Cracked (15 page)

Nikole puts her beautiful head back on my shoulder and says, “Jazzer was your angel.”

She squeezes my hand again, lifts her head, and we are eye to eye.

“I’m thinking that what I said to you, about looking like your dog just died, was meant to be. Think about it. That is beyond weird, Victor. You were
supposed
to get this out. Don’t you see?”

I’m not convinced, but I muster up an “I guess” to keep the conversation going.

Nikole starts giggling. I think it makes her look even more adorable. But a terrible, familiar feeling creeps in. She’s laughing at me. Oh crap, she’s laughing at me. I can’t take her laughing at me.

She nudges me and says, “Oh come on, don’t you think it’s sort of funny? I mean, you fly out of the cafeteria because you’re
thinking
about your dog dying and right after that I say, ‘You ran out of there as if your dog just died.’ That’s . . . funny. That’s funny, Victor. It is.”

Her eyebrows are raised, waiting for my reaction.

I start laughing. It
is
funny.

“Victor, we’re going to be okay. For some reason, I just know it,” she says to me.

I get my laughing under control and say, “I wish I knew it.”

“Was that your wish? To make it?” she asks.

“No, that wasn’t it.”

Her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, her hair—
all
of her is staring at me. I’ve never had someone look at me this way. My face goes red. At least I’m not crying this time.

She smiles at me. “I think I know your wish.”

I shake my head. “No, no you don’t. Believe me.”

I GOT A NEW BROWN BAG FROM FRANK. IT HAS TWO
granola bars, an apple, and lemonade. No danish this time. There’s another Post-it note, though.

Enjoy! Hope you are

getting better in there.

Your bike is missing you.

So am I.

—Frank

P.S. You can keep the poem.

I keep reading the “So am I” over and over again. He doesn’t even know me. How could he miss me? But I like that he misses me. Which is weird because I’ve never met the guy. But he misses me. That’s cool.

Dicktoria flies in, stares at me for a second, and then runs out like a weirdo. I hear a muffled collision and then an
oomph
. I think he knocked his girlfriend down in the hallway. Smooth. I overhear Nikole ask him what’s wrong and then him say something about a dog dying. Then I hear him lose it. I wish I were out there to see him because I’d laugh right in his face. She lets him go for a few minutes and then gets him talking. He tells her that his dog was the only thing in the world that really loved him, understood him, saw him. He tells her how she used to wait for him in the window every day after school. And how he found her all curled up on his bed with her eyes open, dead.

I’m jealous that he can tell that girl how he feels. I’m jealous that he had a dog that loved him. I’m jealous that he had a bed.

But mostly, I feel bad for him. And that scares the shit out of me.

I AM SITTING ACROSS FROM THE PSYCHIATRIST IN HIS
office. Ellie had seen me and Nikole sitting in the hallway. She’d told me I had my appointment with the doctor in five minutes.

And here I am.

I have the hardest time looking into his eyes. He has really long, black eyebrows with gray hairs mixed in. It’s like his eyebrows are waving at me, saying,
Look up here. Look up here.
They are the longest and weirdest eyebrows I’ve ever seen in my life.

His face is odd too. Like the parts don’t go together or something. His eyes are really big, but really close together. He
has a nose the size of a toddler’s, and a small mouth with no visible lips. But he is married. He found someone to love him. After spending two minutes with him I think his wife, whoever she is, must be either blind or deaf. His voice reminds me of breathing, and he is impossible to understand. It’s almost like he’s talking through me, not to me. I just keep nodding, pretending that I’m getting everything he’s saying. I think I hear him say “committed” and I panic.

“Doctor Billings, I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I ask.

He exhales, obviously annoyed that I stopped his train of thought, and he speaks slowly, pausing between phrases for added emphasis. “I asked . . . if you’ve had thoughts of
suicide . . . since you’ve been involuntarily committed.”

“No,” I say.

“Good. Good. And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.” And I really don’t. I’m not lying to him.

“Well, I’ve spoken with your grandmother and your parents. They’re very concerned about you, especially your grandmother.”

I skip right over my parents and ask about my grandmother. She’s the only one I care about at this point. Basically, she’s all I have.

“What did my nana say?”

“She just wants you to be okay, and to come home. She wants you to be happy,” he tells me.

This actually does make me happy. I wish I could tell her that. I’ll have to remember to tell her when I see her. That she made me happy. She’ll like that.

“Are they mad at me, my parents?” I ask him. I don’t know why I ask him this. I don’t know why I even care what they think.

“They’re very upset, Victor. You frightened them.”

Not enough for them to come home from their vacation, though.

“Are
you
mad at
them
?” he asks me.

I look around his office and think. It’s nothing like the psychiatrist offices you see on TV. His desk is small and gunmetal gray. No leather sofas or big plants or piles of books. Just some crappy artwork on the one wall and the same orange plastic chairs as in the cafeteria.

“Are
you
mad at
them
, Victor?” he repeats.

I’m still thinking. Not sure how to answer. Am I mad at my parents? I don’t know if “mad” is the right word. I proceed cautiously. “Why are you asking me that?”

He lifts his head and tilts it to the right. And he stares at me. Great, he’s waiting for me to talk. I don’t want to talk to him. I just met him. I’m not spilling my guts to him. He doesn’t know me. Who am I kidding, no one knows me. No one. Well, maybe Nikole, but we just met.

What the hell.

“Yes,” I say.

“And why is that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. This is hard.

“Well, you are the only one who would know, son,” he says gently. “
I
certainly wouldn’t presume to know how
you
feel.”

I’m glad he’s perked up and not breathe-talking anymore. I can actually understand him now. But I still don’t want to answer him. This is way too hard. He’s waiting for me to talk again. I can’t look at him, so I drop my eyes and focus on my slippers.

“I guess I think it’s wrong that they didn’t come home from their trip. You know, even after what I did.” I stop there. That’s pretty big for me. The doctor doesn’t say anything. More silence. He probably planned this whole thing: the question, the waiting, the silence. I look up at him, and he’s nodding, like he agrees with me. Well, I’m not sure if he agrees with me. I keep going.

“How could they stay there and have fun?”

“That’s a good question, Victor. How could they do that?”

He’s definitely agreeing with me. This gives me a little confidence, like I’m right, like he’s going to call my idiot parents and yell at them. Oh, how I’d like to sit and listen to that.

“I tried to kill myself, and my parents are over in Europe
deciding what chardonnay to have with dinner. My mother is probably shopping all day, filling up their hotel suite with Louis Vuitton bags and Chanel suits, when she should be here at home, filling up her life with me,” I say. I start blinking a lot. The tears are trying to get out. I think the blinking is working to hold them in.

“Something in your eye?” he asks.

I suck in some air and tell him I’m fine. I wonder if one of his eyebrow hairs has ever gotten in his eye. Wow, those things are
creatures
.

The doctor asks me how I feel about my parents’ actions. Duh, didn’t I just tell him that? But he’s waiting for me to speak again.

“I feel . . . invisible.”

IF WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK TO ANYONE OUTSIDE
the ward till the fourth day, and it’s only the second day, how is Frank getting in here? I wonder if Frank is married. Will I be able to find my dad when I get out of here? Why can’t I get Victor’s voice out of my head? Why does Lacey say “I swear” so much? I’ll never admit it out loud, but I think Andrew could take me. I wonder how much Pop has been drinking. Where is the gun? Did my uncle get it back? Has my mom been functioning out there? Why did I have to have her as a mother? I wonder what the kids at school said about me on the last day. Did they even notice I wasn’t there? Or care? I wish Ellie were
ten years younger. If that girl with the notebook would wash her hair, she’d be hot too. What the hell does she write about? I wonder what’s for breakfast tomorrow. . . .

My brain won’t shut off. I’ve been trying to fall asleep for the past three hours, and my brain is boiling over with shit. It is so hard to get comfortable with a bum leg
and
a bum arm. I wish I took the Tylenol at dinner. My leg is throbbing. This sucks.

They keep our doors open, so it’s never really dark in here. I grab Frank’s Post-it and read it again. He misses me. I like reading those three words. Since my brain is going right now, I picture a scene. Him, coming to visit me, telling me he’d like to adopt me, me saying yes, leaving with him, and living in a real house with a yard and a porch with a swing. He has a bedroom with a bed, a nightstand, a desk, and a closet all ready for me. His wife is there, and she’s baked cookies to welcome me. She looks like the best grandmother ever, with an apron and flower dress and a big smile. She hugs me and tells me I must be starving. I tell her I am. Frank puts his arm around my shoulder and says I’m in luck, because his wife is the best cook in the world. She smiles and pats his cheek with love. I let out a big sigh and look around my new house. I realize it smells good, and it’s warm and clean and has two really nice people in it. It’s perfect.

I smile in my hospital bed. Then I snap out of it. That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever thought of. When I get out of here, I’m going straight to the shore. And if I can’t find my dad, well, then I’ll live on my own. I can get a job and get a room for cheap in one of those backpacker places. Maybe I’ll even go to school, if I feel like it. But I know one thing for sure: I am not going back to my apartment. Ever. Those two can rot in hell for all I care.

Still not sleeping.

I would give anything for a book right now. I’m so desperate, I wouldn’t even care if Victor saw me reading. Tomorrow I am definitely asking Ellie to get me a magazine or something to read.

I reach for the poem. This time I focus on the second half of the poem. I like that half.

Children want to be loved

cherished

without conditions

restrictions

limitations

or boundaries

A child’s spirit is a fragile thing

a hollow egg

delicate and easy to shatter

Some wait to be filled

with direction

hope

Some wait for no one

they fill

themselves

up

I wish my mom and Pop knew about this poem. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference, though. They have big problems. I read the lines over and over again, because I do want to be loved. Not “Oooh, I love you, you’re so hot” love, just love. Like regular love. I’ve never thought about this before. I didn’t even know I wanted this.

But I do.

IT’S LUNCHTIME ALREADY. AS I WALK BACK FROM THE
common room to pick up Bull I realize it’s day three, and that means I get to call my nana tomorrow. I really want to hear her voice. I wonder when they’ll let me call her. In the morning? Will they make me wait till nighttime? I want to tell her I’m sorry. Sorry that she had to find me. I want her to know that.

This morning was kind of lazy, just a lot of hanging around. Bull didn’t want to go to the common room. I overheard him tell Ellie that his leg was aching and that he’d rather have breakfast in bed.

Now I’m sitting on my bed waiting for Bull when he says, “Yo, I’m ready,” from his side of the room.

The way he said it makes me want to punch him in the face. Why is he always so damn condescending?
Well guess what, scumbag, what if I’m not ready?! What if I don’t want to roll you around here like we’re best friends?! What if I’d like to push you and your wheelchair down a flight of stairs? What . . .

“YO! Did you hear me? I said I’m ready.”

I take a really deep breath and clench my jaw. I swear to God I’m going to crush my teeth into tiny pieces. I don’t say a word to him. I pull my curtain back, get behind his wheelchair, and push him toward lunch. Ellie had said that he should eat with everyone today even though he’s still in a wheelchair, because it’s better that way. She said they have a higher table all ready to go for him. Who cares?

I know I don’t.

I push Bull into the cafeteria and then let go of the handles. Job done. He’s on his own now. The wheelchair rolls a few feet and he puts his good leg down to stop from crashing into his special table.

Nikole is waving me over to the empty seat next to her. Everyone but Andrew is already seated: Lacey, Brian, and Kell. I found out Kell’s name this morning. Not from her, she hasn’t said a word since I’ve been here. Nikole told me. Kell’s the female
version of the old me. Alone, silent, trying to stay invisible. I’m sad for her all of a sudden. And I feel like I want to talk to her, which is crazy because I never want to talk to anyone, ever.