The doctor brought the stethoscope to Christopher’s chest. The cold metal touched his skin, and the itch shot through him. The doctor’s entire medical school education flowed into Christopher’s mind in an instant. The doctor thought it was the temperature of the stethoscope. He shook it and tried again.
I don’t understand this. The boy’s lungs are fine. His heart rate is normal. I’ve run every test, and everything checks out. He has no fever according to the thermometer, but it looks like this kid is…dying.
Christopher forced a smile. They couldn’t know how sick he was. Sick meant drugs, and drugs meant sleep, and sleep meant the hissing lady. But the itch was so powerful that it was going to sweep him out to sea. Christopher had nowhere to put it, so he took a massive breath and brought it deep into his lungs.
“That’s a good deep breath, son,” the doctor said kindly.
The itch spread through Christopher’s body, bringing with it all the people the doctor saw that day. Their aches and pains. Their fevers and headaches. Christopher could feel the blade going into Mr. Henderson’s neck. Fifty years of marriage all thrown into one plunge of a kitchen knife.
I made you ten thousand dinners with this knife!
The flu was everywhere. But it wasn’t the flu. It was the hissing lady on the other side of the glass. He was sure of it. Christopher’s mother gave him another sip of cold apple juice. It tasted like Mr. Henderson’s blood running down the kitchen table. Christopher wanted to throw up, but he couldn’t. They would never let him out. He had to get out of here.
“That’s delicious, Mom. Thank you.”
Christopher could feel the hissing lady in the room. Watching them all. Playing them all like puppets with strings. Strings like the mailbox people. Strings like the Balloon Derby. She is beginning to get inside people’s minds now to use their eyes. The giant eye is getting bigger. The evil is inside the doctor now. He is scratching his palm. The one where he kept the cheat sheets in medical school.
“Mrs. Reese, there is nothing physically wrong with your son.”
“Doctor, feel his forehead…”
“The thermometer says ninety-eight point six degrees.”
“Then, it’s broken…”
“We’ve tried three of them. They’re not all broken. He doesn’t have a fever.”
“You could cook an egg on his forehead.”
“Mrs. Reese, your son doesn’t have a fever.”
Christopher could feel his mother’s outrage growing. She kept a steady voice.
“What about the nosebleeds?”
“He’s not a hemophiliac, Mrs. Reese.”
“But his nose won’t stop bleeding…”
“We ran tests. He’s not a hemophiliac.”
“Then, what does he have?”
“We don’t know.”
Her anger was growing. All of their anger was growing.
“You don’t know? You’ve pricked and prodded him for two days…and you don’t fucking know?!”
“Mrs. Reese, please calm down.”
“I will not fucking calm down. Run some more tests.”
“We have. Blood work. PET scans. Brain scans.”
The hissing lady is…
The hissing lady is…getting stronger.
“Run some more fucking tests!”
“There are no more tests! We’ve run them! He has nothing, Mrs. Reese!”
“BUT LOOK AT HIM!”
She pointed to her little boy, and Christopher saw himself through her eyes. He was pale as a ghost. His nose crusted with blood. He wanted to tell her that the hissing lady was in the room right now making everyone hate each other. But he didn’t dare because then…
“Mrs. Reese, is there a history of mental illness in the family?”
…he might sound insane.
“Is there a history of mental illness in the family?” the doctor repeated.
The room was quiet. Christopher watched his mother sit very still. She gave no response. The doctor seemed grateful to have a calm moment. He began to speak, his voice as tentative as if he were tiptoeing his way through every syllable.
“Mrs. Reese, the reason I ask is that I’ve seen psychosomatic illnesses in children many times. Whenever I can’t find a physical reason, it’s usually because there is a psychiatric one.”
Christopher looked at his mother. Her face was expressionless, but as he held her hand, he could see a glimpse of the home movie she kept so guarded. On her knees. Cleaning the bathtub. Her hands raw from Clorox. Her husband’s blood never came out. So, she moved away. And she never stopped moving.
“My son is not crazy,” she said.
“Mrs. Reese, you said he ripped apart his own neck in school. Self-harm is one of the signs—”
“It was a nightmare. Kids have nightmares.”
The doctor held his tongue. For a moment.
The doctor thinks…the doctor thinks…I have something serious. He has seen schizophrenia in children. It can show up in kids younger than me. The doctor is…the doctor is…working for the hissing lady. But he doesn’t know it.
“Mrs. Reese, I’m trying to help your son. Not hurt him. I could call the child psychiatrist right now. He could do a quick evaluation. If he rules out mental illness, I’ll run all the physical tests again. Deal?”
The silence hung in the room. Ten seconds that felt like an hour. But eventually, Christopher’s mother gave a nod. The doctor returned the favor and made a quick call to the child psychiatrist. After he hung up the phone, he tried to put a positive spin on the situation.
“I know this seems like a dark cloud, Mrs. Reese, but there is a silver lining,” he said. “There isn’t anything wrong with your son physically.”
He scratched his palm and smiled.
“We can thank God for that.”
Chapter 60
Mary Katherine looked at the portrait of Jesus on her wall and said a prayer.
She knew that she would be grounded for life if her parents caught her leaving, but she had no other choice. She wasn’t allowed to use the car anymore. She couldn’t think of a good excuse to go to the pharmacy. But she couldn’t scrub Mrs. Keizer’s words out of her mind.
“You smell wrong. You’re dirty. This girl is dirty!”
Mary Katherine pulled up her jeans under her nightgown. When she buttoned them, she noticed the button was a little tight. She hoped she was just putting on weight. Please, God, I’m just putting on weight, right? She took off the nightgown and threw on her letter jacket. The one she got for playing the flute in the marching band.
She went to her bed and stuffed the pillow under the sheets to make it look like she was still there. Then, she went to her piggy bank. The one that Grandma Margaret gave her before she died. Mary Katherine wanted to stop using it. She wasn’t a child, after all. But it was the last thing her grandmother ever gave her, so she felt too guilty to let it go.
She took out all of the cash, including the change.
She combined it with her babysitting money.
She had around forty-three dollars.
It would be enough.
Mary Katherine left her bedroom. She walked down the hallway and stopped outside her parents’ door. She listened to the silence on the other side until she heard her father snoring. Then, she went downstairs, grabbed the car keys from the ring underneath the portrait of Jesus, and went outside to the driveway. She turned on the station wagon. Quietly. She didn’t wait for it to warm up. She got in and her hands nearly froze to the steering wheel until her fever warmed up the leather.
She didn’t know where to go. She couldn’t drive to the Rite Aid near South Hills Village because people might know her there. Debbie Dunham worked at the Giant Eagle where the other late-night pharmacy was. Mary Katherine couldn’t afford to let anyone she knew see her.
She decided to get onto Route 19.
Far away from Mill Grove.
Mary Katherine drove through the Liberty Tunnels and saw the lights of d
owntown to her left and the prison on the right. She had driven on this bridge on her way to Mercy Hospital when her grandmother died. Her grandmother left her a lot of money that she never got to see or touch. That money was for Notre Dame, her dad said. All she had left was that piggy bank. She didn’t even know what her grandmother’s maiden name was. Why was she thinking about her so much? She hardly ever thought about her anymore. She felt so guilty about that.
Mary Katherine drove on Highway 376 and took the Forbes Avenue exit to Oakland, where the colleges were. Pitt University and CMU. No one would know her there. She drove until she saw a 24-hour pharmacy. She parked the car and sat in the parking lot, looking at the building for a good five minutes to see if anyone she knew was inside. She saw nothing but the security cameras. So, she put on a thick wool hat and some sunglasses, which still smelled like the family’s trip to Virginia Beach. It was such a simple time then. So warm and sunny. And her parents weren’t mad at her. And she had never done anything wrong.
The automatic doors saw her coming and opened like a whale’s mouth.
Mary Katherine walked into the pharmacy. Her heart pounded. She didn’t know what section it would be in. She had never been in this situation.
“Can I help you find something, hun?” the saleswoman asked her.
“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Mary Katherine said.
Her heart pounded. She knows. She knows.
Mary Katherine did her best to walk casually down the aisles. She stopped and looked at a bag of Christmas candy. Then, she browsed some Christmas cards. Then, she stopped at the bookshelf and browsed the titles. When she passed the cold medicine, she noticed that it had been picked clean. She figured this flu must be everywhere, but she didn’t give the matter much thought. She finally found what she was looking for right next to the tampons.
The pregnancy test.
She had no idea what the good brands were, and she didn’t dare ask. So, she grabbed the three most expensive ones. She wanted to shoplift them, so that the lady behind the counter wouldn’t know. But she couldn’t add another sin to what she had already done. She felt guilty for even thinking about theft.
To think it is to do it.
She walked up to the counter. The lady looked down at the pregnancy tests, then back up at Mary Katherine. Her tense little grin said it all.
“Good thing you didn’t need no cold medicine, hun. We’re clean out. Christmas flu season ’n’ that,” she said.
Mary Katherine nodded and tried to say something in return, but she knew if she spoke, she’d burst into tears.
“How ’bout them Steelers today? I think they’re going to win it all this year.”
Mary Katherine nodded and looked at the woman. She was so kind. Nearly as kind as her grandmother.
“Thanks, hun. Merry Christmas to ya,” the woman said.
“Merry Christmas, ma’am,” she replied.
The woman rang up the tests and put them in a bag. Mary Katherine gave her the money in quarters, dimes, and crumpled dollar bills. She didn’t wait for her change.
As Mary Katherine left the pharmacy, some college boys pulled up in a loud Ford Mustang. Mary Katherine could hear their stories of their latest conquests. That “dumb slut” from the Kappa house. And that “hot bitch” was so wasted, she would have given it to anybody. Mary Katherine quickly got back into her mother’s station wagon and locked all the doors. She took off the hat and glasses and opened the first box. The directions were too small to read in the dark car, but she didn’t dare turn on the light because someone might see her. She had to find someplace secluded. So, she started up the car and retraced her steps to Mill Grove.
As she drove back, she thought about all the times coming back home from Christmas Eve at Grandma’s house. Laughing to the song “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” The radio man would finish the song and then say that there was a sighting of a sleigh just outside the North Pole. Mary Katherine would tell her dad to hurry up and get home before Santa came. If she weren’t in bed, Santa would get angry and skip the house.
Please, Daddy. Hurry.
Mary Katherine drove back past the prison, through the Liberty Tubes, Dormont, and Mt. Lebanon until she arrived back in Mill Grove. She turned off Route 19 and drove around the suburban streets until she finally found a perfectly secluded spot.
Right outside the Mission Street Woods.
Mary Katherine looked through the foggy windshield to make sure no one was around. All she saw was the fence guarding the bulldozers and equipment for the Collins Construction Company. But there were no security guards. No cameras. She was safe.
Mary Katherine grabbed the directions. She unfolded them neatly and read everything until she had reached the Spanish translation. When she realized what she had to do in order to take the test, she couldn’t believe it.
Pee on a stick?
She almost wanted to cry. It was so disgusting. Why was everything involving a girl’s body so degrading? Boys got to stay clean and dry. And girls had to put up with being so dirty and pretending they weren’t.
You smell wrong. You’re dirty.
Mary Katherine was at her grandmother’s house when she got her first period. She thought she had cut herself down there. She didn’t know what to do. So, she used toilet paper. And when that wasn’t enough, she went to her mother’s bathroom and stole a tampon. She was so ashamed. When she put it in, she started to cry. A part of her thought it was a sin. And when she pulled it out, she couldn’t believe her eyes. It wasn’t this blue liquid on blotter paper like in the commercials. It was clumpy. And bloody. It disgusted her. She was so dirty.
You’re dirty. This girl is dirty!
She opened the car door. The air was freezing cold. Mary Katherine pulled down her jeans and felt the little dent that the button made in her belly. She crouched down next to the car, bent her knees, and squatted. She let her bladder go. She peed on the stick. Her mind racing.
It’s okay. You only had oral sex one time. You can’t get pregnant from that. You can’t, right? No one ever got pregnant through their mouth. It doesn’t work that way, Mary Katherine. You know that from health class. You didn’t get pregnant the time Doug touched your breast, either. It’s the same thing. Right? Right.
If I’m wrong, God, make me hit a deer on the way home.
Mary Katherine turned on her phone to get a little light. She looked at the stick. Blue meant you were pregnant. White meant you weren’t. The instructions said it would take a few minutes. Every second felt like an eternity.
Don’t panic. Yes, he did get sperm on your sweater, but you can’t get his sperm on your sweater and get pregnant. It doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t, right? Even if I touched it and then went to the bathroom hours later. Can you get pregnant that way? No, of course not. I took health class. It doesn’t work that way. You know it doesn’t.
God, if I’m wrong, make me hit a deer on the way home.
She looked around the construction site. The trees swayed in the breeze. And her arm was so itchy. Her skin was just so itchy. She pulled her jeans up over her freezing skin and got back into the car. She didn’t even bother to turn off the light. She just sat there, looking at the stick. Scratching her arm. Waiting. Praying,
Please, God. Make it white. Make me not pregnant. I swear I didn’t do anything. I didn’t touch myself. I thought about it. And I know that to think it is to do it, but I didn’t do it! I stopped myself! Please, God, help me! Make this white. I swear I will go to church more. I swear I will volunteer at Shady Pines for the rest of the year. I’ll confess to Father Tom. I’ll tell my parents I snuck out tonight. Please, God. I’ll do anything. Just please make it white.
Mary Katherine looked down.
It was blue.
She began to sob.
Mary Katherine was pregnant.
Chapter 61
Aripiprazole.
Christopher’s mother held the prescription bottle in her hand. She didn’t even know h
ow to pronounce the name of the drug. But after the child psychiatrist spent an hour with Christopher, he assured her that it was the right one to try first. It had been used on children and adolescents. It had an excellent track record.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s an antipsychotic,” he explained.
“Christopher is not psychotic.”
“Mrs. Reese, I understand how you feel, but your son spent an hour refusing to talk to me because…” He fished for his notes and emphasized his quoting. “‘…the hissing lady is listening.’ I have treated mental illness in children for three decades, and help is available for your son. I just need your support.”
Christopher’s mother did her best to stay present as the doctor calmly whispered words like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and clinical depression to suggest that her loyalty to Christopher was helpful, but her denial about his potential problem was not. She was still adamant that the doctor was wrong.
Until he brought her back into the room.
The image was shocking. Christopher was sitting up in bed as pale as a ghost. He was almost catatonic, slowly blinking and licking his dry lips. His eyes were black like lumps of coal. It didn’t feel like he was looking at her. It felt like he was looking past her. Through her. Through the wall behind her. All she could think about was Christopher’s father. She met a healthy, beautiful man. And within five years, she would come home from work and find him muttering to himself. She would have given anything to find the right drug to help him. Maybe if she had this drug then, she would still have a husband and…
Christopher would still have a father.
“What does the drug do?” she asked, hating each word as it came out of her mouth.
“It helps control manic episodes. It’s also effective in stopping self-injury, aggression, and quickly changing moods. If aripiprazole doesn’t work, we can try others. I just feel it’s a good first step because the side effects are mild compared to other drugs.”
“What side effects?”
“The most common side effect in children is sleepiness.”
Imaginary Friend Page 34
