Dakota Dream (14 page)

When they assigned me to do a mental test called the
ring sort
, they put me right next to Gary, at the same table. That was not a pleasant situation, so I moved my chair down close to the end. The ring sort is a test where you have to arrange different sized rings on these vertical rods. And you're supposed to arrange them in a certain order so they form pyramids. I think it's a test of frustration level.

Right after supper, Barb came. I felt some relief, even though it was obvious she didn't; she had that hassled look.

“I just found out this afternoon. We had a staffing on you.”

“You've got a lot of stuff,” I said. I meant all the folders and notebooks she was carrying.

“It was a long staffing, more than two hours.”

“Who was there?”

“Just about everyone in the world. Wagner, Lacey, Mrs. Grice. Your assistant principal was even there.”

“Saberhagen? What for?”

“He was there to testify that you're psychologically irregular.”

“That's the label they put on my story. They took my story out of the competition.”

“I know. We spent a lot of time talking about that.”

I said to her, “That really bummed me out.”

“I haven't read your story, but I've read
Frankenstein
and
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
I pointed out that those stories are probably psychologically irregular, as well.”

“You told them that?”

“We went around about it. I told them that the real issue should be whether the story is well written. I also pointed out that since the school isn't actually the sponsor of the contest, they're really overstepping their authority.”

I knew Barb had a real temper, and a short fuse. I only wished I could have been there to see her chew ass on Saberhagen.

Then she looked at me and changed the subject. “You've been a naughty boy, though.”

I asked her what she meant by that.

“You took Mrs. Grice's X off the floor. More than once.”

“The X is cruel and unusual punishment. If you were ever one of the poor bastards who had to stand on it, you'd know what I mean.”

“So you took it off as a matter of principle.”

“You could put it that way.”

“Floyd, there are ways of doing things. People can help you.”

This again
, I thought. “Not when it comes to the system,” I said. “When it comes to the system, either you get on board or you get flushed out. You talk to me about standing up for your rights. I tried that with Saberhagen when they withdrew my story. I tried it with Wagner—I told him it wasn't right for them to search my things. Where did all this standing up get me? It got me here. In the puzzle house.”

“I know.”

“You even tried it yourself when you wanted to get my probation reduced.”

“I have not yet begun to fight. Speaking of which, what happened with you and Nicky in the lounge?”

“I was just pissed about the story. I more or less flipped out and then I hit Slive in the head. Right after that I was trying to break it up.”

Barb stood up. “Let's go downstairs.”

We went down to the lounge, where there were vending machines. She got a bag of Cajun Spice Ruffles and started crunching. “You left Gates House several times when you were on probation.”

This was starting to annoy me. Especially coming from her. It must have told on my face because she said, “Look, Floyd, I spent the afternoon hearing all of these charges against you. Now I'd like to hear your side of things.”

“It's true. I was sneaking out the fire escape.”

“Where were you going?”

“No place in particular. Either the park or the library. I was doing research for a report in English class. Mostly it was just to get away from Gates House and Mrs. Grice, or to get away from Nicky and Kinderhook and all their clinging.”

“That's about what I figured. Still, it wasn't the best way to go about it.”

I said to her, “Do you think I belong here or what?”

“Of course not. I'm trying to get you out.”

“What else went on at the staffing?”

“If I tell you, it's going to get you down.”

“Tell me anyway. I think I have a right to know. You're always big on rights.”

So she summed up the other stuff that had come up. The log catching fire was big. It was brought up that I wrote weird stories. It was brought up that I'm intractable and defiant; my moccasins were part of the evidence. Then she added, “There was a letter from Mrs. Bluefish and another one from Reverend Braithwaite. Mrs. Bluefish wrote that since you really and truly believe you're going to be an Indian someday, it shows you're psychologically disturbed. Reverend Braithwaite's letter said you need proper religious training.”

I said, “I wear Dakota moccasins to school and told the reverend about some Indian miracles. Now I'm in the looney bin. You see how nuts that sounds?”

“I warned you this would get you down, but you had to know.”

“Right. I had to know.”

“Let's go outside.”

We went out to this patio, which was somewhat like a sunken courtyard, so Barb could light up. She said, “We talked about a new placement.”

“Naturally.”

“You don't like it at Gates House. Why wouldn't you like to talk about a new placement?”

The more we talked about these things, the more depressing it seemed. “I told you once, I hate getting hung out all the time. I was hung out most of this year, up until April. Besides, if Wagner and those other agency honchos have their way, they'll just get me placed in one of those hard-core houses like The Tunnels.”

“That sounds like you're anticipating the worst.”

“I'd be an idiot to anticipate anything else. You were the one at the staffing. If that wasn't a hatchet job, then what was it?”

Barb tried to blow a smoke ring, but there was too much wind. She said, “I'd like to try to find you a good placement in a foster home. One like you had with Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs. That's what I'd like to work on. Are you interested?”

“I don't know. I can put in my time at Gates House if I have to.”

She said, “Maybe you don't have to. Do me a favor and think it over. I have to go to Missouri tomorrow for a wedding in Nolan's family. I'm going to be out of town for a couple of days.”

“I'll be here when you get back.”

“I hope you won't be. I'm pushing for you to be dismissed. We can talk about it after I get back, when you've had some time to think it over. Unless of course you don't want to; I'm not going to force you to talk about a new placement if you don't want to.”

Just about that time, a nurse came out. She said there was a group therapy I had to go to, so Barb said good-bye. She told me to keep my chin up. “I'll see you when I get back.”

The next day, I was reading a book in leisure time. Gary came up and wanted to talk. He wanted to know what I was in for.

“It's hard to say,” I said. “It was a combination of little things. They had a way of adding up that didn't make sense.”

“Such as?”

I told him about the fight and the pipe and the willow bark. I didn't go into the log, or my moccasins, et cetera.

“My friend, you've been railroaded.”

I told him about Mrs. Grice, and how I refused to stand on the X when she told me to.

“I'd say you did the right thing,” said Gary. “She sounds like a dead solid hairbag.”

Then I tried to get back to my reading because I hoped the conversation was over. But no way. Gary started explaining what he was in for. It turned out he'd burned down his neighbor's garage. “I have to go to trial for it next month,” he said.

So I asked him why he torched the garage.

“It was because of my pheasant,” he said.

I had no idea what he was talking about, but he just went right on with the story.

“See, I have this pheasant stuffed and mounted on the wall in my bedroom. It's the first pheasant I ever bagged. I shot it with my dad a few years ago. Anyway, our neighbors put a floodlight on their garage. They said it was for security, but I think maybe they had other reasons.”

I didn't say anything. One thing I'd figured out was that Gary was going to say what he was going to say, even if you weren't interested in hearing it.

He went on, “That floodlight made my pheasant throw a distorted shadow on the wall, all bent out of shape. For all practical purposes, it ruined my pheasant.”

“Are you saying your neighbor did it on purpose?”

“Not for certain. I'm just saying it's possible. I've had bad vibes from him before.”

“You burned down the garage to get the light turned off.”

“Not at first. At first I tried to pry the floodlight off the garage with a crowbar. It didn't work because the light was wired up in conduit. In case you don't know, that's a heavy electrical pipe. Also, there were strong metal clamps.”

“Why didn't you just move your pheasant to a different wall or close your curtains?”

“You sound just like Mrs. Greene,” he said. “You sound just like everybody else who hears about the pheasant. The answer should be obvious: Why should I move my pheasant, when it was on the wall long before he put up his stupid floodlight?”

I didn't try to think of an answer. You couldn't give Gary a right answer; he made up all the rules for the conversation and if you broke one of the rules, he would go into this real injured head. I picked up my book again and started reading. I guess he got the point because he left and went down the hallway.

The Elms was squeezing me. As soon as he was out of sight, I went down to Mrs. Greene's office. Her secretary told me I'd have to wait, so I took a seat. I got to thinking that maybe I'd been jerked around long enough. The best thing for me would be to pack my few essential belongings, get on the road, and make my way to the reservation, where I could fulfill my true destiny as a Sioux.

It would be almost impossible to find me. There were several people, including Barb, who would expect me to head for an Indian reservation, but their problem would be, which one? There are hundreds of reservations, all the way from the East Coast to the West Coast. In the state of Oklahoma there are more than thirty reservations, and in California, more than seventy.

The secretary broke my train of thought when she told me I could talk to Mrs. Greene now.

The first thing I told her was, I wouldn't take Gary for a roommate any more.

“Does Gary scare you?” asked Mrs. Greene.

“I'll sleep in the lounge,” I said. “Or I'll sleep in the hall, but I won't be with him.”

“I asked you if Gary scares you.”

“Of course he scares me.
Everybody
scares me here.
You
scare me. I don't belong here, and it can't be good for me to be here.”
But what was the alternative
, I asked myself,
back to Gates House?

Mrs. Greene was opening up a folder. “Floyd, I've tried to tell you you won't be here for very long. Only a few days at the most.”

“Yeah, but what does a few days mean?”

“I can't be more specific. In the meantime, I'll see what I can do about getting you transferred to another room.”

She had her glasses on by this time, and I guess she found the papers she was looking for, because she closed up the folder. “Floyd, would you tell me about the X on the floor?”

“That's not why I came here.”

“I know, but would you please tell me anyway?”

I sighed. “Mrs. Grice put an X on the floor of the lounge. She made people stand on it for punishment. Sometimes she made people stand on it for an hour or two.”

“It says here you removed the X from the floor several times.”

“That's true.”

“Did she know who was removing the X?”

“No. I was doing it in the middle of the night. She figured it was me, but she didn't
know.
”

“Did Mrs. Grice ever make you stand on the X?”

“She tried to make me once, but I refused.”

“Floyd, why were you taking the X off the floor?”

“It was the principle of the thing. She kept giving people punishment they didn't deserve, and standing on the X was too embarrassing. I'd say the best word would be humiliating.”

Mrs. Greene said, “Why do you think Mrs. Grice used that method of punishment?”

“Probably your basic power trip. I don't know why Mrs. Grice does the things she does. Why don't you ask her? As a matter of fact, if you want people in The Elms for observation, I'd say she'd be a good one to start with.”

“And yet,” said Mrs. Greene, “she's not the only authority figure you seem to have difficulties with.” By this time, she was looking at a different set of papers. She changed the subject and started summarizing some of my test results. There was nothing wrong with me physically, but she said my mental tests showed that I was a loner. She asked me if I thought it was true.

“I suppose it is,” I said. “Does it mean there's something the matter with me?”

“No, it doesn't. I'm just interested. You like activities you can do alone. Have you ever had what you would call a close friend?”

All of a sudden I got real uptight with her, and real impatient. She kept asking me these obvious things in this real nitpicky way, like she was trying to chip away at something. I thought about Gary's theory that all these things were a trap, but thinking about him only made me more impatient.

“I think I know what you're getting at,” I said. “So let me sum it up. I've been moved around so many times that I've never had what you would call a basic circle of friends. I've never been in the same school more than two years in a row. I don't know my father or my mother, so if I have any relatives, I don't know who they are. Since you've got my files, I'm sure you know all of this. My way of making up for it is doing things by myself, such as reading and writing. I would say it's only logical.”