeleigh's and mine, some are dark. Untellable.
Practically unbelievable.
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But Telling
Isn't an option. If you tell a secret about someone you don't really know, other people might listen, but decide you're making it up. Even if you happen to know for a fact it's true. If you tell a secret about a friend, other people want to hear all of it, prologue to epilogue. But then they think you're totally messed up for telling it in the first place. They think they can't trust you. And hey, they probably can't. Once a nark, always a nark, you know?
679
Kaeleigh
I Wish I Could Tell
But to whom could I possibly confess a secret, any secret? Not to my mom, who's never around. A time or two, I've begged her to listen, to give me just a few precious minutes between campaign swings. Of course it's true the wrong secret could take her down, but you'd think she'd want to hear it. I mean, what if she had to defend it? Really, you'd think she'd want to be forewarned, in case the International Inquisitor
got hold of it. Does she think this family has no secrets?
The clues are everywhere, whether or not she wants to know.
680
There's Daddy
Who comes home every day, dives straight into a tall amber bottle, falls into a stone- walled well of silence, a place where he can tread the suffocating loneliness.
On the surface, he's a proud
man. But just beneath his not-
so-thick skin, is a broken soul.
In his courtroom, he's a tough but evenhanded jurist, respected
if not particularly well liked. At
home, he doesn't try to disguise his bad habits, has no friends, a tattered
family. A part of me despises him, what he's done. What he continues to do. Another part pities him and will always be his little girl, his devoted, copper-haired daughter.
His unfolding flower. But enough about Daddy, who most definitely
has plenty of secrets. Secrets Mom
should want to know about. Secrets
I should tell, but instead tuck away.
Because if I tell on him, I'd have to...
681
Tell on Me
How I'm a total wreck. Afraid to let anyone near. Afraid they'll see the real me, not Kaeleigh at all.
I do have friends, but they don't know me, only someone I've created to take my place. Someone sculpted from ice.
I keep the melted me bottled up inside. Where no one can touch her, until, unbidden, she comes pouring out.
She puddles then, upon fear-trodden ground. I am always afraid, and I am vague about why. My life isn't so awful. Is it?
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About the Author
Ellen Hopkins has been writing poetry for years and has also published several nonfiction books. Her first novel, Crank, released in 2004 and quickly became a word-of-mouth sensation, garnering praise from teens and critics alike. Ellen's other novels include Burned and Glass, the sequel to Crank. She lives with her husband and son in Carson City, Nevada. Visit www.ellenhopkins.com and www.myspace.com/ellenhopkins.