Life So Perfect

by Nathan Bassett

  Joe crumbled the paper and put it back in Steven’s hand. “Shut it. Shut it up. You’re the crazy one Steve. But you know that. And I don’t … love her. It’s just not like that. Good God. Anyway, I can’t see her again. Just like I can’t see you again. That’ just the way it has to be. There’s no way I’m going to hook up with a girl from … geez, from this crazy place. We leave here and that’s it. I can’t …”

  “Hey Joe.” Steven tugged Joe’s arm. “I saw something tonight. It’s not good. It’s scary scary. I saw … it’s not good. But you won’t understand.”

  “Seen your ghost again? Seen your grandfather again?”

  “Shut up. You’re stupid sometimes. I saw an owl, Joe. Sitting on the ledge, there. It was there.” He grabbed Joe and yanked him toward the window. “It was a white owl, sitting right there.” Steven pointed toward a ledge at the corner of the four-story building.

  “Well, that’s cool. That’s neat. Maybe he’s your owl bringing you your mail. You know like in Harry Potter.”

  “Owls, they … in Indian beliefs owls bring bad things, bad news. It means someone’s gonna die Joe. That’s what it means. Someone is going to die. The owl wants to tell me that. Wants to warn me. But I don’t know who.”

  “Steve, it’s just a legend. A nice Indian legend, a myth. We don’t take things like that serious. Don’t worry about it. Geez.” He’s worse than a four year old worrying about the boogeyman. Joe then laughed, he knew he shouldn’t, but a memory flashed through his mind, of his brother telling him there was a family of ghost living in the basement. He was four. Chuck got a worthy spanking after he went wailing and crying into his parent’s bedroom.

  Steven shoved Joe aside and stepped toward his bed. Through gritted teeth, his words came out slowly; Joe knew Steven was working hard to control his anger that could so quickly erupt. “Screw you, screw you, screw you. You white people don’t understand how things work. How nature works. We hav’ta honor the earth, the spirits. The earth works against us if … if we don’t honor this stuff. You all can’t understand that. You are all idiots. White dumb idiots. Screw you all.” Steven climbed back in his bed, fluffed up his pillow and put it behind his head. When he spoke again, his voice echoed with a strange resignation that caused Joe’s neck to tingle. “Someone is gonna die and I can’t do anything about it. My grandfather, he says the owl warns us so we’ll be ready. It’s so we know that the Creator’s fulfilling his purposes. But how can we ever be ready? I wish I hadn’t seen the owl. I don’t know how to be ready for another death.”

  Joe returned to his bed. He knew he wasn’t going to convince Steven that he was thinking crazy, that there was nothing to worry about – but he had to try. “Steven, it was an Owl. People see owls all the time and never die. A million people die every day and they never saw an owl. It’s a nice story your ancestors told. That’s all. Just go to bed and forget it.”

  Steve pulled the covers tight over his head and said, “I hope it’s me. Then I can be with my grandfather and my grandmother and never have to see my dad again. Maybe it will be me.” Then he shot up in his bed and confidently declared, “Hey. We’ll go see her when we get out of here. Maddie. That’d be fun. Yeah, we’ll both go see her.”

  “No. Ain’t gonna happen. Not likely in this lifetime. But probably more likely than someone you know dying anytime soon.”

  Steven responded as if not hearing Joe. “You know what we should do? The three of us? I’ll take ya’ll to a Pow Wow. I want to dance, dance for my grandfather. You know he gave me his Fancy Dance outfit, before he died. It was worth a fortune, a big ass fortune. It had beaded armbands and belts and a beaded headband, colors more than you can count. And lots of bells you put around your knees and ankles. And it had a thousand feathers on these bustle things, you wear on you back and on your butt. And …” Steven hit the wall with his elbow. “And you know what happened? My useless dad took it. Sold it to buy a dumb motorcycle and a week’s worth of booze and meth and whatever. I hate him. Hate him! Why do our fathers hurt us Joe? It’s not supposed to be like that.” Steven hit the wall again and laid back down. “Are you ever afraid you will be like your father? I am. I’m so afraid, so afraid I’ll be like him. I want to be like my grandfather, but that’s not possible. Who do you want to be like, Joe?”

  Steven’s questions hit like a fist thrust into his stomach and clinching his insides tight. Crap. Why can’t he ever shut up? Screw this. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Just go sleep for God’s sake.” Joe closed his eyes and tried with all his might to ignore the questions his brain began to throw at him: Who would he want to be like? Who did he want to be? What did he want to be? Who was he? Why was he? What should define his life, his being, his existence? Why are fathers such bastards? Too late. It is too late to be – to become anything? Maybe he should have died. Maybe the owl came for him. Would that be so bad?

  ***

  Braxton leaned against the windowsill and sipped his morning coffee. “How many kids do you think end up coming back … to a psyche hospital?”

  Joe shrugged. “I don’t know. Fifty percent? I know I won’t be one of them.”

  “Sixty. Sixty percent end up back in the hospital. You know how many proudly and confidently declare that they won’t be one of them? Are so sure they’ll never be back in here?” Braxton took another sip from a mug that had a heart on it and read ‘Love Me I’m Sexy.’ Joe shrugged one shoulder, though he was pretty sure what the answer would be. His therapist nodded and said, “A hundred percent. Every damn one of ya. Now, what do you think the key is … the key to never coming back?”

  “I don’t know. You have to want to change, I guess. Is that what you want me to say?”

  “Honesty. Brutal, in-your-face honesty. It’s the secrets, the lies they keep hidden, that keeps kids coming back. Honesty. That’ll keep a kid out of here. That’s what gets them healthy, keeps them healthy – honest about themselves and honest with themselves. Gut wrenching, soul exposing openness. When you going start being honest Joe? I know that’s hard for a sixteen year old. But living the lies, keeping the secrets, only leads to self-destruction. What is it you need to start being honest about?”

  Lack of sleep, weakened defense mechanisms, not caring anymore – something happened inside Joe. Without the usual protective filter in place, he blurted out what was swirling in his brain. “I’m afraid. I feel like I’m full of fear and I … I don’t like that. And I shouldn’t be like that.”

  “Why’s that? Oh, I get it. Have to be strong all the time. Emotions are for weaklings. Joe-boy, that’s a fantasy. So what’re you afraid of?”

  “Heck. Everything. I’m afraid to go back home, having to deal with the questions, the looks. Looks of anger and … God, the looks of pity. ‘Ohhh, there goes that poor crazy kid who tried to off himself.’ I can’t deal with all that. And there’s the … No. I don’t want to talk about it.” Joe looked up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Don’t want to, means you ought to and need to. What is it? Go on. There’s the what?”

  Joe’s face burned, his fists drew in and became hard and angry and mean. He drew in a breath and let it out. “I’m afraid I hate my dad too much. Afraid of what I could do to him. Will do to him. I’m afraid of … of this anger. I don’t want to be full of this rage inside me.”

  Braxton pushed himself off the windowsill and sat in his chair. He leaned forward. “Good. Good. That’s good. Be angry, be afraid. But take a deep breath now. Relax those fists. Let go of that anger.” Joe took several slow breaths. He felt the heat in his face retreat. Braxton’s lips pulled in and he nodded. “So? What else? What else you afraid of?”

  “Nothing. No. That’s not true. I’m afraid I’ve destroyed my mom, my family. Afraid I can’t handle going back to school. I’m afraid of … hell, it’s all these emotions running wild in my gut. At least I guess they’re emotions. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I hate it. I hate myself. I hate who
I am. You know what I’m afraid of the most?”

  “What’s that kiddo?”

  Joe stood up and took a step toward the bookshelf and ran his fingers across each book. The world is full of books by people pretending to know the answers, pretending they know how to put Humpty Dumpty back together. “I’m afraid I’ll never be the person I was. I can never go back … back to the life I had. Everything’s different now and it can never be like it was. Everything that was safe and good – perfect back then. And now it’s gone.” Joe sighed and shook his head. His words came out slowly. “What do I have to do … to get it all back? I don’t know what to do … to be who I used to be. I feel it’s gone forever.”

  Braxton offered a slight and unassuming smile. “You’re asking the wrong question kiddo. The question is … where ya going? It’s not about going back to what you had or who you were. It’s about moving forward. Becoming the person you want to be and can be. How are you gonna do that? That is the question.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Quit looking back, Joe. Decide what you want your future to look like and figure out how you’re going to build that future.”

  “I’m afraid of everything right now. You don’t get it.”

  “Of course I do. It’s okay to have some fear. Be afraid. That’s okay. Fear is something to feel, to face and to overcome. That’s what makes us human. It’s what makes us who we are. But … whatever you do, don’t let fear have the last hurrah. And Joe… don’t let that anger keep driving your life.”

  ***

  Halloween – best holiday of the year; beats the Fourth, Thanksgiving, even Christmas. Joe and his brother, for four straight years, had thrown the scariest Halloween parties the high school had seen in decades. Their home morphed into the bloodiest, most gruesome of all haunted houses. The party always climaxed with the Rocky Horror Picture Show shown in their basement – water pistols and raingear provided. No party this year. Someone else would be taking over the tradition. Joe could never go back to the life that was.

  Joe didn’t want to be there and was desperate to leave; but he had no choice but to endure the embarrassingly lame excuse of a Halloween party at St Jimmies. He huddled with Maddie and Steven on a bench in the far corner of the gym observing from afar the pathetic party – classic 90’s techno music was interspersed with classic 80’s music by the likes of Blondie, the Pet Shop Boys, The Spice Girls and Take That.

  “Boring. Boring.” Joe wanted to say that word a million times, but refrained. No point overstating the obvious. He and his two friends began making fun of the patients wearing masks they’d made in the Art Therapy Group. No imagination allowed in these cardboard creations; mainly attempts at clown faces – no blood, no vampires, no frightful mask permitted. The paranoid schizophrenics and autistic kids could not handle such representations. Eventually Joe tired of the game. He sighed and said, “Well? What now?” A moment of silence interrupted their nonsense.

  Maddie finally nudged Steven. “So what do you talk about with your therapist, Stevie?”

  “Nothing. That’s all. Just … shit. Usually play cards. He always says, ‘Steve, you’ve been in these places a million times, there’s nothing I can tell you that you haven’t heard a billion times. So we might as well play cards.”

  Joe laughed and said, “Wish I had your therapist. Braxton’s always trying to wind me up. Get me mad or something. It’s like he never wants me to go home. Shh. Looks who coming.” Joe tilted his head to his left. He slid away from Maddie. Boundaries! Can’t be touching the girls, might ignite already simmering hormones. “Hey Miss Linda. It’s a great party.”

  “You two forget the one foot rule?”

  “Heck no. See thirteen and half inches. We’re good.” Joe said with a coy smile.

  “How many times have I told you? You three need to be mixing with the others. Get yourselves out of this corner. And quit all this whispering. No doubt planning how to go AWOL. And Joe, don’t be rubbing elbows with the females any more. One foot. If I see you sitting closer than that foot, I’ll put you two on ten foot.”

  “You can borrow my ruler, Miss Linda, if you need one. Here, I’ll just sit here.” Steven elbowed his way between Joe and Maddie.

  “Boundaries, Mr. Littleaxe. Boundaries. No touching. The rules are so simple. Keep them. One foot or ten foot, your choice. Now, get out there and have some fun.”

  As Miss Linda turned and walked away, Steven shouted, “Hey Miss Linda, thanks for the idea. About going AWOL. I haven’t done that in a long time. That’s a good idea. About time I tried again.”

  Linda looked over her shoulder. “Ought to put you fifty feet from everyone, Littleaxe.” Miss Linda waved her hand in dismissal as she continued to amble toward the other side of the gym.

  Steven said, “I love her. I’d marry her if she weren’t so fat and so old and so Black. But you know what my therapist does? He’ll throw out these questions, out of nowhere, ‘When you gonna start working on forgiving your dad, Steven?’ ‘What would you tell your dad if he was sitting right here, right now? You must be angry, about what happened to your mom. That’ must be hard.’ Or worst of all, he’ll say, ‘Hey, tell me more about your grandfather.’ Funny thing is, sometimes I fall for it. End up talking. He gets real proud of himself when he makes me cry. The dirty bastard.”

  “What about you Maddie? What’s it like with your shrink?” Joe said then pushed Steven out of his perch and slid closer to her.

  Maddie pulled her lips together and shrugged. “I don’t know, she’s okay. She always wants to talk about family stuff. Like she wants me to blame my parents or something. I tell her it’s not them, it’s me. I mean my parents are great. You know, being here make me really appreciate them. I have a pretty good life. I don’t need to be cutting or smoking weed anymore. Or lying through my teeth about everything. I’m gonna go home and it’ll be good now. Things will be great again.”

  Steven poked Maddie on the arm. “So what are your parents like? I bet they’re rich. They look real rich. Yeah, and you’re like those girls in here that go off when their mom takes their cell phone or their laptop, or bans them from Facebook. And they throw huge, ugly fits and end up in here. You’re like that I bet. A spoiled little girl brat.” Steven laughed. He took the rubber band out of his hair, shook his head hard until his black mane covered most of his face and said, “Hey, I’m a werewolf, like that guy in ‘Twilight.’”

  “Never had a cell phone or laptop. My parents are … a … they’re teachers, at a middle school. And we’re not rich and I’m not spoiled. Grow up Steven.”

  “I bet you’re the only child.”

  “What if I am? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on. You’re spoiled as hell. You know what I think? I think you’re a spoiled rotten bitch. And I bet you got in trouble for dyeing your hair and getting your ears pierced. Then they took away your cell phone and ya started cutting just to show them you were soooo mad at them that you couldn’t stand it. Little Miss Perfect throwing a fit, ‘Oh noooo! They took my phone away. My life’s over. Let me go cut my arms up and let the sadness ooze out.’ Spoiled is what you are.”

  Maddie looked at Steven with a puzzled gaze. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.

  Joe’s fists drew in. He took two quick breaths, then said, “Stop it Steve. You need to shut it up now. Leave it alone. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d say you’d been drinking and don’t know what you’re saying. Don’t worry about it Maddie.” Pointing a finger at Steve’s face, he said, “Quit acting like you’re drunk.”

  “I’m not a drunk like my father you son of Satan! Eff you! Eff you both!” Steven screamed out. Each word reverberated against the cold brick walls of the gym. “Eff you all!”

  Steven’s outburst stunned Joe. He should have felt anger, even rage. He should have struck back with words, if not fists – but a wave of sorrow swept over him as he looked at Steven’s eyes; his jet-black eyes seemed to fill
the entirety of his eyeballs. Joe hardly remembered the next few seconds.

  Before staff arrived at the corner of the gym, Steven had pushed Joe off the bench and buried both fists into his face three times. It took four male staff to pull Steven off Joe. As they whisked him across the gym and through a side door, he shouted out three times, “Sorry. Sorry Joe. You’re the best friend I ever had. You’re my homie.”

  Maddie helped Joe up, gently touched his right cheek. “You okay?”

  “God! He’s crazy. He is crazy.”

  “He’s not crazy Joe. He’s damaged.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “He’s hurt and broken, like every one of us in this place. Broken, scared, scarred but … but never ever ruined. Our destinies are still waiting to be written.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “In a minute, mom. I need a few minutes.” Joe sat in his mom’s SUV. Sarah got out and with a hesitant gait walked toward the front door of their home. She looked back several times with a smile and nod; Joe knew it was her attempt to assure him that everything would be okay, but her gestures clearly declared she was still worried sick. Joe knew she would be treating him with kid gloves, for a long time, maybe forever. He’d talked about it with Braxton several times; going home, what to expect, how to react, how to deal with the adjustment. He wasn’t ready.

  Joe watched his mom go through the front door; she peeked around it just before she closed it. He smiled and nodded; a declaration that he was fine and that everything would be okay. His eyes scanned the house from left to right – so many memories. They’d lived there since the day he was born. Built at least forty years ago, it was the only brick home in the neighborhood, and the only two-story house. With its colonial style and oversized French windows on the ground floor, it stood out in an estate populated by more modern houses. On countless summer evenings, he and his family huddled together on the large veranda that spanned the front of the house. There they would play cards, talk, joke, tease, all the while greeting neighbors as they came and went. Life was sweet then, even if dad wasn’t there; maybe it was sweet because he wasn’t there. Those nights stopped. Why? They all got older. No. It was when mom’s boyfriend moved in. That’s when everything changed, when life lost all its sweetness. His home used to be such a special place – so inviting, so comforting, so safe. But now? Now this house looked old and out of place; even forbidding, angry, haunted. Not the same house he’d left … left in an ambulance two months ago – or was it two years? He felt so naked, so very naked as he finally walked through the front door.