Authors: Tabitha Freeman
I continued to look
at her for a second, not saying a word. Then, I turned my head away.
“Just leave,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to see you.”
“If it had been me that died, instead of Tyson,” she spoke up. “Would you have turned out this way? Would you be here?”
I didn’t answer her. The truth ashamed me.
“I didn’t think so,” she went on. She paused for a second. “Why?”
I was silent.
“Maybe when you figure out how to give me an answer to that question, I’ll try harder to get you out of this place,” she said and then she was gone.
I didn’t leave my room until dinnertime that evening.
“Well, good morning, sunshine!” Henry said to me, after I’d gotten my potato soup and sat down at his table. “Where have you been all day?’
“Just
lying
in my bed,” I grumbled, taking a big gulp of my water.
“What’s up, Ava?” Henry asked. “Depression got the best of you?”
“
No,” I replied. “I’m just moody
today. Sorry.”
“Hey guys!”
We both looked up as Shakespeare sat down next to me.
“Hey, Ava, I saw your mom here today,” Shakespeare said. “Did you guys have a nice visit?”
“Not exactly,” I replied with a sigh.
“What happened?” Henry asked.
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“That’s cool,” Shakespeare said. “Hey, Henry, where were you for, like, the last two hours, man? I was bored out of my mind without your irreplaceable companionship.”
Henry chuckled.
“I was helping Aurelia figure out what color to dye her hair, among other things,” he replied. Shakespeare just looked at him.
“Are you serious?” he asked. “Henry, come on! Why do you tolerate her?”
“Aw, she’s not so bad,” Henry repl
ied. “She’s just a little crazy,
like everybody else here.” He gave me a wink. Shakespeare
shook his head and took a slurp
of his soup.
“She told me she slept with every guy here,” I piped up. Henry laughed. Shakespeare snorted.
“Let me guess,” Shakespeare said. “She also told you she was a prime hoo
ker in New York City?”
“Yeah, actually,” I replied. “Is that not true?”
“No way,” Shakespeare laughed, rolling his eyes.
“She was actually a waitress,” Henry informed me.
“The only thing she ever has been successful at is being a liar,” Shakespeare said. Henry gave him a strange look. Shakespeare didn’t catch it and went on.
“Anyway, Ava, you should do all you can to stay as far away from her as possible,” he warned. I didn’t reply, instead nibbling on my dinner. The conversation then shifted to other topics, but I was only half-listening. My mind wandered back to my mother and what she had said earlier that day.
“If it had been me that died, instead of Tyson, would you have turned out this way? Would you be here?”
“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” I announced, standing up abruptly.
“Oh, c’mon, Ava,” Shakespeare grinned. “We haven’t hung out with you all day!”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I replied. “I’m just really tired and kind of want to be alone. I promise I’ll be more sociable tomorrow.” In all actuality, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be sociable again.
I left them and headed back to my room, half-expecting Aurelia to show up and give me a hard time. But I managed to get to my room in peace. I closed my bedroom door, peeked out the little square window to make sure no one was lingering around to watch me, and went immediately to the Tyson box that my mother had delivered earlier.
It was just an old shoebox, really, with Tyson’s name scribbled across the front in black, permanent marker. But it was like my own little treasure box. I was almost giddy, knowing I had it in my possession. I took off the lid to the box and looked inside.
He was everywhere in that one, little space. Songs, letters, pictures, everything. I was surprised that Julianne had let me have this. I knew having the Tyson box in my possession wouldn’t help me get over him. But I also knew that if I just played my cards right, Julianne would never know this and I wouldn’t have to give up the box.
I went through the love letters in the box and ended up crying myself to sleep. I awoke suddenly when there was loud knocking on my door. A nurse cracked open my door and told me it was lights out time. I just nodded and got up, putting down the Tyson box and turning off the light. I fell into bed with my clothes on and pulled the blankets up to my chin, beginning to cry again.
I was never going to be okay.
12
.
A week passed by and I couldn’t tell one day from the next. Even on Saturday night, when we were all shuffled into the activities room to watch
Oceans 11
, it felt routine. When Wednesday rolled back around, I was surprised to see my mother standing in the patient lobby after I’d finished eating breakfast.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, frowning.
“It’s my day to visit you,” she said, forcing a small laugh. She took a step forward and put her arms awkwardly around me. I patted her on the back.
“You want to sit in the lobby?” I suggested. She nodded.
“Sure, let’s sit.”
We sat down. It was silent for a moment. I gazed out the window, desperate for something to focus on besides
her
.
“Sorry I didn’t come on Sunday,” she spoke up then. I looked at her.
“Oh, were you supposed to?” I asked.
“Well, it is a visiting day,” she replied. “I had to work all day.”
“It’s ok,” I told her. “I slept the day away anyway.”
“You look really tired, Ava,” she commented. “Are you feeling all right?”
“It’s just the medication I’m on,” I said. “It has some side effects. Fatigue. Nausea. Headaches.”
“Maybe we should talk to Julianne about that,” my mother told me.
“She knows,” I sighed. “All major psychotherapy medicines have side effects, Mom. It won’t be so bad in another week.”
“Oh. Ok.”
It was quiet again.
“So, have you met any, um, interesting people here?” Mom asked, abruptly. I almost chuckled.
“Yeah, sure,” I leaned back on couch we were sitting on. “There are these two really nice guys that I sit with when I eat every day. Sometimes we hang out and play cards and stuff.”
“Oh, well that’s nice!” Mom brightened up a little bit. “Are they busy right now? Could I meet them?”
“I don’t know where they are right now,” I said simply. “I think Shakespeare is in his one-on-one therapy session with Julianne. I guess Henry might be taking a nap.”
“Shakespeare?” she asked. “What an interesting name.”
“Quit saying that,” I blurted out.
“Quit saying what?” Mom asked, puzzled.
“
Interesting
,” I snapped. “You keep referring to everything as
interesting
.”
“Are things not interesting?” she asked.
“No, Mom, things are not
interesting
,” I sighed heavily. “This place is anything but interesting. It’s boring. It’s mundane. It’s
a joke
.”
“You had movie night on Saturday night, didn’t you?” she went on, ignoring my outburst. “What
did you watch?”
I just looked at her.
“You’re unbelievable,” I said.
“Why?”
“
Why
?” I repeated. “Why? Because you’re trying to make a normal conversation with me like I’m just in school or something.”
“What’s wron
g with normal conversation, Ava
?”
“I’m not in a normal place, Mom!” I screeched, stan
ding up. “I’m in the
nuthouse! I’m in a psycho ward!
I am not normal anymore
!”
She stared at me, her eyes wide.
“I don’t want to do this dance with you,” I told her, my voice quivering under the weight of tears. “I’m not normal. This is not normal. Nothing is ever going to be normal with me again. Why can’t you just get that?”
“Because I want you to get better,” she said, standing up as well.
“Then quit walking on eggshells around me!” I said. “It’s not helping
—
”
“What the hell am I supposed to do, Ava?” she interrupted, staring hard into my eyes. “When you yell at me every time I see you? When you tried to kill yourself three times and you still don’t regret it? I don’t want this life for you! I don’t want this to go on forever! But how can I still be your mother when you keep pushing me away and blaming me for
your
mistakes?!”
Tears began to cascade down my cheeks but I didn’t break my eye contact with her.
“Don’t come here anymo
re,” I said, trying the very best I could
to keep my voice steady. “Not for a while anyway. Seeing you isn’t going to make things better. I can’t see you when I’m like this. Not for a long time, Mom.”
Luckily, the tears had blurred my vision and I couldn’t really see her as she left, without another word.
It was for the best. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and kept telling myself I’d done something good. Without her around to judge me, maybe I
could
get better.
“Hey,” I heard behind me then. I turned around and saw Channing, Aurelia’s friend, standing there.
“Hey,” I said back.
“I have some rice crispy treats in my room,” she said. “You want some?”
There was this sincere look in her bright hazel eyes. So sincere that I could not reject the invitation, no matter how random
and ridiculous
it was. I nodded and followed her to the doors leading into the ward.
“W
here’s your best buddy?” I asked, once we were in Channing’s room. We both were sitting in the floor, nibbling on our rice crispy treats.
“Hm
m
?” she asked me.
“Aurelia,” I said.
“Oh,” Channing replied, wrinkling her nose. “I think today is one of her mopey days.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Two or three days out of the week, Aurelia acts all depressed,” Channing explained. “I don’t know if it’s because of her meds, or if she just wants attention…or maybe if she’s just trying to convince herself that she really does belong here and just can’t get better.”
“What’s her story, anyway?” I inquired. “She told me she used to be a hooker in New York, but Henry and Shakespeare say she’s lying and that she was really a waitress.”
“Yeah, she tells everyone she was a hooker,” Channing said. “I would think by now she would realize how old that story is and how everyone knows it’s untrue. But I don’t think she cares. She was a waitress, with these really big dreams of being a Broadway star.”
“I can see that,” I nodded. “She is pretty dramatic.”
“Yes, she is,” Channing said, smiling slightly. “But in her defense, she has been through some pretty tough stuff in her life. I might be kind of crazy if I’d gone through what she has.”
After she’d said this, we both burst into laughter.
“I guess it’s easy to label other pe
ople crazy in a mental institution
, excluding yourself,” Channing grinned. “Sometimes I forge
t that I’m part of this place
, too.”
“Yeah, it still hasn’t resonated
for me yet,” I sighed. “And I’ve been here nearly three weeks.”
“When’s your first evaluation?” she asked me.
“Sixty days,” I grumbled. “It feels like forever away.”
“I remember my first evaluation,” Channing said. “Ninety days. It was awful. I knew I wasn’t much better than I had been since I’d arrived here and I knew that Julianne could see that, too.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked her.
“Too long,” she replied, yawning. “Ten months. I get my evaluation for release around the same time you get yours, I think.”
“God, that’s such a long time,” I frowned. “Can I ask why you’re here?”
“Why is the majority of everyone here on this ward?” she shrugged. “Suicide attempt is always the main one. Throw in some drug abuse and auto theft and that completes my story.”