Clean

by Amy Reed

  In case you’re wondering, my soul box is going to be purple with white polka dots and blue glitter. I have a lot to put into it, including depression, which I’ve just been informed that I have. I saw the doctor today and he put me on antidepressants because my roommate found me crying in bed last night and it freaked him out. I told the doctor I just feel sad for no reason, which is pretty much the truth, and he said I’m depressed, which is common in people withdrawing from amphetamines, which is what crystal meth is, in case you didn’t know. He said I should talk to Olivia, because she’s probably going through the same thing from her diet pills, and I was like, “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”

  I wonder if it bothers Olivia that she’s sitting alone. I guess we’re not in here to make friends, but it’s sure a lot more fun if you do. I swear she’s been cutting that piece of black construction paper for, like, half an hour. I’ll admit, it is pretty hard to cut a straight line since they only give us dull baby scissors so we can’t use them as weapons or suicide devices. But it’s like she’s obsessed, like she’s punishing that piece of paper for not being straight enough.

  Kelly’s across the room with Jason, and Lilana’s already had to tell them twice to not sit so close. Me and Eva are in the opposite corner with the annoying Hippie Girl from a different Group who’s always following Eva around. Eva’s taking this assignment very seriously. After Ingrid explained the project and sent us on our way, Eva was the first to jump at the supply box and grab all the good stuff. I had no idea she could move so fast. Funny how excited she got about this art project, since she doesn’t ever seem to care about anything. She’s surprising like that, like one minute she’s all quiet and mean and self-righteous, and the next minute she’s all curled up in the corner writing in her journal and looking like she’s going to cry. I guess she’s one of those artsy kind of people with a bunch of layers like an onion, which probably explains why I can’t figure her out. Maybe the secrets are in that journal she carries with her everywhere. Seriously, I never see her anywhere without it. It’s nice that she has something to care about like that. I wonder what mine would be. I guess it’s supposed to be Jesus, but I’d be lying if I said it was. Don’t tell my mom.

  Olivia took the corner behind the Ping-Pong table because she probably figured it would be the most private place in the room. Too bad that’s also where the Scary Guys always sit. She’s sitting there trying to pretend like she doesn’t notice them sitting a few feet away from her, which, believe me, I know is impossible. Everyone notices them, whether they want to or not. People don’t talk about it, but it’s obvious we’re all a little scared of them. Sure, we all have problems, but these guys are a million times worse. There’s Gas Man, the huffer from Alaska who has killed so many brain cells he has slurred speech and permanent hearing loss; there’s the Compulsive Liar, who’s always trying to start fights with everyone; there’s the Satan Worshipper, who will most likely end up a serial killer; and then there’s their leader, the unspoken king of this place, the Heroin Addict.

  Everyone says he had to stay in a hospital to detox for a week before coming here. The rumor is he lived on the streets before that, where he actually committed violent crimes to support his habit. I overheard two girls say he escaped from a mental hospital. Someone else said he was in jail. He’s never allowed on any outings, even though no one’s actually seen him break any rules. It’s just all so mysterious—he must have parents somewhere, right? And they must have money, or else he wouldn’t be here. I mean, let’s face it. This place is kind of a country club as far as rehabs go.

  Just being near him makes me nervous. Poor Olivia. If she got up now, it’d be obvious she was trying to get away from them and she’d be just asking to be humiliated. So she’s trying to be invisible and working on her soul box, gluing that piece of paper so it’s perfectly straight, and pressing out all the bubbles. Meanwhile, the Scary Guys are just a few feet away from her, and Gas Man is sculpting a penis out of pipe cleaners.

  “This girl was probably twelve,” the Heroin Addict says. “Even though she said she was sixteen.” He’s leaning back like he’s totally relaxed, like he’s on the beach instead of in rehab. “Some dude brought her over to where I was squatting, said he found her in an alley crying about how she just ran away from home because her brother was fucking her.”

  Yes, he really said that. At first I was totally horrified by the way people talk in here, but now I’m kind of used to it. It’s like they’re always trying to shock you or prove how tough they are, but the truth is that most everyone is from the suburbs and the only real danger they’ve ever been in has to do with the chemicals they put into their bodies. Anyway, then the Heroin Addict says: “Heard that shit before. That’s what all the new little runaways say. Their brother, their dad, their fucking priest, whatever. All I know is they cry too damn much. And this girl was lying. No one had fucked her before. You know what I mean. She bled all over the fucking place.”

  You see what I mean by scary? The Heroin Addict makes everyone else look like amateurs. And Olivia just keeps on sitting there, cutting her piece of paper and pretending like she isn’t listening. The Heroin Addict keeps on talking: “She’s all young and stupid and never done anything in her life, and there’s these beakers over by the window,” and then Gas Man goes, “What’s a beaker?” and Heroin Addict says, “Those glass things scientists put shit in.” Compulsive Liar asks, “Where’d you get them?” and Heroin Addict says, “Dude, I don’t know. That’s not the fucking point,” and then Satan Worshipper looks up from the demons he’s drawing and makes a sound like a horse laughing.

  Heroin Addict continues: “So there’s these beakers full of cum, cuz me and my buddy jacked off into them the day before.”

  Yes, you heard right. He actually said that. Me and Eva and the annoying Hippie Girl look at each other like we threw up in our mouths a little. But guess what? It gets worse. Then he says, “And this girl’s dying to get fucked up. She kept begging me to let her shoot up, but I was like, no fucking way I’m sharing with you when you’re just gonna puke all over the place and probably piss yourself. So I told her the beakers were full of this really good stuff my friend made that was even better than heroin. And she was all horny to try it. So I tied off her arm and shot the bitch up with my cum.”

  Olivia’s face is totally white, and she looks like she’s about to lose her mind. Then Dr. Ingrid says it’s break time, and the Scary Guys get up, and Heroin Addict kicks Olivia’s shoe, and she looks up, and they’re all standing there smiling. Heroin Addict says, “Like my story, little girl?” and they all laugh and walk outside to the fenced-in smokers’ patio, and activity hour is over. Ingrid’s cleaning up and Lilana’s yelling at someone on the patio, and Olivia’s just sitting there shaking. She’s alone and scared and trapped in this place with a bunch of crazy people and no friends, and I know the Christian thing would be to go over and talk to her, but she gets up and walks up the stairs even though they’re off-limits, and I don’t try to stop her. I just get up and follow the smokers outside and try not to feel bad for not being nice to her. You may think that’s mean, and you’re probably right, but really, would you want to go talk to someone who thinks you’re beneath them?

  GROUP

  SHIRLEY: Olivia, I hear you’re isolating.

  OLIVIA: What?

  SHIRLEY: And you’re not eating.

  OLIVIA: Who told you that?

  SHIRLEY: Oh, I have spies.

  OLIVIA: I’m not isolating. I just need time to do my homework. You guys don’t give enough time, so I have to take every chance I get.

  SHIRLEY: Is that also your excuse for rearranging all of Kelly’s stuff last night?

  OLIVIA: No, I—What? Kelly, you told her that?

  KELLY: No. I mean, yes. I mean, I told some people about how you moved my shit around. You have to admit it’s kind of weird.

  SHIRLEY: Olivia, how does it make you feel that Kelly called your behavior weird?

/>   OLIVIA: I don’t care. Can we change the subject?

  SHIRLEY: Do you think your behavior’s weird?

  OLIVIA: I just want to do my homework. What’s wrong with that?

  SHIRLEY: And Kelly’s shoes?

  OLIVIA: I’m sorry.

  KELLY: Apology accepted. We don’t really have to talk about this.

  SHIRLEY: Olivia, it’s common for amphetamine users to exhibit obsessive-compulsive behavior. But the fact that you’re continuing to exhibit this behavior several days after you last took pills makes me think there’s something much deeper that we need to deal with.

  OLIVIA: I won’t touch Kelly’s shoes again.

  SHIRLEY: This is not about Kelly’s shoes. It’s the not eating, the homework, the isolating. You’re trying to control everything around you. And that’s just asking for disaster.

  OLIVIA: I don’t understand what’s so wrong about wanting to do my goddamned homework. What’s wrong with you people? Just because I’m focused and give a shit about my life and want to succeed, you think there’s something wrong with me? Just because I’m different from all the losers in here?

  CHRISTOPHER: Losers?

  JASON: Whoa. Perfect girl said “shit.”

  EVA: Calling us losers is not the way to get us on your side.

  OLIVIA: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Christopher, I don’t think you’re a loser.

  CHRISTOPHER: I am kind of a loser.

  SHIRLEY: Olivia, listen to me. I know you’re in pain. Everyone in here is in pain. You don’t have some sort of exclusive right to it just because you think you have the most to lose.

  OLIVIA: I didn’t say that. I didn’t mean that at all.

  JASON: Dude, Olivia, you’re being kind of a bitch.

  SHIRLEY: Dude, Jason, shut it.

  JASON: Yes, sir.

  SHIRLEY: Olivia, nothing’s ever going to change for you until you let go of some of your control. Do you understand?

  OLIVIA: No.

  SHIRLEY: You don’t live in the same world everyone else does. And it’s not because you’re rich or because of who your daddy is. It’s because you’ve constructed this imaginary universe where you’re the boss of everything. And it’s killing you. Do you see that? Do you see how dangerous it’s become?

  OLIVIA: I know I have a problem with the diet pills. That’s what I’m in here to fix, right? Isn’t that what you guys are always trying to tell us? That it’s the addiction that made us the way we are?

  SHIRLEY: Getting rid of the drugs doesn’t get rid of all the other ways you learned to deal with the world. It’s not that easy.

  KELLY: Oh my God, she’s crying.

  CHRISTOPHER: It’s okay, Olivia.

  SHIRLEY: Here’s the deal, Olivia. From now on you will not be allowed in your bedroom alone. You will be required to spend each entire mealtime in the cafeteria. I have instructed the ACs to make sure you eat. You are not allowed to sit alone during activities. You must raise your hand to speak at every recovery meeting you attend. You are only allowed to work on homework during the allotted one hour we give you each day—

  OLIVIA: But—

  SHIRLEY: No buts. I’m in charge here, not you. You need to get used to that. The ACs have been instructed to keep your books and papers locked in the nurse’s office.

  OLIVIA: Shirley, you can’t—

  SHIRLEY: I can do anything I want. I am the counselor. You are the patient. There are more important things than grades, my dear. Your life, for instance. And once that’s covered, your sanity is pretty damn important. Now, the rest of you, you have responsibilities here too. You may not like Olivia. You may think she’s conceited and stuck-up, and you’re probably right. But the deal is, if she doesn’t get help now, she will die. This is not a joke. This isn’t summer camp where you’re just playing at recovery. This is a therapeutic community, and you have a responsibility to your community member whether you like it or not. Kelly, you are Olivia’s roommate, and I am designating you her permanent buddy while you’re both here. You must know where she is at all times. If she shows any unhealthy behavior, you must tell an AC immediately.

  KELLY: Are you serious?

  SHIRLEY: Do you want her to die?

  KELLY: Jesus, Shirley. Of course not.

  SHIRLEY: The rest of you, it is your responsibility to keep an eye on her during all group functions. If she’s isolating, be with her. If you can’t find her or she’s not eating, tell an AC. If she’s trying to organize things obsessively, call her on it. If she doesn’t stop, tell an AC.

  JASON: So you’re basically telling us to tattle on her?

  SHIRLEY: I’m telling you to give a shit about someone besides yourself for once in your life, and do what you have to do to help her. Is that okay with you, Jason?

  JASON: Yeah. I mean, of course. Yes.

  SHIRLEY: Everyone?

  KELLY: Yes.

  EVA: Yes.

  CHRISTOPHER: Absolutely.

  SHIRLEY: Olivia. How does it feel to have everyone commit to helping you?

  OLIVIA: I don’t know.

  KELLY: Shirley, stop making her cry.

  SHIRLEY: Olivia, how do you feel?

  OLIVIA: Scared.

  SHIRLEY: Good. That’s a start. That’s a very good start.

  PERSONAL ESSAY

  CHRISTOPHER

  I guess one interesting thing about me is that my mom is fat. I mean really fat. Like morbidly obese. She can barely walk from our front door to the car in the driveway. Our church installed benches on the path from the parking lot just so she could sit down at regular intervals so she won’t get too exhausted on her way to the door. She sleeps in what’s supposed to be the living room on a king-size bed because she can’t get up the stairs to the second floor, where the bedrooms are. Which is good for me, I guess. I’ve had the whole second floor to myself for as long as I can remember. I think the last time she came up there was when I was nine. I guess obesity does have its benefits.

  OLIVIA

  My older brother, Adam, started learning Latin at age four. Same with Jeffrey and the violin. Janice always reminds me how stubborn I was at that age, how brilliance wasn’t as easy with me. She says I’d throw tantrums whenever it was time to go to what she refers to as my “augmentations” (which I believe normal people call “after-school activities”). I don’t remember the moment I made the decision to accept the ballet and piano lessons, the speech and math tutoring. I don’t remember the supposedly rebellious time before that, when I fought to stay unexceptional. All I remember is knowing, from the moment I could understand anything, that I had to be special like everyone else in my family. But along with that understanding came the realization that there wasn’t really anything special about me. I think I was five. Maybe six. I just know I’ve been faking it for a really long time.

  EVA

  This world is not built for perfection. That is the first lesson. So God invented things like cancer to put us in our place. No one is innocent. God takes beautiful women away from their daughters, takes a father’s soul with her, and leaves a ghost to raise a girl and teach her how to be empty. And then God makes you choose. This is the second lesson. He puts broken things in your path and calls it free will. And then you are told to pick the lesser of two evils, so you drink the poison that promises the slower death because anything is better than staying empty. Do you remember? Do you remember the world before the poison?

  KELLY

  We went to Disneyland once when I was twelve. My family doesn’t have a bunch of money to throw around like everyone else in here, so it was a pretty big deal for us to go to Disneyland. The trip was really for my twin sisters, Shayla and Nicole, because they were seven and I was twelve and way too old for it to be any fun. I remember being really angry about it, about how our first real vacation in I don’t know how long had to be for them. It couldn’t be something I wanted to do. Nothing could ever be about me. So of course I decided I had to make the trip miserable for everyone, because that�
��s the kind of shitty thing I do.

  JASON

  When I was six, I fell off my bike and broke my arm. Dad laughed at me. Told me to be a man and take the pain. When I was seven, we moved to Seattle from Kentucky. The kids in my class made fun of my southern accent. So I beat them up. I got sent home and my mom apologized to the principal. But my dad was proud. He looked me in the eye and smiled, like I’d finally done something right for once.

  When I was eight, my mom got rushed to the hospital in the middle of her birthday party because of “dehydration.” They gave her an IV and everything. But I knew it was because she drank too much. Nobody talked about it. Funny how her “fainting” looks the same as when I pass out. Funny how the nice nurses gave her fluids and a room with a view, but the drunks in the gutter have to wake up with puke all over themselves.

  KELLY

  We’re lying on the floor

  of a dark room listening to elevator music. Boys and girls lie in rows less than two feet away from each other, and we’re told we’re not supposed to touch anyone. This is worse than movie nights. You can practically feel the sexual tension in the air. The AC in charge looks and sounds like an ex-porn star, and she’s saying things like “Close your eyes” and “Relax” and “Imagine yourself in a beautiful place,” and I don’t even want to know what kind of beautiful place the guys are imagining. I would like someone to explain to me how this is supposed to help me stay sober.

  They call this “meditation hour,” but my guess is it’s what they throw into the schedule when they can’t find anything better for us to do. We’re all crammed together on the floor like sardines, and I’m just waiting for this to turn into some kind of orgy. Jason’s only a couple of feet away. I could reach my arm out and touch him right now if I wanted to. I wonder if he’s thinking of me, if he realizes how easy it’d be to touch me. How is anyone supposed to relax under these conditions?