Authors: Tabitha Freeman
“What’s not on my mind,” I replied, with a nonchalant shrug. A small smile slowly spread across her lips.
“That’s a good one,” she said. “Props to you, Ava. You’re clever.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m nuts, though, right?” I asked her. She just shook her head.
“You’re a very smart woman, Ava,” she said to me. “You know that. Quit fishing for compliments.”
“I’m not fishing for compliments!” I defended myself.
“Then
what are
you doing?” Julianne pushed.
“I’m fucking bored!” I screeched at her, standing up. “And all these people are coming up to me, trying to be nice, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re all still craaaaaaaaazy!! I don’t want to know them! I don’t want to talk to them or ‘hang out’ with them! I don’t want to be here-”
“Well, you should’ve thought about all that before you pulled such a selfish stunt,” Julianne cut me off, her tone firm but still calm. “If you thought this therapy session was for you to gripe and whine about how you don’t deserve to be here, then you’re in for a rude awakening. I’m here to help you get better, Ava. You’re in Craneville so that you can get better. Acting like a child is not getting you any closer to being released from this institution.”
I fell quiet then. She was right, of course. I was being an ass. But really, how was I supposed to react to all of this? Suddenly, unexpected tears formed in my eyes and I began to cry silently.
“What is it, Ava?” Julianne asked, in a gentle tone very much like my own mother’s. I sniffled.
“I know you’re sick of hearing this,” I said through my tears. I looked up at her. “But I really, really loved Tyson. A-and it’s really, really hard for me being without him.”
She nodded.
“I know it is,” she replied. “And I’m not sick of hearing it. This is what your therapy is all about. The source of your sickness is his death. I never want you to feel like you can’t talk about him, okay?”
I nodded and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Thanks, Julianne,” I sniffed.
For the next two hours, I talked about Tyson, mainly. But Julianne put a twist on the conversation when she asked me a series of questions regarding what Tyson would have thought about Craneville and the people I’d met so far. By the time six-thirty rolled around, I felt ten times better having been able to get my one-on-one time with Julianne-and, of course, some delicious chocolate milk.
I left Julianne’s office, feeling slightly more confident about being there, and bumped into Shakespeare on my way to the activities room for dinner.
“Hey, Ava,” he said, brightly. “Going in for dinner?”
“Yeah,” I replied and he opened the door for me. “Thanks.”
As we walked into the activities room and towards the food table together, I happened to catch a glimpse of Aurelia sitting at a table. She was staring at me with a sneer on her face, which surprised me. Sure, Aurelia was a pill to deal with, but had I made her angry? Maybe it was just the way the group therapy session had gone…
“How was your therapy with Julianne?” Shakespeare asked me then.
“Oh, it was fine,” I answered, my thoughts on Aurelia fading. Shakespeare laughed.
“I’m actually never supposed to ask you that,” he said. “But I figured you wouldn’t go crazy on me, so I took a chance on a conversation starter.” I smiled. We got our food - a slice of vegetarian pizza and an apple for me-and then went to find a table. We spotted Henry and went to sit down with him. I didn’t look over at Aurelia as I passed her.
“So what’d you think of your first group therapy session?” Henry asked me, with a grin. I shrugged, taking a bite of my pizza.
“It was a little more dramatic than I expected,” I replied. “But I guess the theme of the conversation was good.”
“Julianne is a great therapist,” Henry said. “The group therapy sessions are usually always interesting. She comes up with some pretty stellar topics.”
“So what do we do for the rest of the night?” I asked them. “After dinner, I mean.”
“Just whatever,” Shakespeare said. “Until lights out at eleven.” I sighed.
“Don’t you guys ever get bored in this place?” I asked. Henry and Shakespeare exchanged glances, followed by chuckles.
“Are you kidding me!” Henry exclaimed. “Of course! Who wouldn’t? In the movies, these places are made out to be full of major drama and discourse, but most of the time, it’s like you said. Boring as all hell.”
“God!” I groaned. “So what do you do to make the time go by?”
“There’s not a whole lot to do, Ava,” Henry replied. “Games, hanging out with other patients, walks outside, or watching TV, if you can ever get the remote control away from Princess.”
“Don’t you have a journal or anything to write in to occupy a little bit of time?” Shakespeare asked me. I shook my head.
“My mom’s bringing me some of that kind of stuff on Wednesday,” I said. “Until then, I guess I’ll just go to bed early.”
“Ava, you can always come chill with us, you know,” Henry offered.
“Yeah, and that’s a big invitation, considering we’re the coolest kids here and all,” Shakespeare added, with a laugh. I smiled slightly.
“Thanks, guys.”
After dinner, Henry and Shakespeare asked me to come join them for some card games, but I told them I was just going to take some alone time in my room.
No sooner had I been in my room for ten minutes, there was a loud knock on my door. I was lying on my bed with my eyes closed.
“Come in,” I called out. I heard the door open and I opened one eye.
Aurelia.
I closed my eye again.
“You really are depressed, aren’t you,” she commented, and I heard her close the door.
“I’m just bored,” I informed her, not opening my eyes.
“Oh, is that all?” she scoffed. “Welcome to Craneville, my dear.” I opened my eyes then and sat up on my bed. She was sitting on the floor, across the room, with her back up against the wall.
“Well I don’t want to be bored,” I said. She sniggered.
“What a stupid remark,” she replied. “
Who
does wake up in the morning and say to themselves, ‘Gee, I hope I’m bored today.’”
She raised a valid point. Maybe I was whining a little bit too much still.
“Where are you from, Aurelia?” I asked her abruptly, opening my eyes and sitting up on the bed to face her. She grinned.
“New York,” she answered. “Why?”
“I just figured if you’re going to be bugging me all the time, I might as well get to know a little bit about you,” I replied. She rolled over on her back on the floor and cackled loudly.
“You want me to leave you alone?” she asked.
“No,” I shrugged. “Nothing else better to do, anyway.”
“Gee, stop with all the flattery!” she gushed, sitting back up. “I wouldn’t want my head to get big.”
“You mean, bigger than it already is?” I asked, smirking. A wide smile spread across her lips.
“I was a hooker before I came here, you know,” Aurelia told me. “A damned good one, too.”
I wasn’t prepared for that.
“How long have you been here?” I asked her.
“Two years, one month, and five days,” she told me, something in her voice changing.
“That’s a long time,” I murmured.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “You wanna know why I’m here, Ava?” I didn’t reply.
“I tried to slash my wrists, like everybody else in this hell hole,” she went on, in a disturbingly casual tone. “The life of a hooker just isn’t one that makes ends meet, you know? Especially if drugs are involved.”
I suddenly didn’t want to know anything else about Aurelia.
“But I’m a harlot at heart, I guess,” she kept on, laughing shrilly. “I’ve screwed the brains out of every guy here, in fact.” I looked up at her quickly.
“That’s not true,” I argued.
“Oh, yes it is,” she scoffed. “I don’t get paid in cash, like I used to. It’s more of a bartering deal now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know, alcohol, cigarettes, and plenty of other valuable necessities not provided to us here at Craneville,” she explained, yawning.
“You can’t have done that with every guy here,” I pointed out. “Henry’s gay.” Aurelia burst into loud cackling again, causing me to jump.
“I’ve got a back end, don’t I?” she said.
“That’s disgusting,” I replied and lay back down on my bed.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you a homophobe or something?”
“No,” I sighed. “But I have no desire to hear about your sexual exploits, Aurelia. Will you leave, please?”
“Shakespeare was the best, though,” she continued, ignoring me. “He’s beautiful as it is, which
I’m sure you’ve noticed. And he’s definitely packing-”
“Shut up!” I shouted, sitting up quickly and glaring at her. “Get out of my room! I won’t tell you again!”
She just stared at me for a moment with a surprised look in her dark eyes. Then, without another word, she got up and left, slamming the door behind her.
I got up and changed into some pajamas and then got into bed. I turned off my lamp and lay there in the dark, staring into nothingness. The first day was over.
I began to cry softly.
11
.
Mom came to visit me two days later, on Wednesday. After a group therapy session, I walked out into the patient lobby area to see her sitting on the edge of one of the couches, clutching a r
ed tote bag, and looking around
as if she didn’t belong.
She was right in feeling that way…after all, she
didn’t
belong.
“Mom,” I spoke up, walking over to her. She looked up, a smile of relief emerging on her face.
“Hey, honey,” she said, getting up and giving me a hug.
“Wanna go to my room?” I asked her, pulling away. She nodded.
“Sure,” she replied. I glanced over at the entrance doors to the Ward 4 corridor and noticed that Nurse Josephine was out of her nurse’s station, manning the doors.
“Hey,” I greeted to her.
“Why, hello, Miss Ava,” she said, pleasantly, with a smile. “This has got to be yo’ mama!”
“I’m Karen,” my mom introduced herself.
“She just came for a visit and we’re going to go hang out in my room,” I told Josephine. Josephine punched the code on the doors and they slid open.
“Have a good time, y’all,” she smiled widely at us.
“See you later, Josephine,” I said as we walked past her into the hall.
“She’s very nice,” Mom said, as we went into my room. I shut the door and sat down on my bed.
“I brought you some things,” she told me, her eyes darting around the room, edgily. She sat down next to me on the bed and opened her tote bag. She pulled out two journals, a sketchpad, a pack of colored pencils, and my Tyson box.
“They’ve all been approved by Julianne,” she said, with a small smile.
“Thank God,” I breathed, taking them. “I’ll actually have something to do! It’s so boring here!”
She didn’t look at me or reply. I leaned a little bit forward so that I could see her face. There were tears in her eyes.
“Mom!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong?” She just shook her head.
“I just still can’t believe you’re here,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly.
“I’m sorry if I’m an embarrassment to you, Mom,” I said, quietly. She looked up at me and put her hand on mine.
“Oh, no, Ava, it’s not that!” she cried. “You could never embarrass me!”
I didn’t say anything.
“It just makes me sad to see you here, in your condition,” she explained.
“Well, you didn’t do a whole lot to keep me out of this place,” I told her, coldl
y. “So you have no room to complain
about it.”
Her hand went across my face then, and it was so sudden, so quick, that I almost questioned if it had actually just happened.
We both stared at each other for a moment.
“I-I’m sorry,” she said
finally
, getting up from the bed. “Are you all right?”
She was shaking.
I put my hand to my right cheek, which was still hot from the hard contact of her hand.
“You just slapped me,” I said, dumbfounded. “You’ve never slapped me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “But you can’t talk to me like that. Not after all you’ve put me through.”