Icy Sparks (11 page)

“I
cy,” I heard Mr. Wooten say from the doorway.

Startled, I turned around. Over the past week, I had been nervous and afraid.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” I said, fearing that perhaps my voice carried and that earlier in the week he had overheard me. Whenever Mrs. Patterson had come to see me, I had been polite and attentive; and, when alone, I'd tidied up my life. Yet, during those moments when Nurse Coy had been out, I had not remained calm but had changed instead into my former self and vented every one of my stored-up urges. My body had contorted into hideous shapes. Foul words had bombed from my mouth, and I had proceeded to tic, croak, and curse until all of my demons were purged. “Didn't seem like nothing to me,” he said, coming inside and looking around. “Something seems different.” He arched his eyebrows and looked puzzled. “The room is changed.”

I stood very still. Sadly, it now seemed that my makeshift classroom could not really calm me. Somehow, the colors weren't right. Peach conflicted with orange. The forest-green erasers didn't match the lime-green rulers. One yellow was more mustard than the other.

Mr. Wooten walked over to the shelves. “Why, you've straightened up everything!” he said.

“Yessir,” I replied. “And I've been reading, too,” I said. “Those books by Louisa May Alcott. Did you know my mama's name was Louisa?”

He nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “Which one of hers do you like best?” he asked.

“
Little Women
is really good,” I said. “Plus women and Wooten both start with
w
's.”

“What's that?” he asked, squinting at me.

“Women and Wooten,” I explained. “They both start with
w
's.”

“Oh,” he murmured, stroking his forehead, walking back and forth in front of the shelves. “You've been working really hard,” he said, frowning. “But I don't quite understand.” He stopped in front of the rolls of toilet paper and picked one up.

I held my breath. Order's fragile, I thought.

“But why is this next to the stencils?” he asked.

I bit my bottom lip; chaos was about to take over.

With the toilet paper in his hand, he headed toward the far corner of the room. “We stack it here,” he said, placing the roll on the floor.

“No,” I mumbled.

“What did you say?” he asked me.

“No,” I repeated loudly.

“No, what?” he said, glancing up.

“You're breaking the pattern,” I said. “It can't go there.”

Slowly, he walked toward me. “What pattern?”

“The oranges,” I explained. “They go together.”

He stared at the shelves. “Okay, I see.” He laughed. “But we can't have toilet paper next to stencils. It doesn't make sense.”

I lunged past him. “No!” I yelled, racing toward the corner of the room. “You can't!” I snatched up the roll of toilet paper.

“Icy, honey, it's no big deal,” Mr. Wooten said. “Just leave it there.”

“No!” I screamed. “You're ruining everything!”

“Icy!” he said firmly. “Put that down.”

“No!” I bellowed, fiercely clutching the roll. “I won't let you.”

Calmly Mr. Wooten approached me. “Icy,” he reasoned, “it doesn't matter.”

“No!” I backed away, waving the roll above my head. “You can't have it!”

“I don't want it,” he said, reaching out. “I just want you to put it down.”

“No!” I lowered my arm and pressed the toilet paper against my stomach. “Shit! Piss on you!” I screamed, crouching down. “Son-of-a-bitch, it's mine!”

Instantly, Mr. Wooten bent over and shoved his hands beneath my armpits. “Icy, stand up this minute or else!” he ordered.

“Piss on you! Piss on you! Piss on you!” I yelled, rolling myself into a tight ball, the toilet paper still jammed against my belly.

“Get up this minute, Icy Sparks!” he demanded.

“Shit! Shit!” I said. “You mean ole son-of-a-bitch!”

“That does it!” Red-faced, Mr. Wooten jerked me upward.

“What you gonna do!” I shouted, stabbing him with my elbows. Groaning, he let go of me, and I broke away. “You gonna make me pay!” I screamed, racing toward the supply room door, gripping the toilet paper with both hands. “You gonna make me pay! What you gonna do?” I flung open the door and dashed out. “What you gonna do?”

Mr. Wooten chased after me.

Sprinting down the hallway, I shoved open the double doors and pushed through. “Throw me in the fish pond! Drown me! Drown me!” I cried, running around the building. “Throw me in and drown me!” I said, darting toward the fish pond, reaching the picket fence, and scrambling over.

“Icy, don't!” Mr. Wooten yelled.

But his words came too late. I had already jumped into the cold water—this black, wet universe which God, at Little Turtle Pond, had shown me.

B
luegrass State Hospital, a residential facility on the outskirts of Lexington, was a five-hour drive from Poplar Holler. The minute I saw the guard shack and adults roaming the grounds like they were lost, I knew that my premonitions had come true. This would be the worst fate to befall me.

The dormitory, where the children stayed, was called the Sunshine Building, appropriately named, given its yellow stucco walls and brown-tiled roof. L-shaped and one story, it seemed more modern than the other buildings. In fact, the Sunshine Building stood out like a new car among old, used ones. Located to the left of the Administration Building, it was surrounded by a chain-link fence. Two swingsets, three seesaws, and a sandbox were scattered about the front and side yards. According to Mr. Wooten, the Sunshine Building was something of an experiment. While the rest of Bluegrass State Hospital was run like a hospital, the Sunshine Building, set apart with its own small staff, was supposed to be different. “It doesn't have as many doctors and nurses,” Mr. Wooten had told my grandparents. “Too much of that is bad for children,” he had explained. “The people who'll take care of Icy will act like family.” My grandparents had understood and liked this idea. It was one of the many reasons why they had even considered bringing me to this place. After all, not even the befuddled Dr. Stone had hesitated for a moment. “She must go to Lexington,” he'd said.

As we walked up the sidewalk to the front door, I saw children of different ages playing. Two girls in plaid jumpers whisked by me. One clutched a rope. The other a ball. “But I don't want to play ball,” the one with the jump rope whined. “We did that yesterday.”

A boy with auburn curls and green eyes sat cross-legged beneath a huge oak tree. A notebook rested upon his outstretched knees. In his hand, he grasped a pencil; and, with pursed lips and knotted eyebrows, he drew a picture. A large boy, with a dark crewcut, a boulder-sized face, and a stony jaw, marched from the swingset to the seesaw and back again. He looked older than the one who was drawing. Deep lines of determination were etched around his mouth. Over and over, he retraced his steps. A girl whose face I couldn't see was corkscrewed in a wheelchair near the sandbox. Her dull brown hair bristled out from her head like a mass of Brillo pads.

Beneath a maple tree, to the left of the sandbox, was a young girl lying twisted upon a bright green mat. Although she was on her stomach, her limbs were taut and rigid. While her neck and arms jerked to the right, the rest of her body pulled to the left. Every so often, her arms would hit against each other; her legs would knock. Then she'd lift her head, spasmodically wrench it to one side, and grin deliriously—her dark black hair spiking from her head like needles. I shuddered just looking at her, but then an even worse sight caught my eye. A blond-haired skinny boy, not more than eleven, perched on the top of a sawed-off telephone pole, began twittering and chirping like a bird. With one long leg curled upward, he flapped his elbows from his sides like wings. “Chru…chru…chri…chru,” he sang, crouched down, his head bent, his blond hair the yellow breast of a bird.

Oh, Lordie! I thought, staring intensely at him, feeling more alone than ever, thinking that even among misfits I wouldn't fit in. But then I heard laughter, and the two girls in plaid jumpers ran by me again.

“See, it ain't so bad,” Patanni said, as if on cue. “You'll make some new friends here.”

Matanni put her arms around me and squeezed.

Mr. Wooten nodded, thumped down the suitcases he was carrying, and pressed the buzzer beside the door. A young woman, with soft blond curls warmly greeted us. “You must be Icy,” she said, smiling. “We've been waiting for you.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I muttered.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bedloe?” she asked, nodding at Matanni and Patanni.

Patanni extended his arm and shook her hand. “We're Icy's grandparents,” he said.

Before she could ask who the other gentleman was, Mr. Wooten stepped forward. “I'm Charles Wooten, the principal at Ginseng Elementary, Icy's school.”

“And I'm Maizy Hurley,” the young woman said. “I'll be taking care of Icy.” She winked at me and took my hand. “I bet we'll become really good friends.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I muttered, stumbling through the huge front door.

We walked down a black-and-white-tiled corridor, so brightly lit that I squinted my eyes against the glare, passed by several office doors, and entered an enormous living room. An oversized bookcase stood just inside the entrance, to the left of the door. Green and yellow plaid sofas lined two adjoining walls. Cane-backed chairs circling a round wooden table stood catty-cornered from the sofas.

“This is our dayroom,” Maizy said, then pointed to the far side of the room. “And we eat our meals over there,” she explained, walking toward a long table covered with a bright green tablecloth. In the center of the table was a bowl of mustard-colored chrysanthemums. “Right now patients are napping in their rooms, or else they're playing outside,” she went on. “When the place is quiet, it's easier for a new person to settle in, don't you think?”

All of us nodded.

“This building isn't as old as the others,” observed Mr. Wooten.

Maisy Hurley grinned. “Right you are,” she said. “Until two years ago, we didn't have a children's wing, but the powers that be in Frankfort—thank heavens—finally saw the light.”

“It's nice,” my grandmother said. “Very clean.”

“Our nicest building,” Maizy said, abruptly twisting to the right. “Follow me,” she said, heading out the door, rounding a corner, and scurrying down another hallway. Quietly, we filed behind her, walking down the longer leg of the L-shaped building, passing doors of different colors, until we reached the next to the last door, white with 13, painted in bright red at the top.

Land sakes, I thought, staring at the 13, feeling a tic coming on.

“Room Thirteen brings good luck,” Maizy said, as though reading my mind. “Every child who stays here goes home early.”

“How early?” I asked nervously.

“Within three months,” she said.

I gasped.

“Three months ain't so long,” Patanni said. “You'll see how fast it goes by.”

Maizy took a key chain out of her pocket, fingered through a tangle of keys, then popped one into the lock, and twisted the door knob. The door to Room 13 swung open. Curtains, covered with nursery rhyme characters, hung from the windows. Old Mother Hubbard, Little Boy Blue, Little Bo Peep, and Jack and Jill danced in front of me. The walls were light blue, and a dark blue bedspread covered the mattress. A little pink dresser with an oval mirror was beside the bed, and a rocker, painted red, white, and blue, stood in the center of a fluffy blue rug. “How do you like it?” Maizy asked, looking at me.

I felt the tic subsiding. “It's nice,” I said, relieved.

“Very nice,” Matanni added.

Mr. Wooten set down the suitcases. “Colorful,” he said, huffing out of breath.

“I like it,” Patanni said.

“We have fourteen rooms in all,” Maizy said, “but only eight of them are filled right now. Patients come and go, you know. Some of the kids who don't have parents stay here longer until space opens up in a permanent care facility. But that's not you, Icy,” she said, staring into my eyes. “You'll be here only for a little while.”

I smiled at her gratefully.

“How many people work here?” Mr. Wooten asked.

“A whole lot of people work at Bluegrass State Hospital,” Maizy said. “Around a hundred and twenty, I think. But Sunshine Building has only five daytime staff members.” Maizy held up her right hand and wiggled her fingers. “Of course, care providers are here at night when we go home, but the kids don't really get to know them.” Maizy caught her breath. “Let's see,” she continued. “Seeing as I've been here the longest, I've been designated the top aide, but like the others, I end up doing a little bit of everything. Everything, that is, except cook.” She tossed back her head and laughed; dainty little giggles sprung from her throat. “The kitchen staff in Hickory prepares the food. They send it over, then we serve it up.”

“Who's we?” Mr. Wooten asked.

“Wilma, Delbert, Tiny, and myself,” replied Maizy.

“Are they aides like you?” he inquired.

“Wilma and Delbert are,” Maizy said. “But Tiny's a nurse. He got his training in the military. So along with everything else, he gives out the meds…the medications,” she said, correcting herself. “And then, of course”—she held up her index finger—“there's Dr. Conroy, who keeps us all in line.”

“Five altogether?” Mr. Wooten said.

“That's right,” Maizy said. “There are five of us.”

“Good,” Mr. Wooten said. “You'll have lots of time for Icy.”

“The sooner you fix her,” Patanni said, winking at me, “the sooner she gets to come home. Mind if we unpack?” he asked, pointing at the suitcases.

“Of course not,” Maizy said, walking toward the door. “When you're finished, I'll fetch Icy a big bowl of ice cream. This way she can enjoy herself while we—grownups—meet with Dr. Conroy.”

When she had gone, Matanni grabbed one of the suitcases and plopped it on the bed. “Ice cream sounds good to me,” she said, unlatching the top. Smiling, she pulled out two small patchwork pillows. “I made these for you!” she said, putting them beside each other at the head of my bed. “Now, don't they brighten up the place?”

“Ain't that Around the World?” I asked, recognizing all the colors of the quilted pattern.

“Sure is,” she said. “For folks like us, traveling to Lexington ain't much different than traveling around the world.”

“This is the first time you've put a quilt pattern on a pillow,” I said.

“Well, then, what do you think?” she asked.

“I like it,” I said. “The pillows are pretty. They look like baby quilts.”

“I aim to please,” she said, hanging my dresses in the small closet on the far side of the room. She nodded at Patanni, patting the mattress with her tiny hand. “Put it here,” she said. Patanni lifted the second, much larger suitcase and swung it on top of the bed. “Help me out some,” she said, and they both carefully began to unpack it, arranging my underwear, blue jeans, and blouses in tidy piles in the little pink dresser.

Patanni had also brought my books. Since there was no bookcase, he stacked them on the floor beneath the window that was adjacent to my bed.

“I brought these for you,” Mr. Wooten said, handing me a thick, heavy dictionary and
Little Women
. “I reckon Ginseng Elementary can spare them.”

“In a few weeks, we'll return,” Patanni said, standing up, studying the straight line of each stack. “They want you to get used to the place, so they got rules. We ain't permitted to write, telephone, or come before then. In the meantime, you best be pretty and patient; and, as dear as the day comes, we'll be back.”

“You know,” Matanni said, her voice cracking, “we'll be thinking about you. Ain't a day will pass that we won't be missing you.”

Although I was starting to miss my life back home, even the sight of Peavy Lawson, I didn't start crying until I swallowed that first spoonful of strawberry ice cream. One deep sob shook my shoulders, and a large teardrop slid down my cheek, cascaded over my chin, and plunked against the inside of my bowl.

As I was scraping the bowl for the last taste, Matanni, Patanni, and Mr. Wooten returned.

“We want a kiss good-bye,” my grandparents said. Matanni opened her arms. Patanni did the same.

I looked at them, hesitated for a second, then reluctantly stood up. “If I hug you, you'll leave,” I said.

“Icy, we gotta leave.” Patanni said. “They won't let us stay.”

“But you'll visit me, won't you?” I asked.

“Ain't nobody gonna keep us away,” Patanni said. “Now come over here.” He motioned me over. “I wanna squeeze some love into you.”

With a heavy heart and quivering lips, I went to him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and screwed my face against his stomach. The buttons on his shirt pressed into my forehead. Squeezing him tightly, I inhaled his earthy smell and whispered, “Patanni, I love you.”

“Me, too,” he said.

With both hands, Matanni tapped her chest. “What about me?” she asked.

Twisting around, I rose upward on my toes, forced my head between her breasts, and took in the warmth of her skin, the softness of her plump, compact body.

“My darling girl,” she said. “You was the light of your sweet mama's life. You're the reason for ours.”

I gulped down tears and was seconds away from pleading—
Please, don't leave me here!
—when Mr. Wooten said, “Icy's a tough little trooper. She'll get along just fine. Won't you, Icy?”

I glanced at Mr. Wooten. Concern had darkened his face, and his eyes seemed to say, Don't make this any harder on them. So, without shedding a tear, I hugged my grandmother tightly and stepped away from her.