List of Ten

by Halli Gomez

  My hand squeezed around the gun. I didn’t want her to feel like the Prices, but honestly, she’d lost me a long time ago.

  “I was as miserable as you are and thought about killing myself, too. One day when you were at school, just before I left, I sat at home with a bottle of sleeping pills. All I saw was pain and loneliness in our futures. Then I pictured you coming home and finding me there. You alone with your dead mother.”

  She was silent, then let out a big exhale.

  “I worked hard to get my life back. And yes, sometimes I’m lonely, but I go to meetings and I’ve met other people with Tourette. Some really special people.”

  I had special people, too, like Khory who made me forget to count and Jay who stood up for me to the cops. The police! Mrs. Frances picked me out of everyone for Gravity Redefined. Even Rainn and Diego were cool, even though their parents were stupid. Maybe there was hope. Mr. and Mrs. Isenhour found each other. The lady found her dog, and didn’t she say that she’d be able to drive now?

  I wanted to drive. I wanted to be free to feel weightless. To kiss girls. Mrs. Isenhour said I was a role model for her son. Me? I focused on the gun and rubbed my finger over the barrel. Then the trigger. The urge to squeeze it built up in my fingers. I gasped and dropped my hand.

  My heart pounded. My finger tingled. I wanted to feel the trigger again. Harder. Was that my Tourette brain talking, or was I ready to give in to the exhaustion? I breathed in and out fast. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Repeat. My chest tightened. My breathing sped up. Too fast to get air back in. The Tourette and OCD, they were responsible one way or another.

  “I just want it all to stop. To go away. The pain, the anxiety, the fucking number ten.” I brought the gun back to my head.

  MARCH 31

  CRASH!

  The bathroom door slammed open and bounced off my leg. I winced. White splinters flew across the room, hit the wall, and fell into the sink. I moved the gun from my head. Mom and Dad stood in the doorway. Mom’s eyes were red, and her cheeks splotchy. Probably what I looked like if I dared to peek in the mirror.

  Dad’s eyes went from mine, to the gun, then back to me. Sweat poured down his face. My hand squeezed the grip tighter, not ready to let go. My parents didn’t move. I’d been so sure. I had my list. I’d completed just about everything. But now there was something else. A twinge of doubt? Actually, it was more like the spark I felt when I saw Khory and experienced weightlessness. I wouldn’t call it hope, but it was far from despair. Could I make it last?

  Mom found hope and so did Mrs. Isenhour. Enough to stay alive at least. Is that the kind of role model the Isenhours were looking to show David? A kid who survived. I had nothing else to offer, besides the picture. Nothing right now. But what if, in the future, I actually accomplished something great? Was I so sure about number ten that I wanted to erase that chance?

  I stood up and turned the gun grip side-up toward Dad like he taught me. He took it, emptied the bullets, locked it, and put it in the box. The click of the lock made me flinch.

  Mom took my arm and led me out of Dad’s room. My tears flowed. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. They calmed me and washed away every fear and every pain. At least for now.

  “Oh, baby, I wish I could make it better. But I promise you there’s hope. New medications, injections to dull the nerves. We can work on it.”

  We went to my room, and she looked around. “Just like I remembered.”

  Another reminder I probably should have updated my decorations sometime in the last decade.

  Mom sat on my bed. I wondered if she felt the scissors under the mattress like I did.

  “We can change your medication, but it would be more effective if we got you in the right frame of mind first,” she said.

  “Which means going to the hospital,” I said. “How long will I have to be there?”

  “I’m not sure. A few days maybe. A week?”

  There were still seven days until the tenth anniversary. Still time to give life one more try. It wouldn’t hurt to try things Khory’s way. I doubted she’d be willing to teach me, but maybe I could watch from afar. I was good at sitting in the back. Mom opened my closet, pulled out a duffel bag, then went to my dresser and pulled out jeans, T-shirts, underwear, and socks. I looked around my room and frowned. I hated to leave it.

  “Don’t worry, you’re coming back,” Mom said.

  I nodded and watched her stuff the clothes in a duffel bag. Dad stood in the doorway.

  I followed him out.

  . . . . . . . . . .

  Dad pulled the car to the front of a building that, ironically, was attached to the building the TS meetings were in. If I was still here when the next one came around, maybe they’d let me go. That had to look like progress, which I guessed I had to show to get out of here.

  We parked, Dad grabbed my duffel bag from the trunk, and Mom and I followed him inside. The walls were a light green, like mint-chip ice cream. They were either going for cheery or calming. Rainn would have loved it. It made me hungry.

  A few kids strolled by me on their way somewhere, but no one seemed in a hurry to get there. Thankfully, none bothered to glance my way.

  My parents signed papers, then came over to me followed by a woman in green scrubs and shoes that clomped when she stepped.

  “I’m Ms. Fenske, the day nurse assigned to your section. Parents, this is where you leave him in my hands. I will take very good care of him, I promise.”

  Already? We had more time to say goodbye the first day of kindergarten. I stood up and Mom hugged me. She held on until Dad put his hand on her shoulder.

  He took my hand and pulled me close to him. “Troy, it’s just a few days. Everything is going to be fine.”

  “Okay,” I said before my voice cracked. Tears already blurred my vision.

  They turned toward the door. I shuffled behind Ms. Fenske. It was five counts of ten from the check-in desk to my room. I looked back at them just as they peeked at me. It felt like my heart ripped in two. I counted to ten. And again. I could have stayed in the hallway and done this forever, but they turned and walked away. I took a deep breath, went in, and leaned against the wall while Ms. Fenske rummaged through my duffel bag and pulled out my phone.

  “Electronics are forbidden here. As are tennis shoes with laces.” She held out her hand.

  I kicked my shoes off, put them on the bed, and reminded myself I had agreed to this. Even though it wasn’t really an option.

  “A nurse will bring you your medication. Dr. Gannon was able to fit you in today, so your first therapy session will be in twenty minutes. After that I will show you around. The lunchroom and the common area where we have group therapy. A few kids do their school worksheets in there, too. Keeping up with school is very important; you don’t want to fall behind. What grade are you in?”

  “Tenth.”

  “I’ll make sure you get the right ones.”

  How long did she think I’d be in here?

  “Even missing a few days can be a big deal in terms of work.” She scanned the room, maybe to see if all the sharp objects were confiscated. Hard to have weapons when the only things in here were a bed, a night table with no drawer, and one of those clothes cabinet things, open and empty.

  She scooped up my shoes and phone. “Do you have any questions?”

  Questions. I had a few. Would this doctor get me fixated on something as equally disturbing as the number ten? If I stayed in my room, was that a sign of depression? And I guessed asking if I could go home was out of the question. I shook my head.

  I followed Ms. Fenske back down the hall and around the corner. Twelve sets of ten. She was careful not to get too far ahead, probably in case I decided to run away. I went into a small, plain room big enough for a coffee table and three black leather chairs, one already filled. Ms. Fenske hovered in the doorway until the doctor motioned for me to sit; then she backed away and closed the door.

  “Tr
oy, hi. I’m Dr. Gannon.”

  He was the complete opposite of HQ. Younger, muscular, and obviously not as stuffy, because he wore khaki pants and a light-blue button-down shirt.

  “Have you had a chance to look around the place? Meet anyone?”

  “No. I just got here.”

  “Okay. Well, there will be plenty of time for that. Just to warn you, you’ll probably be disappointed. It’s not like home or hanging at your friend’s house; the only fun and games we can offer are puzzles. You’re here to get your life under control, we don’t want you to stay.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure I’d ever hang at a friend’s house again, but I knew this would never be better than home. Not for me, anyway.

  “Well, let’s get right down to it. I know you tried to kill yourself, and that’s why you’re here. Okay, you tried suicide as an option; that didn’t work. Thankfully. I’d like to discuss other options with you.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  He smiled. “Ah, you thought this would be a lecture. I try not to do that since I can’t begin to understand what it’s like to be you. So why don’t you tell me?”

  My neck twitched. I squeezed my hands together. Repeat.

  “How about school? Family. Your Tourette. I bet your muscles are constantly in pain.”

  My neck twitched faster. My hands squeezed tighter. Then my face scrunched up.

  “Do you play video games?” Dr. Gannon chuckled. “I know, dumb question. What do you play? I’m into quest-type games. I love collecting tools that lead to a treasure.”

  My hands unclenched.

  “I’m currently playing The Quest for Alien Artifacts,” he said.

  “I’ve done that one.”

  “It’s great, but I’m stuck on level seven. Any hints?” He winked.

  We spent the next twenty or thirty minutes talking about video games. I gave him clues, and he named games I hadn’t played. Yet. He seemed cool. Hardly Qualified, coming from the age of stone tablets and chisels, never would have mentioned electronics. But that didn’t mean the doctors were completely different. Dr. Gannon could still implant some phrase or number or letter into my subconscious that even Khory wouldn’t have been able to get me to forget about. So when he decided to switch from games to life and living, I tried to tune him out and made a list in my mind of everything I wanted to ask but couldn’t bring myself to.

  1. Did Khory think I was dead?

  2. Did Dad find all the weapons I hid?

  3. Did Jude wonder where I was?

  4. Would I ever be able to see him again?

  And then Dr. Gannon said a word that caught my attention. List. He spoke my nongaming language. It was like he read my mind.

  “By the time you leave here,” he said, “you’ll have a new list of tasks to accomplish. Ones that will help you feel better.”

  I thought about talking, asking him a few questions, but Ms. Fenske opened the door and said our time was up. I sighed. The questions could wait. It’s not like I’d be sprung tonight if I talked. She gave me a tour of the floor, including the nurses’ desk and the common area where I’d go for group therapy, then led me back to my room.

  She held out a mini–paper cup. “Here are your meds for today.”

  I stared at the pills. Clonidine, melatonin, no Lexapro, but a new one. “What’s this one?”

  She peeked in the cup. “It’s a higher dose of Lexapro. For depression.”

  I nodded, swallowed the pills, and washed them down with the cup of water she handed me.

  “Open your mouth, please, so I can make sure you swallowed them.”

  I did as I was told. Was all this worth it? I agreed to give the whole living thing one more try, but if I had to spend it being treated like a baby, then maybe I had chosen poorly.

  “I left a few worksheets on your night table. You can do them in here or in the common room,” she said.

  A common room with other people? The past few months I hung out with people, but Khory was there to literally hold my hand. I wasn’t sure I could do it without her. No big deal; I was used to being by myself.

  “Dinner is at five o’clock, and you will have relaxing time before lights out at eight,” Ms. Fenske said.

  She seemed to have misunderstood her clients. Apparently, she thought this was an old-age home. Should I have expected a bingo tournament later?

  “Thanks.” I collapsed on the bed.

  She took both cups and clomped her way to the door. It whooshed as it closed behind her.

  I rolled toward the window and stared at my view, a mammoth air conditioner. It appeared wavy, like it was behind a force field, but I was the one enclosed. And it wasn’t with high-tech lasers, just an extra-thick pane of glass. I guess bars on the windows seemed too much like a prison.

  I slipped under the covers. The blanket was thin and offered no protection or comfort. My scissors weren’t under this mattress. I was exposed and vulnerable, and for the first time, I didn’t want to be alone.

  APRIL 1

  I was already awake when my door opened and a man announced it was breakfast time. I rolled away from the window as he put a tray of food on a rolling table and pushed it toward me.

  “Meds first,” he said and held out a cup like Ms. Fenske had yesterday. I swallowed the pills, he checked my mouth, then left me alone. I picked at the food that looked like pancakes but smelled like the school cafeteria. The silence surrounded me. I peeked out the door he’d propped open: the hallway was empty.

  I took a bite of food. They weren’t Terri’s pancakes, but they weren’t terrible. By the time I finished, the floor was a little more active. Figures shuffled past my room. One or two peeked in, but no one stopped to talk. Just like school, except we weren’t free to leave. I kept myself busy by showering, getting dressed, and trying not to think that today was April 1. The anniversary was five days away.

  Since my phone was confiscated, I couldn’t check my list. Not that I had a lot left to finish. Just number ten. And if I completed that, I wouldn’t be around to mark it off anyway. I sat straighter. That wasn’t going to happen. I chose life. I jumped off the bed, snatched the worksheets off the night table, and went to the common room.

  The room wasn’t what I expected. It was empty except for a brown couch against one wall that clashed with the mint-green paint, two round tables, and eight chairs. My neck twitched, and I counted to ten. So much for company.

  I crossed the room to the closest table, sat, and scanned the worksheets. Lord of the Flies passages and Geometry. Seriously? But I grabbed a pen from the center of the table and began reading. My eyes closed, and I rested my head in my hand.

  Thud. I opened my eyes and popped my head up. A girl wearing black leggings and an AC/DC T-shirt was slumped in the corner of the couch. My neck twitched and my hands scrunched, but I managed to smile. She smiled, then stared across the room. I looked too, but there was nothing to see. I knew that look. I’ve had that look. Too much medication.

  I focused on my papers again, and more people came in. Another girl and three boys. They moved the chairs from the tables, then pushed the tables out of the way. I watched as they put the chairs in a circle.

  “Dude, you gonna help?” a tall blonde kid yanked my chair. I hopped up before he dumped me on the ground.

  “Troy, you’re here. Good.” Dr. Gannon walked in the room and put a hand on the blonde kid’s shoulder. “Ryan, this is Troy’s first group session.”

  “Hey,” Ryan mumbled.

  “Hey.” I got out of his way. He was the kind of guy girls at my school followed down the hallways. And the kind of guy who used his audience to humiliate me.

  Ryan took a chair near the door, crossed his arms, and stretched his legs out. I sat across the room near zombie rock-and-roll girl.

  Group therapy. Would this be like the Tourette support group, all accepting and forgiving? I scanned the crowd. No one looked excited to be here.

  “Good morning everyone. We have a new member
of group.” Dr. Gannon nodded toward me. “This is Troy.”

  Everyone stared at me. My neck twitched ten times. I focused on my shoe and the circles where my laces used to be. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

  Dr. Gannon cleared his throat. “Lauren, you said you wanted to share.”

  He’d moved on. My shoulders relaxed. I glanced up. A girl with long, wavy red hair, Lauren, I guessed, let out a big exhale.

  “It’s the pressure,” she whispered. “School, sports, clubs. I can’t do it all.”

  “I think a lot of us here understand that kind of pressure. Please, continue,” Dr. Gannon said.

  And she did. Half speaking, half crying, she told us about having to get into a good college, the constant questions by her parents, and the comparisons with her friends. No matter what SAT score she got, someone bragged about a better one. Then Lauren told us how she dealt with it. She took a handful of pills.

  But, like me, she changed her mind. And now we had to figure out what that meant.

  . . . . . . . . . .

  A couple more people shared during group, talking about anxiety and anorexia. Ryan stayed quiet on his side of the room, and I counted rounds of ten on mine. When Dr. Gannon let us go, I went back to my room. I got the concept of sharing our problems; we all dealt with bad stuff. That’s why I went to the Tourette group in the first place, to compare the bad stuff. And get answers. I still hadn’t gotten any, and time was running out. I wanted this to work; I just didn’t know how to do it. The thought made my brain hurt.

  During the next three days, I spent less time by myself and more time around other people. And not because I had to. I did the lame worksheets in the common room, walked the halls, and sat in group. Okay, the last one wasn’t a choice.

  I met with Dr. Gannon every other day and actually talked about something besides video games. I told him about the embarrassment of this stupid disorder, my pain scale, and zero gravity. But I kept the number ten to myself.