No! First They Came for The ARTISTS (Unfinished Because It's Actually True)

I Am Schizophrenic I:

How I Got Put in the Loony Bin

Other possible series titles:

Of a Schizophrenic

Madness and Mental Institutions

Schizophrenia

The Schizophrenic

Ahmad Stokes

For Patti Vassi, my grade school teacher who started me on the wonderful journey that has been my life as a writer

And for all us crazy folk- because sanity is- and always has been- for pansies.

Chapter I

The Cutter’s Punishment

Once upon a time, there was an idiot and a failure with hardly any friends, an idiot who deserved to die. That idiot was I.

Not that I still think of myself that way. You’ll see.

I’ll have to start at the beginning. I pray that as you read about my journey, it will help you on yours- for there are more of us than you may think.

The bulk of the people of the world are not us. They do not live on the underbelly. They are not stereotyped or suppressed. They are just normal people, and they are not us.

So maybe you’re not one of us. But if you are, if you’re one of us… and even if you’re not… there’s something to be learned from these pages.

The clearest beginning for my story is one hot late afternoon in Spring spent in my bedroom with a knife under my bed. I had kept it there for the last few weeks, during which my turmoil had worsened. This was to be nearly the last time I would cut myself in a long time, but for a bad reason rather than good, and not by my choice.

I was struggling with Math homework that had once been easy for me. As had been the case on many a night before, this night found me stressed out and frustrated, which, as on many a night before, turned my mind toward my own inadequacy and self-hatred.

Slashing my arms, breaking things, jumping off buildings: these were the angry desires flooding my mind.

I shoved these thoughts out of my head again and turned back to my math homework. I was going to do it, end of story. And I wasn’t going to cut myself again- that was final.

I tried to remember the acronym that gave the formula for calculating angles and sides of a triangle- SAKAKOA? That didn’t make any sense. There should be nine letters, not seven. My mind was foggy, which it had been most of the day- maybe if I could actually focus in class I’d retain this stuff better. Mrs. Willows said I was smart, but then, so did all the kids who picked on me by laughing at me.

No. Focus, I thought. My thoughts were racing. I did not want to do this damn homework. I wanted to do something else. I needed a break.

But I had so much to do.

“You’re okay,” a little voice inside me said. It came as though from outside, but it was a thought inside my head.

“No you’re not,” said another. The first seemed to love me, the other to hate me.

The tension started to eat away at me. I threw the pencil across the room; it hit the dresser. Stupid me. Throwing temper tantrums. I bent over backward and hit the bed with my fist. Pathetic. I barely managed to hit it. In frustration, I pounded myself in the head.

The first punch sent a jolt of pain into the side of my head, and part of me screamed to stop, while the rest of me ached to go on, to assuage my dark desires.

The second punch almost scared me, and the pain became an ache I knew would remain. I felt satisfaction at my getting my just deserts.

The third punch made my right ear ring, and fear coursed through my veins, which pulsated audibly in my head.

My vision had gone dark in areas, so that light and dark shifted across the room. I stared off into space for a moment in this way, body still except for a slight sway back and forth from dizziness. My head started to clear, my vision started to stabilize again, and the little thoughts in the back of my head started to go at it once more.

I stopped for a minute to take in the messages I was getting.

“What are you doing? Losing the only fight you’re man enough to get into?” said the critical voice. “What kind of man are you?”

Temper tantrums, I thought. These were just temper tantrums. The ache on the side of my head was nothing. Flagellation at best. A real man would do something better. Only, I wasn’t sure these were actually my thoughts.

“Don’t listen to him,” came the first thought. It was so intertwined with the thoughts inside my head, I wasn’t certain if it was me or something external. “I love you.”

Something nagged at the back of my mind- an identity. “You’re not God,” I thought back to the source. “I am not capable of speaking to God. Leave me alone.”

And the good voice did.

“You deserve to die,” said the critical voice. “Give yourself a taste of Hell.”

Yes, I thought. Punish myself. With a knife. Punish myself for not being able to focus. For being so socially inept that half the school picked on me. For worrying poor Mother sick. Didn’t she understand I wasn’t worth it?

I laughed to myself, listening to that odd sound, so distant. It struck an odd note in my mind because it sounded maniacal. I didn’t feel maniacal- but I sounded like it.

“Everyone hates you,” said the critical spirit.

“I know,” I answered mentally.

It was true. I was worthless. I didn’t admit it to anyone- not that they were right, not even that I’d picked up on how they felt. I could see it in the way they looked at me, feel it extending from their thoughts, always there behind their words. None of them thought I deserved to live, not even the ones who pretended to like me.

“You have issues,” said the critical spirit.

“I know,” I said, for this was also true: I knew I had issues. I knew I wasn’t “cool,” and yes, I really could count my friends on one hand, and no, I didn’t have any common sense. That’s why I hated myself.

“What kind of loser doesn’t have any friends? Come on,” it said, pleading with me to get the knife.

Then I felt a struggle inside my head, and the first spirit was back. “I love you,” it said. The next part I blocked out because it said something about the other spirit being the Devil, and I wasn’t willing to listen. Then it said, “Choose.”

I waited for a few moments, but nothing came. Neither would speak to me anymore. Maybe they went away because I wasn’t worth the trouble. Was I worth anything? I must be going mad, and even my own hallucinations wouldn’t stay with me. I was that much of a loser.

Or were they real?

Suddenly the desire for relief became overwhelming. I lifted up my mattress and grabbed the steak knife underneath.

I paused, breathing heavily. I fought for control inside me, the tip against my arm. Something cooled down, and then I put it back.

I turned to my work. I looked for the formula.

Suddenly I was daydreaming about Johnny making fun of me again- only in my daydream, I made a fool out of him, not the other way around, and then he attacked me- and I beat the tar out of him. I wished I could do that in real life.

I swore at myself loudly and hit the text book. The glossy page tore. I swore again and tossed the book halfway across the room to the dresser. It struck and fell to the sound of rustling pages. It came to rest, half open, on the floor, a section of the pages bent so that little spaces of darkness peered out at me from the middle of the crease.

I was so careless. I hated that about myself.

I lifted the mattress again, grabbed the knife, and put the tip of it to my arm.

I tore across flesh, oh it felt good. A red line appeared, but still no blood. Not too late to stop. No one would notice this, not yet…

I was breathing heavy. Rasping. It wasn’t because I was tired; it was more that I was so desperate and tense I had to have some outlet of all the storming energy inside me.

“I don’t need to cut myself,” I reaffirmed. I looked at the steak knife in my hand, eyeing it as light glinted off it from the lamp behind me.

I could hear birds singing outside, and the buzz of some sort of insect. It was a pretty day. The moon would be out come nightfall, full and beautiful.

I had already thought of going to bed for a while, even though I had an appointment with Dr. Clellum tonight- but I needed to do my homework. Maybe I should go to bed anyway, I thought. No. They wanted me to suffer. Everyone in my life knew I deserved what must come next.

I started cutting again. The pain increased my worth, helped me assuage my self-loathing, much like a kid who tells his friends, “I’m sorry. You can hit me if you feel like it.”

As I dragged the knife across my arm, first a white line appeared where the flesh had been torn- and then it turned red.

For a moment, my mind was clear in savage satisfaction, and then I stopped, and my thoughts grew troubled again.

At times like these, I wondered why the tension came because I honestly didn’t know. I just knew that it did, and that when it did, I was powerless to halt the self-destruction that inevitably followed. Shrinks hold that it’s possible to resist it; but given enough impetus, a homeless person will steal food if his belly aches. Given enough impetus, an angered man or woman will shout or swear or strike. Given enough impetus, a tormented soul will find a knife and drive lines into his flesh.

I tried not to admit to myself that the same held true for suicide. It was different, I told myself. And if I did kill myself, I wouldn’t go to Hell, I thought. That was just a scare tactic. It had to be. At the same time, I half wondered, half hoped, that all religions were wrong, and that after that knife finally found its way to my wrists, I would just die. The end.

I looked at the thin red line on my arm from the stroke of steel against flesh. There had been a time when it would have scared me to see that on someone- a time when I would have avoided someone like that.

Why?

Because I’d thought people like that had issues. And now I was the one with issues. Was I losing it?

Dr. Clellum would never say. I wondered if I should tell her I was cutting myself. I wondered what waited for me behind that cautious face.

The tension took me over again, like a wave in a storm knocking a fishing boat around. My arms flailed wildly, grasping at empty air and striking nothing in particular, but bending, writhing rapidly in aggression at the only medium I could hit without causing harm: the air. I dropped the knife, and I grabbed my head, rocking back and forth. I swore loudly several times. I really hoped no one would hear me, but my tension overpowered my reason.

Something was so wrong, and I didn’t have a clue what. Tense moments like these were commonplace now. They kept coming, and more and more frequently. I wasn’t even sure why it was I was so hard on myself, or what it really was that bothered me so much at this exact moment. All I knew was I couldn’t stand myself. And I didn’t think I could hold out much longer.

I deserved to die.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I grabbed the knife again, dragged the tip along my arm once more. I stopped. What would happen if someone saw? No one had yet, though. I kept going, giving a brief pause for the thoughts of 1) I was going out with Jessica to prom in two or three weeks, which would be fun, and 2) wondering what she’d say if she found out what I was doing right now- and then kept cutting myself.

The pain felt good. Sharp. It felt good to punish myself for how worthless I felt. I hated my life. I hated being picked on. I hated myself. I didn’t deserve any of the stuff I had. And I couldn’t stand how I felt. I wanted it to be over. Life was a nightmare, a maze with no way out because I could never see anything past a few days ahead anymore- a few days ahead, I’d be miserable still. But part of me didn’t care. I deserved it.

I was worthless. When I died, when I finally got up the balls to finish it, everyone would be a lot better off.

No one would have to put up with me.

No one would have to worry about me anymore.

I wouldn’t be able to bother people or bring them down because I’d be dead.

Dead people don’t cause all the people they care about trouble- because dead people are dead.

I stopped. I felt chagrin. None of the cuts were more than a red line. I cut myself more, pressing even harder as I tore the tip of the knife along my arm. Pain seared again along my flesh, satisfying, almost like food in a hungry man’s stomach. I wondered what would happen if I died. Surely life dead was better than life alive. Every religion said the afterlife was pure joy. Hard to imagine. Or maybe I’d just be dead, end of story. What a relief it would be, I thought, to stop existing.

Now some of the old cuts were bleeding, and a thin red layer stayed over my arm as I wiped at it. The blood was slightly sticky, and looked filmy, like the putrefied film over an old lake.

I swore to myself, nervous. What would my parents do if they noticed? Suddenly I was afraid. My God, what would happen? I wondered if things could get any worse. Maybe; but then, the beast that was my soul had long since consumed me.

I was starting to feel better about myself. Knowing I’d been punished for my worthlessness always made me feel more redeemable.

Yet the tension and self-hatred had been replaced by fear. Where was I headed in life? My dad’s voice was ringing in my head: “You’re headed nowhere good.” My eyes narrowed at the thought of Dad and all his criticism. As if it wasn’t plain enough to me already.

He’d be better off if I was dead, too.

But I hated him more than I hated myself, so I wasn’t eager to give him that satisfaction, at least not without some kind of last laugh.

I was stupid, I didn’t fit in, and no one liked me. Everyone was getting tired of me by now, I knew. So was I. So everything he said when he screamed at me was true. And somehow I yearned for him to love me anyway.

I was ashamed now because no one loved me, and all I could do to cope was put more and more scars on my arm.

I reached out mentally, trying to contact the spirits from before.

“You have chosen,” came a little voice in the back of my head. It felt like it was God, in a way so strong it was hard to deny. But no, I told myself. People can’t talk to God.

I didn’t want to cut myself again. The idea set me on edge. It was a slippery slope I had headed down, but I tried not to think that I’d be skidding back down it before a few days were up.

“You know you will be,” said the critical voice, and the sensation of laughter filled me.

I told myself it was lying. If it was real, it was lying. If it wasn’t, it didn’t matter what it said.

I wouldn’t be, I told myself.

Or maybe I was being like the cancer patients who tried to live normal lives. Maybe I was in denial.

This could not happen again, this could not happen again, this could not happen again, I told myself.

I dropped the knife to my lap and looked at it in repulsion. I wanted it to disappear; I didn’t want to believe it was mine, or that it had anything to do with me. I put it back under my bed.

If they found the blood on it, what would Mom and Dad do? I didn’t want them to know what this was like. I couldn’t tell them. I was ashamed to think of what kind of trouble I’d cause Mom and Dad if I told them- Dad would just be angry, maybe shocked, maybe even scared. That didn’t bother me much.

Mom would have a nervous breakdown. I felt guilty just for the thought that it could happen if she found out.

I didn’t want to wind up in the paper, mother so upset, so heartbroken, because her baby committed suicide. The thought scared me. And what was after this?

As for Dad, the thought of him crying in grievous remorse lightened my heart a bit.

Or would they just be glad the house had gone peaceful again?

The way things were, I was sure that I would die by suicide. I wasn’t sure yet if I preferred sooner or later, or if this was more good than bad, or more bad than good.

I was never scared when I was depressed. Then, I didn’t ever care about the fact that I was cutting myself. It felt good. Redeeming myself was satisfying. It was after my makeshift cure had worked that I got scared. Like I was now.

I wondered if Dr. Clellum really could help.

I grabbed the “Are you depressed?” pamphlet she’d given me and toyed with it in my fingers. Are you losing interest in daily activities? Yes. Do you ever think about suicide? Yeah.

Is anyone stupid enough to tell a shrink that? Hopefully not.

Or maybe I was.

She’d asked me every imaginable question just to get me to open up, and now she was skating uncomfortably close to the brink of my dark side, calmly, as though she did it all the time.

I looked at the pamphlet.

According to it, I was depressed and must be having a rough time. I’m telling you, it takes a genius to draw that conclusion. I wondered what happened after you admitted to things like, “Have you ever felt the need to punish yourself physically?”

I thought about it.

Really, what did I have to lose? She was bound to secrecy, so she couldn’t tell Mom- unless I threatened to hurt myself. Hmm. I wondered if cutting myself counted. I really wasn’t sure. It wasn’t suicide, at least.

But I didn’t have to tell her everything. I could skate around the brink a little more. Maybe even mention questioning my own sanity.

I looked up from my deep thinking, startled. I had thought that I’d seen someone standing there, a wisp of a man, colors forming a shape that had disappeared when I looked up. But there was no one there. I stared at the curtain the image had stood in front of and shook my head, scared. That was another thing I’d have to ask her about. Someday. Not tonight. I didn’t want her to think I was crazy. I’d figure that out for myself, if I was.

There was that thought in my mind that I tried not to let get to the front: What if I am? What do I do?

I shoved it out successfully, my mind numb.

I got up, walked out of my room to my bathroom. Mom had wanted me to clean it. I never could get around to it, and it showed. A rag on the floor; a stained toilet; a hair-lined sink. And my dad was a lawyer. I laughed to myself, shutting the door as I turned on the water. I was really careful to get all the blood off. Unfortunately, the lines looked pretty noticeable.

The phrase, “You have chosen” kept echoing in my mind. What did it mean?

I had something flash before my eyes, so vivid it was almost real. I was standing before a large reception desk, turning to look at Mom and Dad. A nurse was beside me with a camera. There was an Easter Bunny near me.

And then, with a jolt, I was back where I was.

I was scared.

“You crazy fool,” said the critical voice.

“Believe,” said the good voice.

“Shut up,” I said to both of them mentally.

I walked back into my room and put on a black long sleeved shirt.

I hoped no one made any smart-aleck comments about it being spring.

Chapter II

The Shrink

Dr. Clellum’s office was fragrant. She had lavender in little glass dishes practically everywhere, as well as a glass jar of tootsie roll pops and an oil burner, which was currently on. I could hear the music from the lobby fade as I shut the door behind me and sat down on the couch. It was a comfortable couch, and it made me feel good to sit there. I actually felt somewhat at home. I was feeling good, and all my troubles seemed distant. I could barely imagine cutting myself as I had two hours ago, a couple hours after school. It occurred to me that it was 6:00, and I hadn’t started reading my English assignment. Oh well. Falling a little further behind, getting a few more D’s and F’s wouldn’t matter much once I finally killed myself.

“How have you been?” Dr. Clellum said as she sat down in her chair. She offered me a lollipop, and I turned it down. Then she looked at me as though expecting an answer different from the usual evasion I always gave, like, “Good, I guess,” or, “Okay,” or “Oh, I’m hanging in there”- and I wondered if she somehow knew that I was going to give a different answer this time.

I felt her eagerness, her hope. And fear, like always. She must be scared of me, I thought. She must think I’m dangerous, that I’m crazy, that I’m an awful person. She must know I deserve to die.

I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I was here to get help. And regardless of whether or not she did know how worthless I was, she wanted to give it, and I was going to get it.

I shrugged, weak in my conviction to come out with this. It was hard to accept, even hard to believe, that I was going to cut myself again. These are the last scars that will mar my arm, I was telling myself. Just, I know I’ve told myself that many times before.

Still, I didn’t want to think about it, and it’s hard to involve the mouth without the mind.

“School going okay?” she said finally.

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong?”

I realized I had laid down on her couch, and sat up quickly.

“You can lie down if you want,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

I thanked her, and lay back down. The smell of lavender was strong in my nostrils, and very comforting. So was the scent of the oil. It seemed to be a higher place where I was safe from the tribulations of my life. For the moment, my cutting seemed distant, and yet it was also the thing that was most on my mind.

“So what’s been going on at school?” she said, getting a lollipop out for herself.

“Johnny keeps picking on me,” I said.

“I’m sorry. Putting up with a bully is tough, and I know he’s really mean to you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” I said.

“How does he make you feel?”

“Angry, and hurt. And… when…. It’s not really him though,” I said finally.

“You mean school?”

“No. It.”

“So why are you having a rough time?” She said it instantly, as though she already knew everything in my head, and was just trying to get me to say it.

I wondered if she knew how hard it was for me to say this. She was gazing steadily at me, but I kept my eyes floating around the room, from the little bookshelf to the glass jar of tootsie roll pops to the window to her degrees on the wall- everywhere but her. I could hear a clock ticking behind me. I realized I was fidgeting with my hands, and forced myself to stop. “I’ve been really depressed.”

“I thought you might be.”

“You did?”

“M-hmm. I want to thank you for trusting me, Josh. Could you tell me why you think it is that you’re depressed?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want to talk about it?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure, now that it came down to it.

“This is Odin,” said something in the back of my mind. “In the name of wisdom, tell her, child. Save yourself before it’s too late, before the dark path takes you.”

“Josh?”

I looked up at Dr. Clellum, who looked almost masculine despite her small, thin frame, and her light-skinned face, probably because of her short haircut, or maybe it was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

A minute ago, I hadn’t been aware of her at all. For a moment, I had been aware of nothing in front of me, not what my body against the couch felt like, not what Dr. Clellum looked like, not the smell of lavender or whether or not she was speaking. Yet looking back, I knew she hadn’t been. I could almost remember it- but not quite.

I needed to answer. Heart racing, I took a deep breath.

“Yeah, let’s talk about it, that would be good, I think.” I looked up at her with what felt like an iron face.

I was nervous, but I went on: “I get so antsy. I get to the point where I feel like if I don’t do something I’ll go crazy. It’s like I’m going to explode.”

“What do you do?”

I shrugged again, avoiding her eye. “Wait it out.” I wondered if she could tell I was lying.

“That must be hard,” she said.

“It is.”

“What do you do to help yourself get through it?”

“Nothing, really. It just passes eventually.”

“It makes you strong that you can get through it at all,” she said, “very strong.”

“Thanks,” I said.

She waited as though for me to say something, then said:

“Do you ever feel the need to punish yourself?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

She made a note on a clipboard.

“I’d like you to consider taking some medication,” she said.

Oh crap.

“I’m going to talk to your parents about it- I think it would help you out.”

“No,” I said desperately, “you can’t talk to my parents about it. What happened to confidentiality?”

“I’m not breaking it. Most psychiatrists wouldn’t tell you they wanted to put you on medication, they’d tell your parents- but I want you to trust me because you and I are friends, Josh, not just psychiatrist and client. Do you trust me?”

I looked at her.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

I had never trusted her less.

“Good. Now, if you want, there’s a hospital you could go to for three days or so, to adjust to your medicine.”

“Hospital?”

“Yes sir. There would be other people like you there, for similar reasons.” Her voice was casual, but with a measure of wariness behind it.

“It’s not crowded, is it? I went to summer camp once in Greeneville, and we had to sleep like a dozen in one cabin.”

“It’s not like that,” she said softly. “Do you want to go?”

I thought a moment. Something didn’t feel right. I didn’t remember ever being told about places in hospitals for people going on medication. I still had misgivings.

“I want to think about it,” I said.

“All right Joshua, that’s fine. I’ll discuss it with your parents, and they can help you decide.”

“It will be my choice, right?”

She was looking me in the eye, her face neutral and careful, masking something I did not fully comprehend. “Probably, as long as you’re safe. Have you had any thoughts of suicide?”

A red flag went up, big time. “Not really- well, a few,” I said, “but I’d never go through with them, and they’re rare.”

“Cutting?”

“Ma’am?”

“Have you had any thoughts of cutting yourself?”

“I… I’ve thought about it, but never gone through with it.” I felt guilty lying to her, but I was beginning to lose the trust she’d built up.

“Can I ask why you’re wearing a long-sleeved shirt?” she asked.

“Rash,” I said quickly.

“Isn’t it a little hot for that, Josh?”

“It’s an ugly rash,” I said.

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’d be embarrassed,” I said. I realized I had sat up, and that I was rubbing my hands together, grabbing my fingers and pulling them free over and over again.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “Just show me.”

“No!” I said.

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she said. “I’m not trying to make you upset. I’m just trying to help you.”

I didn’t answer. I wanted to quit playing with my hands, but I couldn’t.

“You had a rash last week, too, Josh,” she said.

I didn’t answer. I stared over her shoulder at her degrees, hanging on the wall, all from Duke: the undergraduate, graduate, Ph.D., all in counseling, and the M.D. I thought of other places to be, other people to associate with.

“Don’t be intimidated by my credentials,” she told me. “I am just like you, and I believe in being friends with my clients. I want to help you.”

I was only half listening.

“So please, tell me why you’re really wearing a long-sleeved shirt?”

I stayed silent, unsure of what to say. I realized the silence was working, so I kept it up. It wasn’t a plan; it was just that I didn’t know what to say. But not having a plan was working at the moment.

“Well?”

I waited, wondering what she’d say next. Would she ask any other incisive questions tonight? Or would I get off easily? This was not what I’d had in mind.

Say something, Dr. Clellum, I pleaded silently. I’m not going to.

But she wasn’t saying anything either, I realized. Darn.

“I probably need to see a doctor,” I said, realizing too late my own mistake.

“I’ll tell your mom to take you,” she said.

“No, don’t,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Look, I think I might have an STD. I don’t want Mom knowing.”

She started to blush, but she continued.

“I thought you weren’t sexually active?”

“I’m not.” I hesitated. “Not anymore.”

She hesitated, her blush deepening, but her voice stayed professional. Her voice and manner were trained by a top university; but her cheeks and her heart were still human.

She seemed comfortable talking to me about things like cutting, I thought so far in the back of my mind it was almost subconscious; why did she get uncomfortable at the superficial mentioning of sex?

“When did….”

“That’s personal,” I told her. “Look, this is really hard for me- it’s embarrassing, can’t you tell? Just leave it at that, okay Dr. Clellum? Can I go now?”

“That’s your choice,” she said, “but I want you to stay, if you’re willing. I owe you an apology, Josh. I shouldn’t pressure you or make you uncomfortable. I care about you, Josh. Do you believe me?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“Then please, stay,” she said. “I’ll try not to press your buttons, especially because you don’t press mine, and I appreciate that.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Thanks. Feel free to tell me if I go too far again, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I do apologize, Josh. I want you to feel comfortable around me. If you ever do cut yourself, I want you to call me,” she said, taking out a card and handing it to me, as a magician would produce a scarf. I leaned forward slightly to take it and held it in my hands a minute. I could see the neat cross-stitched paper cardboard and the cute little green lettering with a picture of a mind in one corner.

“Thanks, sure thing,” I said, shoving it into my pocket. As I got comfortable on the couch again, I thought of a more honest response: No chance in Hell.

A cloud must have passed over the sun because the space in front of me where the sunlight from the window hit the floor grew dark.

“There are lots of cutters in the world,” she said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of if….”

“I’m not a cutter,” I said, and I realized my voice had risen.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries. I really don’t. Can I ask you just one other question, if I promise it doesn’t have to do with cutting?”

I hesitated. “I guess.”

“Have you ever seen anything that wasn’t there?” she said softly.

I was shocked. What was she, a mind reader? “No,” I said.

“It’s okay if you do,” she said. “Lots of my clients do.”

I didn’t answer. She was bound to confidentiality. Suppose I did tell her?

“We don’t have much time left,” she said. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

I nodded. I remembered I had wanted help. “I’ve been hallucinating, yes,” I said quietly.

“Now that wasn’t too hard, was it?” she said softly.

“I also feel a presence, and sense it calling my name sometimes,” I said. Now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop. “It’s in the back of my head. Like a thought, except it feels like it’s from outside of me.”

“What does it want you to do?”

“It wants me to listen more,” I said. “It wants to help me.”

“How does it want to help you?”

“Well, like sometimes,” I said, “sometimes it’ll encourage me when I’m down. It tells me to pick my chin up, reminds me everything will be okay.” My heart started racing. “It says it’s the voice of God.”

“Do you believe it?”

“I, I don’t know. I guess I want to know. Am I going crazy, Dr. Clellum?”

“I wouldn’t say you’re going crazy,” she said. She hesitated. “Do you ever talk to anyone else?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Sometimes Greek gods. Sometimes random spirits. And sometimes….”

She didn’t say anything. I could tell she was trying to make this easy for me, easy for me to tell her my deepest personal secrets while she sat there pretending hers didn’t matter. I wondered what they were.

“Sometimes the Devil,” I said.

“Really?” she said.

There was a pause. I really didn’t want to continue this conversation.

“Yeah,” I said.

A huge burden lifted off my chest. Now I was not the only one who knew.

“What does he want?”

I hesitated. “For me to die,” I said. “Or to hurt myself.”

“You know better than to listen, right Josh?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. I thought of the last time I’d cut myself, just a few hours ago. Yeah, I knew all right. But I won’t tell you about that, I thought. I don’t want to get stuck in a loony bin.

“Good,” she said. “I know you’re smart enough not to do that, Josh. In fact, I’d be surprised if you didn’t because you are a very smart young man with a lot of potential.”

“Thanks!” I said. It felt good to be complimented. For a moment, elated, I threw in a joke: “Are you married?”

“No sir,” she said, and I laughed, but she seemed uneasy. In the back of my mind, I wondered why.

“Any male friends for candidates?” I asked.

“No,” she said with a wry smile.

“Well maybe I’m your man!” I said.

She laughed, looking deeply flattered. “Ah, if only our time wasn’t up,” she said. “And if only you were 10 years older. And if only I had the time for a boyfriend.”

“You will someday,” I said. I didn’t believe it.

“Thanks, Josh,” she said. “And I want to thank you for opening up today. It means a lot to me, and I’m very proud of you. And for the comments…” She grabbed the tootsie roll jar and took one out, handing it to me as we both laughed. “Drop by again if you need to talk, but our time’s up and I’ve got a patient waiting- unless you need more time?”

I shook my head. I felt like I’d been smacked. “No ma’am. I’ll be okay.”

“I have another client,” she said, her eyes pleading from behind that professional mask, pleading that I understand. “It’s important that I see him today. I am sorry, though.”

“It’s all right,” I said.

As I walked outside, Dr. Clellum called my mom in. Although Dr. Clellum seemed impatient getting her in and out, she had her in there a full five minutes.

Chapter III

The Mother’s Tears

On the drive home I was on the verge of tears. Mom looked worried. But then, she always did these days. I wondered when this beast I was fighting would give up and die. I had the sensation that I was a warrior, fighting in a classical war against the forces of the dark- and the price of failure, the prize of victory, was my soul.

I was keenly aware, above all now, that I was on the verge of losing my sanity. But then, Dr. Clellum hadn’t seemed to think that I was losing it. She’d said I wasn’t crazy. But I wasn’t sure I trusted her anymore.

On the way home, Mom said in a tell-tale voice, “Are you doing all right, Josh?”

My body stiffened in my seat. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Dr. Clellum’s worried about you.”

I looked at her. Her face was as full of lines as an old woman’s, lines that I swore hadn’t been there before. I wanted desperately to reach out, hug her, tell her it would be okay, that I was fine, not to worry about me- but I wasn’t sure any of that was true.

“So am I,” she said finally.

“I’m all right, Mom,” I muttered.

“Are you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Josh?”

I stared out the front window at the houses passing by. We were on an empty street, except for two kids playing catch with a football up ahead. As we passed them by, I wondered when the last time I had played like that had been.

“Look at that,” Mom muttered, then said more loudly, “Josh, when you grow up, never let your kids play outside in the dark on their own. They could be hit easily. I wouldn’t mind a word with those parents.”

I laughed.

“What is it?” she said.

“Always the good mother,” I said.

“Am I?”

“Of course.”

“Then is there anything you’d like to tell your ‘good mother’?” she asked.

I didn’t answer, but just stared out at the houses passing by, wishing I was in another time and place, in someone else’s shoes.

“Josh?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “Listen, don’t worry about me.”

She looked at me, and her face was so full of sorrow I couldn’t return her gaze. Instead, I turned my head further toward the direction I was looking in so that I wouldn’t have to see.

“Then look me in the eye,” she said, voice trembling, “and tell me you’re okay. Tell me nothing’s wrong. Tell me you’re not depressed, that nothing’s bothering you, that you’re doing okay, God damn it, I want to help you.”

I sighed, mind going numb.

“Tell me, Josh,” she said.

Something shifted inside me. I turned to face her and looked her in the eye.

“I’m not sure you can, Mom,” I said. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about me.”

There was a pause.

“I’m tired of causing everyone problems,” I said. “I wish no one had to worry about me anymore.”

“You’re my son, Josh.”

She sounded as bad as I felt, but I didn’t answer. Another pause ensued.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Joshua!” she said.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “It’s not import….”

“Not important! My son wears long sleeved shirts in spring and tells me it’s not important!”

That shut me up.

“I’m not important,” I muttered.

“What’s that, Josh?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Don’t you mutter under your breath at me,” she said. “I’m your mother. I’d like to think I raised my only son to have better manners than that.”

I embarrassed her, I thought.

“Or at least that I’d raised my only son to be happy!” she continued.

We paused.

“I want you to be honest with me,” she said. “Dr. Clellum thinks you’re not honest with her.”

“She said that?” I said, but Mom continued.

“I can understand that, but I’m your mom for Christ’s sake. Why can’t you be honest with me?”

This didn’t even feel real. My mind was zoned out. That happened to me sometimes. When I was in the middle of a stressful moment, something that would have ordinarily scared me, I would go blank and be only half-aware of what was around me. It was times like those that I didn’t want to believe were really happening; times like those when the most dramatic emotions I’d have were small.

Sometimes in retreating from the world around me, as I was describing, I would laugh. I think that scared Mom sometimes; I would laugh while Dad was yelling at me and chewing me out, and as strange as it seems, it was a pretty good defense mechanism. When I took everything to be a joke, nothing mattered, nothing scared me, and I had one of my rare moments at which I was actually fine.

This was not one of those moments- not yet.

Mom sighed, slapping the wheel. “I know this is hard,” she said, “but why don’t we work through it together?”

“I don’t want your help.”

She swore. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, the things you don’t know.” Her voice cracked.

I wondered what she meant. I was scared to ask, though, so I didn’t answer.

We were on our own street now. A minute more, and I’d be free.

“I can’t believe you won’t let me help you, Josh,” Mom said.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said.

“Then tell me what’s wrong!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just, everything gets to me- little things. I can’t stop being pessimistic. And then that makes me do badly, so it becomes pretty easy to be more upset.” I laughed. “Kind of stupid, isn’t it?”

“If you know that why do you still do it?”

I laughed, retreating further into myself as my laughter took on more heart. “It’s all right, Mom.”

“It’s not….” Her voice trailed off, the failing call of a sailor to his friend to just grab onto the rope. It’s not that simple, Mom, I thought. Why couldn’t she understand that?

There wasn’t much of a trip left, but we made what remained in silence. Mom’s face looked strained, and near the house, I saw her wipe at her eye. She made a noise, a noise I wished she didn’t have to make.

I wished I’d never been born. She shouldn’t have to go through this, I thought. Without me, Mom and Dad would be a happy married couple, not a broken home. I was the snake in the garden, the rat in the granary. I wanted somebody to kill the rat. That way I wouldn’t have to.

Why couldn’t I go down in a blaze of glory, saving someone’s life? Then Mom could cry proud tears; not frustrated, hopeless tears.

I wished someone would understand- but no one did. I didn’t, for that matter.

As we pulled into the driveway, she locked the door. “Your dad’s mad, I should warn you,” she said. “He saw your Calculus test.”

Chapter IV

The Fight

I nodded, unlocked my door, and walked across our lawn. Bushes and plant beds lined the winding path to the house; everything was so neat and tidy. Dad must have just had someone care for the lawn again.

I wondered about that. Supposedly upper middle class homes were supposed to be the solid ones; looking at our yard, had I been an outsider, I would have thought highly of the family. The bushes would speak to me, suggesting a happy family with calm parents and children, maybe small children.

The siblings would get along well. I wished I had siblings. If I had a brother or sister, I told myself, this would be so much easier to deal with. I could confide in a brother; who wanted to confide to his parents? I sure didn’t.

I liked the little stone pathway by appearance, but by heart, I resented it. It reminded me that I was home, and home was a place I associated with yelling matches, cutting and madness.

Funny. I could use that word, madness, when I didn’t really mean that I was crazy. I wasn’t, was I?

I’d heard that the ability to question one’s sanity made one sane. But Dr. Clellum had never said that.

Mom passed me by as I dawdled, opened the door as I came up the recently refinished yellow concrete steps and porch. I touched the rail, found its smoothness and the gleam of it revolting.

I didn’t like money. When I damaged something expensive, I got yelled at. If we didn’t have nice things, it wouldn’t matter, because there wouldn’t be anything nice to mess up. And I was sick of being yelled at.

Besides. If I didn’t come from money, Dad probably would be more understanding about the bad grades, I thought.

The air was humid and warm, with the charge that comes before a storm. Another South Carolinian spring.

Everything was damp from a recent rain. My hand was wet from the rail, while the blackness of it shimmered. The air was damp again; misty, so that one could see the water in the air, but not become overly wet simply by crossing a yard. I wondered if it had been raining before I went to the shrink. I couldn’t remember.

It maddened me when I couldn’t remember something. I tried to remember this, struggling, but it just wouldn’t come. I couldn’t even remember the trip to the shrink’s office anymore.

As I walked up the steps and nearly slipped, I felt the beginnings of tension trying at my body. No, I thought.

But I had to remember. I hated the fact that I couldn’t think anymore, and right now I couldn’t. I wished I could think well all the time. As it was, most of the time I couldn’t think clearly at all. Sometimes, I would think of something, and then be unable to follow it up with a resultant thought.

Mom had unlocked and opened the door. I hadn’t even been aware of her doing it. How had I gotten up the steps? It scared me. I couldn’t remember what had happened in the last few moments. I remembered what I had been thinking, but what had occurred in the world around me escaped me.

Dad was standing there. I realized what had woken me up from my stupor. He had said something. Now that I thought of it, I knew what he had said, even though I hadn’t realized I’d been listening.

“I found your Calculus test,” he said.

He was going to say something about coming to the kitchen. He was cooking something for himself. And he was mad. How did I know all this? I didn’t understand. Things were so confusing.

“Come inside, Josh,” he said.

This was going to be ugly, I thought as I walked in.

“It will be ugly,” said a voice in the back of my head. “But it’s okay. He loves you.”

I hoped no one could tell what I was thinking.

Dad was talking. I wasn’t really listening. He was calm. I should listen before he got mad, I thought.

“Stay calm,” said the voice.

But I knew I wouldn’t. Something felt so wrong. Something bad was going to happen tonight, something that hadn’t happened before. What?

We were in the kitchen before I realized I’d been right so far. Dad was cooking a hamburger. The smell made me hungry. He was temporarily appeased as he flipped the hamburger.

“Josh?” he said.

“Huh?”

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” I lied.

“What did I say?”

And it came to me, as though I’d been listening after all. I remembered what he’d said, remembered his voice, even though I’d thought I hadn’t been listening.

“You said I need to do better in school,” I said.

“What else?”

I realized I only remembered the last bit. I couldn’t remember past that.

“I forgot,” I said.

“So you weren’t listening,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Can’t you be honest with me?”

Honesty is overrated, I thought.

“No,” I said. Something felt wrong. Why had I said that? Wouldn’t it get me in trouble? But I couldn’t think of why. My mind was so numb.

“What?” he said. The hamburger fell down with a smack onto the skillet as he turned around, spatula in hand. He looked funny. I laughed.

My laugh sounded maniacal; I felt sane. It was oddly distant: someone else laughing, not me. I realized Mom was behind me.

“There’s nothing funny!” roared Dad. “Stop!” He sounded scared.

Let him be, I thought. I laughed louder.

Dad grabbed my arm suddenly. I laughed more.

“What, are you going to hit me?” I asked.

“Josh!” said Mom behind me. Her voice rang with fear.

“It’s all right,” I said. “It’s just my body.”

Dad started raising the sleeve up. I shoved him off me instinctively, without thinking. He stumbled backward against the stove, and for a moment I heard something singe.

The humor left me. I felt my eyes widen, my mouth open in horror. He didn’t scream. He didn’t even grunt.

He rebounded and caught me by the arm. He twisted it, hard, and brought me down so that my face was near the floor, my knees hyper-extended.

“I’ll teach you to shove your father!” he roared.

I was getting mad.

“Eric, let him go!” said Mom. Her voice was scared. How dare he do this to us? Mom didn’t deserve to be scared.

“Let me go you….”

I began cussing him out.

“Eric, let him go!” Mom said again over my screaming.

I struggled to get free. I writhed as much as I could, then fell to the ground and wrenched my arm free, standing again. Dad and I stared at each other a minute.

His face was full of anger, also fear. Did he think I’d hit him like he hit me?

I was better than that. I wasn’t violent. I never started fights. I didn’t lose my temper as easily as the walking hothead in front of me.

I turned to go to my room.

Dad grabbed my arm again and pulled me in front of him. He held me there, not letting go as he spoke.

“I am your father,” he said, “and it is high time you listened to me.”

Now I was getting mad again.

“I’d listen to you if you didn’t always scream at me,” I said.

“I wouldn’t scream at you if you’d shape up!” he roared. Spittle dampened my lips, chin and nose. I could see white specks flying past my head. But I kept my mouth shut.

“I just need to teach Johnny a lesson,” I said. What I was really thinking was, I need to teach Dad a lesson.

“No honey,” said Mom behind me. “Violence is never the answer.”

I was actually more aware of what she said than what Dad screamed right then, which went something along the lines of, “If you get in a fight I’m gonna teach you a lesson!”

I was silent. Dad’s usual threats. One of these days, I was going to make one of my own. Only me, I wouldn’t be angry. The threat wouldn’t be blundering. I would be calm. And what scared me was, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t mean it.

“Leave,” said Dad to Mom.

“Eric….”

“I said, leave! Go! I need to talk to our son.”

“Calm down, Er….”

“I said, get out of here!”

Mom walked out of the room.

“Did you even study for that test?”

“I’d think better if my arms weren’t being squeezed,” I said, and he let me go.

“Thinking better now?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Well?”

I laughed, sliding back into my innermost self. He grabbed me at once, slung me across the kitchen.

This had happened before, but never this badly. I was worried he was really going to hit me. But I didn’t care.

I cussed him out.

In the middle of my swearing, he shoved me against the cabinets and roared, “Shut up!”

It was like this at home. In the courtroom, among friends, even when Mom and I were there, he was a polite, soft-spoken lawyer. As for Mom, she was friendly and happy.

Me, I was always a mess.

“I said, did you study for that test?”

I realized I’d blacked out again.

“Yes,” I said. And I had.

“Then what the Hell are you doing with a D in the class?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t find the words.

“You want to go to college?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“How do you plan to go to college with grades like these?”

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t process the information. I barely took in his question. It wasn’t fair. If I could think, I could explain it to him because I had worked all this out before. But right now, I couldn’t think, so all I could do was sit there.

He shoved me harder against the wall. “Answer me!” he bellowed.

I looked him in the eye. I couldn’t think- not coherently. I could never take my father in a fight, though, if I could, I might try at this point.

So all I did in the end was keep looking him in the eye, and tell him quietly, “Fuck you.”

He leaned back, letting me up, and his hand came from his side in an arc, slamming through my cheek. My dad was muscular, well-toned, and he could slap hard, as I learned that day. I wondered if it was blood I was tasting. I wasn’t sure. Did blood taste sour? I didn’t care.

“Go to your room,” he said.

I did.

As I got to my door, I heard him call from the kitchen, “If you get another bad grade, or if you get in trouble again, I’m going to give you a beating.”

I shut the door behind me.

It wasn’t the pain. It really wasn’t. But for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on, I was crying.

Chapter V

The Bus Ride

I woke up that morning to Mom banging on my door.

“Get up Josh!” she was half-yelling. “You’ll miss the bus! You should have been up thirty minutes ago!”

It was as though last night hadn’t happened for her. She didn’t care, I thought. For all that she said she wanted to help me, she didn’t care that Dad yelled at me, or that he had hit me last night. She did nothing to stop it.

I muttered obscenities in reference to Mom under my breath.

I got up slowly, then sped up, pulling on my clothes quickly. It wasn’t that I was looking forward to the day. It was more that I was dreading the car ride to school with Dad if he had to take me.

I wondered if, in the event that I did miss the bus, I could walk off, pretending I had made it, and then call a taxi from a payphone. I had a good bit of money on me- Mom had offered me some a few nights ago, which seemed always to coincide with something gone wrong. I heard from peers that some parents gave their kids money just to give them money; for me, it was more like an apology, most of the time. I supposed I’d be up for some more soon.

I packed my books and ran to the door. I could hear the bus outside.

“Wait!” called Mom. She came up beside me with a bagel in a napkin in her hand, and handed them to me.

“Here’s breakfast,” she said. She dipped her hand in her purse quickly, rummaged around a minute, and handed me a 10-dollar bill.

“Get a good meal today,” she said. “I don’t want you to go hungry.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “I love you Josh,” she said, opening the door. “Hurry, dear.”

I ran out into the yard, down the walkway. I would say the day greeted me, but it seemed to me more that the day was sneering at me because I knew what waited for me on the bus.

The bus had started to pull away, but it stopped again and let me catch up. I clambered on and noted that Johnny was sitting at the back. I sat down in the seat nearest the front.

I hoped that, for just one day, he’d let me have peace. I did not need to be bullied today, not today, just not today, I pleaded, please, God.

At first, he said nothing, and there was just the murmuring chatter of the other students on the bus. I wanted to hope that he’d say nothing, but in my heart, I knew he’d start something. I knew- I didn’t want to know, I didn’t know how I could possibly know for sure- but I knew, nonetheless.

I heard his footsteps just as he came to sit in the seat opposite me. He slid in and grinned at me.

“How you doing, Joshua?” he asked. A couple people behind him laughed. Johnny could have been an actor; with nothing more than his voice and the simplest of words, he made a common question derogatory and hilarious.

I ignored him.

“Ah, Joshua doesn’t want to speak to me,” he said. “How sad. Now I don’t have any friends anymore, do I, Joshua?”

I knew the implication, but I kept my mouth shut. He was relying on someone else to finish the taunt. I hoped no one would.

“No, you must be taking after Josh,” called a friend of his from behind.

Why they followed him I’ll never know. But the whole bus seemed to dread falling under his eye, and most of them just seemed to accept their role as his audience. No one stood up for me, most days. Daniel wasn’t there anymore. He’d been moved to a new bus because he’d been getting picked on for standing up for me. Everyone else seemed to be afraid of going his route.

As for me, I preferred facing Johnny to trying to get my dad to call the school to have my bus driver switched- or letting Mom start to figure out just how miserable and pathetic I really was.

No one likes me, I thought. I suck.

“Joshua won’t talk to me,” said Johnny, calling up to the bus driver.

“That’s right,” she said. “He do right.”

“You is right, mama,” said Johnny.

“That’s enough,” said the bus driver.

“Yes ma’am.”

There were a few moments of peace. There was someone behind me I could have talked to, a girl who seemed sympathetic with me- but I was too shy to try to start a conversation, and I had no idea how.

I mulled it over in my mind. If I could start talking to her, maybe Johnny would leave me alone. She might not mind me as much as my bullies. People had been nice to me before I’d started getting bullied, before everything had started sliding away from my grasp.

“How are you?” I asked her.

She looked up at me a bit put-off, but not meanly. She thought I was weird.

“Okay,” she said.

Her voice showed her disjunction from the conversation. I was different- even she knew it. And yet something told me she was going to be nice to me. Why? I wondered. How did I know this? I must be wrong. She thought I was an idiot, I could tell, I could feel it emanating from her mind.

“Josh, would you like to learn a lesson in talking to girls?” asked Johnny, looking at me with a perfectly serious expression.

One of his friends behind him laughed.

“Yeah,” said the girl. “Why don’t you show us your manners—” she said, calling him by an expletive.

“How are you doing today?” he asked, extending his hand.

Wow, I thought. He was just as awkward and insecure about it as I was.

“Be doing better if you’d leave me alone,” she said.

“Ohhhhh!” came the collective reaction of the whole bus.

“I see you don’t want to talk to me, all right, my feelings are hurt, poor me,” said Johnny, getting up to go to the back of the bus.

“Just ignore that idiot,” said the girl, and I knew Johnny could hear, but he ignored her. Conversation was starting up again.

I took a good look at her. She was very thin, with long brown hair, somewhat short. She had brown eyes- not my favorite eye color, but hers were pretty.

“Thanks,” I said.

I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. I started daydreaming about confronting Johnny again, with her standing up for me, and together we made a fool out of him.

Then I realized she was staring out her window, the conversation forgotten.

I felt self-loathing then, even if I couldn’t put my finger on the exact reason.

I turned around, thinking of cutting myself that night. I wanted to do it then; I wondered if it would be taking too much of a risk to go to the bathroom and cut myself when I got to school. I needed to start bringing a knife to school; that way I could do it when I was at school. I didn’t care if I got caught. I hated school anyway. And why should college be any better?

I started rummaging in my backpack.

“So what grade are you in?” she asked me from behind.

I turned around quickly, and she gave a half-smile of humor, her eyes alight.

“I’m a senior,” I said.

“Really?” she said, surprised.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Is it true, then?” she said. “Is your senior year your best year of high school?”

“No,” I said. “It’s not.”

She laughed, leaning forward and slapping her small thigh. I liked her.

“I’m a freshman,” she said.

“Ooh,” I said, playing off her interest in my being a senior. “You’re one of them.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m one of them. I hope that won’t stop you from talking to me?”

“No,” I said. “It won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, if you want it to,” I said, and she laughed, but what she didn’t realize was, I was being serious.

“No, no,” she said. “Senior are cool- especially to us little freshmen.”

There was a pause.

“You seem pretty cool,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m not.”

“Yeah you are,” she said. “That beeotch back there makes fun of you every day, and you never lose your temper.”

I smiled. My heart had fluttered. Wait. I had a girlfriend. This was going in a direction I couldn’t let it.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling.

I should end the conversation, I thought. I can’t let this go any further. Then again, maybe I was just being egotistical to think she might like me. No, I told myself. I was imagining it. Johnny was right about me. If she thought I was interested in her, she’d avoid me.

I was interested in someone after one bus ride while I had a girlfriend. Cutting came to mind again. I ached to punish myself for my immoral actions.

We stopped to pick up the last stop’s students, four whose names I did not know, except for a sophomore named Brittany whom I had once been sweet on. It was always one of those awkward moments when she got on; I was worried our eyes would meet. But she said nothing.

“How long have you been riding the bus?” I asked the girl behind me.

She eyed me comically. “Guess.”

I thought a minute. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t even remember seeing you before today.”

Her mouth dropped, and she said, “You mean… you mean you never noticed me before today?”

“No,” I said, starting to formulate an apology in my mind.

“Not after all the secretive glances I stole at you?”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. Did she mean what she had said? Had she really stolen glances at me? Wait… was she joking around? I couldn’t process it all because I couldn’t think well at the moment.

“I’m hurt,” she said, dramatically putting her hand to her chest so that I was keenly aware of where it rested, her mouth open slightly in a frown, her eyes sad and puppy-dog like.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m oblivious, I’m an idiot, I’ll have to make it up to you….”

She laughed suddenly, leaning back in her seat. “No, no,” she said. “I’m just shitting you. I transferred from another school. We just finished moving in here a few days ago.”

“Oh!” I said, bursting out into relieved laughter.

“Loosen up!” she said, flicking me on the shoulder with her finger.

I felt happy for the first time since last night. Everything was right again. It was hard to imagine I’d been so upset.

“How’d you know he picked on me so often?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “What I gathered, you know?”

We paused.

“What’s your name?” she asked me.

“Josh,” I said.

“I’m Danielle,” she said, extending her hand for me to shake it. I did, clasping her little hand in my big one, and then she sat back.

“You a good student?” she asked me.

“Not really,” I said. “Was. A long time ago.”

“I suppose this is where you start with ‘When I was your age….’”

We both laughed at that.

“No, seriously, I wasn’t doing too hot at my last school,” she said, “so this whole thing about having to change schools before I finish the year sat pretty well with me, you know? Anyway, I’m going to need help with my schoolwork, so….?”

She gave me a meaningful look. I knew in the back of my mind what she was saying, but I couldn’t think properly enough to articulate.

“Maybe you could come over sometime to help me with my work?” she said, looking hopeful.

“Sure,” I said. I loved the idea of helping someone. I wanted to do that in life, more than anything else- when I died, I wanted to feel like my life mattered, which was the exact opposite of how I’d felt these last couple months.

“Great!” she said. “By the way,” she asked, “how good of a kisser are you?”

I knew she had some explanation for why she’d ask such a question, but I also knew she was hitting on me, and that that was what she wanted.

“You’re not bad in school,” I said, as it hit me.

“What?”

“You’re an A student,” I said. “You have been your whole life.”

She looked at me strangely. “How did you know that?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“What are you, psychic?” she asked, laughing.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Can you see the future?”

My heart started racing. Yes, I could, I thought.

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Never mind.”

I wanted her to explain, but I couldn’t explain to her why I wanted her to, so I shut my mouth.

“But you’re right,” she said. “I just wanted to have an excuse to get you over. You seem like a really nice guy. You probably think I’m a ho.”

“No,” I said. “It’s not like that at all. You’re a really nice girl…”

“No I’m not. I’m a ho.”

“Don’t say that!” I said. “You’re charming, beautiful….” She blushed, glancing up at me from beneath the tops of her eyes, and I changed course quickly. “It’s just, I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea. I am so embarrassed.” She paused. “You really think I’m beautiful?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Thanks Josh,” she said, extending her hand for me to shake again.

“You’re welcome,” I told her, shaking it.

Crap. I had forgotten her name. Did I ask now, and slight her, or risk never remembering and having the same moment later? Better to ask now, I thought.

“What’s your name again?” I asked.

“Danielle,” she said.

She got up, slinging her backpack onto her shoulder.

I realized suddenly that the bus had stopped and everyone was beginning to get off.

I got up, and exited into the throng of students. Danielle went ahead of me without waiting.

As I clambered off the bus, I was thankful I hadn’t had to admit I didn’t know what exactly a ho was.

Chapter VI

“I think he’s just spacing out again,” he said. “Space cadet. What a space cadet.”

He made an expression a motion with his hand sliding over his head to imply that I was stupid.

“I’m not stupid,” I said.

“Coulda fooled me.”

“You’re the one who’s stupid,” I said.

We stopped to pick up the last stop’s students, of which there were four. They clambered on board, the door squeaked shut as the driver pulled the lever, and, engine purring, we started for school.

“Josh thinks I’m stupid,” said Johnny to one of the males, a senior like me, who had just gotten on.

The guy who had just gotten on ignored Johnny.

A girl who had just gotten on, a sophomore whom I’d once been sweet on, said to him, “You are stupid, Johnny.”

“I’m stupid?” said Johnny in mock offense. “My heart is broken. Don’t lump me with him!”

We rode on bickering at each other. Neither of us really ever gained ground. Mostly he just made a couple people laugh at me here and there.

Once we got off, he started asking me about bands, baseball players, that sort of thing. My knowledge of pop culture was not so good.

“Name a song by Nelly,” he said.

“I don’t know any,” I said.

“Good Lord, you can’t name one song by Nelly?”

I was getting irritated now. I knew how this went. He would get everyone else to laugh at me, and make me out to look like an idiot because I didn’t care about who was popular in society anymore than I cared about who was popular in school.

I shut him out mentally and started off to the front of the building. He walked after me.

I turned around and said, “Don’t follow me.”

There was an edge to my voice, and Johnny knew better than to follow me to a place where we’d be alone when I was talking in that tone.

He walked back to his circle of friends and started making cracks about me, loudly enough that I could hear some of them as I walked off.

“This is Josh,” he said, and I glanced over my shoulder to watch him walking awkwardly, back bent. The group he was with burst out laughing.

I straightened my backpack and kept walking.

By the time I reached the front of the building, I had cooled off some. I was intrigued to see a man wrapped in many layers of clothing sitting on the bench. He had a stony gaze, and he sat very still. His hair was long and unkempt, and so was his beard. As I sat down beside him, I noticed that he smelled.

“How are you?” I asked him.

There was a pause before he answered. “Same always,” he said. He didn’t say anything more.

I looked off into space with him for a minute. It would be another ten minutes before the bell to go to class rang, and I had no real friends to sit with, so I sat with him. Jessica wouldn’t be here till just before class, and she’d go straight to class, and our relationship was on the rocks anyway.

I glanced over at the homeless man.

“Where’s home?” I asked. Stupid question. I hoped I hadn’t offended him. I was so dumb. I was stupider than Johnny made me out to be, even. Who was so crass?

But he didn’t seem to be offended. He just said calmly, “Don’t got one,” and turned his head ever-so-slowly to face me.

“You a student here?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, yes sir.”

He grunted. “You get good grades?”

“No,” I said, “no sir.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said.

His face turned back so that his gaze fell straight ahead of him, but wherever he looked, he seemed to be peering into something beyond what was immediately in front of him.

“Do me a favor,” he said, “don’t tell no one I’m here. If you don’t mind.”

“I won’t, sir, I promise,” I said.

He nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said. “I thank you, sir.”

I didn’t understand. He was older than I. Why did he call me sir? If I could think at the moment, I thought, I would surely be able to figure this out. I tried to, but it was like trying to move past a wall with no door. I hated myself for how stupid I was.

“Sunrise pretty this morning,” he said.

I realized I was staring at him. He just seemed so much better, so much more sane, so much nicer than the people I knew.

“I didn’t see it,” I said.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Real shame. Beautiful sunrise, beautiful.”

He turned to face me. “Well, I’d best be off before your darn security resource officer comes looking for me. Nice to meet you, sir. What’s your name?”

“Josh,” I said.

“I’m Bradley,” he said, rising. He shook my hand, and started off.

“Mind if I come with you?” I asked, rising and following him.

“Sure, sure,” he said, “if you don’t got nothing better to do.”

It felt so good to have a friend, and I realized he liked me, too. It eased my pain. Someone liked me.

Goal: avoid trouble

Antagonist: Johnny, Jessica

Conflict:

goes to school
Johnny picks on him on bus ride, going to waiting area; Josh meets and talks to Danielle in between
Josh tries to win verbally, starts off well, but then mind declines, and can’t because he can’t think
Jessica talks to him briefly; she tries to console him at first, then gets mad and walks off, says she’s tired of fighting with him
Off bus, Josh goes and waits outside
Sees a homeless man, they walk and talk, Josh gives him money
Homeless man goes away; Josh realizes he’s off campus, comes back; classes have already started
Is written up
Goes to second block- Mrs. Willows, English; she praises him, but he thinks he doesn’t deserve it; eventually says the things she’s saying aren’t true; Mrs. Willows apologizes, he hates himself for hurting her feelings
Steals a tack off a bulletin board in the hallway after class, sneaks off to bathroom during third block to cut himself using the tack
Panics afterward; worried he might get written up again; considers killing himself; decides to go to class
Walks into gym class, says he had to talk to Mrs. Willows; Mr. Brunson says it’s okay, he just has to do laps for it while everyone else is playing volleyball; he hates himself more for this, feels bad, wishes he could play volleyball, wonders if he cares, hates the fact that he was laughed at
Talks to Jessica at lunch, which follows third block; they fight; she goes and sits somewhere else

Note: five blocks, last three are lunch periods for the students in the school

He eats rest of lunch alone, hears laughter, worries it’s about him, gets worked up about it; goes and eats outside
Daydreams, is woken from his stupor when the bell rings; goes to class
Goes to History, spaces out all class period, though he struggles to pay attention; sees a police officer with handcuffs, gets scared, but when he looks, the officer is gone (hallucination); is scared
Goes home; Mom tries to talk to him, but he refuses, feeling like crying; says Dad will give him enough harm when he gets home; goes into room and plays Diablo for three hours straight, till father gets home
Has calmed down by then, is feeling good, but Father comes in yelling
They fight
Dad does not hit him, but Josh is perpetually scared he will
Dad says that if he ever does something like this again, he will beat him, he doesn’t care how old he is
Josh eventually can’t take anymore, leaves room, leaves house; Dad is following, but Mother stops him
Josh gets in his dad’s car, which is supposed to become his when he graduates, and drives to Jessica’s house
He finds her there, she won’t let him in; male comes up to door; she tries to explain away his being there, but in so doing makes it obvious that she is interested in him and wants to date him
Josh breaks up with her
Gets in car; drives around town, thinking
Goes home; Dad is in bed, Mother waiting up; she tries to talk to him, but he goes inside room and plays Diablo, doesn’t even bother to do his homework
Something has snapped; he no longer cares about school, and plans on flunking because he doesn’t think it matters anymore
Next morning, Mother wakes him up; Josh yells at her, she leaves, hurt; Father comes in, threatens to beat him if he doesn’t wake up; Josh gets up, laughing at his dad, pulls on clothes, refuses to eat, though Dad yells at him, telling him to eat; Josh gets on bus; Johnny makes fun of Josh; Josh laughs at him, still in maniacal laughter mode; Danielle is joining with him at first, but then starts to be weirded out
They get to school; Johnny says Josh is crazy; this strikes Josh’s nerve; he beats Johnny up badly before teachers manage to break them up; Josh resists them, shoves teachers off of him; SRO comes and arrests him
Josh is taken to principal’s office; principal says he’s going to be kicked out of school; Mom is required to come and pick him up
They fight on the way home, and Josh yells at her; Mom blames herself, is crying as they get home, she tells him to go to his room
Josh doesn’t care that his mother is crying anymore, or that he’s been kicked out of school; plans on killing himself anyway
Mother comes in an hour later with phone; Josh yells at her to get out, but she hands him the phone and just asks him to listen
It’s Dr. Clellum; Dr. Clellum talks to him about going to alternative school; he jokes around about it, laughing, says it sounds great; Dr. Clellum asks him if he still has her number, he laughs it off, saying “Of course not”; she gives it to him again, asks him to call when he can talk about it more seriously; he only pretends to write it down, hangs up on her when she asks, “Do you have anything you’d like to ask or say to me before we hang up?”
Father gets home; father says he’s going to beat him; Josh says, “Try,” they fight, and it is bad; in the end, Josh loses, gets beaten, becomes scared, Mom makes him stop, begging him, crying
Josh decides to commit suicide next day
Reads Anne McAffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern all night, gets up and waits behind bushes for bus before Mom wakes up
Hears yelling in house; Dad comes out with Mom, she sends him looking for him
Mother cries
Josh doesn’t care anymore; when he’s dead, she won’t have to worry about him anymore
Feels guilty
Goes to school in morning; there are comments on bus about he was kicked out of school, but he denies it
Gets off bus, walks to homeless man; they talk; Josh is enjoying his final conversation with what he sees as his only friend. Josh admits he is suicidal, talks openly about what he is going to do when it comes up; homeless man tries to sway him else-wise, but Josh tells him to shut up; then apologizes for speaking to him like that
Hates himself again, gets up, starts toward bathroom, turns to face homeless man, tells him thanks for talking to him, and, “You’re one of the best people I’ve ever known, and a far better man than I. See you in heaven.”
Breaks mirror; takes shard, slits wrist
SRO comes in there; Josh holds shard toward him, screaming, “Don’t come near me!”
Loses consciousness

Sequel

Wakes up in hospital, in and out of consciousness; brief scenes of talking to parents; he regrets what he did, realizes life is worth living, can’t believe he almost died, is ashamed; decides to do whatever he needs to do to get better

Next scene: institutionalization; he resists it because he doesn’t want to go to a mental hospital

Inserted Scene 2

Comes fully to with homeless person in there

They talk

He leaves; parents come in, tell him he’s supposed to go to a mental institution today

He resists; goes to mental institution

Is taken inside; forced to stay

End of first novel

Homeless person

Traits

Calm

Wise

Disillusioned

Slow

Apathetic

Peaceful

Avoids music, though he loved it once, because he doesn’t like to get trapped into wishing he had things he doesn’t have

Used to be depressed, but then he came to terms with his life and accepted everything

Is a Stoic; believes in not taking things hard; studied philosophy in high school

He got into drugs when he was a senior in high school; parents kicked him out; had to drop out of school; tried to work, but couldn’t; wound up homeless.

Decided he needed to do one thing in life that was worthwhile; he quit drugs, and walked from Columbia all the way to Florence.

Loves reading; has a collection of books stashed under a bush in Timrod Park; he has a book on stoicism, a book on Platonic Philosophy, a book on Buddhism, Great Expectations, Les Miserables, a memoir of a former homeless person who became a doctor; and the Bible.

Wants to start an organization of homeless people to help other homeless people, but doesn’t think it will ever happen.

Once wanted to be a famous guitarist; but hasn’t been able to play guitar in years.

Hence he quit listening to music; once upon a time, he loved rock.

He is 36 years old, but aged fast because he used to be on drugs and because he hasn’t had much in the way of the basic necessities for a long time.

Was diagnosed with schizophrenia in high school, but keeps things sane with meditation and staying grounded.

Occasionally develops a delusion of grandeur, but always fights it off.

With a quickening heart beat, I picked up my phone off my dresser and dialed Jessica. It rang three times before she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jessica, it’s Josh,” I said. All my bad feelings were melting away at the sound of her voice. It felt so good to talk to her.

“Hey Josh,” she said sweetly. “How have you been? You seem really down lately.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more upbeat.”

“Josh…” Her voice trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“It’s not about appearances, all right? I want you to be happy. I swear, you always say you’re happy, but every time I catch a look at you alone you look like you want to die. You should see your own face, Josh.”

I couldn’t believe it. Not her, too. “Jessica, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” she said, her voice breaking. “You think we’re all blind, don’t you? Well maybe I am, but our friends aren’t. Mike says every day you come to school there’s some strange mark in your arm, like you were cutting yourself or something. Have you been cutting yourself, Josh?”

“No,” I said.

“Josh!” she said in a drawn out, heartbroken moan.

“Look, I don’t want you to worry about me,” I said.

“Yes you do though! If you didn’t want help you wouldn’t be seeing a psychiatrist….”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Josh!” she repeated. “My baby sister sees the same woman. She saw you there.”

I swallowed. “It’s my parents’ idea. I didn’t want to go.”

“I should have figured.”

We paused.

“Look,” she said, “we’ve been dating a year now, right?”

“Anniversary’s on prom night,” I said, suddenly feeling a little lighter of heart.

“Look,” she said, “when I first met you, you were always free, bigger than life, doing crazy things like jumping off the second floor at school, or challenging guys twice your size to a boxing match because you thought it would be fun, then doing it again even though you got your ass kicked. You were always happy-go-lucky, kind of crazy, but now… now every time I look at you you’re looking down, or there’s some cut on your arm, or you’re getting snappy with people that really aren’t giving you all that hard of a time. You were a good student! What happened, Josh?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I said. Then I said, “I wish I did,” at the same time as she said:

“I don’t even know you anymore, Josh.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Of course you still know me. I’m still the same guy.”

“No you’re not. I want to help, but this is hard on me. I can’t take it much longer, Josh. Jeremy’s saying he wants to get back together, and all my friends think I’m fighting a battle I can’t win with you. Josh…”

“Yes Jessica?”

“I can’t do this anymore. Can we take a break?”

“No, Jessica,” I said desperately. “I love you.”

“I know, Josh,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried helping you… I’m sorry, Josh.” She sniffed. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Jessica,” I said weakly.

“No, I have to go, Josh,” she said. “Goodbye.”

She sniffed, and then hung up. I held the phone close to my ear till the voice in the phone had said, “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again.” After the beeping came on, I threw my phone across the room. It sailed through the window to the sound of breaking glass.

I panicked. What would Mom and Dad do if they found out I’d broken my window? I was so upset I didn’t care anymore. I went to behind the curtain where I kept my steak knife hidden and started tearing it along my flesh, breathing heavy with the sobs I wanted to give, but that would not come to relieve me. I cut around toward my wrist, when I heard footsteps in the hallway. I couldn’t do this to Mom and Dad. I’d have to wait till they were gone. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard on them if I waited. I’m sorry, Mom, I thought. I can’t do this anymore, either.

The door flew open, and Dad burst in, swearing. “Did you break some glass in here?” he bellowed.

He looked at me and knelt down, saying, “Give me that.” When I didn’t, he grabbed my wrist and twisted it. The pain felt good, so I didn’t care, but it somehow did loosen my grip, and he took the knife away.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed as he looked at my wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Mom came in, a phone in her hand.

“Should I call Dr. Clellum?” she asked.

“Please, Mom,” I whispered, looking up at her as she stared down in horror, dropping the phone.

“No,” said Dad, and in that brief moment I wanted desperately to believe that they were going to let the whole thing wash over. “Call 9-1-1.”

“Dad?” I said.

“Yes, Josh?” He looked stern like always, but now there was pain in his eye.

“I don’t want to go to jail.”

“You won’t, son,” he whispered, and hugged my head to his chest. And then I heard him start to cry.

“They’re busy,” Mom said. “I’ll call Dr. Clellum. I think she can handle it.”

She dialed again, and I found comfort in my dad’s arms. I started to cry at last myself, feeling the release come on. It was going to be okay, I told myself; I was going to be fine. Everything would work out. But even then, I didn’t believe it.

“Hi, Dr. Clellum,” she said. She paused. “This is an emergency, actually.” She paused again. “I need you to see my son. He’s been cutting himself- badly.”

I realized for the first time that I was bleeding a lot more than I usually did. I’d cut myself pretty deep this time.

“Okay. Thank you, Dr. Clellum. We’ll be right over.”

I heard her hang up. “All right, Eric, bring him in the car, will you? Dr. Clellum’s waiting for us at her office.”

“Can I trust you to walk on your own?” said Dad.

“Sure,” I said. It was my last attempt at the sarcasm/yelling status quo. It didn’t work very well.

He helped me to my feet, and I walked past Mom. As I did, I could see tears in her eyes. She walked behind me, rushing past me in the living room to open the big black door to outside. I walked down the steps, and nearly fell again. I was scared. What was going to happen?

Mom led me to the car, and opened the car door for me, too. Dad came out from behind the bushes lining the stairs to the front porch, and got in on the driver’s side.

“Thanks,” I heard Mom mumble to him as she climbed in beside me.

It didn’t quite register in my mind why Dad was sniffing the whole way there, why there were tears dripping into his lap. I thought he hated me. I halfway thought I might hate him. But right then, I couldn’t- I felt lousy. I wondered if I’d been wrong all this time.

Mom hugged me the whole way to Dr. Clellum’s office.

As we climbed out of the car, it was dark as night could get. Mom held my hand the whole way across the yard to the door at the top of the stairs. I could hear her sniffing in the dark as I opened the door, but even in the faint light of the inside, I could not see her tears. I wanted to believe they weren’t there, but I couldn’t.

Inside, Dr. Clellum was waiting.

“Okay,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

Mom sniffed. There was a lamp on; that was all. We were sitting in the chairs of her waiting room, masked in half-darkness. I noted with a very slight satisfaction that the blood on my arm didn’t show up as well as it had in my room. I was sure that if Dr. Clellum didn’t know what had happened, she wouldn’t notice the cuts on my arm. I had faith in the fact that most people were fairly unobservant. Mom and Dad had never noticed my cuts before now; of that I was pretty sure.

Dad told the story calmly; the tears in his eyes were gone. “I heard something break in his room, and it took me a minute to realize what had happened, but I was sure it was his window. When I got in, he was lying on the floor cutting himself with a steak knife. I think he may have meant to kill himself. He was awfully close to his wrist.”

“What do you want to do about it?” said Dr. Clellum.

Dad looked speechless for once, and then Mom said, “We were hoping you could tell us the appropriate action.”

“All right,” said Dr. Clellum. “I’m going to leave it up to Josh.”

“Really?” I said, feeling my eyes light up. “I think I should get a good night’s sleep and….”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Dr. Clellum. “I’m going to give you a choice. Either you can go on medicine, or you can go to a hospital like we talked about earlier today.” She hesitated as I considered, saying, “The hospital would take care of you, people would check on you, and it would be like summer camp for three or four days.”

“I won’t have to go on medicine if I go there?” I said.

“No,” she said, “you won’t.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “Medicine scares me anyway. I’ll go to the hospital.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Hammonds, do you want me to come with you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mom. “That would be very nice.”

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go then.”

We walked outside to the sound of crickets chirping. It was raining lightly. I could see the moon as clouds passed to let it show; it looked brilliant, beautiful, serene. Everything I wanted to be. Everything I feared I would never be again.

It was a long drive, and I fell asleep. The last thing I remembered was Dr. Clellum talking on her cell phone about me in a professional manner. I woke up to car doors opening. It must have been midnight. The sky was much clearer. I got out, and Mom hugged me. So did Dad.

“I’ll wait here,” said Dr. Clellum. “I already faxed in the information before you got to my office. I confirmed via phone. There shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“Thank you, Dr. Clellum,” said Mom.

“Mom,” I said, “If I don’t like it in there, could I come out?”

“We’ll take you out if the psychiatrists say it’s okay,” said Mom.

We turned to face the walkway. The place looked expensive. Nice, trim bushes; a few good trees; a fresh-cut lawn; brick walls; a large glass entranceway. We walked down the sidewalk leading to this entrance, and pressed on the door to go inside. A little bell rang, and a small blond woman dressed in scrubs came out from behind a large oak counter.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mom. “I’m here with Joshua Hammonds.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Right this way.”

She started to walk toward two great locked doors, but I said, “Wait.”

She stopped, turning around. “Yes?”

“Wha….” I didn’t know what I wanted to say- just whatever it would take to get out of this place. “Is this a medical hospital?”

“This is a mental institution, dear,” she said.

“Wha- no!” I wheeled around, walking out toward the door, my whole body trembling. “I’m not going into a mental institution. She said this was a hospital!” I wheeled back to face everyone else and kept backing toward the door.

“Is he going to be okay?” said the small blond woman.

“Joshua!” said Mom. “You’ve got to come willingly, or we won’t be able to take you out if things get rough.”

I was panicking, but not so bad that I couldn’t understand reason. I stopped. “I want to talk about it,” I said.

“Sure,” said the nurse. She led us into a little room with one door leading into the reception room. She opened the door for us and stood to let us in, calling over her shoulder, “Sonya! Take over, will you?”

“Sure thing,” said a voice behind me.

As I walked inside, I saw a few chairs and a small desk. The floor had the same purple carpet as had been in the lobby, and the ceiling was like the ones at school. I thought the chairs were nice- very comfortable.

“Listen,” she said. “This doesn’t make you crazy, it’s just a place to get away from stress for a week.”

“A week?” I said. “Dr. Clellum said it would be three or four days!”

“Well, I suppose that’s possible, but it’s not likely. Most of our patients are out in a week or a little longer.”

“I can’t stay past a week. I’ll miss prom.”

“I’m sure the psychiatrists will do everything in their power to get you out of here before prom. Now listen, everyone likes it here. Some things to expect, some of the patients don’t like the food because their medicine makes it tasteless. We have a very structured day, and counseling three times a day. You’ll have some time in the gym, some class work from your school, and some time in the rec room.”

“What’s that?”

“Rec is short for recreation. It’s things like painting. Yesterday they made tapestries; sometimes they just play video games.” She paused, eyeing me carefully, I wasn’t sure why. “Now we do get to watch TV in here, but what you can watch is monitored by the counselor on duty. I’ll tell you now some of the patients call it prison, but everyone likes it here, and I’m sure you’ll get along fine. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“I think that pretty much covers it, thank you,” said Mom.

“All right then,” she began, but I interrupted her.

“Wait. What about… I mean, can I leave if I want to?”

“Your parents put you in here for cutting, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then unless the counselors begin to suspect suicide, your parents can take you out at any time. But don’t worry! We have fun here.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?” She stood. “Right this way then.”

We walked out of the little room to the two big doors at the end of the reception desk. She scanned a card through a little slot on the side, and a green light flicked on. She opened the doors, and we passed through. We were in a hallway, with two little rooms on either side. We continued walking, reaching another locked double door with a card slot for her to scan her card through, which she did. The doors clicked, and she opened them.

“Why are all the doors like this?” I asked.

Holding the door open for us, she said, “It’s just a precaution. Just in case someone tries to break out.”

“Has anyone, ever?”

“It’s confidential,” she said, shutting the door behind me and my parents. “That’s another thing I should have told you. Everything in here is confidential- between you, your psychiatrist, and whomever you choose to tell.”

I was beginning to feel better.

At the end of this hall was another reception desk, with a hallway leading off to the right towards a door leading outside. To my left was another hallway leading to a large common room, and along the hallway were a multitude of doors that I assumed led to bedrooms. The hallways were brick, the doors were wood. Everything seemed to be high quality and kept so. Nowhere was there a sign of dirtiness or clutter. I took all this in in a moment and stopped at the reception desk. Behind it stretched a hallway with more doors leading to another common room.

I realized my parents weren’t behind me, and turned with a feeling of slight panic. They were standing at the door with the woman.

“Parents aren’t allowed beyond this point,” she said.

“Mom,” I said, “Dad. I love you.”

“We love you too, Joshua,” said Dad.

“We love you too,” repeated Mom- and then they disappeared behind that door with the little blond woman.

An overweight black woman came out from behind the desk with a Polaroid camera.

“We have to take your picture for our records,” she said, and positioned me beside an Easter bunny. “We keep up whatever’s in season,” she explained- “even a little late. We’re about to put a sun up. You’re the very last person to use this.”

“Easter Sunday was two weeks ago,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why you’re the last.” She flashed me a smile, and everything was okay for a minute. She moved my arm around the ears of the Easter bunny, saying, “Hold it there.”

She took a quick step back, then clicked. A photo came out, and she waved it in the air a minute, then showed it to me. It wasn’t a bad picture. Kiddy bunny, though.

“When’s your birthday?” she asked me, retreating behind the desk with the picture.

“May 18,” I said.

“Ooh! Seven more days.”

“And graduation’s the 20^th,” I said.

“Well congratulations to you, grad,” she said enthusiastically, typing something into a computer on the desk. A minute later she came out from behind the desk and led me down the hall.

“Now I want you to understand that from this point on you are not to touch anyone. If you do, you will be punished, so no hugs, no handshakes, nothing of that sort, okay?”

“Okay- but why?”

She stopped by one of the wooden doors, and so I stopped, too.

“Policy. We don’t want any fights breaking out or anything sexual. You’re not wearing a belt, are you?”

“No.”

She looked at my shoes. “Give me your shoes,” she said.

“What?”

“Your shoes. You could use your shoestrings to hurt yourself, strangle yourself or something like that. Policy. Give them here.”

I took them off.

“I’ll have someone put some sandals in your room for you,” she said. “Now, another thing- in the morning, you’ll need to be up by 7:30, and you start breakfast at 8:00. We have a structured day, and we’ll expect you to keep up with it. You’ll be told some of the other rules in morning group, and there’s a phamplet in your desk. Now you’re getting your own room, so be grateful. Good luck.”

She put the key in the lock, and opened the door for me. I stepped inside. She shut it behind me, and I tried to open it to thank her- but it wouldn’t open. She fumbled with the lock on the outside, and I asked her through the door, “Why am I locked in here?”

“Policy,” she said. “For security. Now go to sleep.”

I groped for the light switch and cut it on. There was a pitch-black window at the far end, two beds, and a desk with a chair and a lamp in between the two beds. A dresser was at the foot of each bed, on the other side of the room. Everything looked nice. I undressed and cut off the light, wondering what I was supposed to wear for a week- or a little more. And how I was ever going to get out of here.

Chapter III: Reality

That first night was the longest night of my life. I tossed, I turned, struggling to fall asleep. The bed was like rock. Every position I could find was uncomfortable. And my head was a whirlwind. I could sense something trying to speak with me. I wanted to shut it out and go to sleep, but I couldn’t. Finally I got up, cutting on the light, and sat on the edge of my bed.

There was that niggling voice in the back of my head, like it was a separate entity, whispering in my thoughts. It said, “Please, let me prove to you that I’m real.”

I found that fairly harmless. “Okay,” I said.

“All right. In two minutes, someone is going to come in and check on you. She’ll ask if everything’s all right.”

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. “Okay,” I thought back in my head. “But what is it you want?”

“I want to teach you martial arts,” it said.

“Why?”

“You want to learn, don’t you?”

This was true. “Yes,” I answered mentally.

“Then let me teach you.”

“Who are you?” I asked. It was like a thought; I would become aware of its answer, and then it would take the form of words as I understood what it was saying. I would respond the same way.

“I’m God,” it said.

He had spoken to me before, but never about anything important. I felt like I was being sucked into a new world, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be part of it.

I sat on my bed, looking at the door expectantly. “I’m a fool,” I thought, “for listening to this.”

“You’re not a fool,” it said.

Suddenly there was a knock on my door, quiet, like the person doing the knocking didn’t want to wake anyone else up.

“Hold on a second,” I said, feeling strange as I pulled the covers over me to the swishing sound they made as they rubbed up against legs. “Come in,” I said.

The door opened, and a tall blond woman came in. “Are you all right?” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“You need to turn your light out,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be up. Can I turn out the light for you?”

I nodded, not looking her in the eye. My heart was racing. What did this mean?

“I’m real,” said the voice in the back of my head.

The woman turned out my light, and I heard the door click shut a minute later.

I got back in bed.

“I want you to write a book, dictated to you by me,” said God. “You are to share it with no one.”

Funny thing, I thought, sharing all this was the last thing I was going to do.

“And I will teach you how to become immortal, like Noah.”

“Thank you,” I thought back. I wondered if this was a good idea. Then I realized something: He had told me exactly what would happen. There was no other explanation.

I reached over to the lamp on the desk by the side of my bed. I clicked on one of its two bulbs, and took out a pad of paper from the drawer. I was in luck. There was a pen.

“Can we do this now?” I asked.

“Okay,” said God.

I started writing down what he had to teach me. First he covered kicking. He said to kick with the ball of the foot, and to snap my leg out. He covered a few other things, too, regarding punching. He gave me a training schedule for when I got back home: learning to swing my fists for 2 minutes straight, with goal dates based on a 6-week self-course. Then he went into morality. He taught something he called “The Code,” and that I was never to reveal it to anyone. I was surprised at the cool stuff that was coming out:

Never fight a man when you are in the wrong.
Never start a fight without a good reason.
Don’t fight because of anger.
Seek peace, not violence, unless you are surely in the right and it solves a great problem almost entirely.
Never break the Code.
If you do, seek inward renewal.
Ignore semblances.
Despise falsehoods.
Keep an open mind.
Always be moral.
Respect other moral people and aid them greatly.
Keep them moral.

I would write down the whole list I wrote down that night because I still have it; but it wound up going onto 76 different rules. It included such things as, “Follow no one but God;” “Value righteousness before everything else;” and “Avoid looking for more things to have: knowledge, greater strength, et cetera. Only seek what is needed, and what is not something to have: honor, purity, fulfillment.”

Eventually God told me, “All right, you’re getting tired, and it’s getting late. Title it, ‘The Handbook,’ hide it somewhere safe, and go to bed.”

I went back to sleep with much greater peace of mind. My “voices” were real. They were the voice of God. I was learning from him. He had always been supportive; now I knew why.

As I fell asleep, someone else introduced himself to me. It was Musashi, who would be my spirit guide, and my personal instructor in martial arts.

How had I gotten here? I wondered. I was actually in a mental institution. How crazy was that? But I was comfortable about my sanity now. I knew I was sane. I laughed to myself, imagining what Mom and Dad would say. I decided to tell them tomorrow, just to get a kick out of it. They’d believe me when they saw me perform some drills I’d learned from God and Musashi. For the first time in a while, I was looking forward to something. As I tried to get comfortable, I had much greater peace of mind than I’d had all week; this was cool. But I still had to toss and turn, since the bed was so uncomfortable, and my one at home was so nice. I needed a good night’s sleep, but it seemed like I’d barely stopped tossing and turning when there was a knock at my door.

“Breakfast!” it called.

Darn. I looked to the window, seeing the sun there above the fence, and then crawled out of bed, put my clothes back on. I stumbled to the door, half-conscious, and opened it.

A tall, bearded, country-ish looking man with broad shoulders and a dress shirt on stood in front of me, looking down at me. He peeked in my door over my shoulder. “Have that bed made in five minutes,” he said. “Get to work.”

I turned around, and looked at my bed, confounded. I wasn’t used to making my bed; usually I kept it a mess, with the sheets twirled around in a heap on the bottom where I’d kicked them to from the morning before. On this morning, my bed looked just like it had for as long as I could remember.

I started spreading the sheets out over the bed with my hands, when I heard a voice behind me say, “Here, let me help you with that.”

I turned around to see a short, dark-blond-haired kid, thin and freckled, walking into my room. He glanced at my arm, but said nothing. He didn’t seem to notice the thick red lines and dried blood on my arm. I turned to see that he and I were alone in the room now. The man who had told me to make it was gone.

The blond kid undid what I’d done so far, and went to the bottom of the bed. “First, you’ve got to lay it out,” he said. He gave the sheets a shake, and they spread fairly evenly out over the bed.

“Now you’ve got to tuck the edges in,” he said. “Like this- come on.” He was lifting up the mattress and tucking the edges in with his hands. I followed his example.

“Not bad,” he said, standing back. I was fairly impressed myself. It was hard to imagine I had participated in making such a neat bed.

“Thank you,” I said.

“We’re not done yet,” he said.

“We’re not?”

“Nope.” He then ran his hands over the top of the bed, and I did likewise. When it was entirely creaseless, in such a way as I had not beforehand believed possible, he stood back. “Good job,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. “What’s your name?”

“George,” he said. “You?”

“I’m Josh.”

“Nice to meet you, Josh,” he said.

I stuck out my hand, but he only looked at it. “What’s wrong?” I said.

“We’re not allowed to touch,” he said.

“Oh yeah. A woman told me that last night.”

“How late did you get in?”

“Late,” I said.

“You sleep okay?”

“Could you sleep on that mattress?”

He grinned. “I’ve been here five days, and I’m just now getting used to it. Come on, let’s go out to the common room.”

He opened the door the rest of the way- it had never been fully shut- and walked out. I started to follow him, but an old man in a suit stepped inside before I could.

“Sit down a minute,” he said in a business-like voice.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

I sat down.

“You’re Joshua Hammonds, right?”

“Josh, actually,” I said.

“Here for cutting?”

“Yes sir.”

“Okay. I have a few quick questions for you, to help me get a preliminary diagnosis before we run testing.”

“Testing?”

“For diagnosis,” he said, then, before I could ask him to explain, he sat down in the chair, taking out a folder with brackets and paper inside, and went on, saying, “Ever been on medicine before?”

“No, sir.”

“History of mental illness in the family?”

“No.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Tired,” I said.

“Have you had any feelings of anger, paranoia, guilt, anxiety or depression?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Could you please list which ones?”

“Like, all of them,” I said.

“Okay.” I saw him writing on his pad, and wondered nervously what he was going to do with the information I gave him.

“Any history of hallucinations, voices, or anything like that?”

“I used to think I heard voices, but now I think it’s God,” I said proudly.

He wrote more than a check on his pad, and I wondered if maybe I should keep my mouth shut.

“Hallucinations?”

“Occasionally,” I said, “but it’s rare.”

“How often would you say?”

“It’s rare,” I repeated.

“As in once a month, a week, a day? What would you say?”

“About once every two weeks, I guess,” I said.

“And how often do you hear voices?”

“They’re not voices,” I said.

“How often does God talk to you?”

“I’m not crazy,” I said.

“No one’s saying you’re crazy, Josh. I need to know this for my diagnosis.”

“I’m not crazy!” I said. “I don’t need to get diagnosed with anything, I’m not schizo, I’m not bipolar, I’m not crazy!”

The man who had had me make my bed came in.

“Is there a problem, doctor?” he asked.

“No, I think I’ve stayed long enough,” he said, got up, and walked to the door. “Thank you for your time, Joshua; I wish you a full and quick recovery.”

“I’m not crazy,” I muttered. “I can’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just walked out.

The man who had been outside my door stepped in. “If you don’t like it here,” he said, “that’s too bad. You’re gonna have to learn to stay in line, or if you get out of hand, and if you do anything, you will go to jail.”

I was scared for a moment as he stepped outside and shut the door. I sat down on the bed, head spinning. Why was I here? I wasn’t feeling as bad right now. I’d just had a rough couple of days, damn it, that didn’t make me crazy.

I held my head in my hands. I wanted to ball up and die.

“Breakfast!” someone called.

I walked outside. There were four of us: a short, Asian boy with jet black hair that stood up and a sharp face; a red-haired, pretty, fleshy girl with long curly hair; and George. The man who had woken me up was at the front, with a short, fat black woman who looked about 40. The man couldn’t have been 30. More like 25, the way I was looking at him.

“Everyone say hi to our newest patient,” said the short black woman.

George coughed, saying underneath, “Inmate.”

“Very funny, George,” said the woman. “Why don’t we introduce ourselves?”

“I’m Ashley,” said the plump red-head. She had a sweet voice, and her face was sweet as she beamed up at me.

“I’m Guy,” said the Asian. He clapped a hand to my shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”

“Take that hand down!” hollered the man.

Guy looked at the man, then shrugged and took it down.

“Come with me,” he said, and led Guy off down the hall to a little room on the opposite side of the hallway opening by the desk. He shut the door behind him and then came back. “Just so you know, Josh, there’s no touching allowed. We will not tolerate it.”

“It’s not like he hurt anyone,” I said.

“That’s enough, Josh. I don’t want any trouble from you. I’m Roy, and this is Amy,” he said, motioning toward the short black woman. “Now you know everyone’s names, so let’s go to breakfast.”

He turned, and walked off down the hall. I followed him, when I heard someone say “Hey,” behind me, and I turned to see George. “What’s wrong?” he said.

I slowed down to get to the back, behind Guy and Ashley, to talk to him. “The stupid psychiatrist thinks I’m crazy,” I said.

“Shoot,” he said. “Psychiatrists think anyone they see is schizophrenic.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Look, don’t take it wrong. Lots of people with problems don’t ever go to psychiatrists. Others get help, get a title, maybe a disability, can’t join the army and things like that- hard to say which one’s better.”

“Why?” I said. “You don’t want to be called crazy, do you?”

“It’s not like that,” said Ashley from up front sweetly. “What a psychiatrist says doesn’t change the truth- either way, you are or you’re not. Just, one way you get help with it, the other way you don’t.”

“Well said,” said Amy.

We turned and Roy walked up to the big steel double doors, scanning his card. We walked through.

“What are you in here for?” I asked her. It was hard to imagine she had done anything.

“I tried to commit suicide,” she said.

“Why?”

“I was having a rough time. People picked on me. My grades were bad. I hated myself.”

“But you’re a nice girl,” I said in shock.

“We’re not going back to pity parties, are we?” said Roy.

“No,” said Ashley. “I’m beginning to like it here.”

“Shoot,” said George. “You like prison?”

“Yeah,” she said.

We walked up to a new double door, and passed through it. Roy ran up from behind as we went on.

There was a moment of silence. The atmosphere was not so bad. I was actually enjoying myself. We walked down the hall further and opened a third double door. We were now in the room I had come into fresh out of the first reception desk. I wondered briefly if I could possibly get out. For a brief moment, I involuntarily imagined myself darting outside the door and running free. It was so brief, it’s difficult to imagine I could have thought all that in the single moment it spanned, which was less than a second. There was a strong urge with it, and then it was passed; I then reflected on how ridiculous this thought was, as I had no conceivable way of exiting that doorway, or of getting the card to open it.

We turned right to glass-paned double doors that weren’t locked. Refreshing, I thought. Roy opened them and held them open for first Amy, then Ashley, then George and me.

The room was large, with several long tables filled with red or blue cushioned chairs. Everything was clean and shiny. There was a man dressed well sitting at the corner at the far end of the wall I was passing, across from a man in green scrubs who looked dazed.

“Come on, Mitch,” said the man. “Time’s up.”

The two men got up and took their trays past me to the lunch line, then walked out. Mitch looked far, far gone. I never, ever wanted to be like that.

“Let’s get some grub,” said Roy at the same time.

We walked to a lunch line separated from the main room by a glass panel with a blue wooden bottom.

“Food here’s nasty,” said George, turning around to talk to me.

“The lady who let me in here says that’s because of our medicine.”

George snorted. “You’re not on medicine yet, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. You’ll see, then.”

George motioned to let me in first, and I picked up a tray. There was a cabinet full of small cereal trays with those peel-back wrappers. Good selection. I took out a Captain Crunch and a Cinnamon Toast Crunch, thinking this really wasn’t that bad so far. I took out a grape juice, an apple juice, and an orange juice carton from a little blue refrigerator to the side of and below the cereal cabinet. I could see omelets and French toast. Mmm, I thought. This is going to be good. I grinned at George.

“You’ll see,” he said quietly.

I picked up a plate of French toast and an omelet and trailed behind Ashley, picking up two packets of syrup at the end of the line. The three of us sat down at the table.

I poured one of the packets of syrup on the French toast, my mouth watering. I picked up my fork, and took a bite.

It didn’t settle in my mouth as well as I’d thought it would. I could taste the syrup, and there was a slight flavor to the French toast, but not nearly as much as there had been in the past when I’d had it elsewhere. I swallowed, realizing that George was grinning at me.

“Are you converted?” he asked.

I laughed. “Looks like.” I paused. “I have the world’s biggest headache,” I said. “I’ll talk to you when I wake up.”

I slid my tray forward and put my head in my arms. Almost instantly I could feel myself drifting off as my head filled with blackness. Then a voice cut off my pleasure sharply.

“Is it in the middle of the night?”

At first I thought he wasn’t talking to me, so I tried to ignore him, but then he said, “Hey! Josh!”

My head popped up. Ashley laughed.

“Dang, you woke up fast,” she said, and laughed again.

“This is breakfast, not sleepy time,” said Roy.

I tried to read his face, but it was the fierce scowl that I was beginning to think was his constant expression. I sat up, leaning my head on my hand.

“Look lively!” he said.

I took my hand down.

“It’ll be all right, Josh” George said to me in a whisper. “First day is always the roughest.”

“Hey! We’re not throwing pity parties over there, are we?” said Roy.

My headache burst. “What’s your problem?” I asked him.

“It sounds like you got a problem,” he said.

“I do,” I said. “This is nonsense.”

“If you got a problem you can go to quiet time. You want me to call someone down to take you there?”

“No,” I said.

“Then keep your head up.”

Tired and frustrated, I cradled my head in my hands without thinking.

“Head up!”

“What’s your problem?” I muttered.

“That’s it,” he said. “Come with me.”

I was nervous as he got up and walked toward me.

“Come on!” he said as he reached me. Then, almost without pause:

“I’m not going to ask you again,” he said.

“I didn’t do anything!” I said.

He started to lift me up by my armpits, and I stood.

“Come on,” he said.

I followed him out the way we had come. As we left the dining hall, I could hear the sprinkling and clanging of trays being washed and stacked. We stopped at a bathroom on the corner to our left on the side we were coming from.

“Go and wash your arm off,” he told me, pointing to the bathroom. His voice was calm, casual. I did as I was told.

As I watched the blood turn the water red, I hoped no other day would find me doing this again. I felt good afterward when I realized how much less noticeable the rinsing had made my scars.

Outside, Roy showed me to a little room on the side of the intersection of the adult ward and the teenager ward halls, opposite the bathroom.

“It’s all right,” a little voice inside my head said as we were walking, a thought whose source I wasn’t sure of. “It’s okay. Just be easy and peaceful. Don’t make it worse.” I then managed to identify it as a spirit.

As I walked in, I saw Guy sitting there. He glanced up at me, then at Roy as Roy said, “Come on. Come get something to eat, Guy. Time’s up.”

Guy stood, glancing down at me as I slid down against the far wall. He then walked out. The door to the quiet time room was shut partially behind me.

For some reason, I couldn’t sleep or even stay in one position. It was surprisingly lonely in that room. I felt like I wanted to reach out to someone, and my headache got to the point where I felt like the walls were caving in on me. I wanted out, bad. I swore to myself I’d get used to Roy. I’d get along with him, and wouldn’t give anyone any trouble. I could be careful. I’d have to be.

I only realized I’d been muttering to myself when Roy stepped in, saying, “You all right, Josh?”

I nodded my head. “Yes, sir,” I said.

“Come on out. Time’s up.”

Grateful, I stood and walked out. My stomach was rumbling. I then realized that everyone was moving toward the common room at the end of our hall. I followed discontentedly.

Chapter IV: Morning Group

The common room was large, with a TV in one corner, some shelves at the right end with board games and a telephone, and many nice blue or red chairs scattered across the room. On the far end from the doorway and the adjacent wall to our left, there were windows. I could see the outside, and wished I could go there.

We pulled up some chairs and sat in a circle; I sat next to George. I was facing the TV, with the doorway back to the teenager ward to my left. Amy, Roy and someone I didn’t know were all there.

“First of all, let’s go around and say our names, our hobbies, how old we are and what we’re here for, if you’re comfortable with that,” said Amy. “I’ll start, and we’ll move counterclockwise.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Amy,” she said, “and I like writing poetry, drawing, riding horses and going to church. And I’m not comfortable saying how old I am.”

Ashley laughed first, and then the rest of us joined in.

“And I’m here to help all of you because I wanted to make a difference in the world,” she said.

The man to her right said, “I’m John. I can be a nice guy, but I can be mean if I need to be. I’m here because I was always interested in psychology, and I didn’t have anything better to do.”

Next was Ashley. “I’m Ashley Montana, and I like guys, meditation and the occult. As for why I’m here, well… I had this boyfriend, and he was always beating me. I didn’t want to break up with him, and I couldn’t stand another day with him, so I tried to commit suicide, and now I’m here. I’d like to thank Amy especially for helping me recover, I’m doing much better, and I really like it here now and don’t want to go home.”

Guy was next. “My name is Guy. I like martial arts, kickboxing and dirt biking. I’m here because I tried to kill Ashley’s boyfriend. She and I are close friends, I’ve always had a soft spot for her, and I was not going to let her try to kill herself again over some J-A. So after they took her off in an ambulance, I took out my switchblade and went to James’ house. I knocked on his door and told him to go get a knife because I was going to kill him and I was going to be fair about it. I don’t know what I was thinking. He got out his knife and we fought. He’s in ICU right now, and I’m in here pending charges for attempted murder. They want a psychological on me first. My parents want me to plead insanity.”

“If you could go back,” said Amy, “what would you do differently?”

Guy looked her in the eye and said, “I’d knock him senseless instead, and threaten him, or maybe call the police. But I wouldn’t try to kill him again. I realize now how stupid that was.”

“Guy, thank you for sharing,” said Roy, who was next. “As for me, I like wrestling, hunting, and watching the old idiot box. I worked my way through college, and I’m proud to be working at one of the best mental institutions in South Carolina.”

George went next. “I’m George, I don’t have any hobbies. I got kicked out of school for fighting bullies, and then I got kicked out of alternative school for fighting, too. They put me in here because I really don’t have anywhere to go. That’s all I know.”

“What can you do differently when you get out?” said Amy.

“I can ignore them or get a teacher to help.”

“Good. Josh?”

“I can stop beating myself up so much,” I said. It took a moment of group laughter for me to realize I had responded to the wrong question.

“Sorry,” I said, grinning despite the heaviness I felt in my heart. “I’m Josh Hammonds. I’m in here for cutting myself. I get really agitated, and really upset, and then it’s like if I don’t do something I’ll burst. I almost killed myself, but I’m the one that chose to come here, I had a choice, and I’m going to leave before a week’s up so I can go to prom.”

“You might need to stay here two weeks,” said John. He wore preppy clothes and had hair slicked back with gel. He currently wore a smirk on his face. It was in that moment that I fell to judgment and knew I did not like this guy.

“They promised me I could go out in a week,” I said. “So I can go to prom. I just have to get my girlfriend- well, my x-girlfriend- to go with me like we had originally planned.”

“Two weeks,” repeated John calmly. “You won’t be out in time for that.”

“Do you live here?” said Ashley.

“No,” I said. I told her the name of my hometown.

“So do I,” she said. “I’ll take you if you want.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“No, no, Ashley,” said Amy. “You can’t have outside contact after you leave here.”

“Why not?” I said.

“It’s the rules,” said Roy.

“It’s confidentiality,” explained Amy. “Josh, thank you for sharing your feelings. Now who wants to explain the process here?”

“I’ll do it!” said Ashley in sweet, gentle enthusiasm.

“Go ahead, Ashley,” said Amy.

“Okay,” said Ashley. “Every morning, we go around the circle and ask everyone how they feel on a scale of 1-10. If you feel really, really good, then you’re a ten. That’s the best you can be. If you’re down, and feel like suicide or something, you say a one. If you’re a two or below, you need to talk to one of the counselors. In the evening, we do the same thing again. Now everyone shares what they want to share in group, and we’re not allowed to talk about it outside of group, okay? And in each group, we usually have a topic or something to discuss, or an activity. And that’s about it. How’d I do Amy?”

“Very well,” said Amy, pleased.

“You did a good job, Ashley,” said Roy.

“Yeah,” said George.

“Thank you!” said Ashley enthusiastically. Her face was a beaming smile, and her eyes shone with friendliness.

“Now, Josh, why don’t you start?” said Amy. “How do you feel on a scale of 1 to 10?”

I thought a moment. “Bad,” I said.

“On a scale of 1 to 10?”

“Three,” I said. I really felt like a one- that was for sure- but I wasn’t going to talk to a counselor- that was also for sure.

“Ashley?” said Amy.

“Ten.”

There was a pause.

“Guy, you’re up,” said Roy.

“Two,” he said. “I think I could be worse.”

“Make sure one of us talks to you after group,” said Roy.

“Yes, sir.”

“I feel pretty good,” said George. “Except that everyone else is feeling down- but put me down as a 7.”

I realized then that Amy was making notes on a clipboard. I strained to see it, leaning over, but she covered it up so that all I had seen was a chart. I hadn’t been able to make out what was on it.

“Okay,” said Roy, taking the clipboard from Amy. “Today’s topic is, ‘baggage.’ I want everyone to take one of these, Ashley, pass these around please.”

Ashley reached over John to take a stack of paper, and passed it around. When it came to me, I peeled the top sheet off as the ones below became a little disorganized. I handed it back to Amy, then read what was there.

At the top were a few questions and a blurb.

John read the blurb aloud, saying, “Sometimes we hold onto things from the past that we shouldn’t hold onto. For example, if you used to fight with your parents, you might hold onto that anger and express it in inappropriate circumstances. Below is a worksheet to help you deal with your emotional baggage.”

Looking up, he said, “I want all of you to fill this out. I’ll give you… ten minutes.”

Everyone started working diligently at theirs, and I noticed that the counselors were doing the same. George passed a tray of pencils and pens to me, and I took a pen before handing the tray to Amy. She put it up.

I looked at the first question: “What are your current overriding emotions?” “Pain, depression, confusion,” I wrote.

Next question: “Why do you think you have these emotions? If they are negative, what emotional baggage do you think might have led to them? If they are good, how can you make them better?” I thought a minute. I had no idea why I felt the way I did. No matter what happened, I felt like something was going wrong. Right now the predominating stressor was this damn institution, so I wrote: “I have these emotions because I’m here, and also because I hate my life.”

I looked at the next question. “Whose responsibility is your emotions?” That was easy- I knew what they wanted me to put, so I put, “Mine.” It was true anyway.

“What can you do to improve your emotions?” Hmm. Uhm…. Hmm. I wonder. If I’d had the answer to that, I wouldn’t be here. I skipped it.

“If you could change one thing about your life or yourself, what would it be?” That was easy: “Cure depression,” I wrote.

Then there was Part II: “Draw three things that are important to overcoming your emotional baggage, and write why they’re important.” Three boxes, three lines under each box, all in a row at the bottom of the page.

I hated drawing.

I looked up and around to see if there were any colored pencils. I met Roy’s eye, and he went to the bookshelf to get a tin container. As he came back, he said:

“Anyone need colored pencils?”

“I do!” said Ashley.

Roy handed the shallow tin to John, and I could see the colored pencils and markers jumbled up inside. John passed them around. I could hear the rustling of pencils and markers clicking against one another as people selected them.

When the box came around, I picked out four markers: red, brown, blue, and black.

In the first box I drew a brown-handled knife with blood dripping off it; I outlined the blade in pen. At the bottom, I wrote, “I need to stop cutting and hurting myself.” In the second box, I drew a blue eye and wrote at the bottom, “I need to stop seeing things in a bad light, and start seeing them in a good light.” In the third box I drew a judge’s gavel and wrote, “I need to stop judging myself.”

I looked up. Amy handed me the tin with a smile, and I put my markers back in it. “Done already?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Do you like it here?” she said.

She was so sweet I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I was too upset to think about other people right then. “I hate it,” I said.

“It’ll get better,” she said.

I didn’t answer. Everything in my mind centered around, “I doubt that.”

“Ashley didn’t like it here either, to start with,” she said, smiling warmly. “Now she loves it.”

“Ashley didn’t like it here?” I said. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m not. She wanted to go home worse than anyone I’ve ever seen. Didn’t you, Ashley?” She turned toward Ashley.

“Ma’am?” said Ashley, looking up from her worksheet.

“I said you wanted to go home something awful when you first got here,” said Amy.

“Yes ma’am, I wanted to get out of here or die, and I didn’t care which,” said Ashley.

“You see darling?” said Amy. “It gets better.”

I looked her in the eye, and what I said next, as simple as it was, was sincere, flowing from my sincere desire to believe what they were saying, that things really would get better someday. All I said was, “Thank you.”

She smiled at me, then turned to the group, saying in a louder voice, “Okay, who’s not done with their worksheet?”

“I’m not!” said Ashley.

“Another five minutes?” said Roy.

“It won’t take me that long,” said Ashley.

“How about another two?”

“That’s good with me, how about everyone else?” said Ashley.

“I’m done,” I said.

“I’ll be done in two minutes,” said George. I looked over at him and realized he had written a lot in the spaces, and that he was now on his second drawing. It was of a caveman, and I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. At least, I thought it was a caveman.

“I’m done,” said Guy. “Been done.”

“Did you finish?” said Roy sharply.

“That I did, buddy,” said Guy, “that I did.”

“Let me see,” said Roy.

Roy walked over and put out his hand. Guy handed it to him, and I caught a glance of a mostly blank paper. Roy only took a glance, and then he handed it back to Guy.

“Fill it out, or you can go to quiet time,” he said.

Guy sighed.

“You got a problem?” said Roy.

“No, sir,” said Guy, and got back to his paper.

“You’d better shape up if you’re going to stay here,” said Roy.

“I don’t want to stay here,” said Guy.

“Would you rather be in prison?”

“No.”

“Then fill out that paper,” said Roy.

Guy started writing things down.

Roy walked back to his seat.

“Fill it out, Guy,” said Ashley.

“I don’t have any baggage,” he said.

“What about hatred against my x-boyfriend?”

“Time’s up,” said Roy. “You’d better have something down on that paper by the time we get to you. George, you start so he can have some time. What did you write down?”

George sat up in his seat, reading his paper as he summarized. “I said my overriding emotions are boredom-”

Guy laughed, and Roy said, “Is there a problem, Guy?”

“No, sir, I just thought boredom isn’t really baggage, you know?”

“It is to George, evidently. One more outburst and I’ll send you straight to quiet time, got it?”

“Yeah,” muttered Guy.

Roy made a correcting sound in his throat. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say ‘yeah.’”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m sorry you had to be interrupted, George. Go on.”

“I said my overriding emotions are boredom, apathy and listlessness. Sometimes I get frustrated, sometimes down. But I am feeling more satisfied than I used to. I think I have these emotions because my parents didn’t really raise me, I kind of raised myself, and I haven’t had much support from adults over the years.”

“Do you think you might dislike adults because of this?” said Amy.

George paused. “Yeah, actually I think I do.”

“Whose responsibility are your emotions, George?”

“Mine.”

“And how can you overcome your emotional baggage?” said Amy.

“I said that if I’m going to overcome my baggage, I’ve got to take care of myself and take charge of my life.”

“And if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?”

“I’d be a type A personality instead of a type B.”

“But that’s your strong suit,” I said.

“No talking out of turn,” said Roy.

“But everyone’s…”

“One more word and I’ll put you outside group for five minutes.”

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Josh?” said Roy.

“That’s his strong suit- your strong suit, George. You’re really laid back and easygoing and supportive, and all that’s type B. If you were type A, you’d be grabbing and overexerting and nitpicking and maybe even angry. I’d say you’re a better person the way you are.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“What do you think about that, George?” said Amy.

“I think Josh just made my day.”

“Do you think he’s right?”

“I don’t know.”

“Thank you for sharing, George. We’ll go around a second time when we get to Part II. Josh, what did you put down?”

“Well, for the first question, I put pain, depression and confusion; for the second question I had a really tough time, but I put down that it’s because I hate my life, one, and two, because I’m here.”

“You can do better than that,” said John. “Name some other things.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Would you think better outside group?”

“No- please….”

“Then think of something,” he said, and his face was only a blank half-smirk that he always seemed to wear.

“I…I…” I thought hard. “I don’t know.”

“Take a seat outside group, and come back to us when you’re ready to participate.”

I got up, and sat down outside group, nervous. I started muttering about John. He was so preppy. Probably didn’t have any feelings.

“What’s that Hammonds?” said John.

“Nothing,” I said.

“If I hear my name from your lips again, I don’t care if I still can’t tell what you’re saying, I don’t care if you are saying I’m a handsome devil, you will be out of here.”

I was scared they’d put me in quiet time again. I stopped mumbling. I had to get this done, and get back in group. I thought hard. “I’m hard on myself,” I wrote down.

Amy had just started hers when I came back into group. “Is this good enough?” I asked her, not wanting to ask John or Roy.

“Let me see,” said John. He grabbed the sheet, and looked at it. “What does this say?” he asked.

“Sorry,” I said. “I have bad handwriting.”

Ashley looked at it. “Good Lord,” she said. “It’s chicken scratch.”

“Let me see,” said George.

“You can wait,” said Roy, looking at it. “Tell you what. This is a once in a lifetime occasion- I can’t read it.”

“You can’t read it?” said Ashley. “That’s a bad sign, Josh. Roy’s handwriting’s really, really bad.”

“Okay, Josh,” said John, looking up at me with a smile that looked more like a smirk. There was humor in his eyes. “Why don’t you tell us what this says?”

I took it from them and pointed to each individual word in front of John’s, Roy’s and Ashley’s bunched peering faces. “I’m- hard- on- myself,” I finished.

John nodded. “Good,” he said. “That’s better. Welcome back to group, Josh.”

“Now see,” said Amy, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Actually, it was,” I said.

“Know the feeling,” said Guy. I realized he hadn’t even budged over my handwriting.

“Better not know the feeling,” growled Roy.

Someone laughed.

“Well, why don’t you sit down and go on reading your worksheet, Josh,” said Amy, “since none of the rest of us can.”

“Okay,” I said. “My emotions are my own responsibility…”

“Good,” said Amy as I went on.

“…and I can improve my emotions…” I took a deep breath. I had forgotten that I’d skipped that one.

“You can do it, Josh,” said Ashley.

“Think of something, Josh,” whispered George.

“With all this encouragement, if you can’t think of something, you should be ashamed,” said Roy. “Give it a try!”

I really didn’t know, and the first thing that I thought of was Buddha sitting on a grassy plain. I was laughing inside, and I didn’t care anymore. “I could meditate,” I said.

“Awesome!” exhumed Ashley.

“What?” I said.

“That was a good one,” said Amy.

“Yes, it was,” said Roy. “Very original. Do you meditate?”

Improvising, I said, “Well, I guess I meant I could learn.”

“I’ll teach him!” said Ashley.

“You will?” I said. I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into.

“It’s settled, then,” said John. “Ashley, you can teach him after visitation hours are over. But don’t teach him anything he doesn’t want to learn, okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

I wasn’t sure why he’d said that. I really hoped I didn’t have to sit down and say, “Om,” thirty thousand times. I grinned to myself.

“Oh don’t you worry,” said Ashley. “I know what I’m doing.”

“She’s very talented,” said Amy. “She taught me a little.”

“She taught you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” said Roy.

“Now how about the rest of your worksheet?” finished John. “I assume you have it?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I was feeling a little bit better. The support from my new friends was wonderful. For their gift of friendship, as crazy as it might sound when I’d only known them for a few hours, this trip was almost paid for. “If I could change one thing about my life, I would cure my depression.”

“That’s very honest,” said Amy.

“Yes, it is,” said John. Roy nodded.

“Thank you for sharing,” Roy said. “I believe Miss Amy is up.”

“Yes, I am,” said Amy with a nod. “My current overriding emotion is ambition. I think it’s mostly good, but it does lead to some stressing out at times- thank you Ashley for help with that. It’s that way because my parents didn’t finish high school, and I was scared to wind up like them. I know I can keep up my ambition by thinking of everything they encouraged me to do, before they died, reaching for my dreams, and never giving up because I’m still reaching for my dreams. My emotions are my responsibility, and I can improve my emotions by learning to accept when I don’t do as well as I’d like to do, being more content with what I’ve got and what I’ve already achieved, and”- she glanced up at Ashley with a smile- “beginning a frequent meditative routine.” She paused. “And if I could change one thing about myself, I would make myself never think of myself, but always other people, and be more like Jesus.”

She looked at John expectantly.

John said, “My overriding emotion is humor. I think I have this emotion because I don’t take things seriously, even if I act like I do. My emotions are my responsibility, and I can improve my emotions by listening to people better. And as for one thing to change about myself or my life, as to that, I would make myself filthy rich and retire tomorrow.”

There was laughter, but Amy said, “Come on, John, be serious. We want to set a good example.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, a twinkle of mischief in his eye as he gave his smirk-smile at her. “I would be married to a beautiful woman with a high IQ and a good sense of humor. No offense to my girlfriend.”

It was strange to watch how, even as he said something designed to elicit a response, the only part of him that changed was his eyes. The smile stayed the same; the expression, the same. His eyes only glowed, twinkled or shone, as they did now while Guy grunted, George and I laughed a little, and Ashley said, “Shame on you.”

“All right then, let’s hear yours, Ashley,” said Roy. “We’ll see how deep you are.”

“Okay,” said Ashley. “I said that my overriding emotions were peace and happiness….”

“Sure,” said John.

“No, that’s true,” said Ashley.

“Go on,” said Amy.

“And I can keep this up by staying on my meds and continuing therapy. My emotions are my responsibility, and I can improve my emotions by being optimistic and grateful for what I have, and also meditating and praying. If I could change one thing about myself, I don’t think it would be mental illness because it’s a huge part of whom I’ve become, and I don’t think I could have gotten here without it. No, for me, I’d change my weight- I’d like to be slim and beautiful.”

“Shame on you,” said Roy, and there was a bit of goodhearted laughter. “Guy, you’re up. You got something or are you going to quiet time?”

“I don’t have any baggage,” he said.

“Ugh! You’re out of here! Get going.”

“Come on, Guy,” said Ashley. “You must have some anger against my x-boyfriend for what he did to me- couldn’t you need to forgive him, or something?”

“My only baggage,” said Guy, “is that I loved you from the moment I saw you….”

“That’s not appropriate for group,” said Amy, but Guy drowned her out, raising his voice.

“… and that every time I do anything in the back of my mind all that’s there is what I can do best for you….”

“Then take her advice!” shouted Roy.

“…and if I go to jail, if these people put me in a mental institution for the rest of my life, I’ll sleep better at night,” said Guy, nearly shouting, as Roy and John stood and came over toward him, “because I’ll know you’re not getting whipped by some jackass, cause I took care of him…”

He looked up at Roy, who was grabbing him by the armpits and hauling him to his feet.

“You got a problem?” Roy shouted into his face.

“I got a problem,” said Guy, no longer shouting. “But I took care of it. Now I’ve got a new problem. But I can’t fix it, and you can’t, because if I’m not in jail I’ll be stuck in a shit-hole like here….”

“That’s it,” said Roy, and shoved him hard over his chair. The chair slid, then flipped as Guy stumbled backward, then fell, his body sliding off the edge.

“Miss Amy, take them out of here,” said Roy.

“Come on, you three,” said Amy. She got up and walked widely around Guy, and I followed behind George, Ashley at her side.

I looked over my shoulder, and saw Roy holding Guy down, trying to turn him over as his feet flailed in the air, John just out of reach. As I looked forward again, I saw a plump, white blond nurse in green scrubs running toward them with a syringe in her hand, the handle drawn back.

“Come on,” said Amy, “quickly now, you three.”

She led us through the hallway our rooms were on, then turned toward the hall leading to the dining hall and the front entrance but stopped us just ahead of the double doors, scanning her card on a locked door. She propped the door open with a chair, and we filed into the room. It was much smaller, with a table in the middle and a bunch of the same chairs as had been in the common room. There was a dry erase board at the wall on the right hand side, which was next to the doorway, and the room extended to our left. The walls were blue.

I sat down in a chair, thoughts racing about Guy. I hoped he’d be all right. I wanted him to be okay.

“Time’s about up for morning group anyway,” said Amy, sitting down. “Where were we?”

“That’s everyone,” said Ashley. “Everyone that’s here, that is.”

“Yes, that’s so. Well, does anyone have anything they’d like to share?”

John and Roy walked into the room, sitting down like nothing had happened.

“I don’t know what to do about Guy,” wailed Ashley. “He’s been such a good friend for such a long time, but I didn’t know he liked me.”

“Do you like him?” said Amy.

“As a friend, yeah.” She paused, and no one would speak till she answered. “But not in that kind of way.”

“Then you shouldn’t worry about him. It’s better to surround yourself with people who are going to help you….”

“Didn’t you hear him? Don’t you know what he did because of me? He’d give his life for me!”

“The way he’s going,” I said, “he probably will.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find the answers you’re looking for eventually,” said Amy. “Meditate on it.”

Ashley sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you need to talk to me, we can go somewhere private right now.”

Ashley nodded. “Okay.”

She and Amy walked out of the room.

Roy spoke up. “Why don’t you two tell us what your drawings were,” he said. “George, you first.”

“I drew an orange, because I need to enjoy life; a rainbow, because I need to look on the sunny side; and a monster, because I need to overcome my fears.”

“Thank you for sharing, George. Josh?”

“I drew a judge’s gavel, an eye and a knife. The knife was because I need to stop cutting and hurting myself…”

“Good so far,” put in Roy.

“… the gavel was because I need to stop judging myself, and the eye was because I need to stop seeing everything in such a bad light.”

“Thank you for sharing,” said John.

I heard a thud, and went to the door instinctively.

“Sit down,” said John.

I glanced outside the door, then returned to sit down. The quiet time room door had been getting struck. Now I could hear Guy screaming.

“I’ll get out of here!” he was saying. “I’ll get out of here! You let me out, or I’ll fucking bust this door down and break loose! I’ll beat the shit out of every one of you! Bitches! Let me out, let me out!”

It went on like that.

“I told you to sit down,” said John. “You should have sat down immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Good. Next time I’ll sit you outside group.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I like your manners, Josh.”

“Thank you. What’ll happen to Guy?”

“That’s none of your concern, Hammonds,” said Roy.

I thought I heard the quiet time room door swing open, and I knew it had to have happened because Guy’s screaming grew louder. Now it changed.

“Get away from me! Get away from me! I’ll break your arm if you come any closer!”

Then there was a thud, and someone else screamed. Roy’s head whipped around, and he ran out of the room. There were sounds of a struggle, then Roy’s voice, “If you keep this up we’ll call the police, Guy. Now stop before it’s too late, you hear?”

“Give in, Guy!” I shouted.

“It’ll be okay!” hollered George.

The struggle subsided some, and Guy stopped screaming. Then there was a brief silence, after which he screamed in pain, and then groaned loudly, and fell silent.

Roy returned with his clothes a little ruffled, but he appeared otherwise unharmed.

I had in my head the image of Roy shoving Guy over the chair. Guy hadn’t been violent till afterward; the whole thing could have been avoided if Roy hadn’t shoved him. “God!” I shouted, pulling my hair. Later I would wonder if I was right, but right then I said exactly what was on my mind: “Roy escalated it!”

“I won’t have any attacks against counselors,” said John. “Go sit outside group.”

I got up and went outside group. I could now see the quiet time door, but the small window at the top didn’t allow me to see Guy. I wondered if he was unconscious. Must be.

Just then the lights flicked on and off.

John came to the door to look outside.

“Hey, lookee what I can do,” I joked.

He went back inside.

I waited a few minutes, then everyone filed out and John came back to me.

“You’re going to quiet time,” he said.

“What for?” I asked.

“We can discuss that when you get out. Now go.”

“Not if you don’t tell me why I’m going,” I said.

“Get up,” he said, smirking at me. This was his usual expression, however, and I wasn’t sure what it meant.

I stood.

“Now come here.”

I followed him to the welcome desk, then stopped. “Why are you putting me in there?” I asked.

He turned around. “I’m not going to ask you again,” he said. “Are you coming?”

“I’m not coming till you tell me….”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“No.”

He looked away from me, and for a moment his smirk vanished.

“Should I get help?” a nurse asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He turned back to me. “We could do this the easy way,” he said.

“You tell me why I’m going, and I’ll go,” I said. I was scared.

“I told you, we can discuss this when you’re out.”

I wondered if I’d said something like Guy had said. I hadn’t meant to if I had. Part of me said, “Go inside,” but at the same time I felt as if this wasn’t fair. I did not want to be a problem, but I really hadn’t done anything, and I really would have gone if he would have told me what it was I had done.

A tall, thin black counselor ran toward us from the adult common room. I watched him approach.

John didn’t say anything a moment, just turned.

“He won’t tell me why I’m going,” I told the new counselor as he ran up. He ignored me.

They got on either side of me. I started to back up, then John nodded to the other one, and each grabbed me by the shoulder on his own side.

As they tugged me forward, my body convulsed against them wildly. I shook and strained against them, the world jolting around me. I waved backward and forward, neither gaining nor losing ground as I struggled to free myself from their grasp. I hurled John to the floor with one good sling, and he spun off my arm, sliding through a rolling chair that spun away from him. Now I was close to being free.

I hurled myself forward, then backward, grabbing onto the black counselor’s arm and trying to free myself. I was almost free when someone grabbed me from behind and slung me to the ground. He must have been big because I went down fast. Then whoever it was was on my back, holding me down.

John got up and came over to hold my head down. I knocked my head against his hand, trying to get free, but he grabbed my head by the hair and knocked it against the floor twice. I paused.

“Let me up!” I said.

“No,” said John.

“What did I do?”

“I told you, we can discuss that after you get out of quiet time.”

Someone was pulling down my pants. I craned my neck around, but John pulled it down by the hair. I could tell from the amount of force used that he hadn’t decided whether or not to slam it.

“Relax or this will hurt,” I heard a woman saying.

No.

I cocked my leg back, and kicked. It scraped against something, not a real hit, but as the nurse shrieked I kicked again, and again, and again. My legs flailed wildly.

“Someone get his feet!” I heard Roy say.

He grabbed at them, but he couldn’t stop them. I kicked for all I was worth. It was all there was between me and getting tranquilized.

I heard heavy footsteps, and looked up to see a very overweight, muscular black man who must have neared my height or at least six feet running toward us. I had a bad feeling in my stomach, but I kept kicking.

I had to get free before he could get here because then it would be too late. There would be nothing I could do if he got a hold of me.

I put my hands beside my chest and pushed upward. The big guy who was on my back, whom I now realized was Roy, put more of his weight against me.

“No, no,” I muttered, my voice growing louder. “You’re not going to tranquilize me!” I shouted.

The big black guy passed my range of vision and someone was grabbing at my legs. I kicked higher. The black man swore under his breath, and then got a hold of one of my legs.

“Please!” I screamed. “Listen to me! They won’t even tell me why I’m going in!”

At this point the man had both my legs, and nearly had them under control.

“Please!” I screamed.

He slung them on the ground and managed to hold them. I quit struggling. I could feel the weight of two big men on top of me; I knew I was not going anywhere.

“Please!” I shouted. “I didn’t do anything!”

The nurse pulled down my pants.

“I’ll go in peacefully!” I shouted. “Just tell me what I did wrong! I won’t do it again! Tell me!”

I started twisting, convulsing in my final struggle to get free. But the needle entered my butt, and I had to stop struggling in order to ease the pain. It was too late.

A second later they pulled out the needle.

“We’re going to lift you up,” said John. “Don’t make this hard.”

I didn’t have any fight left in me. I stood, Roy and John lifting me up by the shoulders. Without applying any force, they walked me to the door of a quiet time room other than the one Guy was in, one at the entrance to the adult ward beyond the welcome desk.

Chapter V: Mrs. Joy

As I sat in the corner of the room, staring at the blank white walls, I wondered what I was going to do. I wanted to give up. Problem was, I had given up- last night- and now things were still going on. I couldn’t commit suicide; there was no practical way. I couldn’t take a break; these damn counselors saw to that with every five minutes I breathed. I couldn’t go to sleep; that would lead to being back in here, and I was so worked up now I knew there was no way I’d fall asleep. Two times in quiet time. On my first day. That sucked.

Why was I getting in trouble just as many times as Guy? I hadn’t killed anybody. Did our backgrounds make a difference- or our personalities? I wondered because he was angry, volatile; I was depressed, though perhaps also volatile. I didn’t think John or Roy liked me. I could swear they held something against me- I just wasn’t sure what.

What disturbed me was the fact that none of the other counselors had listened to me. Damn John. I didn’t see how they could trust him. I didn’t see how they could ignore everything I’d said, as though I wasn’t there. Some object. Not a human being, but an animal to keep under control. Damn this place. May it burn in Hell.

Not that that was a terribly realistic idea- though, if I had to choose, I think I could have easily put Three Rivers in Hell. Maybe it would be good for the people there.

I needed something in my life, something new, something to get rid of all this mess. The “voices,” as anyone else would call them, were taking me on a new road. I needed their help. No one here could do anything for me. That was clear. But then, could the spirits I talked with in my head do anything either?

I really wasn’t sure, but I knew I was on the edge of something- something I couldn’t describe, something I couldn’t see or understand, but something I desperately needed. Something that could solve this whole mess.

I wondered if religion had any of the answers I was looking for. Maybe this something I could feel myself on the edge of was religion. Maybe God was calling me.

I wondered if God could solve my problems. I wanted something to do on my own, though; I didn’t want to rely on these spirits, or on God, or on anybody. I wanted to be my own man. I wanted to be able to help other people, to be able to guide them. I wanted to be like Buddha, like Jesus, like Gandhi, like Mother Theresa, like the Dalai Lama or all those Buddhist monks. I figured they had to be happy. And they were always helping other people, people going through rough times like me. I wanted to be like that.

I heard them opening the door, and wondered how long I’d been in here. My head was spinning, and I was starting to feel a little groggy.

Roy stood in the doorway. “Come on, you’re done,” he said.

I staggered to my feet and followed him out of the adult ward’s quiet time room, then turned left past the reception desk and left again. There was one set of locked, steel double doors just before the classroom; Roy scanned his card to open them, and then we walked through. On the other side was a short hallway leading to a normal door. I walked through it and into a large classroom with a blackboard on the side of the wall to my left, and a dry erase board to my right. The door was in the middle of the wall, and several desks were lined neatly along the walls. The teacher, a neat red headed woman with a warm smile, looked up as I came in. She was dressed in a dark green skirt and a matching dark green jacket with a white dress shirt.

“Hello- is it Josh?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“I’m Mrs. Joy. Your teachers haven’t sent anything yet, so you’re welcome to draw or read or whatever you like.” She had a southern accent, beaming eyes and a warm smile. It was refreshing to sit down in an empty seat, with no counselors in sight, and just relax. I remember wondering how the Hell she had wound up in here. She made me feel at home. I could tell I was going to like Mrs. Joy, as surely as I’d known I wouldn’t like John.

She sat down at her desk in the corner of the room by the blackboard and turned to her computer. She started typing away on it, but I was having the first of several moments in which I felt the keen desire to open up, to spill out everything that was inside me and get the help I needed because I was sick of keeping it all jumbled up inside.

“Do psychiatrists here think everyone’s crazy?” I asked.

“Don’t you talk like that,” she said to me with a small laugh, turning to face me. “I’m sure they don’t think you’re crazy.”

“They called what I hear voices,” I said.

“This isn’t a conversation you should carry on across the whole room, Josh,” she said. “If you need to talk though, you’re welcome to come up here.”

I came to the front of the room, and she pulled up a chair. “What’s bothering you?”

I hesitated. “I’m worried I might really be crazy,” I said.

“Listen,” she said. “Don’t you worry about it. Everything’ll be fine. Just because you’re mentally ill doesn’t mean you’re crazy. I’ve been depressed before myself. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am,” she corrected.

“Yes, ma’am,” I repeated.

“And feel it,” she said. When I looked at her in puzzlement, she grinned and said, “I’m just teasing you.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll get you to loosen up,” she said. “I did it to Ashley, didn’t I, Ashley?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ashley.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

I told her.

“Nice little town,” she said. “My husband’s stationed there right now.”

“Your husband’s in the military?”

“Yes, sir, yes he is. Has been most of his life, but now he’s just National Guard. And they wouldn’t call him in anyway. He’s too old.”

I laughed.

“You’ll like it here,” she said.

“I don’t….”

“Yes you will,” she said, nodding. “Won’t he Ashley?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The counselors here are mean,” I said.

“No, they’re not,” she said. “You’re just not used to them yet.”

“They put me in quiet time and wouldn’t tell me why,” I said.

Guy snorted from somewhere behind me, sounding a little dazed nonetheless. “Get used to it,” he said.

“That’s enough Guy,” said Mrs. Joy.

“They say it’s for the sake of treatment,” said Guy. “They say they taunt us for treatment. That’s what the woman I talked to said.”

“That’s true,” said Ashley.

“Hasn’t made me feel any better yet,” said Guy.

“Guy, get back to your work,” said Mrs. Joy.

“I can’t focus in here,” he said. “My mind’s gone.”

“You want to take a break?”

“Hallelujah!”

“Five minutes, okay Guy?”

“Sure.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Joy corrected.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

I looked back to see Guy giving an explosive sigh and leaning back in his chair. I turned back around.

“How can you work here?” I asked her.

“What do you mean? I love it here!”

“Why?”

“All of you! I love my students. We have a great time in here. Don’t we, George?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said George. “You’ll like Mrs. Joy. She’s really nice.”

“I can tell,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you too, George.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“You know I mean it,” said George.

“Thank you,” she said again, lower.

George smiled at her, then returned to his work.

“I need help,” said Ashley.

“I’ll be right there,” she said. “Josh, do you need to talk anymore?”

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Okay then,” she said, getting up. “Then why don’t you sit next to Ashley?” she said, walking toward Ashley.

“I’ll sit next to George,” I said.

“Josh doesn’t want to sit by me,” Ashley said in a fake whimper.

“Why’d he sit by you when he’s got me?” said George.

“Oh!” said Ashley as we all laughed.

And it was strange: in that hellish place, for one moment, I was happy.

“Ooh, she’s got an assignment on fact and opinion,” said Mrs. Joy, lifting a paper from Ashley’s desk.

I sat down next to George.

“Ashley’s a nice girl,” said George. “Fact or opinion?”

“Opinion,” said Ashley.

“Good,” said Mrs. Joy. “You want to do this together?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ashley.

“Sure,” I said.

“Here we go again,” said George.

Mrs. Joy grinned, but this was not unusual: in the same way that John always seemed to smirk, Mrs. Joy always seemed to be grinning.

“I am the man,” said Guy. “Fact or opinion?”

“Opinion,” said Ashley.

“That’s a fact, and you know it,” said Guy.

“Mrs. Joy is the nicest woman in the world,” said Mrs. Joy.

“Opinion,” I said.

“Hey, I thought you were on my side?” she said.

“Sorry,” I said.

“I’m just kidding,” she said. “Loosen up, Josh, come on. Josh loves dancing, fact or opinion?”

“Fact,” said Guy.

“False,” I said.

“But doesn’t it have to be true to be a fact?” said Ashley.

“Nope,” said Mrs. Joy. “Why not, George?”

“Because if it can be supported with evidence, it’s a fact, and because facts are not always right or wrong. They change with the time, like how we used to think the Earth was flat and then it was a fact- and therefore it still is.”

“George is getting technical,” said Ashley.

“Okay, look at it this way,” said Mrs. Joy. “If it can be proven true or false, it’s a fact. If it’s something that you feel, it’s an opinion. You get it?”

“Can I try another one?” said Ashley.

“Okay. Who can think of another one?”

“Georgiana is a beautiful woman,” I said.

“George is a what?” said Guy.

We laughed.

“That’s false,” said George. “I am not a woman.”

“Ashley?” said Mrs. Joy.

“It’s an opinion,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. I think you’ve got it. You want to try these on your own or do you need more help?”

“I can do them on my own,” Ashley said.

“And you don’t want me to read them to you or anything?”

“No, ma’am, I can handle them,” said Ashley brightly.

“All right, I’ll get back to doing paperwork.” Mrs. Joy sighed. “Are you sure you don’t need help Ashley?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Joy,” said Ashley.

“All right then,” said Mrs. Joy. She grinned at Ashley and returned to her desk.

In that place, that hellish place, I had felt a connection to my fellow patients; and now, now I felt like I belonged. I didn’t know how long I’d be in here, but I hoped it would be a long time.

Something stirred in the back of my mind.

“Can I have some pen and paper?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Mrs. Joy. “Right over there on the bookshelf.” She nodded toward the back of the room.

I turned and saw a bookshelf at the back of the room. It had several books on it, mostly Great Illustrated Classics, and, at the top, a large stack of drawing paper, a large stack of wide-ruled notebook paper, a tin can full of pencils and a few erasers, a tin can full of markers and colored pencils, a bottle of white out, a pair of scissors, a stack of magazines, some tape and some glue. The magazines had obviously been ripped apart; any student would know it was for collages.

I took out two pens, a pencil and a stack of notebook paper. I sat back down at my desk and asked the spirits in my head, “Please teach me more.”

It was exhilarating, learning martial arts from spirits. Every word they told me, I wrote down with enthusiasm, and with the knowledge I would pore over that word for hours in the future. It was awesome. It was like refuge in a storm.

God first instructed me in kicking, during which he said to kick with the ball of my foot, to kick fast, and to raise my knee before I kicked.

After that, he introduced me to the spirit that was to be my principal teacher.

“This is Musashi,” God said, “your new instructor. You met briefly last night, if you remember.”

“Hi,” said Musashi. “I am an angel, and I will guide you in your lessons from this day forward. God is often too busy, anyway.”

He took over my lessons then.

“What are you writing?” George asked me.

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s personal.”

“Do you like writing?” asked Mrs. Joy.

“I do,” I said.

“Why don’t you write a short story about something important to you?”

“I’ll do that sometime,” I said.

“Okay. Let me read it when you’re done.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Good,” she said.

“I hate this place,” said Guy.

“Comfort him,” said Musashi.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” I told him. “You’ve got the heart of a lion, man.”

“Thanks, you’re not bad yourself. I could hear that nurse shriek from your kick and I could hear you screaming right up till you’d been tranqed.”

“I was desperate,” I said.

“So was I. I’m sick of this place. But I don’t see how things are ever going to improve.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe if we like, turn to God or something….”

Guy grunted sarcastically. “I was born Christian, raised Christian, and still am Christian, but I haven’t seen much reason to give God much credit. He lets you wander around, stumbling into stuff, in the dark, till you die.”

“That’s not true!” I said. “God can speak to us.”

“Next you’ll be holding séances with Ashley,” said Guy.

“Séances? What?”

“Ashley’s Wiccan,” said Guy.

“She is?” I said, looking at Ashley.

“Yes, I am,” said Ashley. “Do you know what a séance is?”

“No.”

“It’s when you try to contact a spirit. But I don’t do those.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I prefer automatic writing.”

Guy laughed. “You two are going to get along great,” he said.

“What’s automatic writing?” I asked.

“When you contact a spirit through writing,” she said.

“Awesome,” I said. This was what I needed to know more about. This could explain what had been happening to me recently.

“Well if you think it’s awesome I could teach you,” she said.

“I’d love to!” I said. I must have sounded pretty excited because the whole room burst out laughing.

“Are you done with your work?” Mrs. Joy asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ashley.

“Then you two can start now if you want,” Mrs. Joy said.

“Okay then,” said Ashley, turning to face me. “Can we get on the floor, Mrs. Joy?”

“It’s fine with me.”

“Then sit down on the floor, Josh; the first thing I’m going to teach you is how to meditate.”

“Can I learn how to do a spell or something?” I asked her quietly. “Like fireball.”

“Boy!” she said. “Wicca doesn’t teach things like that.”

“What religion does?”

“No religion, to the best of my knowledge,” said Ashley. “Although, there are references to druids calling down hailstorms of fire in mythology.”

“I want to learn to do things like that,” I said.

“Well,” she said, “why don’t you just start with what I’m going to teach you, and maybe you’ll be satisfied with that.”

“All right,” I said. But I wanted to learn how to make a fireball.

“First of all,” she said, “I think I should give you an overview of what you can learn from me.”

“Okay.”

“First of all, you can study meditation, then spell craft and divination, and somewhere in between there, worship and religious rites like on the sabbats or esbats. I can teach you how to prepare for a spell, how to perform it, and what to do after a spell. I can do divinations by tarot cards, automatic writing, psychometry and dream work. I can teach you all that, but we probably won’t get to more than one form of divination before I leave. There are many types of spells, but we’ll stick to the most common structure. When you get home, I want you to get Making Magick by Edain McCoy, all right?”

“Okay,” I said. “What will I learn from it?”

“Pretty much what I’m going to teach you. It will be a good overview.” She paused, but I didn’t answer. “Okay,” she continued. “You want to get started?”

“Yeah!” I said. I was excited.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to take you through the long version so you can get results, all right?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I want you to tense the muscles in your foot,” she began, and she led me through my entire body that way, starting at the bottom and ending at my upper head. At each body section or part, she had me tense my muscles while she counted to five, then release them. When we had finished, I felt very relaxed.

“Now I want you to visualize a pool of water in a forest clearing. Above is a night sky, around the lake is a forest, and in the little lake is a white glowing number ten. You know that when it reaches zero, you will be completely relaxed, in the deepest state of mind you can reach. Now see it counting down. Ten. Nine.” She went through every number between ten and zero. As she did, I visualized each number receding into the one below it. At first I was just relaxed, but as she counted downward, I wound up going deeper into myself. I felt at peace in a profound way. My mind was clear and at ease, a welcome relief from the stresses of a mental institution.

I took the moment before she continued to indulge in the pleasure of being in an altered state.

“Okay,” she said. “I want you to visualize a white light descending from above into you. It spreads throughout your body, cleansing all impurities from your energy body.”

I felt even better when I’d finished with that. After that she ran through the technique behind guided meditation- visualize one thing that represents another changing, which represents the desired change in the student. She gave a few more examples- visualizing white space that thoughts dissipate into for clearing of the mind, which she had me do for a while; visualizing a fire burning unnecessary emotions; visualizing a crop field growing to represent the growing of an emotion within; et cetera. She had me design one of my own; mine was the visualization of a red energy ball soaking all my stress, anger and depression out of me into it.

“You look handsome when you’re meditating,” she said.

This startled me, and I opened my eyes. Her voice was not the gentle one I could remember from a few seconds ago, and I felt jarred. Looking around, I could see the others taking peaks at us between glances at their work. Guy stared shamelessly.

I could see love in his eye as he stared at her. Somehow, Ashley seemed not to notice.

“I think you’ll do really well if you keep at it,” she said, as though determined for me to answer.

“Thank you,” I said, and what I saw in her eyes scared me. I did not want her to get attached to me. I wanted her to love Guy because I loved Jessica. I would get her to go out with Guy. That way I could still learn from her everything I wanted to know without making her any closer to me romantically. It was strange; I’d been in the mental institution but a day, really half a day, and already I felt as though I had known these new friends of mine for a lifetime. Their support, their friendship, made the hellhole I was in bearable; further, it made it, at times, enjoyable.

I only realized we’d been looking into each other’s eyes too long for her not to take it in the exact way I so did not want her to take it when Mrs. Joy said it was lunch time.

I looked up to the door behind me, and saw Roy standing there.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s lunchtime, you scoundrels.”

Guy looked vexed at this, but everyone else seemed to understand that this was not really anything personal- it was just how Roy acted. I did wonder how someone with training in counseling could possibly want to antagonize his patients. It was confusing.

Chapter VI: Ashley in Love

We stood and walked out the door and down the hall, turning once at the end of the hall and again at the patient reception desk. We passed through three double doors, and on the way I noticed a door to a really big room that looked like a gym as I passed it by. After the third double door, we turned right into the dining hall. I realized then just how hungry I was, and I was glad to be at lunch. I promised myself then that I would not get kicked out of the lunchroom, and also that I would sort this thing with Ashley, Guy and me out before lunch was over. It would take some doing, but I could do it.

I found a particularly good-looking series of sandwiches in the lunch line. Each had meat, sauerkraut, lettuce and something that just looked good. I got two of them, and sat down, my stomach grumbling. My first bite painfully reminded me of what George had told me that morning about the food. He was proven right, again. I was starving, but I didn’t finish my two sandwiches. Instead I went back to the lunch line and got two golden delicious apples and an orange. Somehow, they were not as good as the ones I ate at home. That wasn’t surprising; even at my high school, the fruit was never quite as good as you could get from Harris Teeter- and the lunch ladies at my high school could cook pretty well. But this was a good step or two below mediocre inexpensive fruit. This was just bad.

The orange really wasn’t very juicy- it was kind of doughy, actually- but the apple was clearly an apple. I didn’t actually get full eating; I lost interest somewhere between the initial mortally hungry and the final no longer starving.

I had been so hungry that I barely realized Ashley and I were sitting alone together until I had quit (not really finished) eating.

“You know Guy’s nuts about you,” I said. I looked over to the other end of the table, where everyone was sitting near the window, but no one was listening.

“I know,” she said.

“Why don’t you go out with him?”

“I don’t want to go out with him,” she said.

“Why not? He’s got the heart of a lion.”

“Josh, he’s… I’m scared of him, Josh. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s not dangerous,” I said dismissively.

“He is.” She had stopped eating, and was now toying with her food. “He tried to kill my x-boyfriend- and you heard what he said. What was it, ‘I wish I’d killed him?’ ”

“He had a good reason.”

“Josh, there’s never a good reason for violence. If you study Wicca very long, you’re going to have to learn to live by the Rede yourself. As it harm none, do what you will, Josh. Harm none.” She emphasized the last two words. “Besides,” she said, poking at her sandwich, “I’m not really interested in anyone right now.”

“Are you going to eat that?” I asked her.

“Why, you want it?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just, you didn’t eat anything.”

“Oh Lord,” she said. “You know George used to say the same thing, but Roy nearly put him in quiet time for giving pity parties. You’ve got to be careful what you say in here, Josh.”

“So it would seem.”

“But Josh,” she said, “you do understand, don’t you? I mean, if I were to go out with anyone, it would be you.”

She looked up at me. I dropped the orange back on my plate, which led to the realization that I’d been playing with it. Her eyes were sincere, and I suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. I loved Jessica, not Ashley.

Worse, I suddenly realized Guy was listening in on us. I had to think for myself, here, though, and I had to hurry because Ashley was waiting. I didn’t want to go out with Ashley, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Well?” she said.

She almost took me in with that. She’d been fearless in bringing it up, and I admired her courage. Most girls would never have risked that much. Neither would have most guys. Nor would have I. I almost wanted to go out with her, but I knew that then I’d have to break up with her when I was back home and it would mean something that could come between me and Jessica. So I’d made up my mind.

“I can’t, Ashley. Sorry. I’m just not interested in you.”

She stood, looking pale, and quickly walked over to where everyone else was eating without saying anything. Oh, how I wished I was better with words!

“I’m gonna go sit with Josh so he’s not all alone,” I heard Guy say from the window, and he stood and came to sit on my right, toward the window.

“What are you thinking?” he said to me. I looked into his earnest face. “She my world, and I’d do anything to see her happy.”

“I’m just not attracted to her like that,” I began.

“So lie, fool! You see how upset she is? She hasn’t looked like that since she recovered. Personally, you’re making a big mistake. Ask her out.”

Everyone at the window was standing.

“Anyone not done?” said Roy. He paused as we all said no. “Good,” he said. “Then let’s go.”

“Please,” said Guy, and he stood. He walked to the window for dishes and brought his tray there. I followed him. As we filed out the door we’d come in, I stayed at the back, near Ashley.

“Ashley,” I said. “I’m sorry. You’re a nice girl, and I think I could give you a chance, if you still want to go out.”

“Then will you go to prom with me, when we get out?” she said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“You’re going to make a great boyfriend,” she said, a bit too loud for my comfort. I was worried Roy would hear, but he was busy talking to George. “Okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

She smiled at me and walked to the front of the line, beaming again like usual. I was glad I had not hurt her. It had gone well. She was feeling better. But all the same, I did not want to go out with her. What could it hurt, though? It would mean I couldn’t go to prom with Jessica. That probably wouldn’t happen anyway.

It was still somewhat unfair to me though. I loved Jessica. I wanted her. I belonged to her. I did not love Ashley. I loved Jessica. I loved Jessica, and she… did she still love me? I wasn’t sure at this point. Our last conversation had made me question that. But there was only one way to find out: I had to call her. Then, and only then, could I have closure on my relationship with her, and only then could I know what was the right choice for me to make. If she still loved me, nothing, nothing could stop me from going to prom with her.

We wound up going back to the common room for midday group, which was on role models. We talked about the qualities we liked in people, who embodied these qualities the best, and who our role models were. Guy’s role models, I’ll always remember, were Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson, for their skill, as well as Miyamato Musashi, the famous swordsman who once fought off hundreds of others at once single-handedly. I had known this name, and I wound up asking several questions about his past because he was also my spirit guide.

Ashley’s role model was Edain McCoy, whom I’d never heard of before- a Wiccan author of Wiccan books, she said. She said Mrs. McCoy’s warm heart came across in her writing in a way she could not explain. She also cited Buddha.

George said he didn’t have any role models, but when he was threatened with quiet time, he thought of some pretty fast. I wasn’t sure how honest he was being- I thought the original answer fitted him more- but he said his dad because his dad was strong and took charge.

“I thought you didn’t like your dad,” said Roy.

George gave him a look that said “Take it or leave it” and said, “I do look up to him, though.”

“You can do better. Come on.”

“I like Jesus and Buddha,” he said, “because they are highly spiritual and can take anything that comes their way.”

“Good,” said Roy. “Next?”

I was the only person left in group besides him, and I had had plenty of time to come up with something. While I’d been thinking, I’d considered all the people whom I’d known over the years, but strangely, no one was as much in my heart that day as the people right in front of me. So I said, “Mrs. Joy and George.”

George’s head swiveled around.

“And why is that?” said Roy.

“Because Mrs. Joy is really nice and everyone likes her, plus she seems like she cares about us. And George for the same kind of thing: he’s been nice to me since I woke up this morning, and he doesn’t seem too proud or temperamental. I guess it’s because they’re both just nice people.”

“Well said, Hammonds,” said Roy.

“Thank you,” whispered George.

“You have something to say, George?”

“Yes,” said George, louder. “I wanted to thank Josh. He’s been a good friend to me.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Both of you have been talking out of turn,” said Roy. “Watch your behavior.”

We talked a little more, and then we went to the classroom. I waited a while doing nothing but drawing and writing poetry in an attempt to escape Ashley’s attention, then got sidetracked on instructions in martial arts and magic from Musashi. It must have been 45 minutes later or longer when I finally brought up my question to Mrs. Joy.

“Mrs. Joy,” I said, “can I call my x-girlfriend?”

“You’ll have to get the counselor’s permission first,” she said.

“What do you want to call her for?” burst out Ashley.

“Is something going on here?” said Mrs. Joy.

“No, ma’am,” said Ashley.

“Ashley wants to go out with me,” I said, “but I want to talk to my x-girlfriend before I do. Settle a few things.”

“You’re not allowed to date in here,” said Mrs. Joy. “Don’t try to.”

“Well, we can once we’re out,” said Ashley.

“That’s true,” said Mrs. Joy. “So when you’re out, you can then.”

“You can’t call your x while you’re dating me! You trying to switch back or something, Josh?” Ashley said. “Josh, you don’t call her, or no more lessons, and no prom.”

That made me mad. I hadn’t wanted to go out with her in the first place. I started to answer, but before I could get a sound out, Mrs. Joy spoke up.

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh, Ashley?” said Mrs. Joy.

“You’re doing the same thing with him you did with your last boyfriend, Ashley,” said George.

If I wasn’t honest with her now, this could go on a long time. But I didn’t want to hurt Ashley’s feelings.

“I know,” she said, “and I know it’s a problem, but I can’t help it. I’m a love junkie.”

“I value your friendship, Ashley,” I said, “and I don’t want to lose it.”

“Well,” she said.

“And I don’t want to give up our lessons either,” I said. “I’ve learned so much.”

I had made up my mind. I was going to be honest with her, and keep her as a friend. “Now listen.

“I really, really value your friendship.” She was looking at me in horror now. “And I have a lot of respect for you. But I’m in love with someone else, Ashley.”

“How dare you!” she said.

“Ashley, listen to him,” said Mrs. Joy.

“Guy thought I should go out with you. He cares deeply about you. He’s the one you should go out with, not me.”

“So you said yes because of him?”

“Yes.”

“Well it’s your choice, I guess. I already told you my terms.” She didn’t look like it was settled, though. She looked humiliated, angry. Guilt filled me, but I continued.

“I want to stay friends,” I said.

“Josh, I can’t. I can’t. I want it all or nothing at all. Maybe you’re not the one for me, but I can’t keep talking to you if I can’t have you for my own. I’m sorry, Josh. Maybe you’re just not the nice guy I thought you were, but we can’t keep talking. It would probably be better if we just didn’t talk to each other anymore.”

That hurt. I suddenly felt a lot of regret and anxiety- and guilt. I did not want to lose her friendship. I had to make up with her.

“I’m sorry, Ashley,” I said. “I really like you as a friend, you’re a wonderful person, and I don’t want to stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“I’m sorry, Ashley. You’re a wonderful girl, and I don’t want you to feel bad, okay?”

The door opened in the middle of my sentence, and Roy came in.

“Hey!” he said. “No pity parties, got it?”

“She’s upset, though. I…”

“If you have a problem with it I can separate you from the rest of the group and you can sit outside while the rest of us play video games in the rec room. Your call, buddy.”

As we walked to the rec room, a little room next to the dining hall, I felt seriously drained. I wanted to help Ashley, but the counselors made it hard to do much of anything. Besides which, I was tired of trying to please Ashley. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was better if we just stopped talking. I was sick of the whole thing anyway. I certainly wasn’t good for her. So let it be like that. I would stop talking to her. I’d even avoid her, as hard as that would be when there were only four of us.

The rec room was an array of tables with tons of junk cast over them- knick knacks and art supplies: some finger paint, a few paint pallets, tins of markers, crayons, colored pencils and oil pastels, pieces of drawing paper, a few metal objects I didn’t recognize, et cetera. In the front of the room was a TV with a game system.

As I sat down at a table, Ashley sat down across from me. She looked at me a second, then started.

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she said. “I really lost it back there, and I’m sorry.”

I didn’t answer. I wanted to, but I was irritated and I had no clue what to say.

“I was just being immature,” she said. “I think you were right, I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were right,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a pause.

“Friends?” she said.

“Sure.”

She showed me how to draw, and we went on to have a pleasant conversation.

Most of the time everyone else was playing video games, but I could see Guy stealing hard glances at me. Whatever it was he didn’t approve of, he seriously did not approve. I found out forty five minutes later, an hour after we’d entered the rec room, as we went into gym.

“I’m worried you’ll hurt Ashley again,” he said.

We had turned left outside the rec room, toward the dining hall. We had just reached one set of locked double doors, when we turned into a little wood door dwarfed by the room inside. Guy said his bit as we were passing into the gym.

“Come on,” he said, nodding his head toward a corner.

I followed him.

The gym was a vast square room, with a ceiling that must have been a hundred fifty feet off the floor. There were huge plain glass windows halfway up the ceiling, spanning several dozen feet. As I looked at them, I had the strong desire to be outside.

There was a door outside at the corner in the far end near the mental institution reception desk, undoubtedly locked, and a basketball hoop to its left in the center of the rear wall. There was a closet halfway along the right hand wall which Guy and I were headed toward.

He stopped in the corner.

“I don’t want you hurting Ashley again,” he said. “She’s sensitive, and she doesn’t need any trouble.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” I said. “I think we’ve sorted things through now.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“You’d better know if you’re going to keep talking to her. Don’t you know what she’s in here for?”

“Yeah.”

“If she does that again because of you, I will kill you.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem.”

“Don’t keep talking to her, man.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem,” I repeated.

“I do. Are you going to listen or not?”

“I’m, I’m going to keep talking to her,” I said.

“Avoid her.”

I looked him in the eye. “No.”

He looked behind him to make sure Roy and John weren’t watching, then got close to my face and whispered, “You take your pick. You stop talking to her, or I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp. Your choice.”

He turned and started walking away.

I wondered if he’d be able to do that. He was a martial artist, but then, it seemed like we could barely go two feet without counselors watching our every step in here. Regardless, I wasn’t scared of him. What could he do- kill me, slice me up, flog me, maybe maim me? All but the first I had already done to myself, and as for my own death, I had given it plenty of serious thought over the last year. I wasn’t afraid to die. I was at the point now where neither life nor death really bothered me- I just knew I wanted out of here because there was something about the place I could not stand. The very air I breathed seemed to be a counselor screaming at me or taking me down or using that calm voice that just exhumed the words, “I am in power, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Guy didn’t really bother me, though. In a way, he reminded me of myself when I’d almost committed suicide. He was desperate. Really desperate. And in that moment suddenly the fear that was absent except in small degrees was replaced wholly by pity and compassion. I didn’t want to get Guy kicked out or sent to jail. He was just another face in the crowd of the lost. He had had a rough time. He needed help.

I thought wryly about what the first group had been on because that was exactly what I was going to do: help Guy get rid of his baggage.

I reminded myself that even if he did kill me, I’d only be with God, his angels and Musashi my new friend from Heaven, and I strolled after Guy. Eventually he realized I was walking after him, and he turned to stop and talk to me.

“What?” he said.

“I want to help you get out of trouble.”

“That’s beyond your power.”

“I might be able to help.”

“How?”

“Why don’t we talk about it?” I said. “You want to sit down?”

“No, I don’t want to sit down; if you got something to say, then say it.”

“Well, it’s like, you have this temper, and it gets you in all this trouble….”

“Boy, I can’t get in any more trouble than I’m already in.”

“I bet you could,” I said.

“Yeah? How?”

“You could get two life sentences,” I said.

He snorted. “Probably will.”

“Or you could get the death penalty.”

“Can’t happen. I’m a minor.”

“Not now. But if you keep like you’re going, your life will only get harder and…”

“Shut up! What are you, my shrink?”

“Is there a problem with you two?” hollered Roy. “Split up, now, or you can both be out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Yeah, sure,” said Guy.

We looked at each other a moment. He glanced at Roy, who must have had his back turned, and then made as if to hit me. I didn’t flinch.

We parted. I could see him heading toward the door as I turned to walk off. I was keenly aware of that feeling one gets in a gym as I walked to the basketball hoop. When I turned back around from the goal net, I could see him staring outside.

I shot some baskets as I thought on what had happened. It was frustrating. The guy would not accept any help any time soon, that was clear. The idiot was even trying to bully me for helping him. Why was I helping him again?

And somewhere there in the back of my mind was that little voice: “He’s just like you. Help him.” It was not like a being, but like some part of me.

“Should I keep helping him?” I asked Musashi mentally.

“Yes,” said Musashi. “He’ll come around. Ask him in evening group.”

“Thank you, Musashi,” I said to him mentally. “Will his life improve?”

“No. But he’ll always be grateful to you for trying.”

That warmed my heart, and decided my mind. I would continue trying to help Guy. I would take it up in evening group. Come to think of it, that made a lot of sense. There would be counselors regulating our discussion there. He would have to watch what he said and he’d be forced to consider my points. Good idea, I thought. I thanked Musashi again.

I whiled away most of my time in gym talking to George. George was a good conversationalist, and very good at listening. I could tell he thought some of the things I said were crazy, but he didn’t usually say so. I got a kick out of the way he seemed to think my Musashi was a hallucination. It was funny, for some reason, and also exciting. If only he knew.

After gym, we went to eat dinner. I sat with George, and Ashley sat with Guy. Probably better that way; I needed Guy to be calm when I talked to him, not dead set on killing me.

In group, which was in the common room, George held the clipboard and recorded how we felt on a scale of one to ten. Amy, John and Roy were all there.

“I’m a ten,” said Amy.

“Be honest,” said Roy, half jokingly.

“I am,” said Amy. “I feel great. I’m going on a date tonight. Going out to Ruby Tuesday’s.”

“Well I guess you would be a ten then,” said Roy.

“Who’s holding the clipboard?” said George.

“All right, I’ll shut up,” said Roy good naturedly.

Next was George himself, beside me, and he said, “I’m a seven.”

“I’m a three,” I said. I was worried about Guy, and I didn’t want to be here.

Guy was next. “One,” he said.

“Make sure you check in with a counselor before you leave,” said George.

The counselors burst out laughing.

“You’re a natural, George,” said Amy.

It was as though they were so used to hearing about such severe problems that hearing someone so down did not even bother them anymore. I could see the care in the way Amy eyed Guy, but she didn’t seem all that worried. It was the same with the other two. I wished Mom and Dad had been that way with me when they’d found out. I didn’t want them to go through all this. It was my fight, and the further I got, the surer I was I had to fight it alone. No one could win it for me. It was something I had to do.

John was a nine, and so was Roy.

Ashley was a five.

“Hand me the clipboard?” said Amy.

George handed it to her, and she said, “The focus of tonight’s evening group is loss. We’ve all felt loss, and we’ve all had a hard time at some point in our lives. Raise your hands if you’ve ever felt loss. Everyone? Good. That’s honest. Now tonight’s group will also focus on stress. How many of you have ever stressed out before? Guy, you’ve never stressed out?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

Guy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” said Amy. “Who would like to share an experience about stress or loss?”

Ashley raised her hand.

Amy pointed at her. “Yes, Ashley?”

“I felt stressed today, and I felt loss.”

“Why?”

“Because I screwed up big time with Josh. I guess I made some assumptions, and I kind of told him off. But I think we’re back to an understanding now, so it’s okay.” When she looked up, her face was her usual smile again.

Amy turned to me. “What do you think about this?”

“I think we’re back to an understanding, too,” I said.

“Have you felt any loss or stress today?” said Amy to me.

“Yes,” I said. “I felt stressed about Ashley, but I also felt stressed about Guy.” Perfect time, I thought. My heart was thudding. Suddenly I knew that Amy wasn’t going to support me. I don’t know how I knew, I just knew. “Guy tries to help people, but he helps them in all the wrong ways. I respect him, especially how he looks after Ashley- but he goes about it in all the wrong ways. He needs to learn appropriate conduct.”

“Josh,” said Amy, “everyone is here for needing to learn appropriate conduct, and not knowing how to function properly in society.”

Guy raised his hand, and Amy pointed to it. My heart gave a little kick in the instant before he spoke. I prayed that he would be kind in return.

“You want us to make you friends?” said Musashi in the back of my mind.

“Yes,” I thought.

“You will be soon,” he replied. “I can’t make him be a close friend, but I can put you two on good terms. I promise.”

All this nearly instantaneously; it was like a thought in the back of my head that seemed to come from somewhere else in a ball of thought, all at once. Then Guy spoke.

“Josh...” he began. “Look, I’m sorry man. I know I was wrong. I tried to control him, to get him to go out with Ashley and then to get him to stay away from her when he had hurt her feelings. I had no right to do that. Friends?”

I smiled. “Friends,” I said.

And the hellhole in which dark flames burned was suddenly lit by a candle of sacred light. I had helped someone. Suddenly things were brighter.

“Guy, if you did all that, trying to control him,” said Ashley- “I mean, being a bully like I know you must have been- you need to take a chill pill. I am scared of you. Chill out.”

I raised my hand, and Roy called on me. Amy shot him a faked dirty look with an irrepressible smile. The person with the clipboard was responsible for running group.

“Could you help him with that, Ashley?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess- but only if he stops being volatile because of me.”

“Can you promise to do that, Guy?” I asked.

Amy was staring at me.

“I can promise I’ll try,” said Guy.

“Not good enough,” said Ashley.

“No talking out of turn,” hissed Amy. “And Josh, you’ve got the makings of a counselor someday.”

We all laughed.

“Amy’s got a favorite,” teased Roy.

“Hush,” said Amy.

And for a moment, a woman whom I barely knew had made my world easier. I felt really good for the first time all day. In a place where pure Hell knew no rest, for a moment I could bask in the sun of the heavens.

Guy raised his hand.

“Yes, Guy,” said John.

“I can’t promise I’ll never be violent again. I can only promise I’ll try.”

“You are in control of your own actions,” said Ashley.

“Don’t talk out of turn, Ashley,” said Amy. “I don’t want to have to send you out of group.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ashley.

Roy made a correcting sound in his throat, and Ashley covered her mouth up, laughing. She seemed to be in a better mood now- back to her carefree self.

Guy raised his hand. John called on him.

“You’re right, Ashley,” he said. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” said Ashley.

“Go sit outside group,” said John.

Ashley started to say something, but John cut her off. “Now.”

She got up and went outside group to sit in the chair outside the common room.

“Could she come back for two minutes to finish the discussion and then go sit outside group?” said Amy.

“If you want,” said John.

“Ashley, come back,” called Amy.

Ashley came back inside and sat down where she’d been sitting.

“If she talks out of turn again, though, she won’t stay,” said John.

“I won’t,” said Ashley.

“What are you doing now?”

Ashley didn’t answer.

“That’s better. Now, Amy, you were saying?”

I put my hand up.

“Yes, Josh?” said Amy.

“Ashley, could you help Guy try to learn to cool down?”

Ashley looked at John with an uncertain look.

A few seconds later Amy started laughing, bending over, in a funny sort of way, and we all burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” said Amy. “Go ahead, Ashley.”

“Well,” said Ashley, “I think I could, yes, but I don’t know how- I guess I’ll just try when I can.”

“Thank you, Ashley,” said Amy, “that’s very nice of you.”

Guy raised his hand, and Roy called on him. Amy wiggled the clipboard toward Roy, and we all laughed again.

“I’m not worth it,” Guy said. “Ashley, I’m screwed over, and there’s nothing you can do. Don’t bother. I’m really not worth it.”

Ashley raised her hand, gave another look that would have left a wake of laughter had it not been for what Guy had just said, and spoke when John called on her.

“I care about you, Guy. I want to help you.”

“What do you have to say to that, Guy?” said Amy.

“My medicine makes me emotionally less stable,” he said. “Because of that, I might be able to get insanity. But I’m switching medicine, and things could get worse. I want you to all pardon me if I go crazy, because I’m going to be experimenting with my medicine, and it’s likely to get worse. So if it does, please, will you recognize that it’s not the real me?”

He sounded bordering on scared now.

“I promise,” said Ashley.

“Go sit outside group,” said Roy.

“But…”

“No second guessing,” said John. “Go.”

Ashley got up and left.

Amy looked like she didn’t like it, but she didn’t say anything.

“Can we promise?” she said after a pause.

“Yes, ma’am,” we all said in chorus.

Roy grinned at John, though I didn’t know why. He winked at him, and I heard him whisper Amy’s name. I wondered what they were about.

During the rest of group, it settled in that I was darn glad I was not on medicine. I did not want to wind up like Guy. I’d make sure my parents weren’t going to put me on medicine after group. They were coming today, I was pretty sure of that. And it felt good.

After group I went to my room. It was the first moment I’d had to myself all day. I felt trapped, staring out the window. I wanted to be out there- outside. It seemed a whole world away, inaccessible. It was hard to imagine I’d ever be out there again, and yet I yearned for it so much.

I wanted to get my parents to take me home. I liked the people here, and I would miss them, but not like I missed being able to go where I wanted to go when I wanted to go.

Chapter VII: Medication

I can remember dreading and anticipating my parents’ arrival at once. I ached to see them, to have confirmation that this was not the only world that existed, as it seemed. The high I got off of helping Guy faded rapidly as group ended. I waited painfully, mostly because I was reminded of my parents and had the unquenchable hope that they might take me home, as well as anxiety that they might put me on medication.

I was actually heading back to my room when I saw them. It seemed like ages since I’d left them; I’d never missed them more. As they walked toward me, Mom with a smile, there was a spring of hope in my heart.

“How are you doing?” Mom asked me with one of those painful smiles mothers give their children when they’re in mental institutions or are in some other great distress.

“Mom,” I said, “can you take me home?”

We were walking back into the common room.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her lips were a smile; her eyes were pain. “The doctor doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He thinks you need to stay a little longer.”

We walked into the common room and sat at a table as I said, “Mom, one of the counselors here thinks I need to stay a lot longer.”

I knew then, in a way that I could not explain, that something bad was going to happen tonight. It scared me, and for whatever reason I could not doubt it. I wondered what was happening to me. I didn’t know how I knew; I just knew I did not doubt it, even though logically I could question how I had come this conclusion.

And I knew also that it would carry over into the next day. I suddenly knew it regarded medicine, and that got me on that track.

“Mom,” I said, “I’m not going on medicine, am I?”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she said. “The psychiatrist thinks you should.”

“No,” I breathed. “Please, take me home. Don’t leave me here!” I was desperate. I understood a message from God, and I said, “God doesn’t think I’m crazy, you shouldn’t either. He just told me I should go home.”

“You’re sick,” she said, her eyes full of pain, and she reached across the table to grab my hand.

How could she say that? Sick? I wasn’t sick. I was perfectly healthy. Earlier this would have humored me, but I suddenly was back to hating this place. “I can’t stand staying here,” I said. “I can’t stand going on medicine. Please, this guy here says his medicine made him go crazy. I’m not taking anything that will screw with my head.”

“It won’t screw with your head,” said Dad. “It’s going to help you.”

“I don’t need help!” I said, my voice cracking. I felt like I could cry. “I’m fine. Please, take me home.”

“We can’t,” said Mom, and I can still hear the sorrow in her voice in the back of my mind to this day when I remember.

“Look, Josh,” said Dad. “You have to take your medicine. This really isn’t a good way to spend our time together.”

“Please,” I begged. “I might convince you. I can’t go on medicine. I don’t even know what all it might do to me. I don’t want anything that’s going to fuck with my head.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Mom, but her voice was not so stern as it had been in the past when she had reprimanded me for swearing. “I’m so sorry.”

“Then don’t put me on it if you’re so sorry,” I said. “Please. You can’t do this to me.”

“We have to, Josh,” said Dad. “And again, this really isn’t a good way to spend our time together.”

“I won’t take them,” I said. “I won’t take them, I won’t.”

“If you don’t take your meds, you’ll be forced to.”

“So I don’t even get any say-so in the matter?”

“No, Josh,” said Mom. “We’re sorry.”

“But you had to give permission to them for me to go on meds,” I said. “And you said I wouldn’t have to.”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” said Mom. “You have to take your meds.”

“What about my say?” I said. “It’s my choice what goes in my body, God damn it. It’s my body, not yours, I should get to decide what goes in it.”

Mom started crying.

Dad hugged her to him and said, “Josh, this is hard on your mother….”

“What the hell do you think it’s like for me?” I asked.

“Josh, I’m sorry,” said Mom. “I know how you feel. I know I betrayed your trust. I’m sorry.”

I wasn’t really mad at her. I was just scared of going on medicine. “Please,” I said. “Take me out of here. Let’s go home. Then we can talk about it more. Mom, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dad, standing, Mom still in his arms. “We’ve got to go.” He pulled her away from him, drying her eyes with his fingers. Then he gave me one last look, whispered, “Take your medicine, Josh,” and walked away with Mom.

“No!” I screamed. “Don’t leave me here!”

“Josh!” called John from a table. “Watch what you say. You keep that up, you’ll go to quiet time.”

I went to my room, but I didn’t open the door to go inside till Mom and Dad had turned the corner and were out of sight.

Inside, I paced back and forth, thoughts racing, trying to work out a plan. I couldn’t let them do this to me. I’d fight. By God I would. I would not let them do this to me. It would literally be over my dead body. I wasn’t crazy.

I swore under my breath.

I was so afraid to take my meds because I might go crazy or be unable to function. I didn’t want to become a zombie. I didn’t want to lose the control of my mind. I didn’t want to have my mind altered by drugs. I was scared of things that affected my mind. Of all the things in the world, losing my mind was what I feared most. More than staying here, I feared that.

Clearly I could not let that happen.

And truth be told, I did not know half of what could happen. I only knew half of it. Who knew what all could happen? I had grown up listening to medication ads with the long lists of side effects: diabetes, weight gain, heart trauma and such. That was not going to happen to me.

They were forcing me into it; as a compromise, they could have let it be my choice, and I could have decided.

But in my heart I knew that would not have been enough. I could not do this. I must not fail. I must escape. I must get free.

I opened my door, and walked out of my room. I stood in the hallway a minute, heart racing. I looked both ways. Two counselors in the common room; three nurses behind the reception desk. I’d have to be quick if I did it.

I started walking.

“Hey!” someone called after me.

I started running.

From behind the nurse’s desk someone pressed a button and someone else headed me off.

I stood there a moment, breathing fierce rage through my every cell.

“I’m not going on medicine,” I said.

The nurse in front of me, a muscular, middle aged male shorter than me, said, “Take it up with the psychiatrist. If you go any further, I’m putting you in isolation or prison.”

“He’s a kid, Brian,” said the woman behind the counter who had pressed the button.

“Quiet time, then,” he said.

I was caught between the desire to sock him in the face, the desire to scream, and the desire to cry. I started walking around him.

He scooted around to head me off, and put his arms out, grabbing me.

“Stop!” I screamed.

I struggled free, shoved him, turned and ran back the way I had come. Desperation was running through me. How could I get out? How could I not go on meds?

A cart was rolling down the hallway toward the common room.

“Medicine,” called out a little black woman dressed in scrubs.

The man who had cut me off was trailing after me slowly.

The little black woman eyed me as she offered a little cup. “Are you taking it?”

“No,” I said.

“Okay.” She

“You mean it’s my choice?”

She was eyeing me carefully. “M-hmm.”

I thought a minute. They had made it my choice.

Then I saw the man who had headed me off whispering to another nurse.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“Are you taking your meds or aren’t you?” called John.

“No,” I said.

At that the male nurse from the hallway looked at me sharply.

I saw John get up and walk down the hallway, passing behind my vision.

Roy walked over toward me.

Guy, Ashley and George crowded around the cart. Each in turn, they took their medicine. The nurse checked each name off on a clipboard, handing each a little paper cup with the meds in it and a larger but still small plastic cup with water.

“Take your meds, man,” said George.

I was in a quandary. What should I do?

I realized two things at once: one, there were a group of nurses heading toward us with needles, and two, George was looking at me with a look of fear in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

He pointed. “That.”

There was a pause as I looked, then I looked back into his face, the most rigid I had seen it all day, as he said, “You don’t want those guys to get a hold of you. There’s nothing you can do. Take your meds.”

I turned toward the nurses walking toward us.

“You aren’t going to fucking put me on that fucking shit,” I shouted. “Get the fuck away from me! Get the fuck away from me!”

They were jogging toward me now. Another ten seconds and they’d be on me. I put up my fists and backed away from the cart. The black lady took the cart back the way it had come.

Suddenly someone grabbed me form behind. I screamed, twisting, trying desperately to get free. Looking down at his arms around my belly, I could tell it was Roy.

“Fuck you!” I shouted in a drawn out voice.

He threw me on the ground, and as I tried to get up someone pinned me on my chest. There was pain in my arm. Someone pulled down my pants, and then there was a needle there. This time I didn’t relax. I screamed.

“It’s my body! Fuckers! It’s my body! You’re all going to Hell! God won’t let you get away with this!”

Then one of them took it out, and said, “If you take the rest of your meds, we’ll let you go.”

I was panting now, because the pain was gone. Looking up, on my elbows, I could see the crowd of counselors gathered around me. My mind was getting numb. I was tired. My chest felt like it had been ripped open. My head hurt, and so did my waist and knees, which had taken a bit of a beating in the fall.

I stood. “Fine,” I said.

One of the female nurses produced the cup with medicine and the cup with water.

“What’s in here?” I asked, taking the medicine cup.

“Respiradol is the circular pill. The pink one’s paxil. The big pill is depakote.”

“What are they for?”

“To help your mood and your depression. The respiradol is for psychosis.”

“What’s that?”

“Mental illness,” she said. “You ready to take it now?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

She handed me the water. With great revulsion, my heart racing, I took the Respiradol and put it in my mouth. I took a sip of water. It wouldn’t go down. I tried to swallow again. It still wouldn’t go down. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.

“I can’t swallow it,” I said.

“Take your time,” said John, somewhere behind me.

“Are you going to be okay- can we leave now?” said the nurse who had given me my medication. Some of the nurses laughed.

“Yeah,” I said.

Some of them started walking away.

Part of me wanted to split- jump out a window or something- but I didn’t even want to think about what would happen if I failed then, and I didn’t want to betray their trust either. But hell, why not? They had violated me.

It took two more tries to get that pill down. The paxil was much easier, but it still took me two tries. Depakote took the rest of the cup of water, and it still wasn’t down. John called a nurse to cut it in half. Roy went back into the common room somewhere in between.

The Depakote hurt on its way down. It felt funny. When I took the second half, I decided that tomorrow I would not for the life of me cut the pill in half. I would find some way to get it down.

“You’ll get used to it,” said John.

The only remaining nurse had me open my mouth. I opened it.

She looked around, swiveling her head back and forth.

“Move your tongue,” she said.

I did.

“Good.” She stood back up straight. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“What happens now?” I asked. I had no desire to be civil with a woman who could care so little for how I felt. I realize now I may have been a little off on that assumption; but the basis of it I still find true: she did not care what I wanted. It was about what they thought had to be done.

“You start feeling better,” she said.

“You mean I’ll like it here?”

“Yeah. You might.”

“Bull,” I said.

“Watch your tone, Hammonds,” said John. “You keep that up and I’ll put you in quiet time, and I don’t care what kind of crazy antics you pull.”

I wanted to cuss him out, but I went back to the common room and put my head in my hands.

“Are you all right?” said Ashley’s voice, drawing nearer.

“No pity parties,” said Roy. “He’ll be fine.”

“I need someone to talk to,” I muttered.

“What’s that?” said Roy.

“I said I need someone to talk to,” I said as loudly as I could.

“You want to talk to a counselor in an office?”

“No.” More like, Hell no.

“All right. But that’s what we’re here for.”

When I thought about it, talking to Amy wouldn’t be so bad. But I had a headache, and I was tired, and wanted to go to sleep. I felt so drained.

I stood.

Ashley squeezed my hand, and I looked into her eyes so hard I jumped when I heard Roy call out: “No touching!”

He walked over and stood in front of us. “Ashley, come with me.”

“I’m sorry!” she said. “I won’t do it again, all right?”

Roy looked hesitant a moment, then shook his head. “No. You touched him. We’re very strict on that here. You know that.”

“Amy, help me,” said Ashley.

“He’s right, Ashley. It’s an important rule. It has to be kept. I’m sorry.”

Her voice came through to me as though through a fog. I felt like I was going to fall asleep on my feet. I realized for the first time that Ashley was not holding onto my hand anymore.

I was dimly aware of Ashley being walked to the quiet time room as I stumbled to my door. I opened it and went inside.

I collapsed on my bed and fell asleep with the light on.

Chapter VIII: Visions of Two Types

I woke up the next morning with a huge headache. I was barely conscious at all. I stumbled out of bed and half slept through breakfast, after which I stayed in a constant state of half-sleep.

I could sense God telling me in the back of my mind that things would be okay. I knew inside me this would be over tomorrow, though I couldn’t say how. I also felt as though something wasn’t right about God, but I didn’t know what.

I saw His face plastered to a car passing by at breakfast. I don’t know how I knew it was God’s face, especially because I knew I was hallucinating, but it clearly was. Something about it.

The few times I’d hallucinated in the past, I had freaked out. Now, however, it was simply something that was happening. I was too dead inside, too wasted, to care about what was happening around me or in my head. I felt like a zombie. No emotions either.

I realized at breakfast that I had taken my meds without even questioning the people giving them to me. I hadn’t even cared. I had stumbled to the cart and taken them, then stumbled to breakfast. It didn’t even bother me.

I didn’t care, for once, that Ashley had a crush on me, or that Guy had tried to intimidate me, or that these events were over, or that the counselors were bordering on being jerks. The fact that I was where I was did not bother me, either. In a hazy kind of way, nothing mattered. I didn’t care. I just had the strong desire to fall asleep.

Walking back from breakfast to morning group, I saw an angel, and two minutes later I saw Mom. She seemed to remind me of something, but it was hard to say what.

In group I could barely stay awake. Roy threatened to put me in quiet time, so I kept my head up. Then he threatened to put me in quiet time again because, as I realized, my head had fallen back into my lap and I had fallen back asleep. I was dimly sure, however, that he wasn’t really going to put me in quiet time. I think he understood that it was the medicine, and that therefore there was nothing I could do about it.

Mrs. Joy was very sympathetic in class. She asked me if she could do anything for me, but I told her I was just so tired, so she let me sleep. That felt really, really good. There’s something about sleeping when you’re exhausted and about getting to sleep when you wouldn’t normally that makes sleep so much more pleasurable.

I woke up what seemed like five minutes later to see Mrs. Joy at the chalkboard scratching her nails on it without noise, her face an expression of intense anger. A few seconds later she disappeared. Though I hadn’t known it was a hallucination, I still hadn’t freaked out. In the dim recesses of my mind I found this somewhat odd. I started to put my head back down to sleep, when I heard Roy telling me it was time for lunch. At first I thought it was a hallucination- it was dim, after all- but then I realized after the third or fourth time he called my name that I didn’t hear things, so I got up and walked after him. The rest of the group was waiting for me. It struck me as odd that there was someone there I didn’t know, someone who looked younger than myself, but I was too out of it to question why.

He had long black hair, glasses and a robust figure. I noticed he was eyeing me critically, but I couldn’t have cared less.

I followed them to lunch and put my head down. I barely even remember what happened. Truth be told, I really don’t remember lunch. I just remember leaving, and then things get foggy again. There’s a flash of a memory, enough to remind me that midday group was next, and that I was still very out of it.

Mrs. Joy let me sleep again. Towards the end of class she had me do jumping jacks to wake up, but that only helped temporarily. Still, for the brief time that I could think, I could recognize that there were now two new teenagers in our group, and I could also recognize that I was not hallucinating again.

Throughout the day, it was like I hallucinated every five minutes. Probably isn’t that far off.

I slept more in the recreation room. No one objected.

At Gym, we were supposed to be working together in volleyball- a group sport kind of thing. I kept missing the ball- in fact I distinctly remember that it hit me in the face several times. I also could barely stand up. To my surprise, Roy told me to go sit down and come back when I was ready. That was so awesome.

For a minute, I liked him.

The instant I sat down I was asleep. I was not aware of the passing of time at all. Someone woke me up, and I saw a halo around his head and light shining down on him, which made it hard to see who it was. I got up and muttered, “Jesus shines on us, dear friend.” I stumbled after him. His laughter came as though through a tunnel. The light faded. I recognized him as Roy.

I was hungry when I got to dinner. I don’t remember what I ate, but I know I ate a lot, and I know I conked out immediately afterward.

Evening group was much the same as the last two had been as far as my behavior and interaction went. However, it was a goal-oriented group, not a free discussion like the last two had been, and I had something to fill out. I remember how bad my handwriting was. I barely scribbled anything down, and I remember John threatening to send me outside group if I couldn’t do better. But I didn’t care. I don’t even remember what I said.

At any rate, neither Roy nor Amy seemed to think they should be hard on me, because of which I stayed in group. I’m still not sure whether John really would have sent me out of group or not. I was too dead then, my memory of that day too dead now, for me to make an honest assessment.

I also know, however, that we introduced ourselves again in the evening. I don’t remember what anyone else said; I barely remember what I said. I just remember we did it, and that I was talking to Musashi a lot more than usual.

When my parents came to see me again that night, I told them I could not possibly stay on this medicine. They said it would be changed. I remember they looked very sympathetic, and told me I looked bad.

It was strange. The day before, this would have been a very special time, a time to beg to leave- that is, it had been. Now it was refreshing to see them, but mostly I just wanted to go to sleep.

They left me early so I could go to bed.

I conked out again as soon as I hit the mattress.

I woke up a few minutes later to take my meds. Now I was on zyprexa.

As I went back to sleep, there was an extreme roaring in my ears.

I found myself outside the mental institution, fully aware that I was dreaming. Only, it wasn’t like a dream. It was vivid- so vivid. I was on a high in which everything was okay, and, best of all, my head had cleared up. Then I realized I was levitating above the ground.

What the heck? I thought. It felt so real. I was so aware- so much more aware not only than when I’d been drugged over, but even so much more aware than I’d felt in my whole life. There was intense joy running through me.

I soared over the building. I noticed that there was a fence around the edge of the top of the building- not the very edge, but about ten feet back from where anyone could jump off of. Pretty high, too.

I felt so free. I soared through the top of the building, and I found that I could pass through the ceiling with no major resistance. It felt exhilarating to fly through it. I skimmed along the inside of the roof, head bobbing up to see a clear blue sky and down to see pipes and dust.

The pipes and dust weren’t pleasing, so I flew past the edge of the building and into the ground, then through the ground. Freedom surged through me. Dirt passed me by. I was on a high. Everything was bright and beautiful.

I soared upward, realizing suddenly that there was no sound. It registered dimly in my mind. Everything was intensely alive.

A thought came in the back of my head, and I looked up to see a woman in a swaying, white silk gown. I looked to the street. The word she had said was, “Proof.”

I could see people passing by out on the street. As I flew by them, one of them pointed at the building, toward the window to the cafeteria, and laughed. I flew inside the building, and saw myself eating there.

I could see the woman in the flowing silk gown. For a moment I nearly woke up. I could feel the dream fading, but then I looked at her, and was absorbed in her beauty. She floated over to me, aware of me while everyone at the table just kept on doing what they were doing.

“Welcome to my realm, Child of the Goddess.” She was without voice; it came as a thought in my mind, only a ball of thought.

Suddenly I recognized her for who she was: the Pagan Goddess.

I woke up with the shock of this, while it was still dark outside, feeling very focused and alert. I did not fall asleep again until the knock for breakfast came on my door.

Was I supposed to become Pagan?

And WHAT THE HELL?

Chapter IX: Clarification and Farewell

It was Saturday. Ordinarily that would have meant going out with friends, doing some stuff on my own, and no school. This last was true of the mental institution as well, but it wasn’t like taking a break. Still, that day was easier on me than the ones before. My hatred of the place had cooled some, and I woke feeling refreshed, if also disturbed by the dream.

I guess at that point it was the dream that bothered me most. I tried to get the courage to bring it up to the people around me at breakfast, even at morning group, but I couldn’t do it.

In morning group, I found out that yes, while I was drugged over, new people had joined our community. Two of them, as a matter of fact: Allen Thomas and Charles McKelven.

Charles was obviously depressed- worse off than I’d been. I could also learn something from him. His life really wasn’t that bad. His depression hinged around the idea that he wasn’t making it as a writer- but come on! He was seventeen! I wondered if maybe I was like that- looking for the worst in everything, forcing myself into depression with a volatile subconscious drive to find fault with myself. I knew it was true, listening to him. So much of him mirrored me. But at the same time, why would I want to do that? I certainly didn’t consciously want to be miserable. Lord knows, I wanted more than anything else to be happy again.

That’s when it occurred to me that I wasn’t depressed anymore.

Sweet.

Charles had used a gun to shoot himself in the head.

“I’m so pathetic,” he said. “I’m such a fucking failure….”

“Watch your mouth,” said Roy. “If you swear too many times, I’ll put you in quiet time, all right?”

Charles nodded.

“Okay. What were you saying?”

“Just that I’m so pathetic! I mean, I shot myself in the head- and somehow, somehow I’m still here.”

Guy laughed, and John sent him outside group.

Charles went on. “He’s right. It is funny. And I hate it, cause everyone says suicide’s just for attention, but I wanted to die, I wanted to die, God damn it, why is life so hard?”

“It’ll get better,” I said.

“Raise your hand next time, Josh.” John’s face was blank, as usual. “But good input.”

I raised my hand.

John called on me.

“Charles.” I couldn’t believe the pain in his face as our eyes met. “You’re way too hard on yourself. You seem like a nice guy, and I’m sure you’re not as bad as you say you are. You can’t expect to get your short stories accepted this early on. I know it’s hard, but it’ll get better. I’m sorry you have to feel so bad. You shouldn’t.”

I realized John and Roy were looking at each other. John nodded to Roy, and Roy turned to me and said, “We don’t throw pity parties here, Josh.”

Charles’ body, as I can best describe it, stopped, and I didn’t realize until later that he was crying.

The best part of the morning was when instead of going to class, we went to gym. Almost midway through what would have been the school day, at 11:45, we went to the rec room. I played video games and got in a conversation with Charles and George. I could tell that George wanted to look out for Charles the same way he’d looked out for me, in that same subtle, friendly way.

Charles and I were becoming fast friends, although our relationship hinged more around my comforting him discreetly and testing the borders of John’s and Roy’s patience than actual intellectual conversation.

At lunch, I was eating with George across from me, Roy to my left, and Ashley to my right. Everyone else was at the other end of the table; we were sitting by the window.

I looked outside, at the people passing by. I wanted to be there- outside, free. I wanted to be normal.

I also wanted to help Charles. I was doing better. Charles needed help. I wondered if it was the medicine that had helped me- or was it the fire of this place transforming me? Was this place actually, in the end, good for me?

I was pondering, when I realized someone was pointing at the building through the window. I saw her point toward us, and I got an eerie feeling, though I couldn’t say why. She laughed- I couldn’t hear her, but I could see it.

I jerked backward in my seat suddenly, breathing hard.

“You got a problem, Hammonds?” said Roy.

“No sir,” I said, and got back to my meal.

Those around me burst out laughing.

“What was that?” said George.

“I… don’t worry about it,” I said.

“Man,” said George more seriously. “I thought you like saw something terrible out there. Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “I’ll be all right.”

“Okay,” said George in a voice that said I could talk to him later if I wanted to.

I was freaking out.

I didn’t eat the rest of my meal. I just sat there in shocked silence.

What I had seen was exactly what I’d seen in my dream. Why? How? I didn’t understand. How could I dream something that was true?

I decided right then that I wanted to find the answers. I was going to know; end of story. And I wasn’t going to quit searching till I did.

However, I really wasn’t sure of where to turn.

“You are right,” came the voice of the Goddess in my mind. “What you saw was real.”

I got up and nearly started pacing before I realized how problematic this would be and sat back down.

“You ready to go, Hammonds?” Roy’s voice made me jump.

“Yes sir.” I did my best to sound calm.

“Anyone object?”

A chorus of nos.

“Then let’s go to midday group, people!” said Roy, and we all got up to dump our trays.

We walked to midday group in the common room. John left to be replaced by another counselor whom I didn’t know, but who introduced herself as Eliza. She, Amy and Roy ran group. Our subject for that group was “the difference between right and wrong and how I differentiate.”

“So let’s start with Allen,” said Amy. “Allen, how do you differentiate between right and wrong?”

Allen was the new guy that I hadn’t spoken to yet. He was fairly tall, with long black hair and round glasses. When he spoke his face changed subtly, and I could swear his robust body swelled outward some.

“I follow the Rede: Harm none. If it harms someone, it’s wrong. If it doesn’t, it’s either a gray area or good. But I don’t believe in shoving this philosophy on someone else; I can’t make someone else believe as I do, anymore than they can make me think I should follow the Bible.”

“What religion do you follow?” asked George.

“I’m a witch,” said Allen. “I follow the practice of witchcraft.”

“You mean devil-worshipping?” said Eliza.

“No,” said Allen. “That’s one of the things I’m trying to defeat with my life- this nonsense that we worship the Devil. If anyone would just ask us what we worship, or read one of our books, they’d notice that there is no reference to the Devil in our faith.”

“Thank you for sharing,” said Eliza. “Wait… if you don’t mind my asking, what do you worship?”

“The God and Goddess, otherwise called the Lord and Lady,” said Allen.

“Oh my God!” I said suddenly.

“Do you have something to share?” said Eliza.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“Then raise your hand.”

I did.

“Josh?”

“I had a dream last night,” I said quickly. The idea was not to leave myself a way out. I paused, the phobia of openness surging through me- but I put it behind me and said, “Last night I dreamed I was standing above my bed, only I was flying. I saw myself in my bed. Really weird.” Guy snickered.

“Show respect as you would have him do for you,” said Eliza.

“Sorry,” said Guy. “Couldn’t help it.”

“Go on, Josh,” said Eliza.

“I…” I paused, regaining my strength, then went on. “I wound up flying through the roof, and I remember this fence on the top of the building….” At this Eliza’s eyebrows shot up, Amy’s mouth opened and Roy grunted, his face looking dumbfounded, but I didn’t stop. “…I had a really good time soaring through the roof, but there were all these pipes, so I went down to the ground and wound up soaring through there. Then I flew through the wall and I was inside the cafeteria, and I saw myself sitting with some friends, I don’t remember who they were, but there was this woman outside who pointed through the window and laughed. And right before this, this beautiful woman in a flowing gown appears in front of me…” -now Allen’s eyes shot up- “…and right after it she calls me ‘Child of the Goddess.’ I woke up this morning wondering if maybe it was a dream or if I was supposed to become Pagan or what, but then at lunch I looked outside the window and I saw this woman point and laugh.” I stopped, not sure of what to ask.

“I’m impressed,” said Allen. His face was the epitome of his words.

“Josh,” said Eliza, “I was going to say… there really is a fence around the roof. It’s in case someone manages to get on top, so no one jumps off. It’s never happened before, but… I guess I’m pretty impressed myself.”

I felt as though I’d been struck across the head with a two-by-four version of reality.

“But I was hoping,” I said, “that you could help me figure out what happened last night. I want to figure it out.”

“There’s not much to figure out,” said Allen. “You had an out-of-body experience.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when your consciousness leaves your body,” said Eliza.

“What you described,” said Roy. “In perfect detail.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How can your mind leave your body?”

“Not your mind,” said Allen, his arms folded over his chest as he slouched backward gazing at me. “Your soul.”

There was a pause.

“I’d like to teach you,” said Allen. “That is by far the most impressive experience with astral projection I’ve ever heard. Stuff like that doesn’t happen every day. The Goddess herself came to you, too, and you’re not even Wiccan. I would be honored,” he said, his forehead wrinkled, “to teach you what I know.”

“That would be awesome!” I said.

“Good,” said Allen. “Then we’ll start lessons tonight at free time. When we get out, I’ll do my best to get you initiated into a coven. They can teach you more than I can. I don’t think I can do a dedication ceremony, but you can convert in prayer and dedication. That’ll be good enough.”

“I’m Christian,” I said. “I just want to learn magick.”

“What are you, insane?” said Allen. He said it with absolute seriousness in his voice. “You want to tell me that the Goddess herself visits you in the most impressive out of body experience I’ve ever seen, and that you’re not sure you want to convert?”

“Well, I mean, what about God?” I asked. “Can’t I learn magick and still be Christian?”

“No,” said Allen. “The last thing I want is someone who has far more potential at magick than anyone else I’ve ever known learning magick, making it Christian, and then Christians still demonizing us and claiming we worship the devil while they themselves steal the only edge we have on them religiously.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You’ll have to make up your mind,” he said. “It’s important- you can’t begin to understand how important- so take your time.”

There was a pause. As Eliza took back control of the group, it occurred to me that the counselors themselves had been as intently interested in our conversation as Allen and I were- so much so that they hadn’t once told us to raise our hands.

I spent the rest of group thinking. In the end, the decision was easier to come to than Allen or I had thought it would be- though it was still hard.

God had really helped me learn; I most appreciated His lessons in The Handbook. Still, the Goddess had come to me in a dream.

Hadn’t I set myself determinedly on the path to find the answers only this morning? Was I going to give that up? Because surely studying under Allen was the path to getting the answers I was looking for. I wondered if it was worth betraying God. No, it certainly wasn’t.

But that wasn’t my final decision.

At the end of group, Eliza asked Ashley, “Ashley, is all your stuff packed?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay. Because your parents should be here in fifteen minutes or so.”

“Wait,” I said, “what?”

“Weren’t you here when I announced I was leaving today?” said Ashley.

“No,” I said. “Wait, was this yesterday?”

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. He was drugged over, Eliza. Look, Josh, I’m leaving. Walk with me after group.”

“Group dismissed,” said Roy.

“Blessed be,” I heard Allen mutter, and he got up to follow the group off for gym.

I walked with Ashley toward her room, as slowly as possible because we both knew it was the last conversation we would ever have.

“I know I screwed things up between us,” she said. “So maybe you don’t want my advice. Are we still friends, Josh?”

“Absolutely, beyond any doubt, yes,” I told her.

She looked at me and smiled. “Aw, thanks Josh.” She turned back toward her door.

“Eliza, you want to walk Josh to gym?” said Roy.

“Sure,” said Eliza. She smiled at me. “I’ll be waiting at the desk.”

Ashley stopped in front of her door, which was open.

“Do me a favor?” she said. “Study under Allen. He’s right. You’ve got a lot of potential, and I think you’ll be a dedicated student. I’d hate to see everything you could do go to waste.”

And I made up my mind. “I will,” I said.

She said, “One other thing.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want you to ever cut yourself again.”

I frowned. “I can’t promise that.”

“Promise me.”

“I can’t. I might lose it again.”

“Then promise me you won’t as long as you’re still thinking rationally.”

“Okay.”

“Say it.”

“I promise I won’t ever cut myself again as long as I’m thinking rationally.” I meant what I said. I greatly valued a promise to her.

“Good.” She smiled at me, wistfully. “And may we never be back here again.”

I laughed. “Amen to that,” I said.

“So mote it be,” corrected Ashley, then laughed, and I caught on to the reference to my indecision and also laughed.

“Josh,” she said as I finished laughing, “you’ve been a good friend. I’ve got to go now, but I want you to get out there and do something with your life.”

“You too,” I told her.

I saw her eyes growing moist. “I’ll miss you,” she said. “I’m going to miss everyone.”

“We do get attached here,” I said. “Lord- the Goddess”- she laughed- “knows I’ll miss you and George and everyone too.”

She looked me in the eye a minute. Neither of us knew what to say. I started to hug her, but I remembered the rule and stopped. I looked up, and I was right- Eliza was nearby.

“Goodbye,” she said, and went into her room.

I walked with Eliza to gym.

Chapter X: Charles Cries

My mind dwelled on Ashley as Eliza and I walked on to the gym in silence. At first she tried to make conversation, but I think she figured out my heart wasn’t in it. I suddenly wished I had gone out with Ashley. Maybe then I’d be able to see her again. Even if I didn’t love her, I knew I’d miss her because she was a good friend. It wasn’t these walls or the counseling that made this place bearable; it wasn’t my medication, either. What made these halls bearable, what made them more than that- what made them worthwhile- were the supportive people in here. And I swore to myself then that I would help Charles because I wanted to be to him what Ashley and George had been to me.

I had been touched by them in a way that I knew then, as I know now, would last in my mind and in my heart for the rest of my life.

“Dear Goddess,” I prayed, “let me be like them. Let me help people, let me keep Charles from suicide, let me help him recover like they did for me, let me help him cope with this place because I know it’s pure Hell your first few days.” I paused, then smiled at the thought of what Ashley had asked me to do, what I knew I therefore could not turn my back on, and said to myself, “Blessed be.”

Eliza looked at me. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” I said.

We entered the gym.

“You’re a good man,” the Goddess told me in my head. “Keep it up. You can do it.”

Then there was a thought in the back of my mind, like a premonition, that became a voice so closely afterward it was a progression that seemed to be a single instant: “You’ll have a chance now.”

Everyone was split into two teams of three on either side of a volleyball net that had been erected in the middle of the gym. The closet door stood ajar.

“Can I be on Charles’ team?” I asked mentally.

“Yes,” said the Goddess.

“Hammonds,” said Roy, “you’re with Charles.”

“Don’t let them stop me from comforting Charles,” I said in my head to the Goddess.

I walked up beside Charles, near the front.

“Okay,” said the Goddess.

“How you doing?” I asked Charles.

“Counselors against patients,” cried Guy suddenly. I realized he was right. “You wimps are going down!”

“You want a piece of my spike, boy?” said Roy.

“I’ll take a piece of your spike and I’ll give you a big piece of zero points,” said Guy. “Bring it on white boy.”

We laughed.

Charles, Guy, George and Allen were on my team. Eliza, Roy, John and Amy were opposing us.

“We serve first,” said Amy. “We have fewer people.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got age.”

“You calling me old, wimp?” said Roy.

“Nope, sure ain’t….”

“What’s that?” said Roy with a hand to his ear.

“No sir,” said Guy. He tossed the ball into the air and whacked it toward the other side of the court.

Amy ran for the ball, bumped into Eliza, and collapsed in a heap as the ball grazed her head.

“We don’t got no room for sissy little girls on this team,” said Roy.

Amy was laughing.

“Let Charles serve,” said John.

“Let’s see what Charles’ got,” said Roy.

Eliza tossed the ball under the net to Charles.

“How do I serve?” said Charles meekly.

Guy showed him, then stood back.

Charles served the ball. It hit the net.

Roy burst out laughing and made a negative buzzer sound with a thumbs down sign. “Point for counselors!” he said.

Charles put his face in his hands.

Roy took the ball and served to Charles, who was now on his knees.

The ball hit Charles in the head and rolled to the side.

“Two points for counselors!” said Roy. “You might wanna tell your team mate to put a little more effort into his game, Guy. I wouldn’t want to see you get your butt kicked!” He raised his voice on the last three words progressively.

“I’m sorry!” said Charles.

“Charles, it’s all right,” I said. “He’s not serious.”

“Oh I’m dead serious. I take my game seriously, Hammonds.”

I walked over to Charles. I was about to touch him when John said, “No physical contact, Josh.”

My hand wavered. I knew I shouldn’t, but the urge to pick him up off his feet and put a hand on his shoulder was so strong. I wondered, what would George or Ashley do? But the truth was, Ashley wasn’t here, and George was staring helplessly, like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

“It’s okay, Charles,” said George.

Charles stood shakily, looking at me. There were tears in his eyes. He gave a little sob.

“You need to take a break?” said Roy.

“Yes sir,” he said.

“Go sit on the wall behind the basketball net. Come back when you think you can play without losing it.”

“It’s your fault,” I said.

“We know stuff about him that you don’t know,” said John.

“Like what?”

“That’s confidential.”

“Bull.”

“You’re headed on your way to quiet time little man,” said Roy. “Chill.”

My head was swelling with anger, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I got back into my position and grabbed the ball. I wasn’t thinking very well, but I spiked it for Roy’s head.

It hit him square on the forehead and everyone burst out laughing as it bounced off him all the way back to the net, where it slid through the curve it made to the ground with a slight bounce.

“Hammonds,” said Roy. “Was that intentional?”

“No.”

“Was that intentional?” he reiterated, with more force.

“No.”

“Was that intentional?”

“No sir.”

“Was that intentional?”

“No sir.”

“Was that intentional?”

I hesitated. “No, sir, it wasn’t.”

He repeated himself again, and I was starting to break down, but I said, “What are you going to do, just keep questioning me till I give the answer you want?”

“Was that intentional?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” I said. “I just naturally hit it toward you, but I didn’t intend to, no. Kind of automatic reaction.”

“Was that intentional?”

“I’m telling the truth,” I said.

“Are you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Are you?” he said louder.

“Yes!” I said, my voice rising in frustration.

“Then go sit out with Charles. And don’t mother him either- that’s our job, not yours.”

I wanted to say, “And a fine job you do with it,” but I didn’t. I sat beside Charles and whispered to him, “Charles, it’s all right. They’re not trying to make you upset, they’re just insensitive.”

“Who’s insensitive?” called Roy.

“You are,” I wanted to say- but I didn’t.

“No one,” I said instead.

“Go sit somewhere away from Charles, Hammonds,” said Roy.

I got up and walked toward the back of the gym, where the door was.

“You’re getting close to quiet time,” said John. “You won’t undermine our authority. Don’t push the envelope any further, okay?” He said it in that calm voice of his that I had grown to hate.

“I won’t,” I said.

“Hah?”

Confused, I turned around to see that he had put his hand to his ear.

“Yes sir,” I said, turning back around.

“All right,” he said.

Charles never did rejoin the volleyball game- not willingly. After he had stopped crying for a while, John told him to come back in. I had come back in by then, but I didn’t stand up for him again. He took it a little better, anyway. I could tell he wanted to cry, but that he wasn’t going to let himself.

For the rest of the day I felt bad for him- and for my lack of helping him. I guess in the end none of us were willing to go to quiet time to stand up for him.

By the time I went to bed, I was ridden with guilt. My parents had talked to me about it- they’d said they were sure the counselors knew what they were doing, and that Charles would probably benefit from it. Maybe, I thought. But I knew his time in here would be a million times worse than mine, and the mere thought of going through something so awful was unbearable.

They’d also told me, very adamantly, not to get in trouble, which meant not to stand up for him. I thought on this as I went to sleep. I didn’t know. I guess I could always just talk to him. Listen to him. That couldn’t be perceived as undermining the counselor’s authority, could it? After all, that was what they did in group, wasn’t it? I fell asleep sick at the heart.

I was so worked up in it all that I even forgot to see Allen about my first lessons. He never saw me either because the first thing I did after seeing my parents was to go straight to bed. And unlike my first night, I was used to a hard mattress- so I fell asleep fairly fast, my concern for Charles drowned in the road to heavy sleep. I didn’t realize at the time that it would be remotely possible for me to feel joy the very next morning, though I already knew that the most beautiful things are made out of hardship.

Chapter XI: Love

I got up feeling slightly better. The sleep had drained the worst of my worrying out of me. I was fully awake the instant someone knocked on my door. There was sunshine coming from the window, and I could see a cloud above the sunrise. Not that I could see the sunrise very well; the fence blocked the sun; but there was still a certain beauty to the morning light this morning.

I got up and made my bed- I was actually getting fairly good at it.

The psychiatrist came in and pulled up the chair to sit in.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked me.

“Very well,” I said.

“You still talking to God?” he asked me.

“No,” I said uneasily. “Now I’m talking to the Goddess.”

He scribbled something on his clipboard.

“What brought the change?”

“I’m converting to Wicca.”

“Why?”

“I had an out of body experience.”

“Do you have any dizziness, any nausea, or increased appetite?”

“I have been eating more,” I said.

“Any hallucinations?”

“None.”

“Good. Thank you Mr. Hammonds, that will be all.” He got up and exited the door.

“Vital signs!” I heard Roy yell.

He came to my door and looked at my bed. “You’re doing all right, Hammonds,” he said. “Doing all right.” He nodded at me. “Come with me.”

I followed him to a little room on the edge of the housing corridor. It had a scale and a blood pressure machine. He took my weight and my blood pressure.

“Gaining some weight, Hammonds,” he said.

“I am?”

“Probably the medicine.”

George was in the room with me. “You on zyprexa?” he asked me.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“A friend of mine gained weight on that drug.”

“Am I going to get fat?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t worry about it Hammonds,” said Roy. “Take it one day at a time, the doctors will do what they think is best.”

That didn’t reassure me. I really didn’t trust any of the staff here. I don’t think I even fully trusted Amy. Maybe Mrs. Joy. Maybe her. But I didn’t know her very well yet; just something about her said, “I’m a good woman.” Of course, so was Amy- but Amy was a counselor, and I was having the “us versus them” syndrome in a very strong way lately.

“Let’s go eat,” said Roy.

I walked outside. I saw a door that shouldn’t be occupied open, and I watched curiously.

“Alyssa!” called John, at her door. “We keep a regular schedule here. Don’t make us late.”

“I’m coming,” came a soft, exhausted voice.

And then she came out.

Oh my God, she was beautiful. I actually caught my breath as I stared.

She had long blond hair, not combed at all, but falling naturally around her face, semi-straight. Her face looked sleepy, but her skin was clear and fair. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, ruffled enough so that I knew she had slept in them- but in a way I found it attractive because she looked even more beautiful. I took a step toward her unconsciously.

She walked up to me, John behind her, bringing up the rear, and she smiled at me. And as my eyes met hers, I realized something that far outweighed everything else: her eyes. Her eyes were blue, clear blue, and they glistened healthfully as I looked into them. There was a kind of vibrancy, a vitality to them that showed through her sleepy face. And her smile, flashed though it was, was engaging.

“I’m Josh,” I told her.

“I’m Alyssa,” she said in a sleepy voice. She stuck out her hand as we walked.

“No,” I said.

“Hell, the way you were staring at me, I thought you’d seen a ghost- and now this guy who’s looking at me funny doesn’t want to shake my hand. Seriously! I suppose you’ve got some rare skin disease from southeast Asia or something,” she said, and smiled at me. My heart raced as I looked into her eyes.

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

“Then shake my hand,” she said, putting it back out.

“I can’t,” I said, pulling my hand to my chest. “We’re not allowed to.”

She laughed. “Look, they already took us away. Do you really think they give a damn if we shake hands?”

“Watch your mouth,” said John.

“Sorry,” said Alyssa before he could go on. “I get it from my father, I’m trying to work on it, actually. Hey, do you swear?”

“No,” I said.

“Listen,” said John, “you’re not allowed to touch. We can put you in quiet time for that.”

“Yeah, probably because some counselor here had skin disease and didn’t want anyone to know it- say, have you been to southeast Asia any time recently, Mr. What’s-your-face?”

I wanted to hug her and give her a million dollars.

“Just don’t touch anyone, and I don’t have a problem,” said John.

“Whatever floats your boat.”

She turned to look at me. “Does he have a skin disease?”

“That’s enough,” said John calmly.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” she said. “I apologize, Mr. What’s-your-face.”

I laughed despite myself.

“You think that’s funny, Josh?” said John. He had the same look on his face that he had had right before he put me in quiet time and refused to tell me why.

“You never know,” said Alyssa. “He’s probably not laughing at you, he’s probably laughing with you. Josh, isn’t it?” I nodded, looking at her with my heart all aglow. “Well Josh, why don’t we walk up a bit so that our friend here doesn’t have to listen to our conversation?”

We walked up to the middle of the procession, which was actually getting pretty long now. There were nine of us total now, including Amy, Roy and John.

“You’re awesome,” I told her as we got to the middle of the line.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’d give you lessons, but unfortunately there’s not a degree in bad social skills.”

“No,” I said. “Those weren’t bad social skills. Those were awesome social skills. You made an idiot out of him without him being able to do anything about it.”

“And that’s another thing I’m trying to work on,” she said. “I do that to people a lot. I don’t always mean to; I just get carried away.”

“Whoa, you mean all that came naturally?”

“Pretty much.” She smiled at me. “You seem like a nice guy.” She didn’t pause, but my heart fluttered as I met her eyes. “Where are you from?”

“Andersonville,” I said.

“I see,” she said. “Well, I go to South Andersonville.”

“Seriously?” I asked her. “I go to West Andersonville.”

She laughed quietly. “Not good.”

“I know,” I said.

Our schools were big rivals.

“You realize you’re hitting on the enemy, right?”

She was so blunt. I hadn’t wanted her to say I was hitting on her; I didn’t even realize I was. It was all just coming out naturally. I wondered, what about Jessica? But it was a thought in the back of my mind.

“I’m not hitting on you,” I said.

“No, just coming very close to it and staring at me like I’m the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.”

“You…” I began.

“What?” she said, then shook her head. “Sorry. I told you I have bad social skills.”

“No,” I said, “that’s not it. It’s just….” My voice trailed off.

We entered the dining hall and got in line.

“What?” she said.

“Promise not to freak?”

“Yeah.”

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” I said.

“Aw,” she said in a drawn out note. “I’m going to keep hanging around you.”

I laughed. “Thanks.”

“Bull,” she said. “All I said was ‘aw.’ You’re the one who said I was the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. You’ve got to see how much bigger that is?”

I started getting my food. Let’s see: tasteless waffles, tasteless eggs or tasteless bacon? Hmm….

I got tasteless eggs and tasteless bacon and walked very slowly out of the line. As Alyssa joined me, I walked faster.

“Look,” she said. “I’m going to be blunt with you from the start.” She certainly had been so far, I thought. “I’m not the kind of girl you want to go out with. I’ve got issues.”

“Take a look around you,” I said, nodding my head around at everyone else. “Most of the people you see here are in here for suicide, and most of the counselors here taunt the people who tried to kill themselves one or two or three too many times already.”
We sat down by ourselves, facing each other.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me put that differently. My issues hinge around love and sexuality, and you don’t want me to get involved with you. Besides, I have bad social skills- take the fact that I talk about dating after we’ve only known each other for all of ten minutes, for instance.”

She took a bite of a waffle and spat it out. “What the Hell is this?”

I deemed it best not to push her. She clearly didn’t want to go out with me. “It’s probably spam, but the woman who talked to me before I came in here told me it was our medicine that makes it tasteless.”

“Screw that,” she said. “I’m not on medicine.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She grinned at me.

We kept eating, and for a moment I was scared it was an awkward pause, but then, still chewing, she said to me as though we hadn’t stopped, “How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen,” I said.

She nodded. “Me too.”

“So you’re a junior?”

“Senior.”

“Late birthday too?”

“No. I skipped a grade.”

“Awesome,” I said. “So you’re really smart.”

“Not really. I just study hard.” She laughed suddenly. “You don’t get that impression from me, do you?”

“I…”

“Be honest.”

“No, sorry, but I don’t.”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. No one does.” The way she looked up at me made me want to kiss her right then and there. I knew it was too early, and I knew she didn’t want to go out with me, but I was aching to kiss her. It hadn’t been except all of twenty-five minutes, and it felt like it hadn’t been five, but I felt like I’d known her all my life. I really thought right then that we were meant to be together, in a way I couldn’t explain.

“I am smart, I guess,” she continued, chewing as she paused, “but not like the real brains. I just use what I’ve got and work hard. I want a good life when I get out of here.”

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” I said.

She looked at me funny. “Really?”

“Yeah!” I said. I smiled. “I mean, ‘yes ma’am.’” She looked at me funny, and I said with a dismissive wave of my hand, “You’ll get it later.”

She nodded.

“Aren’t you eager to leave here?” I asked.

“Shit,” she said. “I want to be in here.”

“What? Why?”

She shrugged, looking away for a second. “I just do.”

“No reason why?”

“Okay, let me be blunt like I usually am: it’s personal.”

“Whoa! Girl with mouth has dark secret- sounds like a newspaper headline.”

“I’ll tell you when I know you better,” she said. “Actually, I’m planning on coming out with it here, since I’m legally protected with confidentiality and all- but I guess I’m putting it off. I’m so insecure!” she said, putting the back of her hand to her forehead and tilting her head back like she was going to faint.

“Yeah right,” I said, and we both laughed.

“But seriously,” she said, “if I told you, you’d understand why it’s hard to talk about.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I said.

“Good man,” she said, patting my hand. I drew back quickly.

She sighed. “Why are you afraid to touch me?”

“They’ll put me in quiet time,” I said.

“And what? Have you sit in a room for half an hour?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Come on now,” she said. “Is that really that hard?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“I guess I’ll find out sooner or later. Maybe I’ll French-kiss a counselor to find out.”

“Bad idea.”

“Why? This room is that bad?”

“Yes. It’s small. It’ll make you feel like the walls are caving in on your head.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, I guess I’m not that kind of girl anyway.”

“Really?”

She looked at me with squinted eyes and said, “You don’t want me to bite you.”

“Ooh, interesting,” I said.

She flicked a piece of egg at me.

“Hey!” I said.

She scooted her plate forward on her tray. “You can’t possibly call throwing this food away a waste anyway, can you?”

“It’d be kind of hard to do,” I said.

“Why in Hell- no, bad Alyssa, bad Alyssa.”

“What?”

“I can’t stop swearing! I swear, I’m a compulsive swearer- but I don’t think that’s a word. Oh well. Anyway, why are you still eating?”

“I’m hungry,” I said.

“That hungry?”

“M-hmm.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I think my medicine increases my appetite.”

“Scary.” She raised her eyebrows, then slumped back in her chair. She started trying to make her hair go straight. “I hate my hair.”

“It’s wonderful!” I said.

“Yeah, and I’m the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. Really.”

“No, it’s true,” I said. “I like your hair.”

She grinned. “Thanks. You’re pretty hot yourself.”

“Thanks!” I said. It was the first time a girl had told me that.

“Looks like it’s time to go,” said Alyssa.

I looked up. Everyone was leaving.

John waved his hand at us to come. “Come on you two,” he said. “It’s time for morning group.”

“What’s morning group?” she asked.

I laughed as we stood up. “You really don’t know anything about this place, do you?”

“No.”

As we walked to put our trays up, I said, “My poor naïve little girl.”

A shadow passed over her face, then she shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you someday,” she said. She laughed. “Probably in about five minutes.”

We put up our trays to the sound of the clang of plastic on metal and walked out the door as the woman behind the counter dumped our plates. I could hear the thud of dishes on plastic trash cans as we went back into the hall. The door closed behind us.

Alyssa and I walked back in silence. I was checking her out as discreetly as I could; the way her jeans clung to her body, the way her shirt curved around her figure, made me want to touch her. That would have gotten me in a lot of trouble, of course- hugs could lead to quiet time; I could only imagine what they’d do if I put my arm around her and drew her in close. Except, there were two problems with that: one, I didn’t think she’d let me do that (or would she?), and two, what exactly was more severe than quiet time? It was finally occurring to me that tranquilizers and confinement were their only means of discipline- not that that wasn’t enough. I wondered if anyone in here ever was put in a strait jacket, like in movies. Or if any of us would ever be strapped down. Of course, this was nothing like the stereotype; no one in here was crazy. Or as I would say in later years, no one had been crazy- except me. I had gone to the mental institution, where everyone was supposed to be crazy, and years later I would reflect and know that the only person there who had not been 100% sane was me.

“You like my clothes?” said Alyssa.

“Oh God,” I said involuntarily.

Alyssa burst out laughing. “It’s all right,” she said. “Do you?”

“You look so good in them it’s insane,” I said. I tried imagining that I had just said that. Was it possible?

“Thank you,” she said.

We walked into the common room and took our seats. I felt good, because George was on one side of me, and Alyssa on the other- a good friend and a girl I was entirely enchanted by.

“We have a new member to our group,” said Amy, who was running group together with John. Roy had gone elsewhere for the moment. “If everyone would go around and introduce yourselves, I’d be obliged. Say your name, your hobbies, and what you’re in here for, if you’re comfortable sharing. You don’t have to. I’ll start.” She was on the other side of Alyssa, to my right. I knew from experience we’d be going clockwise. “I’m Amy, and I like riding horses, writing poetry and going to church. I’m very religious, and I’m not saying how old I am.”

A few laughs.

Guy was next. “I’m Guy,” he said in a gruff voice. “I like shooting people in the ass….”

“Go sit outside group,” said John.

We all snickered.

“Amy?” said Guy.

“You heard him,” said Amy.

Guy sighed and got up, going to sit in one of the two chairs outside the common room.

“John?” said Amy.

“I’m John,” said John. “I’m fresh out of college and I like watching football. I’m 27.”

Allen was next. His pudgy face was resolute, stiff as he said, “My name’s Allen. I’m obsessed with the occult, and people used to pick on me in school for it, so I tried to kill myself.”

That hit home. What the Hell? My new friend had tried to kill himself because people picked on him. Why him? It was weird. I didn’t understand why other people would want to kill themselves. Surely they didn’t have as much reason to hate themselves like I did?

Charles was next. “I’m Charles,” he said shyly in a small voice.

“Speak up,” said John in his usual voice.

“I’m Charles,” Charles said with obvious effort. “I used to want to be a writer, but I kept getting rejection slips and I don’t know what I want anymore. I got so sick of my failures, I got so sick of it all.” His voice trailed off a minute and then he said, “So I tried to kill myself, and that’s why I’m in here.”

“Thank you for sharing, Charles,” said John. “George?”

“I’m George, I got kicked out of school for cussing, then I got kicked out of alternative school for cussing, and now I’m in here for psychological evaluation, and also because I don’t got anywhere else to go.”

“I’m Josh,” I said. “I’m in here for cutting myself and nearly killing myself.”

There was a pause.

“Alyssa?” said Amy.

“I guess I should be open,” said Alyssa.

“If you want to be,” said Amy. “We’re all here for something, I think you’ll find respect. Disrespect will be dealt with appropriately.”

“Okay,” said Alyssa. “I’ll be really, really open. Big breath!” She took air in with those two words, and exhaled afterward very loudly. “Okay, I’m ready now.” She cleared her throat. “I wanted to come here. My dad has been sexually abusing me for years, and I got so sick of it. I didn’t want to tell anyone, I was so ashamed, and I tried to kill myself. It didn’t work, needless to say- anyway I’m really, really glad to be here, because home was pure Hell and you have no idea how good it feels to sit here and not have to worry about being raped or something. It’s like, to him, I had no dignity. I guess I kind of fear like all males now, too, because with Josh I’m scared to touch him, even though I know we can’t anyway, because I don’t want anything sexual to go on. I know I’ve got to overcome it… anyway, that’s why I’m here. Thanks.”

“Thank you for sharing, Alyssa,” said Amy.

And group began.

During group I reflected on what Alyssa had said. It hurt something awful. She couldn’t want to go out with me now, after what her dad had done. I wondered if she had been scared when I was checking her out. Oh my God, suppose she thought I was going to rape her?

And yet I wanted her so, so bad. It was the first time in forever I’d been attracted to anyone besides Jessica, and it felt so good to be with her. I liked how open she was, how she acted- she was awesome. I composed a poem in my head:

“Alyssa, though I’ve only known you so short a time,

I already have so much on my mind.

You are the queen of my heart

So please take part

In this little piece of heaven
I can only have with you.”

I thought it was corny, but oh well.

I didn’t think Alyssa needed a lover in her life at that time. I should be selfless, I thought. And on the other hand was selfishness. What would I choose? Obviously selfishness was not an ideal. If I truly loved her, if this was true love, then I’d do what was best for her. I’d let her go. If I truly loved her, I’d pretend I didn’t.

And what the heck was I thinking, anyway? Love her? I’d only known her an hour or two. It was hard to imagine it was as serious as it felt. And yet in my heart, there was no room for doubt. I knew I loved her.

And that was why I had to let her go.

So for the moment, I would avoid her.

After morning group we went to gym. I saw Charles huddled in the corner, head between his knees, and elbows on his knees. His slouch was the epitome of depression.

I walked up to him. He looked up vaguely as I approached.

“You okay?” I asked him.

“I’ll be all right,” he said.

I sat down next to him. “Why are you always so upset?”

“Because I’m a failure.” He said it with convicting seriousness.

“You’re not a failure,” I told him.

“Yeah I am.”

“Look, everyone gets rejection slips. If you’re going to make it as a writer, you’ve got to not let it get to you.”

“You’re a writer?”

“My uncle was, before he died. He told me about what it’s like.”

“It gets better.”

I looked up to see Alyssa. I hadn’t even realized she’d been standing there, or even that I had been staring at the floor.

I had been trying to avoid her, but there was no part of me now that was capable of getting up and walking away or trying to politely ask her to leave. My heart ached, and I was dying to kiss her, even as I tried to shove the thought out of my mind.

As if reading my thoughts, she said, “Look, Josh, I know I shouldn’t, but I have a really big crush on you, and I want you to go out with me.”

My heart was racing, my insides a warm, sentimental mush as I stared at her. Her hands were clasped in front of her chin. Her hair had been combed since this morning, or so it would seem.

“I love you,” I began.

“I like you too,” she said.

I loved her so much, but I did not want to hurt her. She was going through so much. Come on, Josh, don’t do this. Don’t make it harder for her.

“I don’t think you’re ready,” I said.

“That’s true,” she said. “You think we should wait?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“That’s sweet,” she said. “Maybe someday. Maybe then you’ll be an awesome boyfriend. I’d be in shock if it were any other way.”

And then there was pain. Why had I done this? Well, that was easy. I guess I really did love her. The thought gave me pleasure.

“I’m proud of you,” said Musashi in my head. “Keep up the good work. Selflessness is an art.”

So what could I do to be more selfless? That was obvious. For now, I would help Charles overcome his depression. That would be a good thing to do.

Chapter XII: Trouble

I figured out as I talked to Charles that his depression centered around his loathing for himself, which would attach to any kind of failure or deficiency in himself, even with traits that were better than average. For instance, he hated himself for not succeeding as a writer when he was only 17. He also hated himself for stupid things, like his attempted suicide. He had been more upset with himself after attempting suicide because he had failed. He also thought he was selfish and weak. I tried to reason with him.

“If you think suicide is selfish,” I told him, “then don’t you think hurting yourself and being so negative is selfish to?”

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, too.”

I shut my eyes.

“That’s not what he means,” said Alyssa. “He’s saying you’re using circular logic. You hate yourself because you hate yourself.”

“That’s not the only reason,” said Charles. “I’m not a good person, sometimes I hurt people’s feelings…”

“We all do,” I said.

“You need to talk to someone, Charles?” said John.

Somehow he had gotten behind us without my noticing; I jumped at the sound of his voice.

“I’ll be okay.” Charles’ voice was half-hearted.

“Go talk to someone,” I said.

“I’ll be all right,” Charles muttered into his lap. “I just want to sit here for now.”

“Okay. We’re here for you when you need us, Charles.” John turned toward Alyssa and me. “You two. I don’t want to see the two of you trying to throw pity parties again. If he’s upset, he can talk to one of us. You’re not professionals, and we can’t have you trying to offer advice outside group. Therapy is not your place- that’s our place. And even in group, make sure you’re not just throwing pity parties, telling him you’re so sorry that he’s got such a hard life. He can come get help from us when he’s ready.”

“But he doesn’t want help,” I said.

“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it,” said John.

“Oh I beg to differ,” said Alyssa.

“How can you help someone who doesn’t want help, then?” said John.

“We were just showing you,” said Alyssa. “Charles, are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” Charles said.

“You see?” said Alyssa.

For a moment, John looked like he was about to give in.

“Are they throwing pity parties again?” called Roy.

“Looks like,” said John. He turned back to us. “No therapy, no pity parties….”

“Yeah?” said Alyssa. “Maybe the problem is that you’re not helping him. I don’t see you over here trying to make him feel better….”

“That’s our job…”

“Then do it!”

“…and we handle it in group. If you want to go to quiet time, you can keep….”

“Fuck you asshole!” said Alyssa. “I’d love to go to quiet time.”

John looked to the side again for a minute. “Then let’s go,” he said.

“I hope you feel better, Charles,” said Alyssa, patting him on the knee.

“No PDA!” hollered Roy.

“What’s that again?” she asked.

“Public display of affection,” said John.

“Oh yeah- it sends me to quiet time. Well, looks like I’m headed that way anyway. I hope you feel better, Charles,” she said, patting him on the knee again- and then she walked out, John following in her wake, steaming as much as his calm demeanor allowed him to.

I burst out laughing as soon as they were gone.

“You got a problem, Hammonds?” called Roy.

“No sir,” I said. “But she’s awesome.”

“That girl isn’t headed anywhere good,” he said, “even if I am overstepping my role as counselor in telling you that. My advice to you is to steer clear, all right?” He paused. “All right?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“It’s your life, not mine.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“I don’t think you understand how things go on in here.” Roy started walking over to me from the middle of the gym, a basketball in his arms. “But trust me, it’s for the best.”

“I disagree,” I said.

“Well when you get your license as a counselor, then you’re welcome to make all the changes you want. Until then, know your limits, and don’t try to break them too soon.” He stopped in front of me. “You want to play basketball, Hammonds?”

I shook my head.

“I want you to stay away from Charles,” said Roy. He looked down at him. “You all right, kid?”

“I guess.”

“He’s miserable,” I said.

“Trust me,” said Roy. “He’s not leaving till he’s made a full recovery. You remember what John told you about how long you’d have to stay here when you first got here?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s that?”

“Yes sir!” I corrected myself.

“Right. Well keep in mind, if you, who are clearly fine now, are not yet out of here, he’s not going anywhere till he thinks life is a wonderful gift. Don’t worry about him too much. We know what we’re doing.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Check,” he said, and thrust the ball at me.

I managed to catch it, then cast it back to him.

“Good,” he said as the ball made a ringing sound against his fingers. “You got game, McKelven?” said Roy.

“No,” said Charles.

“Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?” said Roy.

Charles stood slowly.

“I’m about to be all over you like white on rice,” said Roy. “No lagging behind!” He threw the ball to Charles and started running forward. Charles didn’t manage to catch the ball, but picked it up and ran after Roy.

I watched as Roy made half-taunting remarks again and again to Charles. Every time Charles looked more upset than strengthened, but I was beginning to understand the logic behind taunting. I just hoped it worked. I was sure it must, if they did it usually. But what about the people who weren’t recovering by those means? I didn’t think Charles would. Of course, they’d figure it out eventually if he wouldn’t, I was sure. Just, I really thought there had to be a better way- maybe, say, support.

What Roy had told me about Alyssa troubled me. She did remind me of a feminine version of Guy, in ways. Only, she wasn’t dangerous- she just had a hell of a bad mouth, a mouth I really admired. Truth be told, knowing she was such a delinquent, I still envied her. I wanted to be more like her. She was so cool.

I had a funny thought enter my mind. Suppose I do something like that? I could call Jessica, right now.

I was so taken up with the thought, and so aware that if I thought it through I’d change my mind, that I went to the phone by the closet quickly and dialed Jessica’s number.

Two rings.

“Hello?” It was her voice.

The sound of it, so strange to hear someone from the outside, held me speechless a moment.

“Hello?” she repeated.

“Hey,” I said.

“Josh? Josh, where have you been? Everyone at school is asking about you.”

“I’m in a mental institution,” I said.

“What?”

“I nearly killed myself,” I said.

“Josh, you’re scaring me,” she said.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No, it’s all right,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “I’m doing much better, actually.”

“That’s good.” She sighed. “Mental institution? Imagine that!” She laughed.

“Yeah, do me a favor,” I said, “don’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “I didn’t know you were crazy, though.”

“I’m not crazy!” I said.

“Yeah, you’re just in the crazy house, the loony bin. Um, yeah.”

“Damn it Jessica,” I said. “I’m not crazy. I’m in here for cutting, not for being crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she said. “Just, if you’re cutting yourself, I think you belong in there. I’m sorry I’m making a joke out of this. I know it’s serious.”

There was a pause.

“Who are you talking to?”

John’s voice so startled me that I turned around completely and dropped the phone as I stared horror-struck at John. I knew where I was headed.

John picked up the phone.

“Hello?” he said. And then, “Who’s this?” Pause. “Thank you. He’s not supposed to call without permission, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to finish talking to him some other time.”

I could hear Jessica say, “He’s not in trouble, is he?”

“Not really. Don’t worry. Goodbye.”

I heard Jessica reply, though I couldn’t make out the words, and then John hung up the phone.

“Come with me,” he said.

“I thought you said I wasn’t in trouble,” I said.

“Not major,” he said.

I walked with him to the quiet time room.

Inside the quiet time room, I regretted what I’d done. I hadn’t helped anyone by doing what I’d done. I’d even made Jessica worry about me and hurt our relationship. Maybe I didn’t want to be badass. I sucked at it anyway.

Next time, I’d help someone else. That was a much better reason to get into trouble. What I’d done was stupid and selfish.

And who to help was, for the umpteenth time, obvious. I would help Charles.

I realized as I sat there that my current stay in the room wasn’t nearly as bad as the first time had been. I suddenly wondered why it had been such a big deal in the past. Who cared if he had to sit in a room for half an hour? It was a punishment that worked with three year olds; why should it be so effective? Why had it been effective with me?

I really didn’t know.

I stood and began to pace, more out of boredom than tension. Maybe pace isn’t the right word for it- more like dawdled from one side of the room to the other. Then I sat down again.

A nurse peeked her head in the door. “Joshua Hammonds?” she said.

“Yes ma’am?” I said.

“You’re to come with me,” she said.

I followed her down the hall to a little room with a table in the middle and a mirror on one side of the wall. Dr. Johnson was sitting at one side. On the table were a few plastic boxes.

He rose as I entered. I heard the nurse shut the door behind me.

“Sit down Josh. I just want to ask you some questions,” he said.

I sat down, a little nervous.

“I’m going to ask you to tell me what comes to mind when you see a picture. There are no right or wrong answers. Just tell me what you see.”

He opened one of the boxes and took out a card. It was a Rorschach test, I could tell. The ink blot looked long and sharp; I responded, “This is going to sound far fetched.”

“That’s quite all right. Again, there are no right or wrong answers. Just tell me what you see.”

“I see a knife,” I said.

“Okay.” He put the card down so that a new card was facing me; he had the stack of cards in his hands. “Now what do you see?”

It was clearly a building. “A building,” I said.

“What kind of building?”

I thought a moment. I noticed bars on the front, in a vague kind of way, so I said, “A jail.”

“Now what?” He put that card down so that a new one faced me.

We went on like this for some time; then he took out a new box, and gave me new instructions.

“Now I’m going to show you some pictures, and I want you to tell me a story about each picture. Again, there’s no right or wrong answers, just tell me what you see.”

The first picture was of a cabin. It reminded me of a man hiding from the law, so I told a story about a man who had been chased there. In the story, he had to hide from the police because he’d accidentally killed someone and didn’t want to go to jail for manslaughter. It was hard to say why every one of my stories, starting with that one, had a violent theme, but I told them that way nonetheless.

When he was done with that, he thanked me and told me, “You’re welcome to go back now.”

A nurse appeared at the door.

“He’s done,” he said.

He extended his hand, and for a moment I was scared I’d get in trouble. “It’s all right,” he said. I shook his hand, and we smiled at each other. Then I followed the nurse to another room.

This was the group room, the one we’d used besides the common room, and inside was an oblong particle board table. I sat down at it, and then was delighted to see that my parents were coming in. A nurse I didn’t know followed them in. Everyone sat down at the table.

“First of all, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Erica,” said the nurse, “and we’re here to discuss your transition back into the community and your progress here. How are you doing today, Mr. Hammonds?”

“I’m doing well,” I said.

“Very good then.”

With my parents there, I felt so much better- not that I’d been feeling bad, but it was elating to have them there with me.

“How do you like it here, Mr. Hammonds?” asked Erica.

“It’s all right,” I said. “But some of the counselors are jerks at times.”

“I would ask you not to slander our counselors,” said Erica. “They work very hard for all of you.”

“They taunt anyone who’s depressed!” I said.

“That’s part of the treatment,” said Erica.

“How is that treatment?”

“If you ever become a counselor, maybe you’ll understand.”

“Bull,” I said.

“Josh!” exclaimed Mom. She was looking at me sympathetically.

“Mom, you don’t see it,” I said. “They can say all they want about treatment, it’s a load of BS. They told me an hour or two ago about how it was for Charles’ best that he be taunted, but the kid’s miserable.”

“And have you been able to help him?” said Erica.

“They won’t let me try!” I was getting mad.

“Josh, we came here to see you,” said Mom. “We want to know how you’re doing.”

She wanted to help me, but I was worried about Charles.

“I’m doing great,” I said. “But this place is a hellhole, and…”

“Then you shouldn’t have done what you did to get here,” said Erica.

“I know,” I said, “and I regret it wholeheartedly. But I’m worried about Charles.”

“No names, please,” said Erica. “Everything that goes on in here is confidential. You’re not to discuss any of the patients with your friends when you go back….”

“Or contact any of my friends from here,” I said, “I know. But I’m going to help ‘someone’ stand up to the counselors if it gets bad again, like it did before.”

“I’m sure they can handle it,” said Erica. “But I’m not sure that will be good for you.”

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” said Mom.

“I’m not talking about doing anything stupid, Mom,” I said.

“Don’t get yourself in trouble,” said Dad. “We just want to see you get out of here in good shape.”

“I will,” I told him.

“You realize you could wind up in jail if things get too bad?” said Dad.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“Just focus on getting through this place,” said Dad. “Then you can worry about social reform and all that good stuff.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Promise us,” said Mom.

“I can’t,” I said.

“You have to,” she said.

“Mom,” I said. “I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep.”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble, Josh,” said Dad.

“All right,” I said. “I promise.”

I had given in. For the rest of that conversation, I was keenly aware that I’d betrayed my own conscience.

Chapter XIII: Crazy

It was clear to me that I could not help Charles anymore- not for now. I wanted to so badly, but I had given my parents my word, and I wasn’t going to break it. I knew it would be hard to resist the temptation to stand up for him, and so I would need something to take my mind off him- a new goal. But what?

In a mental institution, there really isn’t much room for hobbies or personal goals; the only freedom comes at night, and that’s obviously not freedom, because there in the place we call prison, your every movement is watched from 7:30 AM to the time you go to bed. Some of us would go to our rooms, true- but what did one have to do there? A true Type A personality might find something; maybe write a short story on paper, or meditate, but it’s hard to say what else. As for me, I had nothing. Before I had come here, I had been going through a depression that had destroyed all my goals. The scholarship I’d gotten to USC, my parents were constantly reminding me, was threatened by my poor final year of high school.

School wasn’t the only thing I’d been slacking off in- I’d been slacking off in life, too. Aimless, I had struggled to find meaning and happiness to something empty, pointless and miserable.

I guess it was a sign of my recovering that I actually wanted to take something up. A month ago, on the outside, I never would have imagined I could feel okay, like I did now. Things were getting better. Even more so because a month ago, I could not have imagined having a goal for the day, apart from try to find something worthwhile in a world where nothing could be anywhere close.

I took some pride in this; I was doing well. And maybe it was because I, like so many other people, associate religion with bettering myself as a person, that I decided to focus my goal on religion. Allen had offered to teach me, after all. May as well make the best of it- it was a pretty good opportunity. Strange, that an opportunity should come in this hellhole when it wouldn’t outside. But maybe it wasn’t that- maybe it was more that the opportunity in here shone brightly for me, whereas the myriad of opportunities portending a successful life outside had seemed not promises, but obligations, that I had not been able to appreciate. Strange, how fast fire will change wood to ash, or an inedible motley to beef stew.

I had missed lunch (no real complaints there) and half of midday group, which I was beginning to appreciate and enjoy. The topic of the day was depression, its sources, its results and ways of dealing with it. I participated heartedly, talking about my emotional hatred of myself and how much better I was doing. I knew in a way that I was only a short step from saying, “I like it here”- and was surely headed out.

After group, we headed to the gym again. As we streamed into the room and spread out, I asked Allen to come to the corner with me.

“What’s up?” he said.

“Um,” I said, “I was wondering, like, remember how you offered to teach me?”

“Yeah,” he said. His round face looked strained in earnest, like it always did. “You want to get started?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s sit down.”

I sat down, and he sat down facing me. I was in the corner.

“Just an example of how this isn’t a panacea,” he said, “that is, that magick isn’t- I want so badly to do a spell for Charles, but I don’t have any of my supplies with me, and I can’t work manipulative magick on the counselors.”

“They’ve been fine since Alyssa got in trouble,” I said. “Roy tried to play basketball with him.”

“Dude,” said Allen, “did you happen to pay attention to the game after that? Or how about while you were gone? We played a group soccer game, and Roy wouldn’t stop putting pressure on Charles.”

“They’re trying to make him stronger,” I said.

“Do you actually believe that?”

“Well they don’t want to hurt him, I’m sure,” I said.

“I agree,” said Allen. “But I’m not honestly sure they either know what they’re doing or honestly take their work seriously. You’ve seen how they are.”

“I promised my parents I wouldn’t stand up for him again,” I said.

“Jeez,” he said. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “They were pressuring me and I gave in.”

“You should never make a promise you don’t mean.”

“I know,” I said, avoiding his unwavering gaze. “That’s why I have to keep it.”

“You shouldn’t have made it in the first place.”

“I know.”

“It’ll be a difficult decision,” he said, “but enough about Charles. I only brought it up to introduce some things- jeez, where do I start? Everything I know is everywhere in my mind, all connected, and I don’t know where to begin.”

“At the beginning,” I said.

“Platitude,” he said, “and not accurate. It’s not always that simple. Here, though, I’ll start with what I started with before. Do you know what manipulative magick is?”

I thought a moment. “I think Ashley told me,” I said.

“Awesome,” he said, his face brightening. “You’ve already had lessons.”

“A little, yeah.”

“Okay then, you remember?”

“It’s when you do a spell to influence someone’s decisions,” I said, “right? Something like that?”

“More or less exactly,” said Allen. He grinned. “You ever read The Hitchhiker’s Guide series?”

“No,” I said.

“They’re all hilarious. I stole that phrase from the book. The ways he uses it, it will make you double over laughing.” He waved his hand. “Sorry, I have ADD. I get distracted easily.”

“It’s all right,” I said.

“Meditation’s helped,” he said, “but I think it’s my weak suit as a witch.”

“Ashley taught me some of that,” I said. “That’s what she taught me- meditation. Mrs. Joy thought it would help with my depression.”

“I see,” said Allen. “What did she teach you to do?”

“Guided meditation,” I said, “mind clearing, things like that.”

Allen nodded. “You know what’s sad?”

“What?” I asked.

“You’ve probably passed me up on it already. I’m terrible at meditation.”

“I’ve barely practiced at all,” I said.

“Okay, probably not then,” he said. He smiled. Then his face took on an interested look. “Say,” he said, “I forgot to ask. After I heard that story about your dream, I thought you might have had some more experiences. Have you?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“What have they been like?”

I thought a minute. “I guess almost all of it centers around channeling,” I said.

“You can channel?” he asked, brow furrowed. “Who taught you that?”

“No one taught me,” I said. “I learned on my own.”

“You read a book?”

“No,” I said. “Just, for the longest time, I’ve been able to talk to God in the back of my head.”

Allen leaned back, looking wary. “I know some Christians can do that,” he said. “But I’d be careful, if I were you, about that. It’s a dangerous thing, channeling. Not so much because of possession as because if you’re wrong…” His voice trailed off, and he actually looked down from my face before continuing. “If you’re wrong, you’re deluding yourself.”

“I’m not crazy,” I said.

“Can you be sure?” he asked.

“How dare you?” I asked. “I thought you believed in this stuff.”

Allen laughed. “What’s ‘this stuff’? What does God teach you?”

“Magick,” I said. “And martial arts.”

“God doesn’t practice magick, unless you’re a Jewish Cabbalist,” he said.

“Well maybe I should be one of them,” I said. “God is real, the Goddess spoke to me too, do you find that more valid?”

“Calm down,” he said. “I’m not attacking you.”

“You call calling me crazy not attacking me?”

“Josh,” he said. He shook his head, but I could see the fire building in his eye, restrained as it yet was. “What kind of magick did God teach you, tell me that and I can tell you whether your experience was valid or not.”

“He taught me things about how to make a spiritual arsenal,” I said, “spiritual bombs that can be used to damage someone else psychically, possibly leading to death. He also taught me about how to make a fireball, but it’s an advanced spell…”

“How do you start learning to make a fireball?” asked Allen thoughtfully. The look of analysis on his face was unnerving as he gazed at me.

“You increase your inner forces,” I said, “and get stronger magickally. When your inner forces are enough, you visualize heat forming from you, coming from your chakras, and then shooting outward from your belly in a jet of flame.”

“I’m sorry,” said Allen halfheartedly. “You’re crazy.”

He said it with such sincerity that I glared at him a moment before I went on in a raised voice. “What do you mean, I’m crazy? How do I know you’re not crazy?”

“I don’t live my life in fear of that,” he said.

“Then why should I?”

“Because I’m an outsider who’s knowledgeable in what you want to learn who can tell you what’s real and what’s not.” There was an edge to his voice now, and the fire was back in his eye.

“Just so you know, I am just as able to discern reality as you are,” I said.

“I beg to differ,” said Allen, laughing.

Without thinking, I lunged at him and grabbed his hair. He instantly grabbed my head with both hands and slammed me into the ground. As I stood, I heard Roy call, “Hey!” and saw Allen walking away as Roy ran toward us. Amy was heading for the door, to get help, I was sure.

Allen turned to face me and stopped, putting his hands up as I walked after him.

“It’s nothing personal, Josh,” he said. “I just want to help you.”

I grabbed Allen by the hair again and punched him in the stomach, but he kneed me in the side, and then Roy had a hold of me and brought me to the ground.

“You’ll never grow spiritually if you’re stuck mentally in an insane asylum,” said Allen.

“Fuck you!” I shouted. “I’m not crazy!”

“Calm down, Josh,” roared Roy from above me. I tried to squirm my head up to see him, but he had me pinned pretty well. I started trying to push myself up.

“If you get up, and I can’t stop you from fighting Allen,” said Roy, “I will make sure you go to jail for assault.”

“Damn it,” I said. I struggled more.

“Stop, Josh!” called Roy with an edge to his voice.

I stopped.

I heard the door open.

“This won’t hurt,” I heard someone say.

“Ah hell no,” I said.

I started to struggle again when Amy said, “Can you walk to the quiet time room peacefully?”

“If it means not getting shot up with tranqs again,” I said, “hell yeah I can walk peaceably.”

“Before I get up,” said Roy, “you do anything stupid, I’ll call the police here, and they can bring you to jail. We clear?”

“Clear,” I said.

Roy let me up. Aches spread through my body as I rose and followed the nurse with the needle out the door.

“You need help?” I heard Roy call as we exited the door.

“I think it’ll be all right,” he said.

We walked to the quiet time room, where I sat, sulking, for quite some time. I learned later that Allen had also been brought to the quiet time room.

I was still angry. Mostly I was hurt. I’d expected to do well with Allen. What a slap in the face! God damn, how could he call me crazy? He was no better than Dr. Johnson. I wished I hadn’t promised Ashley I’d learn under him. It had been a mistake.

I wished I could have finished that fight. In my anger, I was blind to the fact that I could not have expected to win, and instead I felt mad that he’d tried to pull off the wise spiritual leader crap on me when I’d been on the ground.

It then occurred to me that I had lost my chance to learn Witchcraft. Damn that sucked. Ashley wouldn’t be pleased with me. I wasn’t terribly pleased with myself. I felt guilty, even in the midst of my anger at the indignity of what Allen had attributed me with.

But what was done was done. I wasn’t going to go crawling back to him, asking him to teach me magick without calling me crazy, and I wasn’t going to apologize, both of which would have to happen if I did try to make amends. For the moment, I hated him. I wanted him to get his arm broken. I wanted to break his arm. Then the thought of this started making me feel guilty. Why? It wasn’t like I was actually considering it. It was only a flight of fancy. Flights of fancy shouldn’t make me feel guilty.

I was seething and on the verge of convulsing with my anger. I got up and started pacing.

Continuing this conflict would be stupid- very stupid. I could wind up in jail, and I was close to getting out of here now. I would be stupid to throw that away over a personality conflict.

I stopped pacing and sat down, waiting to be released from the room. It was simple: I would stay away from Allen.

Chapter XIV: Dinner Conversation

“I wish I could play with my dog right now.”

The three of us- Alyssa, Duane and I- were sitting down to dinner as Duane said this. Duane was new.

“You like animals?” said Alyssa.

“I love animals,” said Duane. “Especially dogs.”

Duane was large and muscular, dark black and tall. He had a bit of a pin-stripe beard and a puffy face. It intimidated me just to look at him.

“You vegetarian?” I asked.

“No, but I want to be. I just don’t think I can pull it off.”

“What are you in here for?” asked Alyssa. We had finished sitting down, and she was now toying with a hamburger with the look on her face of uncertainty whether or not she wanted to eat it.

“I got in a knife fight,” he said.

“With who?” I asked.

“A member of a rival gang,” he said.

“You’re in a gang?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Why?”

“Needed someone to look out for me,” he said. “But that’s only part of it. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be.”

“What about the law?”

“Fuck the law!”

“Anarchy over sanity?” said Alyssa.

“Hell yeah bitch, that’s how we roll.”

“Mr. Masters,” called Roy, “go to the quiet time room when you’re done eating, I’ll escort you there- and watch your mouth.”

“That sucks,” muttered Duane.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “If you don’t want to kill animals, why would you want to hurt people?”

“I don’t want to hurt people,” he said. “I just got sick of not having anything. My mom lives paycheck to paycheck, and Dad never sends the money he’s supposed to. I’m not going to go to school and fail out cause I don’t have any money like she did. I dropped out, and I’m going to get a job and make my own way. I’m gonna get into business. I’m going to be somebody.”

“Without school?” I asked.

“I could never afford school,” he said. “I don’t know. It was really stupid, but I’m sick of being the last kid to understand what the teacher’s teaching. I’m sick of putting up with smart-ass white people who had the world handed to them on a silver platter, got everything they wanted from their parents, got all the right breaks, had someone to help them with school, didn’t have to steal their TV… I want another life, man. I want another life.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yeah, I feel you,” he said. “But I’m just moaning, so I’ll shut up now.”

“No, you’re all right,” I said.

“Sometimes I wonder if my life’s worth living,” he said. “I think about that guy I knifed. I think maybe I belong with a knife in my back. I wonder if it’s all I’m good for.”

“Just try,” I said.

“Screw that,” he said, and I could tell he’d wanted to use the f-word. “You know what I’m good for? The only thing I’m good at is fighting. I suck at school. You can’t get nowhere without going to school. I mean, what kind of future do I have if it ain’t on the streets?”

“There isn’t a future on the streets,” I said.

“Shut up man,” he said. “You think you know everything. What am I supposed to do? Huh? What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, leaning back and slapping the table.

“Get a job,” said Alyssa. “Work. Like everyone else.”

“At $5.16 an hour?” said Duane.

“Or move to China,” said Alyssa. “You can cut grass with a pair of scissors for under a dollar a day over there.”

Duane lifted his chin up, then nodded. “True, true,” he said. “I heard that. That’s a good point.”

“That’s why I said it,” said Alyssa.

“Oh, getting all cocky now,” said Duane. “Miss big and bad, I see.”

I laughed.

“Are you big and bad?” Duane asked me. I could tell he was mostly joking.

“No,” I said. “Ask Allen. The guy didn’t even try to fight me and he still kicked my tail.”

Duane laughed a deep laugh. “I’ll have to teach you some moves, white boy. I’ll whip you into shape.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Definitely.”

“Thanks!” I said.

“Is everyone in your gang black?” Alyssa asked.

“Now you be stereotyping,” said Duane. “Hell no. Just cause we got a higher percentage of criminals and cause we’re lower class, don’t mean it don’t happen to white people too, girl.”

“I was curious,” she said.

“I know,” said Duane. “I seem like a stock thug. It’s funny, I know. But I like reading, k, I like reading.”

“What do you read?”

“Everything,” he said. “John Grisham’s my favorite.”

“John Grisham?” I said. “But you’re a criminal.”

“It’s not about that,” said Duane. “Don’t you read stories about gangs? S. E. Hinton’s work and all that?”

“I love her,” I said. “She’s pretty darn good.”

“She is off the chain!” said Duane. “But you get my drift, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Wait,” I said. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he said.

“Crap,” I said.

“What?”

“I thought you were like 21 or something.”

“It’s all the working out I do,” Duane said. He flexed his muscle and then grinned at my bulging eyes. “We’ll get you in shape, a’ight?”

“A’ight,” I said.

He laughed. “No, a’ight.”

I tried again.

He laughed, and Alyssa was laughing too.

“I’m sorry,” said Alyssa. “It doesn’t sound right from you.”

“It doesn’t?” I said.

Duane laughed. “It’s not what you sound like,” he said. “It’s what you’ve got on the inside. I’ve known plenty of people that bragged about their skills, that didn’t have skills at all. Some in school, some on the streets- but half of them couldn’t do basic algebra or use a knife without cutting themselves. It’s all about what you’ve got on the inside.”

“That’s very wise,” I said.

“It’s not wisdom, it’s experience,” he said.

“That’s what wisdom is,” I said.

“I heard that,” said Duane.

“Speaking of which,” said Alyssa, “somebody didn’t handle a certain situation too well today, I hear.”

“I know,” I said.

“What happened?” said Duane.

I sighed. “I got in a fight,” I said.

“So?”

“It was with a friend,” I said.

“So make up,” said Duane. “If he’s a real friend he’ll hear you out. Just tell him you don’t got any beef with him, and you’re sorry, and you hope he can forgive you and put it behind him.”

“Thanks,” I said.

He looked at me critically because of something he’d heard in my voice. “You still got a problem with him?”

“He called me crazy,” I said.

“Why?”

“I talked about creating a fireball and spirit-nukes.”

“And who wouldn’t draw that conclusion?”

I glared at him. “Not you, too,” I said.

“You gonna hit me too? Think what you’re doing. If everyone’s saying it, why is everyone but you wrong?”

I was getting mad.

“Josh,” said Alyssa. “You gotta learn to control your temper.”

“But why does everyone think I’m crazy?” I asked.

“Don’t look at me,” said Alyssa. “I don’t like being physically abused.”

“Not you too?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, per se,” said Alyssa. “I just think you’re out of your mind.”

I was in a nightmare. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t crazy. I knew I wasn’t crazy. I couldn’t be.

What about the times I’d hallucinated, even before the drugs?

I shoved that thought out of my head. I could cope with it later. Wait… I wasn’t crazy.

I wanted to be someone else.

“Are you real?” I asked Musashi. I must have muttered it aloud because Charles’ voice came from my side.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” I said.

“Make up with the guy, dawg,” said Duane. “You wanna grow and not come back here, you gotta understand yourself. You know that’s what was written over the Oracle of Delphi, right dawg? Know thyself. Take me. I know I’m not good in school. I know I suck at life. So I got into drug dealing. I don’t have to pretend, I am hard. In school, I have to pretend. On the streets, I am who I am. You don’t belong on the streets. You got a future- like my brother. My brother gets straight As. He tell me all the time to go back to school, but he don’t get it. The man never says something without speaking in complete sentences, and the sad thing is, he wants to be like me. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him: be yourself. Know yourself. And don’t be nobody else.”

“Thanks,” I said. I was on edge. “But… how does this relate to Allen?”

“I thought you were smart, dawg,” said Duane.

I shrugged. “I get good grades, most people think I am.”

“Naw, you be school smart. Look, let me put it this way.” He paused. “It don’t matter what nobody else thinks about you. Look inside yourself. And don’t try to fool yourself. Be honest- know what’s true about you, when you’re right and when you’re wrong. Both in life and in belief. I guess I should take that to heart myself. I got a lot of bad habits. I know I be wrong with this… wish I could say that word!” He laughed. “Crap, I guess I have to call it. So I’ve been fooling myself. I ain’t headed nowhere good. But I don’t know what else to do. You, you got to let yourself know when people around you be giving you good criticism, and where they’re BS-ing you. And to know that, you got to know yourself. You heard dawg?”

“I sort of get you,” I said.

He grinned. “Sort of?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s try this again.”

Alyssa laughed. “Last chance, Josh.”

“K,” said Duane. He lifted his eyes up a second, then started again. “Know the truth about yourself; don’t fool yourself. When you have a fault, it’s hard to admit it, but it’s the only way you can overcome it: you got to be honest. And it’s hard, but that’s what I’m getting at. And if you screw up, you can’t tell yourself you’re right. You got to be honest. Know yourself. That’s what I’m getting at.”

“I understand,” I said.

“About time dawg.” Duane laughed.

I joined in with him.

“You gonna make up with him, dawg?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Take your time,” he said. He looked me in the eye. “But I never heard no tree that grew up when it was shrouded in darkness. Keep that in mind. I want you to know I don’t got no beef with you, I just want to help you, a’ight?”

I nodded. “A’ight.”

He laughed. “I gotta teach you that too.”

It finally clicked in my head then that Charles and George had sat down at the table with us. I had been so absorbed in the conversation that I hadn’t realized that.

“How you doing, Charles?” I asked Charles.

“Bad,” said Charles. “I want to die.”

“You’re not going to hurt yourself, are you?” said Alyssa.

“I would if I had anything to cut myself with,” said Charles. “Then I’d be slashed from head to toe right about now.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” said Duane. “They might put you in a straitjacket or some crazy stuff like that.”

“He’s right,” said Alyssa. “It’ll be all right. Trust me. I thought things never got better. But now I’m here….”

“What?” said Duane. “Hold up. You mean to tell me- you want to be here?”

“Yeah,” said Alyssa. “I wanted to get away from my dad.”

“True, true,” said Duane. “Parents can be bad, I got a friend whose parents don’t look after him none at all. But I need to watch myself. I be talking way too freaking much. You was saying?”

“Just that things get better. And right when you think everything’s ruined, right when you think nothing’s going to ever get better- that’s the moment right before your biggest problems go away.”

“She’s right,” I said. “I know I’ve improved a lot since I got here. And I thought my life was never going to get better. Going here was out of the frying pan, into the fire- but things are getting better now. And I know that as soon as I’m out of here, things are going to be all right. Things are going to be okay again.”

Charles hung his head. “Thanks.”

“You feel better?” asked Alyssa.

“A little,” said Charles. “I want you all to know, no matter what happens, I really appreciate everything you’ve all done for me.”

“Word,” said Duane. “Dawg, you’ve got the world’s best set of friends sitting right here and you don’t even know it.”

Charles looked at him. “Thank you for that,” he said. “And I’m very grateful, cause Lord knows I don’t deserve half of you as friends, and you’ve all been so wonderful to me.”

“You do deserve it,” said Alyssa.

“You all think I’m this great person,” said Charles, like he was about to break. “Why? What am I worth? Can you tell me one redeeming quality I have? All I’m good for is being miserable, and that ain’t good!”

“You want my opinion?” said Alyssa.

“Yeah,” said Charles weakly.

“My opinion is this: if you don’t think you’re worth anything, change.”

“Straight up,” said Duane.

“I can’t change,” said Charles. “And I’m sick of fighting with myself.”

“Then don’t fight with yourself,” I said. “You’re a good guy, Charles.”

“You’re just saying that.”

The problem was, as bad as I wanted to fight it, I knew he was right. I barely knew him because the only part of him I ever got to see was the “I want to kill myself” part of him. But I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to believe I admired him. I wanted to believe that I wasn’t just talking. I wanted to believe the words that were coming out of my mouth.

“You’re a nice guy, Charles,” I said.

“Can you tell me one thing I’m going to accomplish with my life?” said Charles.

“That’s up to you, dawg,” said Duane. “Not us.”

Charles nodded, then looked down. “I know you’re right,” he said. “I just can’t go on like this.”

“Why don’t you talk to the counselors?” I asked.

“A lot of reasons,” mumbled Charles.

“What do you have to lose?” said Alyssa.

“They might keep me in here,” he said. “And I’m scared they’ll tell my parents what a rough time I’m having. And I don’t think Roy and John like me, or that the counselors want me to feel better.”

“Of course they want you to feel better!” I said. “This is how they do treatment. It’s their own screwed-up way of going about it.”

“I don’t know,” said Charles. “I don’t want y’all to worry about me anyway. There are more important things to worry about, more important people, people whose lives are going somewhere worthwhile.”

“Don’t speak like that,” I said. My voice grew louder. “You’re a nice guy, Charles. Don’t feel so bad about yourself. You do have a future, you just have to keep trying.”

“No pity parties,” called Roy.

I shut my eyes.

“If he wants counseling he can get it from one of us when he’s ready,” said Roy.

“He doesn’t think you want to help him,” I said.

“Horse poop,” said Roy. “Come talk to me, Charles,” he said.

He got up and waved Charles over to another table. Charles got up shyly and followed Roy toward that table to eat with him.

“Don’t talk crazy, man,” Duane said. “I don’t want to see you in no straitjacket, you heard?”

“Thanks for the tip,” said Charles, walking over to talk to Roy.

I watched as Charles and Roy met at a table in the middle of the room and sat down.

“You think anything good’s going to come out of that?” said Alyssa.

“They do help,” said George.

“They haven’t helped him yet,” I said.

“It helped me,” said George. “It does work.” He paused. “I mean, I was worse at first, but in the end, it made me stronger.”

“They used to pick on you, too?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said George.

“Do you think he’s going to commit suicide?” said Alyssa suddenly.

“What?” I asked.

“She does have a point,” said Duane. “Did you hear how our man Charles was talking? Sounded like it to me, sure enough.”

I was nervous. “Do you think we should tell anyone?”

“What would happen if we did?” asked Alyssa.

We all looked at George.

George leaned back in his chair, throwing his napkin on his tray. “Don’t look at me. No one’s tried it while I’ve been here.”

“You know better than the rest of us,” I said. “What do you think would happen?”

George chewed on this a minute. “I know he wouldn’t be out anytime soon.” He paused. “Maybe put in a straitjacket. Truth be told I’m really not sure.”

“Should we tell?” asked Alyssa.

George turned his head to one side as though to shake it, then centered it again. “It’s hard to say. If he kills himself, we’re all going to feel bad….”

“If he kills himself it’s those God-damn counselors’ fault,” said Alyssa.

“Don’t say that,” said George. “I’m sure they’re doing their best.” He paused, and then his face took on an earnest expression. “Look, I know it seems like they’re just bullies. I know it’s not the best way. And yes, I agree, it’s risky, and it’s stupid, and it’s inane. But what’s the alternative? You think Charles would be alive right now if he weren’t in here?”

There was a pause.

“No,” I said, finally.

“Exactly.”

Another pause.

“But they should make this place better,” said Alyssa. “Reform.”

“I know,” said George. “But that’s the thing. It used to be a lot worse. Things are getting better.”

“They need to get better faster,” said Alyssa.

“Maybe. But it still stands that it’s a good thing Charles is in here. Agreed?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Definitely,” said Duane.

“I do agree,” said Alyssa, “but that doesn’t answer the question, ‘What do we do now?’, now does it?”

“Look,” said George. “I know I’ve been here the longest, but I can’t answer that.” He paused. We were all still looking at him expecting an answer. “Look,” he said. “He can’t commit suicide in here. They don’t even let him have a belt unless he’s level 2 anyway.” Level 2 was the second level of safety; at level 3, you were allowed a razor for shaving, and were well on your way out.

“How hard would it be to get something to kill yourself with?” asked Alyssa.

George shook his head. “Hard.” He paused. “But I don’t like this at all. I mean, if he does commit suicide,” he said, looking at each of us in turn, “then we should have told. If he wasn’t going to, we’ve all possibly… I wish I knew what they’d do!” He thumped the table.

He looked alarmed suddenly, then looked up. “We got to risk it,” he said.

“Why? What’s wrong?” said Alyssa.

“He could be put in a long term care facility,” said George. “Think of being here, but being here for six months.”

I shook my head. “Oh my God, that’d be awful.”

“I know,” said George. “I knew someone who went to one of those. Guy, by the way- he has to go to one after he gets out of here, that or jail.” He grunted. “It’s bad news. We can’t tell.”

“But what if he commits suicide?” said Alyssa.

George shook his head, his face blank and somehow strained at the same time. “I don’t know.”

“Hindsight’s better than foresight,” said Duane. “I say we do our best as is, and not regret our choice just cause we weren’t psychic.”

George nodded, his heavy heart written in bold on his face. “I agree.”

“So we’re not saying anything?” said Alyssa.

“No,” said George. “We can’t.”

“But maybe we could tell them he was really upset?” said Alyssa.

“They’d get it out of him if we did,” said George. “I think you and Josh both know by now that they have a way of getting your deepest secrets out into the open.”

“That’s true,” I said. “But they’ll do that anyway. And if he is suicidal, and it’s going to go away soon, he won’t be put in a long term care facility regardless.”

“That’s true,” said George, waving his finger in thought. “Maybe we should tell.”

“I think we should, too,” said Alyssa.

I got up. “I’ll go right now,” I said.

“Wait,” said Alyssa.

“What?” I said.

“What’ll happen?”

A pause.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Don’t tell them, dawg,” said Duane. “Don’t get him in trouble. If he’s suicidal, they’ll figure him out, and if we tell, he’ll never trust us again. He already don’t trust them counselors. If he don’t trust us, he’s got nowhere good to go. Besides, they’d know better than us anyway.”

I sat down. “You’re right,” I said.

We had all been waiting for someone to give a definitive answer, and we’d just had it. Nonetheless, I left the dining hall totally on edge, worrying about Charles.

Chapter XV: Role Play

“Just a note before we get started,” said Amy as we all finished settling into the circle of chairs. “Some of you have been having gas, and I want you to know we’re not putting up with it anymore. From now on, if you pass gas in group, you can go to the quiet time room.”

Guy raised his hand.

“Yes Guy?”

“What do we do if we get gas?”

“You can hold it,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t hold their gas until the end of group.”

“I can’t,” I said, as did half the rest of the group, but she dismissed this.

“No, you know you can,” she said. “Now, let’s go around and say how we feel on a scale of one to ten. Roy?”

“I’m a seven,” said Roy.

“I’m a four,” said George.

“I’m a three,” I said. I was worried about Charles, and I was pretty sure George was too.

“Six,” said Charles.

Roy made a correcting sound in his throat.

“One.”

“Make sure you talk to a counselor before you leave,” said Amy. “Next?”

Duane looked around, confused. “What am I supposed to say?”

Amy slapped her forehead as we all burst out laughing.

“Way to go Miss All-Together,” said Roy.

“I’m sorry,” said Amy. “I forgot because of the announcement. Who wants to explain the way it works?”

“I’d like to work on you girl,” said Duane. “You sure are something.”

Amy blushed and looked away. “Josh,” she said, “why don’t you fill him in?”

I nodded, eerily reminded of when Ashley had told me. “Every morning and every night,” I said, “everyone rates their overall feeling, good or bad, on a scale of one to ten. Ten is the best you can possibly be, and one is the worst. If you’re a two or below, you have to see a counselor.”

“I got you,” said Duane. “I’m a bit nervous about my homeboy Charles, and I’m a little worse for being here, but I’ve calmed down some since yesterday so I’m about a dead-even five.”

“Thank you for sharing,” said Alyssa. “Allen?”

“Three,” said Allen.

I felt bad for that.

“I’m a two,” said Alyssa.

“See a counselor afterward,” said Amy.

“Yes ma’am,” said Alyssa.

“I’m a five,” said Guy.

“Now,” said Amy, “why don’t we all go around and introduce ourselves? Say your hobbies, how old you are, and what you’re in here for.”

“How about your name?” said John.

“Well, your name, too,” said Amy.

We laughed.

“I’m Roy,” said Roy. “I like knowing I’m right.”

Some laughs. “Be serious, Roy,” said Amy.

“My name’s Roy,” said Roy, “and I like hunting, fishing, and sports. I love football and wrestling and boxing. I worked my way through college, and I’m proud to be here, cause it wasn’t easy to get here.”

For an instant, I thought I might feel guilty if he lost his job for the way he was. After all, he did seem to care about us.

George went next. “I’m George, I don’t have any hobbies. I got kicked out of school for cussing, and then I got kicked out of alternative school for cussing too. I’m doing a lot better now, and I used to think my life would never get any better- but now I’m beginning to feel like maybe I can do something with my life.”

“Thank you for sharing,” said Amy. “Josh?”

“I’m Josh,” I said. “I’m in here for cutting myself, but I’m doing much better.”

Charles began in a small voice. “I’m Charles,” he said.

“Speak up!” called Roy.

“I’m Charles,” he repeated. “I like writing. I want to be a writer. But I don’t know if that’s possible anymore because I just feel like crap and like I’m not going anywhere in life.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” said Amy.

Charles looked at her with misty eyes. “Thanks,” was all he said.

Duane was next. “I’m in here because I got in a knife fight, and I know it wasn’t right but I got in this gang to help me get things straight… I’m not really sure what made me join anymore, I guess all my reasons for joining were really stupid- I mean, it did get me here, after all. I am a fool. My name’s Duane, I’m a high school dropout, and I don’t have any hobbies other than fighting and watching TV.”

“My name’s John,” said John. “I like hanging out with friends and nice things and kicking back and relaxing.”

“I’m Amy,” said Amy, “and I like the arts. I also like my job.” She straightened in her chair. “Today we’re going to do doing something a little different, kind of fun….”

“All right!” said Roy.

“We’re going to be doing reverse-role playing. You will be the counselors, we’ll be the patients. Do we have any volunteers?”

I shot my hand up.

“Josh,” said Amy. “And a counselor?”

John raised his hand. “John,” said Amy. She paused. “Okay,” she continued, “here’s the deal. John is going to start acting like you, Josh, and you’re going to respond as though you are John. There is to be no touching or mocking or insulting. Just do your best. Everyone got the idea?”

A chorus of yeses came from around the room.

John got up and stood in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry you’re upset,” he began to an imaginary person at his side. “I don’t want you to be upset, you’re a really nice guy and you don’t deserve to be upset….”

“No pity parties!” I said.

“I’m just trying to help!” said John.

“No pity parties or you’ll go to quiet time,” I said.

“Yes sir,” said John. “I won’t throw any more pity parties.” He turned back to his imaginary friend. “I hope you feel better,” he said. “You’re a really nice guy, and you don’t deserve to suffer. I wish everyone treated you better because I know you’re special and deserve special treatment….”

This made me angry, and my anger came across in my impersonation. “That’s it!” I said. “Go to quiet time!”

“Why?” asked John.

“I can’t tell you that,” I said.

“I’m not going unless you tell me why,” said John. “I have rights, and you’re not going to violate them.”

“You lost your rights when you came in here,” I said. “Are you going or aren’t you?”

“That’s a good place to stop,” said Amy. “Pretty accurate depictions of each other?”

“Yeah,” said George.

“What’s that?” said Roy.

“Yes ma’am,” said George.

Everyone else seemed to agree.

We actually spent the entire group in reverse role-playing. Even if I disagreed with some of the acting, I knew it was mostly fair on both sides, and it was entertaining. It seemed to drain a lot of the tension out of the group.

Guy played Roy as Roy played Guy at the last role-play session in group.

“I’d give up my mom for a nice car,” said Roy.

Guy seemed shocked at this, and I knew he must be mad after being given a role like that. Surprisingly, he handled it well. “You should look after your mom no matter what,” he said, “because she put you here and you have a duty to society.”

After they were done role-playing, Amy asked how well the two had played each other.

“Very well,” said George.

“Just one complaint,” Alyssa said. “Would Guy ever say something so inane, about giving up his mom for a nice car?”

“I did, once,” said Guy.

This shocked all of us except for George and the counselors.

“Why?” I asked.

“Cause,” said Guy. “I don’t like my mom.”

“That’s sad,” I said.

Guy snorted. “If you had lived my life, you’d understand.”

“‘Don’t judge me,’” said Duane. “‘I’m just you in another set of circumstances.’”

I nodded. “True,” I said. “Very wise.”

“I think you have a bit of wisdom in you, Duane,” said Amy. “We’re going to have to bring it out in you because I think you could wind up being a very good person in life, and I think it’s sad that you gave up on yourself just because you can’t do well in school.”

Duane smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

“Isn’t that right?” said Amy.

“That it is,” said John. “Don’t give up on yourself. Ever.”

“Right when you think everything’s ruined for life,” said Alyssa, “right when you think nothing’s ever going to go right again, when you can’t imagine things being fixed- that is the moment you can be most sure when everything’s about to change for the better.”

“Go back to school, Duane,” I said.

“Yeah,” said George.

“All right, I will,” said Duane. “But I got to get help if I’m going to ever make it.”

“You can find someone,” said John. “It’s not all that hard.”

“I’ll try to,” said Duane.

“You will,” said John.

“Aye, I’ll do it,” said Duane.

Amy checked her watch. “Well,” she said, “I’ve got to let you all go now, so group ended.”

“Josh,” said Roy. “Come with me.”

I thought I’d done something wrong, and felt even more nervous when, walking out of the common room, I realized Allen was with me. We walked to the group room in the hallway. Roy opened the door and let us in. Allen flipped the light switch, and the overhead florescent lights flickered on. I noticed that one at the front of the room had burnt out.

I sat down at the table, but Roy pulled three chairs to the side at the front of the room, and the three of us sat down there. We were directly below the burnt-out light.

“Allen felt, Josh,” said Roy, making eye contact with me, “that the two of you had gotten off on a bad foot, and he doesn’t like it. He wanted to sort through this, and so he asked to have a three way.”

I nodded. I noticed that now that we were in a session like this, Roy’s usual out of control firmness had dissipated.

“So I want you to tell your sides of the stories, Allen first,” said Roy. “Allen?”

“I feel like you took what I said as an insult,” said Allen, his robust red cheeks swollen as he looked at me with that unshakable earnest expression, his face tight like the rest of his body. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I only want to help you grow. I think I might have overstepped my boundaries….”

“No, no,” I said, “I’m sorry….”

“Can he go on?” asked Roy to Allen.

Allen shrugged, then dipped his chin down once in a nod as he made a hand gesture. “Fine with me.”

“Josh?” said Roy.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you’d know very well about this kind of thing, I’m only a beginner. But I can’t rule it out as a possibility yet. And I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were,” said Allen. “But you do have illusions of grandeur that could cloud all your development in the craft with falsehood.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” I said. “I’m not sure anymore that I am sane. I feel like I’m falling, and I can’t grab onto anything, and maybe I’ll land somewhere nice, but I’m so lost. I don’t know what it is I’m letting go of, or if I should. I need guidance.”

“Let me be that guidance,” said Allen.

I nodded, suddenly overcome with overwhelming positive emotions. To this wonderful person, I was grateful, and my grudge was rapidly fading. “I’d like that,” I said.

“I know I can’t expect you to just believe whatever I tell you,” said Allen. “If you would, I probably wouldn’t want to teach you. But I can help you gain experience, and test yourself and your experiences, and I think that in time you’ll overcome all this. I want you to know that I think you were meant to be Pagan, and maybe going through all this is just Fate’s meandering way of bringing about the inevitable. I’ll teach you anything you want to learn, and I’ll start as soon as we get back, if you want to.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Allen smiled at me, his face suddenly relaxed. “No problem,” he said.

“So you two are okay now?” Roy asked.

“Yes sir,” said Allen.

“You both handled this very well,” said Roy. “I didn’t even have to step in.”

“Do you think you could stop harassing Charles?” said Allen suddenly, staring at Roy.

Roy actually looked down in shock, then up again. He seemed more like he was purposely acting angry than that he actually was. “If you got a problem with my counseling you go get yourself your own degree and come and make things right,” said Roy.

Allen smiled. “I think I will,” he said. “They could use someone with his feet on the ground.”

“I think we’re done here,” said Roy. “Unless you’ve got something further to say?”

“Actually I do,” said Allen.

“Save it,” said Roy.

“I won’t,” said Allen.

“You two have one minute by my watch,” said Roy, looking at his watch, “to get out of here before I send you both to quiet time.”

“Fair enough,” said Allen, but he didn’t move.

I got up nervously. “Come on, Allen,” I said.

“I’ll use that minute,” said Allen.

“Don’t push your luck, wise guy,” said Roy.

“I’ve put up with a lot, being gay,” said Allen, “and I can take a little more.”

“You know that’s a sin, right?” said Roy.

Allen didn’t look angry, but the fire in his brows wouldn’t leave. “Forget that. My fight here is over Charles. We all think he’s having a really tough time, and nobody saw him after group.”

“Fine. You want me to see him? I’ll have a long chat with him tomorrow morning….”

“You’re not too good at your own rules,” said Allen. “It seems like it’s more often that someone below a three goes without counseling than with.”

“Time’s up,” said Roy. “Come with me.”

“Not yet,” said Allen.

“If you want to test my patience,” said Roy, “go right on with it, cause you’re only digging your own hole deeper.”

“Come on, Allen,” I said. “Don’t make it worse!”

Allen slowly turned to look at me. “Others before self,” said Allen quietly. “Call it your first lesson in magick.”

I nodded. “Roy,” I said. “You’re not helping him.”

“I said, time’s up!” said Roy. He grabbed Allen by the shoulder and tried to lift him up, but Allen resisted.

“Do I have to get a nurse and have both of you tranquilized?” said Roy. He started walking to the door.

Allen and I looked at each other.

“Come on,” I said. “You’re not going to help Charles like this. You’ve made him mad at you, no one listens when they’re fighting with you.”

Allen nodded. “You’re right,” he said.

We went to quiet time together.

At the door, Roy stopped and said, “I want you to know we’re all worried about Charles. And if what we’re doing now doesn’t work, we’ll find a way. Don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine, one way or another.”

He turned to me. “Josh, I don’t think you were a problem just now; you were trying to get things cooled down and handled. I appreciate that. Go get your meds and go to bed, or watch the Disney movie. It comes on every Sunday, and it just got started.”

Feeling as though I had betrayed him, I looked at Allen.

“Go ahead,” he said.

I walked to the common room. Meds were being passed out. I took mine. I noticed the pills were easier to swallow this time.

I slept better that night than I had since I’d gotten there. My mind was mostly at peace, and I was used to the hard bed. I was so glad I didn’t have a roommate.

It’s ironic, in a way, when you consider the morning that followed.

Chapter XVI: Founding of the Brotherhood

I remember waking up with a funny feeling in my stomach. I had slept well, and I knew that soon someone would wake me from my peaceful slumber. But I turned over, and went back to sleep.

For some odd reason, no one woke me up. I sat up in bed as it grew light, and wondered what the Hell was going on.

“It’s bad,” said Musashi in my head.

“What’s going on?” I asked in my head.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Can’t you see over there? You’re a spirit, not a person.”

“My vision is blurry,” said Musashi.

“Can you prove to me that you exist?”

“I don’t have to,” he said. “You know I’m real.”

“But I don’t,” I said.

“Then where did your entire Handbook come from?

“Am I crazy?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “You’re perfectly sane. They just don’t believe.”

I pondered this for a minute, and realized I’d forgotten the original topic of our conversation.

“What were we talking about?” I asked.

“I don’t remember,” he said.

“If you’re not simply a part of me,” I said in my head, muttering it very quietly out loud, “then you can remember things I can’t. What were we talking about?”

“Let me think,” he said. I started feeling thoughts come into my head. I was trying to figure it out without meaning to. I stopped.

“Well?” I said.

“I forgot,” he said.

“Then you’re not real.”

And then everything came crashing down.

“If you’re not real,” I continued, speaking in a normal tone now, “then I’m not going to become immortal and destroy Hell, God isn’t real, or any of this.”

It occurred to me then that something was very wrong this morning. I went to my door and tried to open it.

It was locked, of course.

I could hear voices in the hall, hushed so that I could not understand them.

Someone had put scrubs by the door, and I put these on. I wondered if maybe someone had decided the clothes I’d been wearing this whole time didn’t smell so good today. The thought made me smile, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was anxious; I just wasn’t sure why.

In a way it felt good. It was nice to be on a different routine today. Exciting, in a way.

Then someone knocked on the door beside mine. I heard it open. Then someone knocked on mine.

Amy poked her head in the doorway. “Rise and shine,” she said.

And there was a terrible stench that came as she did this. I heard a vacuum cleaner or something similar start running. I realized it was from Charles’ room.

What had happened?

I got up nervously and walked to the door. I teetered outside into the hallway, looking around in sharp, short glances.

Allen was beside me in a minute. He gave me a meaningful look, but I didn’t ask why.

In a few minutes, everyone but Charles was outside in the hallway. No one checked vital signs, no one took medicine- we just went. Only John was with us. Roy and Amy stayed behind to talk to Dr. Johnson.

I was shaking as we entered the dining hall. The adults were putting up their trays and heading out.

I got one of those plastic bowls of cereal, and dropped it by accident on the floor. I picked it up and nearly dropped my tray. I got some milk and sat down, but didn’t eat.

“What do you think happened?” said Alyssa as she, George, Allen and I talked in the corner. Duane was sitting with John. I wondered if John would fill him in.

George shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

I realized suddenly no one had even touched his or her food.

“Maybe he went home,” I said, but I knew it was just wishful thinking.

“You know he killed himself,” said Allen. There was a pause. “It’s the only possible reason.”

There was still a pause after he said this, because none of us wanted to admit he was probably right.

Alyssa started playing with her food, then threw her fork down on the scrambled eggs. It flopped up and came to a rest with a thud on the edge of the plate.

“Well maybe he’s all right,” she said. “He tried once, that’s why he’s here, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s right.”

Allen shook his head. “You smelled that this morning?”

“What was that smell?” I asked.

No one answered. No one would meet my eyes.

“What was it?” I repeated.

Alyssa took a deep breath, fear in her eyes. “It was the smell of blood,” she said.

I shook my head. “How do you know what blood smells like?”

“I knew a guy who got shot once,” she said.

“And you’re sure that’s what this was?”

She nodded, avoiding my eyes. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

“Why haven’t they told us yet?” I asked.

“Oh, they will,” said George. “But first they’ve got to take care of business.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he killed himself,” said George.

“But how could he?” I asked. “They don’t even let him have a belt, much less a knife.”

George shook his head. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he said.

“Is anyone eating?” asked John. He sounded tired.

“No sir,” said George.

“Good man,” said John. “Let’s go, then. We’ve got something to talk about in group today.”

We all exchanged glances, then put our trays up and followed John back to the common room.

I felt very much trapped again. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to know what had happened to Charles. I wanted to escape to home, where I’d never have to worry about suicidal people or anyone with major psychological problems again unless it was I.

As we filed into the room, we found Alyssa and Roy waiting in the common room, looking worn out and emotionally stressed.

As we sat down, Amy spoke up. “We have some very bad news this morning,” she said. “Last night, Charles broke the window and slit his wrists with a shard of glass.”

Even though we’d all already known in our hearts what had happened, hearing it affirmed shocked everyone into silence. It was difficult for me to believe that Charles was actually dead. I kept expecting to talk to him again because I knew he’d need comforting soon.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there a while. Suppose we’d told them he was suicidal? Would things have been different then? Would he have lived? My head was whirling more with guilt than with anything else. And I felt like it could have easily been me in his place. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude.

As we talked about what had happened and discussed proper ways to handle suicidal feelings, my thoughts turned from guilty self-incrimination to angry accusation. They, these damn staff members, had taunted him. It was their fault! He’d still be here, if it weren’t for them.

As I listened to Roy say something he liked about Charles- that he was never mean to anybody- I was enraged with the thought that Roy could act like it wasn’t his fault, like he hadn’t had anything to do with it. The freaking bastard!

I wanted to kill him. Right then, I wanted to choke the life out of him. I wanted him and John to pay for it. I wanted to burn this freaking hellhole to the ground.

I was eaten with thoughts of rage throughout the day.

At lunch, I was about to sit at the main table when Allen waved me over. I sat with him and Duane. Duane looked shaken.

“I want to talk to you two about something,” said Allen.

“God darn, that was my fault!” said Duane, slinging his hands downward to the table from their cradle at his head, which shot up.

“Why?” I asked.

“I could have told them. I’m the one who said not to tell them.”

“We all made that mistake,” said Allen. He paused. “Hey? You want to make it up?”

“I can’t,” said Duane.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Allen, “and I keep thinking something’s got to change. Someone’s got to make something happen.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Listen,” said Allen. “This is what I want to do, this is what I say. I say we form a secret society here and now, and from now on we fight for improvement in this hellhole.”

In any other circumstances, he would have been ridden off as coming up with ridiculous ideas, but right then, all three of us needed something to believe in.

“What’ll it do?” said Duane, who still had some practicality left inside him.

“We’ll get John and Roy fired,” he said. “We can do it.”

“How?” I asked. But I didn’t care how in the sense of “Could it work?”, but in the sense of “What can I do for my part?”

“We’ll find a way,” said Allen. “I’ve got some ideas already. But, are you in or are you out?”

“I’m in dawg,” said Duane. “I’m all in.”

“I’m in, too,” I said. “Now what?”

“Now we’ve got to get some other people involved,” said Allen.

“I’ll talk with Alyssa and George on the way to midday group,” I said.

Allen nodded. “You do that,” he said. “On second thought….” Then he got up and walked over to George and Alyssa, who were sitting down. Fortunately, Guy and Roy were talking at the end of the line. The two of them looked to be arguing, and so didn’t notice when George and Alyssa followed Allen to where we were sitting. As Guy turned around and started walking toward us, I caught his eye and signaled for him to sit down at the other end of the table. He did, and Allen pointed at Roy, who was turned around saying something in jest to one of the lunch ladies. I heard her laugh.

Guy nodded.

“Can we talk about it by ourselves?” Guy said. I listened to Roy respond with a bit of antagonism, but also with great fatigue, and sit down with Guy. “What do you want to talk about?” he asked.

But I didn’t hear what was said after that because I turned my attention back to our own conversation as Alyssa, George and Allen sat down.

“What’s up?” said George.

“We’re forming a secret society,” I said.

“He’s kidding, right?” said Alyssa.

“No, dawg,” said Duane. “We can do it.”

“He’s right,” said Allen. “I know we can. We’ve got to. This hellhole isn’t going to see another patient dead or miserable or even uncomfortable- I want to change all that before I go.”

“You’re dreaming,” said Alyssa.

“What do you plan to do?” said George.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” said Allen.

“Let’s hear them, then,” said Alyssa.

“All right,” said Allen, “here goes. I was thinking we could each write a different letter to John, posing as Charles. The letter that looks most legible, we’ll put it in Charles’ room. We’ll write with our left hands so as to disguise our identities.”

“You want to forge a suicide letter?” said Alyssa.

“Exactly.”

There was a pause.

“I’ll do it,” said George.

“Alyssa?” I asked.

She looked at me. “Do you really think this is going to work, Josh?”

“We can try,” said Allen.

Alyssa nodded. “Suppose we get caught?”

“We could go to jail,” said Allen.

Alyssa nodded. “I guess it was a pointless question. Either way, count me in.”

“All right,” said Allen. “Now listen. When you get to class, everyone write a letter to John and Roy saying you couldn’t stand living with their taunts anymore, and so you’re committing suicide. We’ll take turns so Mrs. Joy won’t be suspicious or notice we’re all writing with our left hands. Try to be discreet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I’ll go first, then Josh, then George, then you, Alyssa, and Duane, you’ll be last. If Mrs. Joy notices what’s going on, we all stop immediately and wait and do it in our rooms at night.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer just to wait till night to begin with?” said Duane.

“No,” said George. “They’ll check his room thoroughly, and we don’t want to wait any longer than we have to.”

“What if they already have?” said Duane.

“We’ll have to take our chances,” said Allen.

“I think if Mrs. Joy notices,” said George, “we should just use what we’ve got.”

“Agreed,” said Allen. “That all right with everyone else?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Alyssa.

“Yeah,” said Duane.

“Yeah,” said George.

“Good,” said Allen. “If everything goes well, everyone get up after you’ve written it and go blow your nose. Leave the papers in the trash can, like you’re throwing them away, face down. I’ll pick them up on my way out, then I’ll drop one off on the way to rec room. I’ll say I forgot something.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Alyssa.

“We should write another one,” said Duane. “A letter threatening to kill whoever causes the next death.”

“We could get in a lot of trouble for that,” said Allen.

“I’m in,” I said.

“I’m in,” said Alyssa.

Allen looked around at us. “Everyone want to? You, too, George?”

“Yeah,” said George.

“K,” said Allen, “then we should write the first letter anonymously, like Charles said he was going to kill himself because of Roy and John.”

“But then they know where to look,” said George.

Allen’s eyes twinkled. “No,” he said, “because we pose as a counselor.”

“Straight up, dawg,” said Duane. “You are a pimp!”

“Thank you,” said Allen. “But we’re all of us putting our necks out on the line equally, and we all deserve equal credit.”

“Blessed be,” I said, and the rest of the group actually murmured in chorus, “Blessed be.”

“How do we explain the silence about the suicide?” I asked.

“We say we felt intimidated by John and Roy,” said Allen.

“You are a pimp,” said Duane.

We laughed.

“Which is perfect,” added in Alyssa, “because then we also have an excuse for anonymity- the fact that we could lose our job for not speaking out.”

We all sat back and relished in the brilliance of Allen’s plan.

“So,” said Alyssa after a pause. “We all write two letters- one posing as a counselor saying we’re scared of losing our job or being criticized, so we’re staying anonymous, but we know Charles tried to kill himself- then we pose as the same counselor, saying we’ll kill the next person who causes the suicide of someone- which gives greater reason for anonymity.” She paused. “I think kill is a little strong, how about press charges?”

“Definitely better,” said Allen. “Then there’s not a manhunt or safety inspection, and the powers that be are scared they’ll get sued, so they don’t want to screw with us because they know it would only make things worse.”

“What happens if they find out?” I asked.

“We’re screwed, buddy,” said Duane.

“Back up plan?” I asked.

“Someone will have to take the fall,” said Alyssa.

“And we’ll decide on that when we get there,” said Allen.

I noticed Guy and Roy had stopped eating.

“We’ve got to be quick,” I said. “We’re leaving soon.”

I suddenly realized no one had touched their food. Maybe we still weren’t hungry. Or maybe we were excited.

Allen nodded. “Write both your letters in Mrs. Joy’s class- quickly, discreetly- me, Josh, George, Alyssa, then Duane. Write the name of the person you go after on your hand. When the person returns to his seat, you start writing. I take the letters after class. I’ll leave them somewhere easy to find, cause now we won’t have to pretend they were already there. Everyone understand?”

We all assented.

“We should have a name,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Alyssa. “If we’re going to do all this, we at least need a name to go by.”

“All right,” said Allen. “Any ideas?”

We all thought a moment.

“Brotherhood of Charles,” said Alyssa, “after Charles.”

Allen nodded. “Any other ideas?”

“I like that,” said George.

“So do I,” I said.

“Thank you,” said Alyssa.

“Everyone agree to it?” said Allen.

We all assented.

“Good,” said Allen; “then we are the Brotherhood of Charles.”

“Come on you all,” called Roy. “You’ve had plenty enough time to eat, let’s get going- and I don’t want any stragglers.”

We all got up with a sense of purpose and followed him to midday group. But all of us had our minds not on midday group, but on school.

Chapter XVII: First Task of the Brotherhood

Mrs. Joy brought my schoolwork to me as soon as I sat down. The room seemed to have changed so much since Friday. Everything looked the same, but at the same time it didn’t. Tragedy had struck, and I felt as though I was a different man. I was still expecting to see Charles walk in and join us, but at the same time I was keenly aware that that could never happen.

Allen wrote first, as planned. He didn’t look any too discreet to me, but Mrs. Joy didn’t seem to notice. I spent more time watching him than I should have. I was nervous and also excited. Yet the overriding feeling was of purpose. We were doing this for Charles.

Allen got up a few minutes later and tossed two pages of notebook paper with particularly sloppy handwriting into the trashcan. I saw him sharpen his pencil. Then he sat down again.

Nervously, I took out a sheet of paper and scrawled down a note. I realized beforehand that no one would be able to read it, and wondered why I hadn’t told them this earlier. But as I started writing with my left hand, I found out it forced me to take my time, and my handwriting actually came across semi-legible. This is what I wrote:

I have been living with guilt since Charles told me he was thinking about suicide. I should have told, I know, and therefore, and for other reasons, this note must be kept confidential.

Charles told me that he could not take the taunting of him by Roy and John. He was miserable in here. I wanted to help, but I felt intimidated by Roy and John. I tried to bring it up to them, but they were so callous.

I know I should have done something then, but now I’m trying to make up for it. I just thought I’d let you know that Charles told me he was thinking about suicide because of Roy and John. Please make sure these two don’t act this way in the future. If it were me, I’d never let them inside these walls again, but that is your choice, not mine, and the consequences of your action or inaction is yours, not mine, as well. I am only the messenger. Thank you.

-Anonymous

I was pleased with my note. I thought it was pretty good- plus, it was fairly easy to read.

I tore out another sheet from my notebook, glancing briefly at Mrs. Joy, who was turned to face her computer desk at the moment, doing some official business.

On this next sheet I wrote:

I had something else to say. If this continues, and nothing is done about it, I will fully financially and legally support anyone who tries to press charges for Charles’ death or for any other major transgressions, whatever their results, in this institution. I make a good deal of money, and I am not bluffing. Moreover, if it comes to that, I WILL SUE THIS PLACE MYSELF. I guess in a way I’m making up for the guilt I feel for what I let those two do to Charles. I AM NOT BLUFFING. IF NOTHING CHANGES, I WILL COME OUT WITH THIS TO THE PUBLIC.

- Anonymous

I didn’t think that was as good, but I knew it would be crystal clear that it was important. I actually hoped my letters would be chosen.

I looked at the letters a minute, making sure they were legible and not too recognizably my handwriting, and walked to the trashcan. I blew my nose as I dropped the paper inside the trashcan, then put the tissue down. I got a nasty look from Allen, and started to bend down when he waved dismissively.

I returned to my seat. I saw George start writing with his left hand. He seemed to really be getting into it. I could see my name on the inside of his left hand as he wrote; he had followed the instructions to a letter.

I spent the rest of the class doing my schoolwork and watching everyone else finish their letters. Toward the end, Mrs. Joy turned back from her desk, and I went up to distract her.

“I’m sorry about Charles,” she said. “I know you really cared about him.”

“I did,” I said.

“I want you to know it was good of you to try to comfort him,” she said. “I’m sure everyone in this place wishes they’d spent as much time trying to help him feel better as you did.”

“But… you weren’t even here this weekend,” I said.

“Josh,” she said. “Nothing in this place escapes me. Nothing.”

“But how did you know?”

“Josh,” she said, “everyone was talking about it this morning. I had fourteen people stop me before I got to my room.”

There was a pause.

“I see,” I said.

“You’re a good man, Josh,” she said. “You keep up the good work.”

She smiled at me, and I felt better. “Thank you,” I said. I smiled. “I will.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better.”

“Cause the first day you came in here, I saw you all down and depressed- look how far you’ve come. Look how far you’ve come.”

I felt warm inside. It was good to be cared for, and to be in a state of mind that could appreciate it. I suddenly didn’t want to lose contact with anyone here. A part of me wanted to stay here indefinitely, with all the friends I’d made, fighting the good fight and having heart to heart. I was beginning to like it here.

But mixed in with my adjustment was horror at what had happened. I was trying to keep the fact that Charles was dead, that one of us should have done something, out of my head. It was a constant taint on what would have otherwise been emotional stability.

She was smiling as she always was. “Don’t you think you’ve come a long way?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “You go get yourself a good education at USC. I wish you the best of luck in life, Josh.”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere yet,” I said.

She laughed, and I joined in.

“I know,” she said. She paused. “Did you finish your school work?”

“No,” I said.

She gave me a critical but friendly eye. “You’d better get to work then,” she said.

I nodded. “Yes ma’am.” I thought a minute. “Can you help me with it?”

“What are you having trouble with?”

“Radians,” I said. I actually was doing radians, but they were insanely easy, and I didn’t realize till she was crouched at my desk that this was actually going to work.

I kept her there for the rest of the period, feeling bad for wasting her time but knowing it was necessary.

Then Roy came to the door.

“You done here Mrs. Joy?” he asked.

“Just helping Josh,” she said.

“I get it now,” I said. “I just multiply this by 3.14, and it cancels out.”

She grinned at me. “I knew you could get it.”

I felt really, really bad for that, but at the same time I still knew it had been necessary.

“Let’s go then people,” said Roy.

We followed him out.

I was worried Mrs. Joy would see Allen get the letters out of the trash can, but I realized then that she was sitting with her back to it, on her computer, typing. She could type pretty fast.

I looked back at Allen. He was sliding the letters into his right sleeve; he was wearing scrubs today.

“I’ve got to get something from my room,” said Allen.

“What do you need?” said Roy.

“I just need to get my journal,” he said. “I want to write an entry in it.”

“You can do that on your own time, Allen,” said Roy. “This is group time. Wait till tonight.”

My heart raced some. I saw Allen look indecisive a moment, then come with us. I didn’t know what was running through his head, but I could tell he was as worried as I was that we’d be caught. How long could anyone inconspicuously hide a stack of paper in the sleeve of loose scrubs that strongly resembled pajamas?

I was trembling slightly as we walked to the rec room. I knew Amy would have picked up on it, but Roy seemed not to notice.

When we entered, I sat down next to Allen at a table.

“Roy,” said George, “can I play you in Blitz?”

Blitz was the name of a videogame-system football game.

“If you think you’re man enough to take me,” said Roy.

George grinned, but I could tell there was something behind his smile. “Who said you were man enough to take me?” he asked.

“You’d better have some serious plays to back up that mouth,” said Roy. They sat down to play the game.

Duane and Guy sat down behind them to watch, and Alyssa sat in front of me.

“Duane’s still got pockets, you know,” said Alyssa.

Allen waved a hand dismissively. “I can handle it.”

“It’ll be easier in gym,” I said. “You can sit in a corner and teach me meditation or something. We can ask to be left alone.”

Allen nodded. “We’ll do that.” He looked over to George where George was playing Roy in NFL Blitz to the sound of video-game cheers and grunts and shouts. “I’m going to have to thank him later.”

“That’s our veteran,” I said. “I think he knows everything about this place.”

“I get that impression myself,” said Alyssa.

Allen suddenly put his head in his hands. “I still don’t see how it happened.”

“None of us do,” said Alyssa. “That’s why we’re doing this.”

Allen looked up. “It won’t bring him back.”

“It might make it easier for the next person who comes in here,” said Alyssa.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you, Allen?” I asked.

Allen shook his head. “No.” He paused. “I just feel like there’s something more we can do, and I don’t know what.”

“We all feel like that to some extent,” said Alyssa. “But you have to remember, we’re not God.”

Allen nodded. “True. Or a god.”

Alyssa laughed. “I forgot you were Pagan.”

“What religion do you follow?” asked Allen.

Alyssa shrugged. “I’m not really religious. More like agnostic.”

“You don’t think you can know?”

“More like I don’t really care,” she said. “I’ll find out when I get there.”

Allen nodded. “Safe assumption.” He smiled.

He took his hands down from his head, and the papers slid out, making quite a noise.

Roy turned around. “What was that?” he asked.

I was about to try to scoop up the papers really quick, but Allen grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“I accidentally knocked over a stack of paper,” he said. “I’ll clean it up.”

“You better,” said Roy.

Allen scooped up the papers and looked at them skeptically. He looked at us for advice.

“Pants,” whispered Alyssa.

Allen gave her a dubious look.

“No one’s going to care,” I said.

Allen nodded, and pulled the front of his pants, bound by elastic, forward, then stuffed the papers inside. He put his shirt over the part that was sticking up. It was somewhat noticeable, but you’d have to be looking for it to find it. I hoped I was right on that.

Alyssa got up noisily and got some papers from the back, where a bookshelf stood with tons of art supplies on it. She spread them out on the table, then stacked them up again, noiselessly.

Allen gave her a stiff thumbs up.

Alyssa returned the papers to the back, all except for one, which she began to draw on using oil pastels she took from the back.

I guess the overriding visual element of the rec room was clutter. Everywhere you looked, you would see some artsy supply: string, magazines, tape, scissors (lots of them, too), oil pastels, crayons, markers, computer paper, drawing paper, and even things like tin or foil or origami books. The room was fairly small, too, made to look even smaller by the amount of stuff jammed into it.

I watched as Alyssa drew. She did a pretty fair representation of a horse, though I didn’t realize what it was at first. Of course, that’s the mark of any great artist: s/he starts with one small part, a part that isn’t recognizably anything, draws a further outline so that it still isn’t anything recognizable, and then finally makes it into something beautiful, with all the marking of exactly what it represents, in a way you never saw coming till near the very end. Alyssa was a little like that.

“That’s good,” I told her.

I realized I’d been watching intently for the last ten or fifteen minutes, and that Allen was now drawing something, too.

Alyssa held hers up. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Wonderful,” I said.

“Beyond any doubt,” said Allen. “Now what do you think of mine?” He held up a smiley face drawn across the whole page. We burst out laughing.

Allen grinned. “Autographs for a dollar,” he said.

“Which is convenient,” said Alyssa, “seeing as we can’t keep money in here.”

Allen nodded. “I’ll take a check, too, if you want.”

“How about a French kiss?” she asked.

“That’s membership dues,” said Allen.

Alyssa and I laughed.

“But to be fair,” I said, “you’d have to take it from the guys, too- and the guys outnumber the girls quite a bit.”

Allen grinned. “Fine with me.”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I forgot.”

Allen laughed. “It’s nice to be around people who can forget something like that. At school before I came here, everyone picked on me and told me I was going to Hell and none of them ever let me forget it.”

I frowned. “Did it ever occur to you, Allen,” I said- “not to be a pessimist or anything, but did it ever occur to you that nothing’s going to be different when you get back?”

Allen shook his head. “I hope you’re wrong,” he said.

“But if I’m not?”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” he said.

“You’re not going to try to kill yourself again, are you?” asked Alyssa.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Allen,” I said. “We’re making this group to stop things from happening like they did to Charles. If we’re worth anything, we’re going to make sure you don’t make the same mistake he did.”

There was an outburst from the game system. Evidently someone had just made a really good play.

“You’re going down now!” I heard George say.

Then the announcer came on: “Touchdown!”

More commotion.

Allen still hadn’t answered.

“Allen,” said Alyssa, “please, you’re the head of this group- if it has a president, you’re him. Can’t you just put up with it?”

Allen looked grave. “I’ll do a protection spell when I get back,” he said, “but I don’t know what to do other than that.”

“It’ll be enough,” I said.

“And if it’s not,” said Alyssa, “can’t you just be thick of skin? Or transfer to another school?”

Allen’s eyes lit up. “I could do that,” he said. “That’s a great idea.”

“Listen,” I said. “Allen, I want you to keep in touch when we leave, okay?”

Allen looked at me with appreciation exuding from his eyes. “I’ll do that,” he said. “Thank you.”

I wanted to hug him and say it would be all right, but I knew that would lead to quiet time for both of us, and that was something I did not want to risk.

“It’s better when you get to college,” said Alyssa. “They’ve got Gay-Straight Alliance and stuff like that.”

“Don’t rain on their parade, Allen,” I heard Roy call.

“Oh fuck you!” hollered Alyssa.

Roy turned to face her, anger, hurt, and fear in his eyes. I could see there, in the windows to his soul, that there was guilt in his heart. But I don’t think he’d figured out yet how to change his manner.

“I’m the only one in here,” he said. “But I will….”

Just then the door opened, and in came John.

“Sorry I’m late, Roy,” he said. He looked at Alyssa, who was standing now, looking angry and beat. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Roy. “Alyssa just cussed me out. Take her to quiet time.”

Alyssa ran her hands over the table, sending a box of markers to the floor, where it spilled, along with paper and a few magazines that had been scattered on the table. Then she turned the table over long ways and hurled it to come to a rest on another table beside the game system.

A nurse came in then, and John grabbed Alyssa by the arm.

I stood.

I heard Allen’s voice come from behind me in a screamed whisper: “No!”

I was burning. I wanted to help Alyssa. I loved her, and I knew she was going to get tranquilized.

“Don’t be stupid,” Allen told me as Alyssa collapsed on the floor. “There’s nothing you can do. You’ll only make it worse.”

The nurse pulled down Alyssa’s scrubs, then her panties, and shot her in the butt with a needle.

I heard her sobbing, screaming, “It’s your fault! It’s your fault! You bastards!”

John looked away, whether from discomfort or guilt I don’t know, but I felt no pity for him. When a man’s life or happiness is on the line as it is with psychiatry and counseling, there is no room for excusing incompetence.

“Come with me,” said Roy.

He led the rest of us to the gym.

“Make sure she cleans it up,” I heard him tell John as we shut the door behind us. I wondered what would happen to her. I hoped she cooled down before she got into any more trouble.

On the way to gym, I heard Allen’s papers pop as though suddenly un-bent.

“What was that?” said Roy.

Pause.

“Sorry,” said George.

“What did you do?”

“I passed gas,” he said.

“Next time excuse yourself,” said Roy, “or hold it till you’re alone.”

“Yes sir,” said George.

In gym, Allen and I sat alone, as planned.

“Some experiments,” he said. “I have some for you.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I know they’re not real now.”

“You do? How? I hope this isn’t just because of what I said.”

“It’s not.”

I heard a basketball bounce behind me; Allen was in the corner near the back where the door was, and I was facing him.

“Let’s get our game on,” said Guy.

“You two wimps against me,” said Roy.

“Why didn’t we tell Guy?” I asked.

“Just never found time to tell him,” said Allen. “We’ll bring him in on it sooner or later, though. But tell me how you decided your voices weren’t real?”

“This morning,” I said, “while we were waiting to start the day, I wound up getting in a conversation with Musashi. I asked him to tell me something I didn’t know, but he couldn’t, even though all he had to do was go outside my room to find out what was going on. Then when I forgot what we were talking about, I asked him, and he didn’t know either. That’s when it all clicked: none of this is real.”

Allen beamed at me. “I’m proud of you, Josh,” he said.

“Thank you,” I told him. I paused. “You know, it’s kind of funny....” I heard my own voice trail off.

“What’s funny?” said Allen.

“I guess I always expected to find someone crazy in a mental institution- more like, lots of crazy people. But the thing is, the only person in my whole visit that wasn’t completely sane was me.”

Allen laughed. “You’ve made a fast recovery,” he said. “Most people take a lot longer to overcome illusions of grandeur, much less be comfortable talking about it. It really is something awesome.”

I looked at him suddenly because it had just clicked in my head. “You did a spell for me, didn’t you?”

Allen shrugged, avoiding my eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Sort of. I did a healing to heal your mind.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I should tell you,” said Allen, “that it wasn’t completely ethical. Technically I’m supposed to have your permission before I do a spell or even Reiki- but I knew you’d say no, and that didn’t dissuade me. What do you think?”

“You’re right,” I said; “I never would have let you do anything to influence my mind.”

“In retrospect?”

“In retrospect,” I said, “I’m grateful.”

Allen smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

“Thank you,” I told him.

“You’re one of the good guys, Josh,” said Allen.

“So are you.”

We paused, and for the first time since I’d gotten here, I actually felt joy.

I really liked Allen. He was a good guy. I wasn’t sure if he had a crush on me or not, but then, I was sure he was used to handling being attracted to straight people. I really didn’t know how that ever worked out; I’d never loved a lesbian before, and that was the only thing I could think of to compare it to. But I knew I’d never ask him. I knew it wouldn’t help how he felt. And I was also pretty sure that he just wanted to be friends. It was a funny thought, though: it was possible for him to love me, but impossible for me to love him as anything more than a friend. But the warmth I knew we both felt in that moment was not romantic love; it was a river that ran deep, moving and churning and changing- and that river was friendship.

Eventually we got on with my lessons; he led me through some meditative exercises to help with visualization and concentration, then gave me a college-quality lecture on spell craft.

He also taught me how to make a talisman. “Raise energy,” he said, “like I showed you before- then send it into the object, and visualize your need.”

I picked up a quarter off the floor. “Will this work?”

“Aye,” he said, “it will.”

I put it in between my hands and visualized energy coming into me. Then I willed it into the quarter, visualizing home. I did this for three or four minutes, then stopped.

“What did you make it for?” Allen asked.

“To get me home,” I replied, “in time for graduation.”

“What did you visualize?”

“My house,” I said.

“Better add in a cap and gown,” he said.

I nodded, and repeated the steps, this time visualizing a cap and gown over my house.

“Come on you two,” I heard Roy call. I felt oddly ripped at, like I’d been yanked from one place to another, and got up with Allen to follow Roy, Guy, George and Duane to the door. Alyssa met us there, looking half-alive. I could tell she wouldn’t be functioning well for a while.

At dinner, I asked Alyssa, “What happened after we left?”

“Not a lot,” she replied with a worn-down voice. She yawned. “They just had me clean up everything and go to quiet time.”

We were all sitting together this time, and the conversation didn’t go far past that. John had joined us now.

After dinner we walked to evening group. Allen motioned for me to come to the back with him.

I walked beside him in the rear.

“Distract them if they turn around,” he said as we walked down the teenager ward.

I nodded, tense, but Roy and John still walked on.

I saw Allen look behind him out of the corner of my eye, but no one was watching, evidently, because he slid two sheets of paper under the door to what had been Charles’ room. I noticed as he did that they were mine.

I beamed at him.

“They were the best ones,” he said simply. “You’ve got a knack for writing.”

“Thanks,” I said.

And as we walked into the common room to start group, I felt like together we could conquer the world. There would not be another Charles, not literally, not metaphorically.

In the Wiccan words Allen was teaching me: “So mote it be.”

Chapter XVIII: Birthday Party

It’s the funniest thing: I had been so caught up with what had happened to Charles, and then the forming of group, that I had forgotten that that day was my own birthday. But after evening group, my parents took me down the halls toward the entrance. As I walked, I felt the urge to run- I knew I was going in the same direction I would walk in when I left this place, and it was tearing me up inside that I wasn’t leaving.

I actually stopped as my parents turned into the little room adjoining the entrance room. I stared out those doors at the blackness outside. In my head I could imagine cars, schools, smiling people- I imagined freedom. And there, with its odor wafting into my breath, I wanted more than ever to just be outside- just to walk outside, feel the wind at my back, the sun beating down on me.

“You coming, Josh?” asked Mom.

I nodded and turned to face her, walking into the room. Her face was full of concern.

We were in the same little room in which I had talked to the nurse before being fully instated. At that moment, and the moment when I was looking outside the glass doors, the outside world seemed more real than it had since I’d gotten here. There were presents on the table, wrapped in gift bags with plenty of colorful tissue; for a moment, I knew I had a life outside of these walls, that these walls were not the confines of my soul and my mind as they had come to seem, but that they were only temporary boundaries, stumbling blocks, to a large and complicated world. It’s hard to explain how in less than a week I had come to think of my life in terms of group therapy, counselors, hardship and a whole new set of friends, but I had. The friends I had met in here- they were my friends. Jessica was a girl from another life, a life that did not exist except in a distant corner of my mind.

But here, with my parents before me, all that had changed- here, my life was real, palpable, waiting to be renewed. And I knew, I somehow knew, that when I got out of here, everything would be okay again.

“Happy birthday,” my mom said. I heard her sniff.

“Happy birthday, Josh,” said my dad.

I looked up at them, suddenly aware my eyes were moist. I was more grateful for this act of kindness than I had been for any other, even Allen’s healing, in a long, long time. “Thank you,” I said.

Mom started to hug me, and I retreated instinctively.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m so used to not being allowed any PDA.”

“What’s that?”

“Public display of affection,” I said. “It means we can’t touch. But no one’s watching here, so it doesn’t matter.” I hugged her, and then I hugged my dad.

“Mom, Dad,” I said. “I love you.”

Mom sniffed. “I love you too,” she said.

“I love you too, Josh,” said Dad.

I parted from Mom, shook hands with Dad, and suddenly felt a sense of happiness.

“I appreciate it,” I said.

“You didn’t think we’d forget it, did you?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I forgot myself.”

“Why?”

“Other things on my mind,” I said. “A friend of mine committed suicide last night.”

“Oh my God,” said Mom, cupping a hand to her mouth.

“Why?” said Dad.

“He was sick of life,” I said. “He couldn’t stand life before he got here, and when he got here, everything got worse. Counselors picked on him, same as they do everyone, only it almost seemed worse- and he couldn’t take it.”

“Listen, Josh,” said Mom. “I want this to be a happy occasion. It’s your eighteenth birthday. Can we forget everything- the cutting, your friend’s suicide, the last week, your grade- can we just forget all that, just for today?”

I nodded, smiling at her. “Sure, Mom.”

Mom scooted one of the bags to the side to reveal a small cake.

“You want cake first or you want to open presents first?”

“I’ll eat the cake first,” I said. A tinge of excitement ran through me- I was about to eat the first good food I had had in a week.

She cut me off a slice- it was chocolate with white icing- and gave it to me on a paper plate. Then she cut off a slice for Dad, and finally one for herself. We had so much to talk about, but so little of it had anything to do with happy conversation- so Mom asked me a lot about what I wanted to do with my life, and eventually I told her about my conversion to Wicca, which got me onto Allen, which got me onto his helping me overcome my voices.

“I should tell you, Josh,” said Mom, but Dad cut her off.

“Are you sure he should know now?” asked Dad.

Mom nodded. “He’s overcome it,” she said. “I think he can handle it.”

“Handle what, Mom?” I asked.

Mom looked me in the eye, grabbing and holding my hand from across the table. “Josh,” she said, “you have schizophrenia.”

I jerked back instinctively, throwing the fork across the room together with a bite of cake.

“What?” I said.

“You have schizophrenia,” she repeated.

“That’s impossible,” I said. “I’m not crazy.”

“No, you’re not,” said Dad. “You’re just a little unwell.”

I thought of the song Unwell, by Metallica. I didn’t spend hours staring at the ceiling. I didn’t really hear voices. This was different. Maybe I was just retreating into denial and falsehood, but I was not schizophrenic. There was no way.

“I can’t be,” I said. “I’m perfectly sane. I’m not crazy.”

“Josh,” said Mom, “you’re going to have to accept it. Dr. Clellum thought you had it, and the psychiatrist here is certain.”

“Fuck him!” I said in a loud voice.

“Sh!” said Mom. “Calm down.”

I wasn’t schizophrenic. I wasn’t.

“Mom,” I said. “I think they diagnosed me wrong.”

“There’s no doubt about it, Josh,” said Dad. “You are schizophrenic. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept it.”

“What does this mean for me?” I asked.

“It means you have to be on medicine for life,” said Mom.

“Bull,” I said. “I don’t need medicine.”

“Yes, you do,” said Mom. “Your dad’s insurance covers it till you’re 22. After that you’ll have to find another way of paying it. But we’ll find a way, Josh, okay?”

I was calmed slightly, but my heart and head were still racing.

“It’s all right,” said Mom. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. I thought you could handle it. Finish your cake sweetie.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said. I put my face in my hands. I felt like I’d been sitting in a guillotine for days, with someone torturing me, and my head had just finally been chopped off.

“But how did you decide your voices weren’t real?” Mom asked.

I relaxed some, putting my hands back by my side to look her in the face. “I asked them to tell me what we’d been talking about before, when I couldn’t remember- and they couldn’t tell me.”

Mom had a look of pride in her eye, and if I thought I had mistaken it, she dispelled any disbelief when she said, “I’m proud of you, Josh.”

“I’m proud of you, too, Josh,” said Dad.

“Thank you, Mom, Dad” I said. But I still didn’t believe I was really schizophrenic. There had to be some mistake.

“Why don’t you open up your presents, sweetie?” said Mom.

I nodded. I shoved the thought of my diagnosis out of my head. I could think of that later. For now, I should be celebrating: it was the most important birthday of my life, and it was mine, and it should be a happy occasion, like Mom had said.

I grabbed one of the presents near me and tore out the tissue paper. Inside was a book, called Overcoming Depression by someone who had both been a psychologist and, in younger years, a mental patient. Reading the back, I instantly fell in love with the book. It said it addressed the different types of depressions and anxieties that came with different illnesses, as well as the author’s own experiences, what worked for him, and accounts from other patients.

I must have spent five minutes flipping through the book, honestly feeling as though I’d been waiting for this exact book for a year now, before Mom asked me to open my other presents.

I nodded. “Thank you,” I said.

“I take it you like it,” said Dad.

“Yeah, I do,” I said.

I opened the next bag, a bag with Christmas bells and ribbons painted into the cover design, which had a background color of, naturally, green. Inside was a thick leather-bound journal with shiny-gold edges to the pages, my name in gold on the outside, and tanned, glossy pages to write on.

“We thought,” said Mom, “that you might want to record what you’re going through right now, as something to keep you on the right track in the future, to remind you of what it’s like, and maybe to pass on to your children, so they can know what you went through and be helped through it themselves, if they wind up with schizophrenia.”

I didn’t like the ending of what she said, the implication again that I was schizophrenic, but I liked the idea.

“I’ll have to write in it tonight,” I said, “before I forget everything that’s happened to me.”

Mom nodded. “Open the third present,” she said.

I had liked the presents so far, and had a tough time believing that this next one could compare. But when I got rid of the massive amounts of tissue paper, and unwrapped the little oblong box inside, I was love-struck. Inside the nice blue box, in its leather interior, was, strapped down by tiny elastic bands and a thick glossy white ribbon, a fancy pen. The body was gold, shiny, with a cap that I took off. That’s when I realized it was a fountain pen. The tip was gold, supported by black plastic, all coming from the shiny gold body. It had an arrow-clip, and when I unscrewed the top, I saw a refillable black plastic container for the ink with a gold button on the side. Dad took out a bottle of ink from his pocket.

“I couldn’t put this in there with it without ruining the surprise,” he said, and unscrewed the lid. He held out his hand for the pen, and then he showed me how to fill it up by pressing the button on the side and then releasing it while the tip was submerged in ink. He also showed me how to wipe the tip off, then gave it to me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Yep,” said Dad.

“Well I could go for some more cake,” I said, and the three of us started eating again. It would click in my head later that they had stopped eating for me, but at the moment, any negative thoughts were gone from my mind. In the back, there in the recesses, was the thought that I had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and that that might be true, and that if it was, I was going to have a hard life- but at the time, I knew even less about relapses than I had known about mental institutions before coming here, and so, for the time being, my head was clear of such thoughts. I really did feel love for my parents, good, honest, affectionate love, like I couldn’t remember feeling in so long. It wasn’t need, like it had been when I’d first gotten here, nor was it kept down, like it had been when we were fighting- it was vibrant. It was fearless. And it felt good.

I parted from my parents in such a good mood that the fear of our being caught and punished, I could only imagine how severely, for our forgeries was completely gone from my mind.

But when the nurse dropped me off, and I was alone in the common room, Allen nodded at me for me to come over.

I was in such a good mood I really wasn’t very discreet. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Come here.”

I nodded and joined him on the couch in front of the TV.

“Guy got blamed for the letters,” said Allen. “They know it wasn’t a counselor.”

I went stiff. “What are we going to do?”

Allen shrugged. “Well, it can’t obviously work anymore, but Guy talked to us all, and he agreed to take the blame.”

“He can’t!” I said. “It wasn’t even his doing. He didn’t even know!”

“I know,” said Allen. “And I wasn’t going to let him take the blame for it initially either. None of us were going to let him do that for us. But he made a very good point: his life is screwed, any way you look at it. He’s going to jail, for God knows how long, any way you look at it. At best, he’ll be in a group home- but that’s dreaming. He’s screwed, Josh. He can’t be any worse off. So this really isn’t going to hurt him as much as it would hurt us. I wish there were some way to repay him, but all I could think of was to tell him he had no clue how grateful we were. We all agreed on that.”

“So this is the end of the Brotherhood?” I said.

“Maybe,” said Allen. “Probably. But I just know, I just somehow know, that this isn’t the end of the fight, and I really think we can still win.”

“You’re dreaming, Allen,” I said. Then instantly: “I’m sorry.”

“No,” said Allen, “you’re right, I know. I just can’t think of letting this bullshit keep happening.”

“I hear you, Allen,” I said. “Hey, if there’s ever anything you need help with, if the Brotherhood turns out it can work, that it does have a point, you let me know, all right?”

“Aye,” said Allen. “You can count on it.”

I reached over to shake his hand, but he drew back.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Sorry.”

Wonderland was over. Back to the real world.

“My parents got me a journal,” I said. “I’m going to go write in it.”

Allen nodded. “Tell me if it gives you any ideas,” he said.

“Count on it,” I said, standing. I walked toward my room.

In my room, I wrote of the failure of the Brotherhood, as well as the past few months of my life. In the end, it took me about 12 pages to cover everything. I felt very satisfied, but for once did not feel like going to bed. Someone knocked on my door.

“Yes?” I asked.

The door opened, and a nurse came in. “You missed meds,” she said. She brought me the pills and a cup of water, and I took them. Strange: there was not even a thought of hiding them in my cheeks now. She checked my mouth anyway, but I think she knew she didn’t have to.

I heard music coming from outside, and went to the common room in search of its source. A small portable stereo was playing relaxing, New Age music. Everyone was sitting around in a circle, listening.

I sat down, too, and listened. “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

George looked at me incredulously. “We’ve been doing this every night,” he said.

“You have?” I asked.

“You didn’t know that?” said Allen.

“I never had any idea,” I said.

“Quiet down,” I heard Roy say.

Suddenly I was bitter. Roy was going to get away with how he treated Charles, he and John would keep taunting people like that, and nothing was going to be done about it.

But come next morning, something was going to happen.

Chapter XIX: A Toast

I remember waking up, just knowing something had changed. It was in the air- like there was something positive. It was in my mind- like everything was going to be all right, like something had changed. It was early morning still, and I spent most of it pondering whether or not this was a premonition. I thought yes, but I was scared of being wrong and feeling like a fool, so I postponed certainty. I remembered what Allen and Ashley had taught me, and sat down on the floor meditating.

I focused on wanting to know why I felt good, on what it meant, and on what, if anything, had happened.

And that’s when it dawned on me, like trickling water suddenly shooting through the faucet. Our letters had worked.

I got up, started pacing. Suppose this, too, was an illusion of my mind.

The voices weren’t real. Neither were the magickal techniques I had originally learned. I wondered if, maybe, none of religion was real. What, after all, was the difference between a God that spoke to a prophet, and a God that spoke to a “schizophrenic”?

That got me to wondering about that. Was I really schizophrenic? I couldn’t be. This was a one-time thing. That wasn’t premonitory, I knew- I just knew in my heart and in my soul, or rather hoped in my heart and in my soul, that this was the only time in my life I would go through all this. More like I dreaded returning to how I had been so much that I could not believe it would ever return.

And I didn’t want to be crazy. Maybe it would be safer if I just avoided religion at all, at least until I was older and more stable.

But I knew I had come to love this broad world of occultism and religion so much that I wouldn’t drop it unless it proved false.

I wondered if Allen would think this premonition were real.

Someone banged on my door.

“Breakfast!”

My heart raced. It was a new voice. I was beginning to believe in myself again. I just hoped that this time my faith was not misplaced.

But then again, what would I ever accomplish if I constantly nit-picked anxiously at a reality I was never certain of? If a drummer wasn’t sure his drum existed, and tried constantly to make sure it was really there, what could he ever accomplish? He certainly wouldn’t be able to play a tune.

So then I decided that in the end, I should be careful, but not too paranoid. I’d trust other people who believed in the occult, people more experienced than I, to teach me and to guide me toward truth- but I wouldn’t doubt constantly that what I was doing was real or deem it fantasy, until, logically, that was the valid alternative.

As I was making my bed, I thought on this more, specifically about my premonition.

As I finished making my bed, I stood back, looking at it blindly, and decided that I would let this premonition determine it. If the premonition came true, then some of this must be real, and I would have to figure out what. If it didn’t, then I could kiss this world of the occult goodbye, and become an atheist like I had been for most of my life.

I hoped, too, that I was right- if Roy and John had been fired, things would be better. I wanted that. I wanted to know not so much that we had made a difference, but that things were going to change- and if they’d been fired, both those statements were true.

I walked out my door. There was a large black man, who introduced himself as Mike, and Amy. John and Roy were nowhere to be seen.

My heart was racing.

“Where are John and Roy?” I asked Amy.

“They’ve been fired, Josh,” she said.

I wanted to leap for joy, to shout my pride, to exuberantly hug her, even though I knew she probably didn’t see it as a good thing.

But I turned to the wall, and, unable to contain myself, got back into my room and got on my knees, crying. From that position, prayer came so naturally that I was addressing the Goddess out loud before I even realized what I was doing:

“Dear Goddess, thank you, thank you, for letting this happen, for coming into my life. I want to worship you till I die, I want to celebrate your ways, I want to work for the good of the world, and I want to do it all with you by my side. I love you. Even though I have only known you so short a time, you seem so close now. I thank you for putting Allen in a place to teach me, for keeping me alive, for watching over me because I know you have. I want to be with you when I die, and I want to know that it won’t be till I’m an old man. I want to never come back here. I want to never come back.”

I sobbed, and was unable to continue. I rose silently, tears dripping to the floor. Then I wiped my eyes, blew my nose, and heeded the call to breakfast. I walked with my friends to what I was sure was the beginning of a bright and beautiful day.

At lunch, Alyssa took me aside while everyone was going through the line and everyone’s back was turned. She looked me in the eye, and said, “We did it, Josh.”

I nodded. “I don’t think we can ever repay Allen.”

“Hey, we used your letters,” she said.

She looked both ways and around, then said, “Josh…”

“Yeah?”

I could hear trays clinking in the background.

“You kind of pushed me into something earlier….”

“What? What did I do?” I asked. I was feeling too good to be worried, though.

“Into not doing this,” she said, and she grabbed my head and kissed me on the lips. For a period of about three or four seconds, we shared an exhilarating kiss, passionate, and made only more so by the fact that if we were caught we would both be in a lot of trouble.

I think she would have kissed me longer, but I looked up and saw Amy starting to turn, so I pushed her off of me quickly. Amy didn’t wind up turning the rest of the way right then, but it was enough for me.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to opt out of a French kiss with me just because you could wind up in quiet time?” she said.

“Alyssa, listen,” I said.

“You don’t like me, do you?” she said. “That’s why….”

“No!” I said.

“I understand…” she began, starting to turn away, but I grabbed her and turned her toward me. She looked into my eyes, and oh, were her eyes beautiful.

“You have beautiful eyes,” I said, without thinking.

She burst out laughing. “So you like me or don’t you, Josh?”

I realized Amy, who had been bringing up the rear, was just now making it through the line. I started to go through.

“Listen,” I said. “I don’t think it’s a crush. I think it could be, but I think it’s more. I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you, Alyssa.”

“You did?” she said.

“Yeah.”

I got a few cartons of juice absent-mindedly, and got pancakes that I knew would be awful, along with a bowl of cereal that would, thankfully, be decent.

“So what’s the deal, Josh? You going to go out with me?”

I looked at her and smiled. “I’m going to do better than go out with you,” I said. “Wait till we sit down. I want to talk to you in private.”

I saw the lunch lady give me a careful eye, and I said, “Not that it’s anything secret, Alyssa. I just don’t like sharing my feelings in front of everyone.”

“I understand,” said Alyssa.

We sat down by ourselves in the middle of the room. As we did, I saw a counselor I hadn’t seen before, together with a grungy adult patient in scrubs, get up and walk to the door.

“So,” said Alyssa. “Spill.”

I could tell my eyes were gleaming. I had a sense of mischief, and I knew it would work.

“Alyssa,” I said, “I want to take you to prom.”

“Josh,” she said, “that’s tonight.”

“I know.” I grinned.

“Hold up, you’re not planning on both of us leaving today, are you?”

“No,” I said, “not permanently.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Listen,” I said. “This is what we do. We tell our parents we want them to take us out to eat tonight. Get money from them somehow. We’ll both sneak off, and meet at prom.”

“How the hell do we get home, Josh? Enlighten me.”

I thought a minute. “You know, I really haven’t got that one figured out yet.”

Alyssa’s eyes lit up. “My mom’ll give me money for just about anything. I can tell her there’s a store here, and I need money. And,” she added, grinning mischievously, “for the pure thrill of it- we meet at the little road you turn into to get here.”

“How do we get a ride?” I asked.

“Call a taxi,” she said casually, “with my mom’s cell phone.”

Now I was feeling excited. “Alyssa, you realize this is doable?”

“It’s not just doable,” she said. “It’s going to happen.”

“Alyssa, when we get to prom, I am going to kiss the hell out of you.”

She grinned. “I look forward to it. And here I was worried you’d never make a move. Oh wait, that’s right, I made the move.”

I laughed at my own expense. I don’t think I could have done that before I’d gotten here.

“Alyssa,” I said. “Let’s promise each other something. Let’s promise each other that after we get out of here, we’re never coming back.”

“So mote it be,” she said slowly. “Oh wait, watch those Harry Potter colors go flying.”

“Alyssa, I’m serious.”

She looked me in the eye. “Sorry. You must know by now I don’t take things very seriously. What were you saying?”

“I was saying, let’s promise each other we’re never going to come back here.”

From the table behind me, at the end near the exit, I heard George’s voice say: “I’m not coming back here, I know that.”

“I’m not either,” said Allen. “I’ve decided I’m going to learn to deal with this crap people push on me. I can handle it. I’m never coming back here.”

“Me neither,” said Duane. “I’m quitting my gang and I ain’t never going to go near it again.”

I turned around, standing, and lifted my cup of orange juice on impulse.

“To the finest community of friends I could have ever hoped to find, even if it weren’t a mental institution,” I said; “to the ideal that we’re not coming back here,” I continued, looking around at everyone- “and to all of us, cause every one of us is someone special, and we’re all staying outside these walls till we die natural, mind, natural, deaths. To all of you- I am grateful to have met such wonderful people.”

“To Josh,” said Allen.

“To Josh,” said Guy.

“To all of us,” I muttered, and we drank our orange juice as though it were the finest wine Bordeaux had ever produced.

“I’m proud of you, Josh,” said Amy as I sat down. “You’ve come a long way.”

“Thank you,” I said.

A few minutes later, we went to morning group.

Chapter XX: Guy

Morning group was fairly carefree. Guy wasn’t there, so I thought maybe he was leaving. But toward the end of group, he walked in with a bald police officer, and my heart plummeted with fear for what I knew must be about to happen.

“I want you all to know I appreciate how good you’ve been to me,” he said. He was standing there, the short Asian kid who could have stood his own in almost any fight, clearly painfully aware that he had lost the biggest battle of his life.

“Guy….” I said.

“Guy is going to prison,” said Amy. “He didn’t want any of you to know till it was time for him to leave.”

“All of you,” said Guy, “I want you to live straight, and do like you said at breakfast- don’t come back here.”

“Sit down, Guy,” said Amy.

Guy looked at the officer, who nodded.

Guy sat down, looking severely disheartened and earnest.

“Before you go, Guy,” said Amy, “I want everyone to go around and say something nice about you. Can we all do that?”

“Yes ma’am,” we all said.

“Josh, why don’t you start?”

“Guy,” I said, “I think even if you were misguided, your heart was always in the right place. I can think of multiple sacrifices you’ve made since you got here, and even when you came in, it was a sacrifice that led you to being here. I know you’re not going anywhere good, but keep in mind, you’re a good guy, and you deserve better, and you’ll get better when you get out. Just don’t lose hope, man. There’s always hope.”

“Thank you, Josh,” said Guy. I knew he wouldn’t cry, but his face looked about as close to it as I imagined it would ever get. “You have helped me find my way some, since I lost it, and I am grateful to you. I know when me, you and Ashley were going at it, you were pretty brave talking to me after I threatened to beat you up. I know you looked out for me, and I feel like you had more faith in me than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m going to miss you, dawg. I’m going to miss you. If you see Ashley again, tell her I said hey.”

“You were a good friend to her,” I said. “She couldn’t have asked for better.” “Thank you,” said Guy.

“George?” said Amy.

“Guy,” George began, “I’ve seen you grow since we got here, and I just want you to know, and I hope you can remember this, it’s not being in prison, it’s not being in a mental hospital, it’s not where you are that matters”- he pointed to his heart- “it’s where you are in here.” He paused. “Keep that in mind, man. I know you can make it through. It’s not the end of the world- you just have to make best with what you’ve got, and no matter where you go, you’ve got to remember the capability to be happy is always in you, you just have to draw it out. I love you, Guy.”

“I love you too,” said Guy. And that was all he said. But his face was bent into gratitude.

Duane was next. “Guy, I don’t know you that well, but everyone here seems to think very highly of you. All I got to say is, whatever happens, you still got your second chance when what’s done is done. I got time in here, and then when I get out, I’ve got another chance at life. Just keep in mind, some day, you’re going to get that chance, too- and that’s all I got to say dawg, just keep that in mind.”

“Thank you,” said Guy.

Allen was next. “Guy,” he said, “you and I both know you’ve helped all of us out more than we can openly say. Just remember, in the end, you did the selfless thing- and just think, as hard as things are going to be, someday, you’re going to have so much good karma, this’ll all seem just like a bad dream.”

Guy nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

Allen and he locked eyes, as I could tell by looking at Allen’s gaze. “I am,” he said, “beyond any shadow of a doubt. Good things will come- maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they will. You have my word on that.”

Guy nodded. “Thank you.”

Allen smiled at him, his face as stiff as always, but filled with warmth and pain. “Words are cheap, Guy- but they’re also priceless.”

They looked at each other another minute, and then Alyssa said in true form, “Guy, forget all this solemn stuff. You just go in there, do your time, and come out with clean hands and a happy heart. You got to think, this place, here, is like prison. Were you happy here?”

“Not really,” said Guy.

That seemed to stall Alyssa, but she went on in a minute anyway. “Well I am. So you go get you the best days you can have, and like George said- you just keep on pushing along, and sooner or later you won’t be reaping wheat, you’ll be eating bread. And you’re going to be happy again.” She paused, then became solemn. “And Guy?”

“Yeah?”

“You have no idea how freaking grateful we all are for knowing you.”

“Is that all?” asked the officer.

“That’s all,” said Amy. “They’ve all done better than I ever could have- just keep your chin up, Guy. You’ll make it through. Things always get better.”

But I could tell Guy wasn’t listening. He was looking at all of us. And as he turned to go with the police officer, he suddenly sank to one knee, then stumbled forward. And then, and then, he did cry.

I could hear him blowing his nose into a tissue the officer provided him with all the way down the hall, and I could see something shiny fall to the floor again and again.

I was so sorry for the fact that he’d taken the blame- but he’d taken it willingly, and I’d be a fool to mess it up. He was screwed either way, anyway, as he’d said.

But all the same, I thought it should have been us, not him.

And maybe in the public record, Guy went down as a violent criminal, but in my book, he went down as a hero.

Time passed that day, and my parents agreed to take me out to eat. I started to feel better by that time partially because I had decided not to let my fears or guilt get in the way of having a good time tonight.

Alyssa told me her parents had also agreed to take her out, and I knew this was meant to be.

It was meant to be- it was meant to be for Ashley. For anyone who’d ever been in a mental institution. For Guy because he’d never get to go to another prom. I imagined in my head that it was he going out tonight, that he’d be dancing with Alyssa instead of me- and I felt better about it.

And then the moment came. For dinner that night, my parents were going to take me to Chinese. And as I walked out the mental institution, outside for the first time in nearly a week, I felt such an exhilarating sense of joy and freedom that I knew tonight was my night. It was my night to shine. It was my night to live, to make up for the deadness of the past months. And whatever happened as a result, I would have no regrets.

And even though Alyssa wasn’t going to get to be dressed up, I knew she’d be the most beautiful girl there, and a goddess in my eyes.

Chapter XXI: Prom

As Dad drove Mom and me out of the parking lot, Mom asked me, “Where do you want to go, Josh?”

I thought a minute. “Mom,” I said, “why don’t we go somewhere close to here? I want to have as much time to eat in there as I can.”

Mom hesitated. “Sure, Josh,” she said.

Outside, darkness was falling. I estimated that it was nearly 8:00.

“There’s a little Mexican restaurant along the road here,” she said.

“That’s fine with me,” I said.

There in the car, as we drove, I thought more about “my” illness. I wanted to know, suddenly, what schizophrenia caused. Maybe that would help me shed some light on the subject.

“Mom,” I asked, “what does schizophrenia do?”

“It causes voices and paranoia,” said Dad, “and a lot of emotional problems. It’s a chemical imbalance in your brain.”

“It’s just like any other illness,” said Mom; “you have to treat it, and it will get better.”

“How long is it before the pills kick in?”

“It’ll take some time, Josh,” said Mom.

We turned into a brightly lit sombrero- roofed restaurant.

“But Mom,” I said, “I’m doing much better now. Suppose that means I’m not schizophrenic?”

“You have something, Josh,” said Dad, and I realized he was right.

There was a pause as Dad parked, then we all got out and Dad went on.

“The psychiatrists in that place know what they’re doing. I’m sure it wasn’t a misdiagnosis. We’ve been reading up on it. What it does is a lot like what’s been happening to you. You should do some reading, too, when you get out.”

I really didn’t feel like doing a ton of research. Besides, if I was living it, didn’t that mean I was the ultimate source?

“Are you really doing better?” asked Mom.

“I’m doing a lot better,” I said.

Mom chuckled. “I’m glad, Josh,” she said. “I’m really glad.” I could almost hear her and Dad smiling from the front seat. “But recovery takes time.”

“I’m doing better, Mom, I swear,” I said. “I’m almost beginning to like it in there.” I paused.

We all took in our surroundings for the first time. It was packed. We started walking toward the door.

“So what’s new?” I asked.

“I’ve decided to go back to school to get my Master’s,” Mom said. “I’m going to be a counselor.”

“That’s awesome!” I said. “You’d be a good one, Mom.”

“Thank you, Josh,” she said.

I opened the door for my parents, and then I followed them inside.

There was a waiter there behind a counter, with a huge waiting line of mostly teenagers, and a myriad of tables and booths spread throughout the establishment, some areas blocked by walls, all lit brightly with Mexican music playing in the background. I tried to think of how I was going to do this.

Truth be told, I was nervous. But I was also excited. Prom! This was my last chance to go to prom; I was going to make it.

And then I formulated a plan. It was a simple plan, and it didn’t have the grandeur of all the crazy things we’d be doing later tonight, but it would work.

I sat and waited in line with my parents. We talked about Mom’s new job, my dad’s firm, my school friends, how worried people were about me, the crazy things my parents had told some of my friends- visiting a dying aunt who had leukemia, believe it or not, was one of their better ones. We laughed and had a good time about all that, and I felt so much more at ease with my parents than I had in a long, long time- since even before any of my illness started. I was not afraid to love them, and love them openly. I was not annoyed with them, or mad at them, or feeling belittled by them. And they seemed to understand as well as I did that no, we didn’t have to fight.

We had a good time talking, especially in the festive atmosphere, but I did not forget the night’s goal. Finally a waiter came and led us to our seats.

The waiter handed us our menus, Dad and Mom on one side of our red-cushioned booth, me on the other side.

My plan revolved around one thing: Dad had always had bad stomach acid. If he still had some in the car, this would work.

I knew I didn’t want to keep Alyssa waiting too long- especially not on the property of the very place we were breaking out of- so I knew I had to maximize how convincing I was.

I stood, hand at my stomach.

“What’s wrong?” said Mom.

“I’m feeling sick,” I said. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Hey, Dad- are there antacids in the car?”

“Yeah,” said Dad.

“Can I get the keys?”

Mom, who was on the outside, handed hers to me.

“Thanks,” I said. “Which way’s the bathroom?”

“It’s by the door we came in at, Josh,” said Mom, sounding concerned.

Perfect.

I walked slowly at first, then sped up after Mom and Dad were out of view, their backs being to me. I walked out the door as inconspicuously as possible, knowing that if the waiter told Mom and Dad he’d seen me leaving when they asked about me, it wouldn’t matter- they were expecting me to go outside.

When I was out of the light of the restaurant, there in the gathering darkness, I started running. I prayed and prayed I wouldn’t get lost.

My nervousness gave me energy as I ran down the side of the road, which was busy. I ran, and I ran, and I ran. When I got tired, I kept running anyway. Buildings passed by, too slowly for my mood. I wanted to go faster. I had to go faster.

I was scared the whole time that someone would stop me and ask me where I was going. After all, I was wearing scrubs- anyone who knew much about mental institutions would be able to spot me as a runaway in a heartbeat.

But no one did. I’m sure that that night, several people pointed at me from out of their car windows to their children and said, “You see him? If you see someone who looks like that, avoid him.” I was sure even more people were saying to their friends, “Dude, do you think he’s high? Look at that outfit!”

But I didn’t care. It wasn’t about what people would think about me. It was about me, about living a good life, about going to prom like I deserved to, about winning against my illness….

There, I had admitted it. I was schizophrenic. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have thought that I could talk to spirits; I wouldn’t have mistaken video game magic for real magick; I wouldn’t have spent hours on hours wishing I were dead. There was something wrong with me: I was schizophrenic. But in a way, it was a gift: I had gotten shoved into my face rather brutally this idea that reality was not clear cut. What so many people did not understand was, they were just as mistaken as I had been. So many people believed in things as I had, without proof, without doubt- and that was the mistake I had made, a mistake I knew I could never make again.

I had learned that reality was not absolutely clear, and that it wasn’t something you could take for granted; how many people never learned those lessons? How many people never felt joy just to be outside? I’d say a lot didn’t.

As I neared the hospital, I felt joy surging through me, and this gave me the little surge of strength I needed.

When I got to the front gate, I collapsed by the bushes and panted hard, sucking in breath. My energy was gone, and I felt like I was going to die. I finally managed to get up and look around.

I didn’t see Alyssa anywhere.

I started walking around, looking for her, calling her name softly.

Oh dear, let this work, I prayed silently. Goddess, Jesus- whoever, let this work.

I heard the bushes rustle, and jumped. Then I went over to it, heart racing, saying Alyssa’s name softly.

A squirrel jumped out and ran toward a tree, obviously away from me.

“Alyssa!” I moaned.

I was sure they must have cameras here, and that if I stayed here much longer, I’d be caught. Mom and Dad surely knew I’d run away at this point; I wondered how badly they’d chew me out for this. I imagined they’d be mad as Hell.

But if this would only work, if it would only work, it would be worth it.

I saw someone running down the street the opposite way I had come, and ran toward the figure. Hopefully this wasn’t some random person who would mistake me as someone posing a threat.

But as I drew nearer, she called my name: “Josh!”

“Alyssa!” I said.

We stopped in front of each other awkwardly, then I threw my arms around her and kissed her on the lips. She opened her mouth, and our tongues played in each other’s mouths. It wasn’t the kiss that was so great: it was who it was with.

Finally we drew back, and she said, “I’ll call a taxi right now. But I think it would be better if we met it at the gas station down the road.”

I nodded. “We don’t want anyone knowing we’re breaking out. The further away the better.”

“Do you have a phone book?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

She swore.

“But they’ll have one at the gas station,” I said.

She made a gesture of satisfaction. “Yes! That’s what we’ll do. Come on.”

We started running for the gas station.

“Do you have the money?” I asked her.

“I’ve got a hundred fifty dollars. I had to take more than I said I was going to take, but I don’t think she’ll notice till it’s too late.”

“You stole it?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I had to, Josh.”

I nodded. I didn’t like it, but I hadn’t done my parents much better.

She stopped in the parking lot of the gas station, panting under the bright lights. The smell of gasoline was nauseating. The lot was vacant. A restaurant was next door.

“You go in,” she said.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll need the cell phone.”

She handed it to me. “Here. Just be discreet.” Her eyes lit up suddenly, and she pointed. I looked. There was a pay phone next to the gas station door, with a phone book beneath, in a little metal tray.

“You have any quarters?” I asked.

“You’ll have to get it from inside,” she said.

I stiffened. “Don’t you think they’ll realize where we’re from?”

“There’s no other way,” she said.

I nodded. I walked to the door and opened it, trying to be calm. I opened it, and a little bell rang. I passed by a few shelves of junk food, and then I got an idea.

I walked to the back and looked around. The humming of the refrigerator gnawed at my insides.

I looked at the prices till I found one that was 99 cents. Perfect.

I got it, and went to the counter.

The man behind it gave me a suspicious eye, but I went ahead and bought it.

“Who are you with, sir?” he asked.

And this time around, I got the Alyssa thing down. “I’m on a field trip,” I said.

“Field trip?” he said. “With school?”

“No,” I said. “Look, I’m embarrassed. I’m on a field trip with a group from… it’s really personal,” I said.

The man grinned. “I understand.”

“Don’t tell anyone, all right?” I said.

“Oh from what I hear, I’m bound to confidentiality.” He looked out the window, and his grin faded. “Where are your friends and your cars?”

“We walked,” I said.

He finished ringing up the soda and took out the change.

“If you say so,” he said, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“They’re at the place next to here,” I said, “at the restaurant.”

“Eating out?”

“God, you have no freaking clue how hard it was to get them to let us do that,” I said. “They don’t let us do anything, and man, this is the best night since I’ve gotten here. Things are getting better, fast.”

The man leaned in close and whispered as though there were someone listening. “You didn’t hear this from me,” he said, “but that place is about to go through major changes. They think the patients are going to sue, and they’re trying their best to hush things up. I hear they sent one guy to jail, but they’re not even sure it was him. But you didn’t hear that from me- my brother would kill me.”

“Aye,” I said, “I can promise you that, so long as you don’t tell anyone, Mr. Johnson,” I said, looking at his nametag and wondering how the two could have been so different, “about my coming here, cause I’m supposed to be in solitary confinement right now.”

He scowled.

“Have a nice day,” I said, and walked out.

Outside, Alyssa was waiting. I handed her the coins, and she made a call. The phone book was already opened in front of her.

“Yes, I’d like to get a ride,” she said. Pause. “Uhm, at the BP station on…” She turned and looked, then cupped a hand over the phone and asked me, “What street is this?”

“Marriott,” I said.

She nodded. “At the BP station on Mariott,” she said into the phone. Pause. “We want to go to Marty’s Pizza.” Pause. “15 minutes? We’ll be here, thank you.”

She hung up.

“Okay,” she said. “Now we’ve just got to wait.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Shoot,” she said, “you can go ask that guy what time it is, but I’m not risking it.” She turned to me. “I have so much I want to tell you, so much I want to say, and I really don’t know where to begin or how to say it.”

I instinctively closed in on her, and kissed her.

I felt such happiness and love sprouting from where it had been bottled up inside me. I loved this girl, and this felt so good. We had so much in common, and yet we were different enough that she was so interesting. She was awesome. She was pretty. She was brave. And I loved her.

“I really, really like you,” I said.

“Hell, I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” I said.

“And we’re both going down tonight,” she said. “But first, we’re going to really live.”

I heard a car pull up, and I turned. It was a police car.

I grabbed Alyssa’s hand and pulled her off toward the edge of the building, which we hid behind.

“They’re not taking me unless it’s by force,” said Alyssa. “I’ve been waiting for a night like this.”

I wondered how she’d changed from wanting to be in the mental hospital to wanting so desperately to leave. I asked her in a whisper.

She laughed. “I still like it there,” she said. “I just wanted to go to prom. And I wanted to go with you.”

Her mouth was close to mine again, though I wasn’t sure how, and I kissed her again.

Then we sat in tense silence- tense for me, anyway- she looked totally unafraid.

I heard another car driving up. Looking around the corner, I saw the police officer going inside and a taxi cab driving up.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We walked out to the taxi cab, and got in. It was musty, old, and run down. Even the outside had looked rather dinghy.

Alyssa shut the door behind her. She said, “To Andersonville.”

The man looked at us incredulously. “This isn’t a bus or a carriage, your highness,” he said. “And Andersonville ain’t no Marty’s Pizzeria.”

Alyssa pulled out a $50 bill. “If you can get us to the Andersonville Civic Center, I’ll give you this.”

“And what else? How about 60 dollars?”

“I’ll give you 80,” said Alyssa.

“Sweet Jesus, we got a hot one,” said the cab driver, and he pulled out of the parking lot.

I looked out the back window. The police officer was walking back to his car. I saw him flick something shut, and I suddenly realized that he’d only stopped for gas.

I glowed.

“So you two get stuck here or what?”

“There’s a keeping to your own business fee in that $80, sir,” said Alyssa.

“Have it your way, bitch,” said the cab driver.

“She doesn’t mean to be mean,” I said. “It’s just…”

She pinched my arm.

“No, I understand,” said the driver. “Criminals, low-lives- I get them all the time. But I’ll tell you now, it never works out.”

We drove on in silence.

I took off my seat belt and wrapped my arms around Alyssa. It felt so good to have her there in my arms, and we wound up cuddling for the whole ride.

I lost track of time, and when darkness faded to bright lights, I was actually shocked when the driver said, “We’re here. Get out and go do something decent with your lives.”

Alyssa and I got up. Alyssa sat up and handed him the $80 eagerly. “I can’t thank you enough, sir,” she said. “Imagine what it would have been like if you hadn’t gotten to go to prom your senior year. We’re very, very grateful.”

“And still will be when whatever shady business you’re doing gets caught, I’m sure,” said the driver.

“We will be,” said Alyssa. She climbed out of the cab. “Have a good night!”

I got out after her.

I looked into Alyssa’s eyes. “You ready?” I said.

“Hell yeah,” she said, and we started walking for the door.

The Civic Center was a huge concrete building with a parking lot currently brim-full. We walked to the door, wherefrom loud music was coming. A red carpet greeted us, and we walked up to the ticket table, catching a glimpse of the interior.

“We’d like two tickets,” said Alyssa.

“Names?”

“Joshua Hammonds and Alyssa Johnson.”

As she finished the exchange, I looked around.

Space-themed decorations filled the room, which had enough volume to fit a couple dozen round tables with chairs, a dance floor with a strobe light, and a neat, orderly snack bar, which had a white tablecloth and tons of orderly, neat food.

Alyssa started walking, and I walked with her. We went to the floor and danced. It was a slow song, and the dance was sexual, romantic, and joyful all at once. I felt like I could cry for joy. We looked into each other’s eyes the whole time, and at the end of the dance, I kissed her.

I tried to think of how long I had known her, and thought that for such a short time, it must be impossible we could already be in this deep. But I knew we were. In some way, we had been since I’d first seen her.

“Josh?!” I heard a girl’s voice say from behind me.

I drew back and closed my eyes. It was Jessica.

“Hey!” she said. “Last I heard you were in the mental institution? How’d you get out?”

“Calm down bitch,” I heard Alyssa say. “He doesn’t have anything to say to you.”

“Oh I’m sure he doesn’t, but I got something to say to him,” said Jessica.

I turned to face her.

“No,” I said, “you don’t. Now go away.”

She looked more entertained than anything else. “Wait….” She looked at our clothes in alarm. “You….”

“We broke out,” said Alyssa. “But we’re not fully recovered yet, so you might want to back away- I wouldn’t want anything crazy to happen.”

Jessica backed away some.

I laughed. “Thank you, Alyssa,” I said.

“You two belong in that place, you know that?” said Jessica.

“Yeah, we do,” said Alyssa, “and you belong in a box on the street, you tell me which is worse.”

“Josh’s got a new girlfriend,” said Jessica. “Let’s see how long we can keep this one, Josh.”

“Certainly longer than I’d want to keep you,” I said.

People were looking at us now, I realized.

“Let’s go, Alyssa,” I said. “Off somewhere alone.”

Alyssa nodded, and we started walking away. Jessica followed, but Alyssa turned around and took two steps toward her, and she stopped. Then we continued.

When we got to the corner, by ourselves, she kissed me on the cheek and then started crying.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I just feel like I’m getting so close to you,” she said, “and I don’t even know if it’s a good thing. I feel like I know you, but I don’t know how I can, and I don’t want to hurt you….”

“You won’t hurt me, Alyssa,” I said, “and if you do, it’s okay. And that’s how mental hospitals are. People get close. Fast.”

Alyssa shook her head. “But that’s not what I’m getting at, Josh.” She stopped.

“What are you getting at?” I asked her.

“It’s just, with my dad, I was so scared it would be like that, but now that I’m in love, I feel like I want it, not like that, but like you and me could have it, and I know the bathrooms here carry…”

It was dimly beginning to dawn on me what she was talking about.

“…and when I’m next to you it feels so good, and I’m too down right now to care.”

She looked up at me with wet eyes. “You want to?”

“If you’re ready,” I said.

We walked back to just in front the doors outside the main room of the civic center.

“Come on,” she said. “I hear a slow song, and I want to hold you to me close, cause this is the night all high school was leading up to.”

“What about graduation?” I said.

“Graduation’s going to be boring,” she said. “It’s all about prom.”

“What are we going to do when we get caught?” I said. Reality was very quickly catching up with me. The fairy tale had to fade, and I knew we’d both be in so much trouble it was insane.

“Worry about that later,” she said. “Right now I want to hold you.”

She put her arms around me, and we started dancing to the muffled music coming from the dance floor. It occurred to me then that she was crying, and I asked her, “What’s wrong?”

“I just feel so comfortable with you,” she said. “I don’t mind opening up.”

“That’s how I feel with you,” I said. “Like I could tell you anything, and not worry about it.”

“We’re moving way too fast,” she said.

“I know,” I said, and then I added, “but I like it so much, if I could stop it, I wouldn’t dream of trying.”

“It’s just,” she said, “I guess I don’t know what I’m going to do about me and you.”

My heart gave a twinge. I didn’t know what I wanted, but it had something to do with her; that was all I knew.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We’ll keep in touch.”

“But I don’t even know where I’m going after this,” she said. “My parents are divorced, and my mom’s got so much debt. I just never started thinking about life after Dad went to jail. Now I wonder.”

“Hey, Alyssa,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s forget about all that. Like you said, let’s worry about it later. For tonight, it’s about freedom, it’s about prom, it’s about high school and living life, and it’s about us.”

She drew back and smiled up at me. I kissed her again.

When we were done kissing, she took my hand and led me to the dance floor. The music grew louder as we opened the doors, and by the time we reached the floor you could feel it vibrating through your whole body. Suddenly I was on a high. I felt like I’d been dreaming for a year, and now I was finally alive. I felt intensely happy, like I hadn’t before today in a long, long time. I was free. And maybe this night would end in tragedy, but it wasn’t about how the story ended- it was about how it got on before then.

“Alyssa,” I said as we walked toward the floor. “I want you to know something.”

“You love me?”

“That, too,” I said, “but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Having gotten ahead of her, I turned around and faced her, holding both her hands in mine. “For all that you’ve gone through, and still stayed sane and all- you are the strongest girl I’ve ever known.”

She kissed me on the cheek, then returned to her regular posture, beaming up at me.

“You’re going to make a great boyfriend,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said. “Just promise me, if we go bad, we’ll still be friends.”

“That’s something that scares me,” she said. “I don’t want us to wind up parted as friends because something happened to our relationship.”

“Do you believe in the permanence of marriage?” I asked.

She looked away. “Not especially.”

I frowned. “Well, I don’t care. I still love you, and I still want you, even if I know maybe I’m getting into something I shouldn’t get into- I know I can’t stop. You’re so irresistible.”

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s not like we’re likely to get married, anyway.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But it’s good to know you’re as serious as I am.”

“Thanks,” I said.

The song that had been playing ended, and a new song started. It was also a slow song.

I hugged her to me, and danced there on the floor. We rotated to the side, and I caught a lot of movement at the door out of the corner of my eye.

I looked and froze.

There were about four police officers standing at the entrance talking to the woman behind the desk.

“Police,” I said.

She drew back quickly, and looked, biting her lip.

“If we’re going to go down,” she said, “let’s at least go down in style, k?”

I nodded, heart thudding. “So mote it be,” I said.

She laughed. “Follow me.”

We walked up to the officers as the woman behind the desk pointed in our direction. Two of the police officers came toward us; the other two blocked the door outside.

“Can I help you officer?” said Alyssa. “You look awfully lost.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?” asked the officer.

“Uhm,” said Alyssa, “see, that’s hard to say. Since I flew over the cuckoo nest, I forgot my name, among other things, like what it’s like to ride in the back of a police car. Do you think you can help me?”

The officer was staring at her, while the other one, who had stopped in front of us where we were squaring off a little ahead of the table, looked around as though skeptical that we were who we said we were.

“Ma’am, do you think this is some kind of joke? You’re in serious trouble. Big time.”

“That’s the funny thing,” said Alyssa, “I thought they were letting us go. Your imaginary friend told me we were medicated and could go free now.”

People were looking and pointing now. Some were openly staring, but all were keeping their distance.

“I don’t have an imaginary friend,” said the officer.

“Whoops! I forgot, he’s my imaginary friend, that’s right, how silly of me. If you look around for him outside, I’m sure you’ll find him. But it will take all four of you- he’s very elusive, kind of fades away when you look at him.”

“Ma’am, either come with us, or I’ll put you in handcuffs.”

“Yay! Handcuffs! It’s been forever since I got to wear handcuffs- how long has it been since we were arrested for grand theft auto, Josh?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “A week?”

“No, that’s right,” said Alyssa, “it was four days ago. Too long.”

The officer moved toward Alyssa, and I instinctively got between them. I don’t know how, but somehow I wound up on the ground almost immediately. Then something hard dug into my wrists behind my back, and I was raised to a standing position. As I did, I saw the other officer putting handcuffs on Alyssa, who was not resisting at all, but making noises as though she were having a massage.

As we walked out the door, I felt like everyone was staring at me, partially because they were.

And I had to admit, Alyssa was awesome.

The ride back to the mental institution was mostly silent; the officers actually threatened to put a gag in Alyssa’s mouth, for which I couldn’t blame them, and she stopped afterward, mostly because I kicked her leg from my seat.

I didn’t know we were going back to the mental institution till we arrived, and so I had plenty of time to think. I was afraid. I didn’t know what was going to happen, I didn’t know if my life would ever fix itself, or even if I could trust myself to make sound decisions. I really had been lacking in judgment tonight. I felt like I’d betrayed my parents’ trust, and even the trust of the Brotherhood, which did not need escapades like this to destroy their chances of further success. I wondered if I’d go to jail. The thought scared me in some ways- a mental institution for a year? How long would they give me? I was more a juvenile delinquent than a criminal, but I didn’t know what to expect. I had made a mistake.

And then the thought that had been nagging at the back of my mind came through: Alyssa. I loved her, I admired her, and I needed her. I was scared mostly, I realized, that wherever I went, she wouldn’t be there with me. I was scared this girl I had come to love would leave my life suddenly and forever. I knew if we parted paths without somehow getting contact information, we’d never be able to find each other. And that troubled me most.

I promised myself, swore it under my breath as an oath, that whatever happened, wherever we went, I would not lose contact with Alyssa. Not until it was something we both wanted, and I wasn’t sure that would ever occur.

I was actually insanely joyful to see the mental institution loom out of the window. My heart had started racing when I recognized the street, and when we turned into the gate and the small parking lot, I felt all the tension that was in me just dissolve. I sighed, too.

The officer on the passenger’s side, the one who had been dumbfounded and mute around Alyssa earlier, chuckled. “Glad to hear you like where you’re going,” he said. “But you’re going to be in there a long time after this.”

Chapter XXII: Goodbye

I awoke the next morning feeling like everything was going to be all right. I just knew it. I actually awoke before anyone knocked on my door, which was a first apart from the morning Charles had killed himself. It was strange because I had been up late the night before, since I had been at prom.

I was wondering how big of a mistake I had made. I had broken everyone’s trust and done something utterly stupid. But then, when I thought about it, I knew it was worth it. Going to prom was just something I should be able to do. It was one of the best nights of high school, and I had wanted to go since I was a freshman.

I hadn’t talked to my parents yet, and I was sure they were going to kill me- but a good night’s sleep had put it behind me, and I honestly thought there was a chance Alyssa and I would still get to see each other.

Someone knocked on the door, and I made my bed and went outside.

“Vital signs,” said Amy, who was at my door. She pointed down the hall.

I walked down the hall to a little room next to the quiet time room and entered. There was a counselor whom I had seen around but whose name I did not know, a blood pressure machine, a scale, and Allen. Allen was in the chair to check his blood pressure, and looked up at me happily.

“You have a good time last night?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. He looked more relaxed than I could ever remember him appearing before. “But I’m worried about what’s going to happen now.”

He looked like he wanted to say something he couldn’t, and I knew it was about the Brotherhood. All he said was, “I’m sure things will work out, Josh”- and I suddenly had reason to hope again.

The blood pressure machine had been still, and now started detracting. It made that noise blood pressure machines make, stopping and starting again here and there, and then a moment or two later Allen stood.

“Your blood pressure’s good,” said the counselor, scribbling something on a chart. “Now get on the scale. Josh, come check your blood pressure.”

Allen finished checking his weight and went to wait outside as the counselor scribbled a number on his pad. My blood pressure check finished, and I didn’t even look or ask, but he said it was fine. Then he had me stand on the scale.

As I saw the number go up to 189 pounds, I suddenly realized there were stretch marks on my arm.

“Whew!” said the counselor. “You’ve gained fifteen pounds since you got here.”

I left trying to remember why I had submitted to going on medicine. Still, I had to admit, it was better than the alternative.

Allen said my name, and I jumped around to see him leaning against the edge of the door.

“Listen,” he said quietly, motioning for me to follow him to an empty spot of the hall where we were most likely to be unheard, “we’re doing one last thing as the Brotherhood of Charles. Maybe we’ll keep using it, maybe we won’t, but for now, we’ve done you and Alyssa a big favor.”

My heart was thudding as I looked up at him. “You’re getting us out of trouble?”

Allen smiled. “Think bigger.”

“Well it’s not like you could get me out of here…”

“In time for graduation?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s the day after tomorrow…” My voice trailed off to the silent tune of his beaming face. “You have no clue how grateful I am, Allen,” I said.

“It’s for both of you,” said Allen.

“Alyssa too?”

Allen looked behind him, where the group was assembling. “Let’s try to keep quiet about it,” he said.

I nodded. “Sure thing.”

At breakfast it was a jovial, confident conversation. We all sat with Amy, who was in a good mood. We also had a good morning group- everyone was over a five, and when Alyssa exuberantly said she was a 10, my heart felt like it was going to burst, and my very soul was alit by some sacred flame, a sacred flame that would not extinguish anytime soon.

After morning group, of course, we all went to school.

Amy left with a smile, and I thought with humor of the latest example of the effect of the Brotherhood: in morning group, someone or another had certainly passed some very bad gas- and Amy had not acknowledged it.

As we all sat down, Mrs. Joy said something that set us all on edge right away:

“I know what you’ve all been doing,” she said.

Alyssa spoke up: “What have we been doing, then?”

“Forging letters to get things done- and I know every one of you is in it.”

There was dead silence.

“You don’t need to get yourselves in trouble, now,” she said.

She paused. Still silence. “You realize I could get every one of you in so much trouble it’s not even funny? Possibly even jail?”

“What are you going to do?” I asked. I had liked her up to this point, and couldn’t dislike her for this even if it was the end of our escapades. Somehow I couldn’t believe this was happening. Everything had been about to go through.

“You don’t know what I’m going to do?” she said.

“No,” I said.

“Now come on, Josh, do you… I’m not going to do anything!”

My first reaction: “What?”

“That’s ‘ma’am,’ Josh,” she said.

“Ma’am?” I said.

“I’m not doing anything. I think you’re all of you crazy for trying something so risky, but you know I’d never send you to jail. Come on, Josh. I wish Ashley were here- she’d set you straight.”

“You mean to say,” said Allen, “that you’re really going to let this go?”

“Yes sir,” she said.

We were all exchanging bewildered, happy looks now.

“We’ll stop, then,” said Allen, “in gratitude.”

“Because of me? No! Just be a little more careful, that’s all.”

Allen was outright grinning now, the usual tension of his face gone.

“Mrs. Joy,” I said, “you have no clue how much we love you.”

“Obviously it’s returned, else I wouldn’t do this for you,” she said. “You all are like my children. I’d do a lot to see things turn out right for you. I love my students. I get the best, I always say.”

Somehow, school that day was both sad and free. I was going to miss this woman. Even if I’d only known her briefly, and not well, I felt a link to her that I could not explain. Maybe it was because she’d been there when we needed it most. Maybe it was how she was always smiling and helpful. But somehow, regardless, I just knew I’d see her again. I knew it in my soul, in my heart, somewhere deep that I could not explain, that this was not the last time I would be seeing her or any of my peers here.

Was it just denial? I wanted to believe that Allen and I would keep in touch, that he’d still teach me magick. I wanted to believe that Alyssa and I would be going out, that our friendship would last past our love. I wanted to believe that George was going to wake up a few mornings from now and help me make my bed correctly.

I wanted to believe that what I’d wanted since I’d gotten here was not about to happen.

The news came in evening group. Amy told us that Alyssa and I were leaving the next morning.

“Now I want everyone to say their partings to Alyssa and Josh, how you feel about their leaving,” she said.

Allen was first. “It’s been a ride,” he told me, then stopped. “I think that gets it best,” he said to me, looking up at me. His tense face was full of friendship. “And I want you to know, Josh- you could go anywhere, do anything. You’re going to make it someday, Josh, just like Mrs. Joy says- don’t let this kind of stuff happen again. Promise me, Josh, that we won’t be here again.”

I smiled at him, actually on the verge of tears. “I promise you, Allen,” I said, “that I am never coming back. You promise me the same thing, dawg,” I said, feeling a bit awkward using the word, but not caring anymore- “because I feel like all of you here are the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you, friend,” said Allen. He turned to Alyssa. “Alyssa, you just need to stop chasing trouble.” We all laughed at that. “But when you simmer down some, make sure you’re still fun and witty for my friend here.” Amy’s face flashed with something at the verbal recognition of my and Alyssa’s obvious intent to keep seeing one another- but it passed, and Allen went on. “You’re a bright girl, and if you’d just give yourself a chance, you could make it in this world. Maybe as a comedian or something. Or an undercover police officer. Just keep plugging along, and don’t let us down.” He turned to speak to the group. “That goes for all of you, all of us,” he said. “Don’t let each other down.”

Alyssa spoke then. “You are a wonderful person, Allen,” she said, “and you’ve got more balls than anyone I’ve ever known.” She paused. “Blessed be, or whatever.”

Duane was after Allen. “You two, I haven’t been here that long, but you two seem like some really cool people. Like he said- don’t let us down.” I thought that was it, but he went on. “Josh, I want to tell you again what I told you in the dining hall- don’t stop searching for the truth. Know yourself. I know it’s cliché, dawg, but that’s got to be the best advice I can give you. You keep fighting your illness, cause I’ve never seen a recovery that fast.”

“Neither have I,” muttered Amy, and I was suddenly struck by just how lucky I was.

“Thank you, Duane,” I said. “You don’t get back in that gang or anything- and we’ll stay clear of this place ourselves.” I grinned. “I busted out of jail last night- I’m walking out free tomorrow.”

“Alyssa,” said Duane, “for you- you’re just the biggest player I’ve ever known. You keep doing your thing, girl- you could do anything. And try not to tick off any authority figures when you’re out of here, you heard?”

“So long as they don’t provide a wide open target,” she said- “but, let’s face it, the power of stupid people in large numbers is pretty big- especially in the government.”

Amy flashed her a look like she wanted to say something, but seemed to give up given the occasion.

Now it was George’s turn. “I’ve really watched you grow, Josh,” he said. He paused.

“I know,” I said, our gaze locked unflinchingly, without tension, on one another.

“You have no idea how far you’ve come. When you came in here you couldn’t control your mouth, you initially felt like you wanted to die, you couldn’t stand just to sit for five minutes- look at you now. This place, and I know you’re going to hate me for saying it, but it’s done you good. I think you just need to get out there now in the real world, and make the best of the second chance we’re all getting.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“And there’s one other thing,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I’d count you as a friend any day of the week.”

“That’s because we are friends,” I said, my voice soft. My eyes were moist now. “And I’m going to miss you. I know you’ve been looking out for me since I got here, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t think you always give yourself enough credit, and you don’t seem to understand that you’re a great person. And if I ever hear from a friend about people in here, or any place like this- make sure I didn’t here it was you, okay?”

“Now who’s watching out for who?” he asked, and we all laughed quietly.

“Josh, you and Alyssa want to say something to each other?” asked Amy.

“Why, I’m going to call him tomorrow,” said Alyssa.

“We don’t allow outside contact between patients,” said Amy.

“Well I knew that, now how does that….”

“Alyssa,” I said quietly.

“Oh, all right.” She met my eyes, and I started off:

“I’ve been enchanted by you since the moment I saw you. When you first spoke, it was like a fairy had dropped in and was screwing with…”

“Language, Josh,” said Amy.

“…messing with,” I corrected, “all the people that I was having a rough time with. You were truly a godsend. I really appreciate you coming into my life and lighting it all on flame with something new and exciting. You gave this place life, you gave me life, when I was dead inside- and I feel so much better than I used to. You’re a good person, even if you are a little crazy at times- but that’s what I love about you. Not really that you’re pretty, not that you’re nice to me- just how crazy you act sometimes. I really do feel like I’ve known you forever. I feel like I’ve known all of you forever. And it’s just that I’ve forgotten everything but the last week or so. And maybe I won’t always remember what happened, not in here,” I pointed at my head, “but you must all know, that I will always remember it”- I pointed at my heart- “in here.”

Alyssa broke out in “aw,” then started to speak, but stopped with a sniff. Then she said, “I love you all.”

Amy went last. “Josh, I’ve also watched you grow since you got here- I’ve watched you fight with the counselors, lose your temper, be depressed and upset- and I’ve also seen you handle difficult situations well, I’ve seen you show courage, and I’ve seen you look out for people. I know you’re a good person, I know you have a good heart- and I will know if you come back, so don’t you show your face in here again because I know you’re one of the most memorable faces I’ve seen come in here.”

“Was I that crazy?” I asked, and everyone laughed with good feelings.

“And Alyssa,” said Amy, “I don’t think you’re ready yet, but they’ve decided you are. If you do break the no-contact rule, I’m hoping Josh will finish getting you on the proper path in life. And don’t be scared to show love- because love is always our greatest strength.”

“Thank you,” said Alyssa. “I’m going to miss all of you. To you specifically, Amy, I’d tell you I know I have a lot of room left to improve, but I’m going to promise you all this now, that I am never, ever going to try to kill myself again.” She stopped, tears she couldn’t stop going down her face, and then she sobbed. “Thank you. I’m so glad I didn’t succeed.”

And Amy gave a glance down the hall, and slid an arm over Alyssa’s shoulders.

As we all sat around the room listening to New Age music, I suddenly realized that it was true: I didn’t want to leave. How strange, how inevitably, everyone that left, by the time they left, no longer wanted to leave. How we all came to love the place as much as we had once hated it.

Falling asleep that night, I didn’t want to fade out. I wanted to stay awake, just so I would still have my friends in the next rooms. I knew that this would continue for them, that others would pass through these walls, that I was only one patient- but I could barley admit it. In my heart, it seemed the mental institution had been born when I went in, and would die when I and my friends left.

I woke up the next morning with a sudden lurching fear, the fear that I had actually fallen asleep while I was trying to stay awake. I got up and had my bed made before they knocked on my door.

I looked around me. This room was going to belong to someone else in a few days. This window, someone else would look out of it. This bed, someone else would sleep in it. But a part of me could not believe that it had ever hosted anyone else.

I went out my door, and that’s when the joy hit me. I was going home! I was going to be free again! And now that all my problems were behind me, I was going to live. Even if I didn’t make it to college, I didn’t care anymore. It just felt so good to be alive.

I couldn’t explain it, but just to think of being in my room, of going for a walk outside, of seeing my parents and talking to them- that filled me with joy. For right then, in that moment that concluded the chapter of my life’s greatest struggle (against mental illness), all I needed was to be alive- and for the first time in months, I was.

I was the first out the door, but Alyssa’s and George’s doors were open.

“Open your door,” said a big black guy, someone I recognized as having originally taken me down when I’d been tranquilized.

“Yes sir,” I said. He went on as I opened my door slightly. It was strange- I felt no anger against him, and he none against me. I still hated Roy and John for what they’d done, but even that was fading. It was all passing me by.

John and Roy had not been evil or anything. They had just been harsh and rude as a form of treatment that hurt as much as it helped. But their day was over- at least here. As was mine.

I realized that if George’s door was open, he must be leaving, too, and I went to talk to him.

“Hey,” he said, coming to the entranceway as I knocked. He was beaming. “I’m leaving too. I didn’t know till the psychiatrist came in this morning.”

“I want to keep in touch,” I said.

George shook his head. “I’m going to follow the rules,” he said. “They’re there for a reason. Believe me, otherwise, I’d definitely come see your house and all- but if we ever do run into each other by chance, I’ll definitely talk to you.”

“You’re a good man, George,” I told him.

“So are you.”

We looked at each other a minute, knowing despite speculation that this was the absolute last time we would see each other- and then I burst out laughing. “I want to hug you,” I said, “or shake your hand or something.”

“Amy!” called George, looking over my shoulder.

“Go ahead,” she said from behind me.

And we shook hands, then hugged. “Isn’t this against the rules?” I asked.

“No. Not on leaving.”

I backed up from him, and he went back into his room.

I went back to my room and wrote my number down on four slips of paper (just in case I was missing a few people that I should think of, or in case I got caught or something) and went to hand my number to Allen, who had stood in the doorway.

“You’re a promising Witch,” said Allen. “And you’re a very strong individual.” He shoved a piece of paper into my hand. “I will be seeing you,” he said. “Stay sane.”

We hugged, and in his embrace I felt the tension inside him, always so obvious, melt away a little. We parted, his hands on my shoulders.

“Stay on your medicine, whatever you do,” he said.

“I will,” I said.

“Now that’s a promise,” he said. “You’d better keep it.” He eyed me keenly. “If you don’t, I’ll know.” He dropped his hands from my shoulder and shook my hand, saying, “You go have a hell of a good graduation ceremony. Lord and Lady know, you’ve earned it.”

“Thank you,” I said, and walked away to stand by Alyssa. We exchanged numbers discreetly, and then I saw my parents.

I actually ran to them, and hugged both of them. I was so happy. I could not believe this day had finally come. It may sound silly to say a week had been a whole different lifetime, but it had been.

“I’m so glad you’re doing better, Josh,” said Mom.

“Yep,” said Dad.

“But you can’t run off like that,” said Mom.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Mom smiled gently. “You ready?”

I got what little of my stuff I had in my room and followed them down the hall.

“Goodbye!” I hollered, and I heard Alyssa laugh at my negligence for good form. At least she had found it funny.

As we walked down the halls, accompanied by the same nurse that had seen me in, my joy rose higher and higher. In a minute, in just a minute, I was going to be outside again. I was going to be free. I was sane. I was happy. And by God- excuse me, the Lord and Lady- it felt good.

As we hit the parking lot, I ran to the car, then around it, and finally slid across the hood. Mom and Dad didn’t seem to care. They just laughed at my antics.

And we headed home.

Epilogue

I still remember the few seconds in which I was walking across the stage getting my diploma. There was more magick in that moment than in any spell Allen ever wound up teaching me how to do.

I kept my promises. I stayed on my medicine. I kept getting therapy, and tried my best not to go insane again. My parents don’t believe in Witchcraft, but I know better than to think that that’s a delusion of grandeur. But it’s taught me that reality is not an absolute- it’s a little pool of water that seems still and solid, but undergoes metamorphosis the instant you dip so much as your finger into it. It really does shift, and it shifts more and more the harder you look at it.

But being schizophrenic has allowed me to see that clearly, while most people assume throughout their whole lives that everything they know is real. I have the blessing of knowing that that’s probably not the case- with me, or with anyone. Even though I’m so firm in my beliefs, in the back of my head I know- somewhere, I’m getting some detail completely wrong. And so is everyone else.

By which I don’t mean to be offensive. It’s just something to watch. And the harder you stare at it, the more you’re going to realize the glass surface in front of you can ripple, can shift, can deceive you.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I’m still crazy. Maybe Allen, me- maybe all of the people like us are crazy. But I know I can’t let that get to me. If I lived my life doubting everything that was in front of me, questioning whether or not it was real- if I did that, then I know I’d never be able to function in society.

Mom says this illness makes it harder to think. I know she’s right, but I’m doing better, for the moment. I learned a month ago, my sophomore year of college at USC- yes, I did make it there, and I’ve kept my scholarship so far- that I can still get depressed. I was about to cut myself again, for the first time in years, when I remembered what I’d promised my friends two years ago- that I would never return. And there was the thought of my last words to Ashley before she left the mental institution: I had promised her I’d never cut myself again while thinking rationally. I knew she’d remember that promise if she ever found out, and I felt shame at that thought.

And for that thought, I put the knife down. I swore an oath never to do that again. I wasn’t going back. Not now, not ever.

Because I can never truly rid myself of my illness, which I long since admitted it was obvious I had. But I can keep fighting. I can, and I will, always fight it.

Alyssa and I broke up a year ago, but she, Allen and I are still friends. All of us have a great time talking to each other. Sometimes the Brotherhood of Charles comes up, and we all laugh and joke about it. We’re all at USC. It is so good to see each other. Allen’s majoring in psychology. Sometimes I wonder if one day he’ll treat me.

I still can’t get over my gratitude. Every day, I still think of Charles, and think, “That could have been me.” I think of all the people that successfully committed suicide, and I think, “I could have been any one of them.” But by some miraculous chance, here I am, alive, well, and happy.

And I can’t pinpoint that effect on any one thing- but I know when it all changed. It changed when I was there, in that hellhole, when I swore I’d never come back.

And to this day, I never have.

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