Authors: Tabitha Freeman
He and Shakespeare burst into a fit of giggles then. I rolled my eyes and stood up.
“See you whackos in group therapy,” I said and left.
I spilled juice on my t-shirt, so I had to change shirts, causing me to walk into group therapy late. I was surprised to see an extra person there, sitting beside Julianne.
I quickly sat in the empty seat next to Henry. He nudged me and I shot him a dirty look.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Julianne said pleasantly. “I want to introduce you all to my son, Conner Walker.”
Everyone mumbled hello and Henry was smirking at me. I tried to ignore him.
“Conner is doing his internship for psychiatric medicine here at Craneville,” Julianne went on. “And you’ll be seeing quite a bit more of him in the next few months. He’ll be in our group therapy sessions and he’ll be stopping by your rooms sometimes for a visit...just to say hello and to ask you a few questions.”
“Come by my room anytime,” Aurelia spoke up, causing a few snickers. I rolled my eyes.
“Is there a problem, cheerleader?” Aurelia asked me. I couldn’t believe her.
“
My only problem is that I just can’t stomach you,”
I replied flatly. Shakespeare laughed out loud.
“All right, that’s enough,” Julianne said.
“Sorry,” I said to her. My eyes passed by Conner and caught on his. He gave me a small smile. I looked away quickly.
“Well, New Year’s
is coming up,” Julianne said. “I was wondering ho
w you all felt about a New Year’s Eve party?
”
“With cookies?” Princess Golden asked. Julianne smiled.
“Of course!” she replied. “Cookies and cake and punch
—
the works! We’ll even play jingle bell rock over and over unt
il we can’t stand it anymore.”
I was looking out the window now, Julianne’s voice just backgr
ound noise in my head. Christmas and New Year’s
had always been so special for my mom and me, however I really doubted I would see her this year. A lump formed in my throat when I thought about sitting in my cold room alone on Christmas
and New Year’s D
ay.
“Ava, any preference on the party date?”
Julianne’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“Uh, no,” I jumped back to reality. “It doesn’t matter to me.
If everyone can be here New Year’s Eve, we should just do it on December 31
st
.
”
“My thoughts exactly!”
Julianne said, rather excitedly.
“December 31
st
it is then!”
I glanced over at Henry, who was looking at me strangely.
“Who’s going to plan this party?” Aurelia spoke up.
“That’s a very good question,” Julianne nodded. “Well, we have a little over a month until
December 31
s
, so how about we decide on who will be doing what when we come back from the Thanksgiving holiday next week?”
“Ava, weren’t you a cheerleader?” Aurelia looked over at me with a smirk. “I’m sure you’ve got
lots of experience with party planning and decoration.”
“I wasn’t a cheerleader,” I mumbled, slouching back in my chair. I was so sick of this place, I could barely stand it. And Conner Walker kept looking at me.
The day of Thanksgiving arrived and I actually didn’t even know it until I walked into the cafeteria and saw the Thanksgiving display of food awaiting us.
“Wow
,” I murmured under my breath as Henry and I got our food. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“You forgot?” Henry asked me. I looked at him and shrugged.
“Guess so,” I replied. “There are
plenty of places to sit in here, though. I guess a lot of people got passes to go home for the day.”
Henry was looking at me with a sort of sadness in his eyes.
“You don’t get to see your mom today?” he asked as we walked to a table.
“I haven’t seen my mom since my evaluation,” I told him, quietly. “I didn’t expect to
see her today. Or at Christmas,
even.” We sat down and I began to pick at my food as usual.
“Why aren’t you at home, too?” I asked him, realizing that I’d never inquired about his life before Craneville.
He chuckled, shaking his head.
“Well, my mom’s dead,” he said. “And my father basically disowned me after he found out I was gay. No family to really go home to, you know?”
“Oh,” I replied, looking down at my plate. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” he asked. “This is life. Nothing goes as anyone plans. You just have to pick yourself up and keep on walking to get through it.”
“How did your mom die?” I asked him.
“She was shot to death,” he told me, his voice becoming softer. “I was twelve. Robbers broke into the house while I was at school and when I got home, I found her. We had a parrot at the time
—
Molly. She started squawking as soon as I found my mom. She was saying, ‘Run, Henry! Run Henry!’ So I did. I ran as fast as I could to the neighbor’s house to get help. Then I was sent off to live with my dad and the rest is history.”
“Your
parents were divorced?” I guessed. He nodded.
“Oh yeah,” he answered. “Right after I was born, p
retty much. He’s a really
despicable
person, my dad. My mom was a wonderful woman. I wouldn’t be in here if she was still alive.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I’d never realized how bad Henry’s life could’ve been. He’d always come across as so content and enlightened b
y everything around him that it ha
d never even crossed my mind that he could
ha
ve been subject to things so horrible.
“What did you do to end up here?” I finally asked him.
“I came out of the closet,” he said. “And my father didn’t support me. So I turned to drugs…meth, actually. I was hooked on it for about a year until I became so worthless and depressed that I tried to hang myself in my bedroom closet. My dad found me before my last breath had escaped me and sent me here.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
“Seventeen,” he told me.
“Didn’t you tell me
you
’re
twenty now?” I didn’t understand. “And you’ve been here this long?”
“Yep,” he chuckled again. “Just can’t seem to get better, I guess.”
“But you seem all right to me,” I said. “I can’t imagine how you of all people could keep failing your evaluations.”
“Who knows,” he shrugged. “Maybe part of me just wants to stay here…after all, I don’t really have anything waiting for me outside of this place.”
“Well that’s just insane, Henry!” I exclaimed, and I was surprised when he laughed loudly.
“Nice word choice, Ava,” he smiled. “You know, some of
the best people I’ve ever met,
I’ve met here. People that are more decent and kind and just…
real
…more real than anyone outside that’s considered ‘normal’ and ‘not sick’.”
“All this time I’ve just wanted to get the hell out of here,” I whispered. “But when I really think about it, there’s nothing for me to go back to, either.”
“Ah, Ava, but that’s not true!” Henry argued. “Don’t you understand? You
need
to get back out there! You need to realize that there still is life after Tyson! There was a life you led before and there will be a life you lead after. It’s up to you to choose how you’ll live after.”
I just shrugged, not wanting to talk about this. Nobody understood. Nobody would
ever
understand.
Two days l
ater, I was sitting in my room floor
drawing, when there was a soft knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called, not looking up when the door opened.
“Er, hi,” I heard a familiar voice. My head snapped up quickly and I was surprised to see Conner Walker standing there.
“Hey,” I said, not moving. I was unsure of what to do. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, just making rounds on the patients,” he smiled. “Just trying to get to know everybody as part of my interning.” He looked awkward standing there.
“Um, well you can sit down on the bed if you want,” I told him. “I-I was just doodling.”
“Doodling, eh?” he asked, walking over to stand beside me. He peered down at my drawing. “What sort of doodling?”
“Oh, just doodles,” I replied, a little shyly. “Nothing fancy…just a tree.” I was surprised when he sat down on the floor beside me then.
“It’s a very nice tree,” he commented
. I laughed.
“Thanks,” I told him. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Is it a significant tree?” he asked. I looked at him for a moment before replying.
“Um, yeah,” I said, and then, hesitantly added, “I saw it in a dream once…actually, I see it in my dreams quite often…
when
I sleep, that is, which isn’t very much, but…” I let my voice trail off because I felt like I was rambling on like an idiot.
“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand. I nodded and placed the sketch in his hand. He examined it for a moment.
“What exactly happens in this dream with the tree?” he asked me then. I didn’t answer him right away. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. After all, I didn’t know him and why would he care about the tree?
He’d probably be freaked out at the grotesque details of the dream and the tree, and he’d probably leave my room in a rush because he’d think I was nuts. And for some reason, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to think I was nuts. I didn’t want him to leave. Something about his company set me at ease.
“My fiancé died in a car crash about four months ago,” I told Conner quietly, avoiding his eyes. “He was sitting in the front passenger seat of the car and he took his seatbelt off to put his jacket on. He went out the front windshield and…and the tree…he landed in this big tree. He…the
limbs actually went through him a-and killed him. I wasn’t there, but somehow…I don’t know how…I see it in my dreams…sometimes the whole accident, and sometimes just the tree.”
It was silent for a moment, but it wasn’t like the silence before. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable.
“So that’s the tree, then,” he said in a gentle tone, nodding at the sketch. I nodded.
“Yeah,” I replied. “That’s it.”
“Well, you know,” he said suddenly. “If you
—
may I see this pencil?” I handed him my pencil.
“Sometimes art is about what’s not literal,” he said, drawing something. “Sometimes, it’s about what you
can’t
see…” He lightly sketched on my picture for a moment before holding it up so I could see. There were now detailed dewdrops and fresh leaves on the tree. There were also stars in the sky.
“Maybe if you don’t draw it exactly how it is,” Conner suggested, softly, his eyes meeting mine. “And if you change how it’s ‘supposed’ to look, then you can change the way you dream about it…and then you’ll see it as something else, something…
happy
.” He handed the sketch back to me and suddenly, there was this heavy feeling in my stomach. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his…my head was spinning and that feeling in the pit of my stomach was scaring me to death.
“Ava?”
We both jumped at the sound of Henry’s voice at the door.
“Oh, hey, Henry,” I said, and Conner immediately stood up.
“Uh, sorry, am I interrupting something?” Henry asked, and I saw a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Oh
,
no!” Conner said, rather too quickly. “Just, erm, chatting with Ava.” I
saw a
look of bashfulness cross over his face. “Just making my rounds for my internship. You’ll be on the rounds, too!”
“I can come back,” Henry offered.
“No, that’s fine,” Conner said, glancing back at me. “I’ve got to get going, anyhow. See you.” And he was gone.
Henry turned back to me.
“What was that about?” he asked, a grin breaking on his face then.
“Nothing!” I grumbled, getting to my feet. “We were just talking about my drawing.”
“What drawing?” Henry walked up to me.
“Nothing,” I said, putting the sketch under my bed. “Anyway, quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like I’m guilty of something!” I rolled my eyes. He laughed.
“Hmmm,” he smiled. “Maybe you are. I
still
think someone’s got a little crush on the shrink’s son…”
“Whatever,” I sighed. “What’d you come in here for?”