Get Well Soon

by Julie Halpern

“Nah.”

  “Draw portraits?”

  “Nah.”

  “Look at the getaway cars and plan our escape?”

  “OK.” We walked to the window. Already darkened by the screen, the sky looked unfriendly. “The cars are still there,” Sandy noted, even though I could see them myself.

  “Which one do you want?” she asked.

  “I hadn’t thought about it. I assumed we’d escape together, in the same car.”

  “So which car should we take? I’m pretty partial to the pink one,” I said. “It’s so Barbie. Plus, maybe people will think we sell Mary Kaye cosmetics.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you heard of that? There’s some makeup company where women sell products door-to-door, and the more they sell, the more pink stuff they win. If they sell a ton, they get a pink car. I saw a made-for-TV movie about it.”

  I really hope we don’t manage to escape. What would I do? On the lam with a pregnant sixteen-year-old? That’s so not me. And if we left, what would happen to everyone at Lake Shit? Everyone pretty much being Justin, of course. I could probably come back here in five years and still find Matt O., but if I leave without knowing how Justin feels about me or what happened to his hand or even how to get in touch with him once we’re home, then that’s it.

  Good thing I’m such a wuss.

  AFTER LUNCH

  Lunch today was as soggy as the weather. People didn’t talk much, and even the food looked gray.

  “What movie are we watching tonight?” I asked.

  “The nine-billionth Star Wars,” Matt O. said. “No shit. I’ve been here six months, and every Sunday they show one of the Star Wars movies. I’m so sick of them. I’d even settle for that flying boy movie again.”

  “You would?”

  “No. Not really. That was way off.”

  “I don’t care what movie they show, as long as the lights are off,” Troy said and smiled slyly at Callie. One would think that the adults in this place would have some memory of the make-out scandal of last week, but after a few days, Callie and Troy were sitting next to each other again. I can only imagine what base they could get up to in the dark of a movie. Did I just say base? That is soooo middle school. And you know what’s sad? I never even knew what the bases stood for. These are my guesses:

  1st Base: lip kiss

  2nd Base: touching over clothes

  3rd Base: touching under clothes

  Home Run: full-on doing it, plus some other things that I’ve heard about, but feel weird writing down.

  Is that right? Oh god. I cannot imagine ever ever ever being naked with another human being in my whole life. Is it ever going to happen? Do I want it to happen? Will I know what to do if it does? Maybe I should keep an eye on Callie and Troy for some pointers. Would that make me a Phil-level perv? Hey—I know! I’ll get a boyfriend who can show me how to do everything! Yeah! That sounds so easy, why didn’t I think of it sooner? Oh wait—I did. Like, every single second of my life. I am getting very desperate here.

  PET THERAPY

  What a pathetic loser I am. The hospital brought in animals today as a way to make us feel good, and not a single animal came near me. There were puppies and kittens and dogs and cats and even a bunny, and not one liked me. I sat on the floor next to Justin and Matt O., and all of the animals passed me and went directly to one of them. Matt O. had particular luck with the dogs, which he attributed to the fact that his special mental hospital plan does not require him to bathe every day and he had acquired a somewhat ripe scent. The animals looked so cute and soft, and I called to them in the nicest of ways, but they ignored me. One dog smelled my shoe, looked totally disgusted, and walked over to Justin instead. Hello—we have the same shoes! Does that say something about me? If animals don’t like you, doesn’t that mean you’re a serial killer? No, that’s if you murder animals, which I have to admit I kind of wanted to after none of them wanted to talk to me. Does that make me a serial killer? The ironic thing is that the animals were supposed to be here to make us feel happy and loved, and instead they just made me feel crappy and lonely. Maybe it meant that I smelled good, though, since they were attracted to the foul-smelling Matt O., and they do have a tendency to sniff each other’s butts. How is this therapy again?

  COMMUNITY ROCKS!

  You will never guess what happened to me in Community. No, I didn’t make out with Justin while everyone gave us points. I got into Level III! Eugene said he really liked how I expressed myself in Group and thought I was getting my act together nicely. I guess he’s referring to how in Group when someone else has something to say, I usually constructively give advice, like, “Colby, I think it would be perfectly OK for you to talk to the voices in your head, as long as it doesn’t wake up anyone else.” Or when people get into shouting matches, like the time Phil/ Shaggy and Sean got into a shouting match over how much beer you have to drink to make yourself pass out, I don’t join in screaming like everyone else (perhaps because I’ve never had beer?). Whatever the official reasons are for getting me on Level III, I’m pretty stoked. Not only will I have complete control over the TV and radio, but I get to go on a field trip and have a Friday night pizza party! And now for the best news of all: Guess who else made it to Level III … Correct! Justin! That means we can choose radio stations together! We can feed each other pizza on Friday night! Greatest and most fantastic of all is that we get to go outside of the mental hospital into the real world! Together!

  SNACK TIME

  Raisins again. I like raisins, but I have a habit of losing one or two on the floor every time I eat them. I always find them later and think they are: a) a mouse turd or b) a cockroach. Then I figure out it’s a raisin and sigh with relief. This pretty much happens every time I find a lost raisin.

  BEDTIME

  I’ve been thinking. While I’m beyond the world of thrilled that Justin and I get to share Level III with each other (It kind of makes us like the mental hospital royalty, doesn’t it?), it’s weird to think about the fact that I got to Level III. I mean, of course I did. When don’t I do everything I’m told to do? I’m in a mental hospital, which means I’m supposed to be a total fuckup, and what do I do? I play nice, I don’t touch anyone, and I follow all of the rules. I feel like such a spaz. I wish I had the balls to break something or swear at someone or just not do what I’m supposed to do. I’m completely afraid that if I mess up, people won’t like me. But I still like the people who are getting in trouble (for the most part). Matt O. is always in and out of the Quiet Room, and he’s one of my favorite people here. Plus, I don’t really like the people who are giving out the punishments, so why do I care what they think of me? Is this how rebels think? Are they better than us wimpy people because they don’t care what other people think? Or are they worse because they don’t care if they hurt people? Or are they neither because nobody is all one way all of the time anyway? I have no answers, only questions as usual.

  As a Level III, I have to wonder what the adults think they’re doing for us. I can see that a lot of us are “better”—without panic attacks, satanic possession, swastikas—but will this apply in the real world? All we do is talk about the problems we’re having here. I am going to be a bigger freak in the real world when I go back to school (yikes!) and stick my fingers out instead of raising my hand. What if someday I’m back home and I get a real boyfriend and I’m afraid to touch him? What if I can’t ever fall asleep again without first listening to shitty music? Maybe I’d be better off living here forever.

  Day 18

  Monday, Day 18

  AFTER BREAKFAST

  Sandy wasn’t at breakfast today. She said she had an appointment with her doctor, which was weird because it was so early.

  At breakfast Victor proposed a toast: “To Anna and Justin [Our names sound so good together, don’t they?] for making it to Level Three!” Everyone cheered their milk cartons and juice cups together. “Let’s hope they make it somewhere else, too!” He win
ked. Cheers to that!

  TEN MINUTES LATER, STILL IN ROOM

  Sandy hasn’t come back to our room yet. It’s strangely lonely in here without her. It reminds me of being in my bedroom at home, happy to be by myself but wishing I had someone to be with. It wouldn’t be so bad in here if it weren’t so creepy quiet. Quiet isn’t always bad, but it’s nice when you at least have some control over it.

  AFTER GROUP

  Abby had a seizure! Abby had a seizure! It was so weird. One minute, Phil/Shaggy was talking out of his ass about the gang he used to sell drugs for (yeah, right), and the next minute Abby was flopping around on the floor like a fish. I don’t mean to sound insensitive (which is basically saying that I do), but that’s really the best way to describe it. Her eyes rolled, her mouth hung open, and her arms and legs jerked up and down. It felt like there were a solid thirty seconds where everyone just stared at her, waiting for Satan to speak out of her mouth. That’s what I was waiting for, at least. But when she didn’t speak and she just kept flopping, Eugene, Bobby, and Matt O. got onto their knees and tried to help her. Eugene pulled out a walkie-talkie and called for medical help. I didn’t want to stare at Abby because that seemed rude, and I didn’t want to look at anyone else because that seemed creepy, so I just stared into a corner until help arrived.

  I couldn’t believe how Matt O. took control of the situation. He hasn’t touched anyone in six months, and there he was holding on to Abby during her seizure. And there I was, afraid to look at her, afraid to touch her, afraid to look at anyone.

  When I got back to my room after Group, Sandy was finally there. She stood at the window, fingers pressed against the screen.

  “You OK?” I asked. She pulled her hands off of the screen, and itty-bitty squares dotted her fingertips like new fingerprints.

  “I’m fine,” she said. I could tell she was lying. “What happened in Group? We heard a lot of yelling.”

  I told her about Abby and how I was freaked. “Did she talk like the girl in The Exorcist?”

  “No. It was scary enough without that. I would have heaved all over if she went devil-child on us. I wonder if any of that was even real. The seizure looked real, not that I’ve ever seen a seizure before, so I don’t think she was faking. Why would she fake it?”

  “So people don’t think she’s a liar.”

  “I think if she was really lying she would have faked a little devil talk, like, ‘Let Abby go. Satan warns you.’ You know, so she could get out of here.”

  Sandy looked at me while she chewed her lip.

  “I don’t think it quite works that way,” she said.

  “What works what way?” There were too many thoughts and memories rushing through my brain to sort out what she was referring to.

  “Lying, I mean. I don’t think lying’s the best way to get out of here.”

  Sandy picked at a loose piece of skin on her finger. I waited. “Sometimes,” she continued, “lying is what gets you here in the first place.” She spoke slowly and apologetically.

  “What are you talking about?” I hated feeling naïve.

  “I’m not pregnant.” She smiled fakely, eyebrows raised.

  “Did you lose the baby?” I still didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Not exactly. Not at all, really. I was never pregnant.”

  Say what now?

  “I faked it so Derek wouldn’t break up with me. Again.”

  This is so Jerry Springer! “You pretended that you were pregnant so your boyfriend would think he had to be with you forever? What did you think would happen when no baby came out?” I was pissed, mostly because she lied to me.

  “I just figured by that time he would be so in love with me again that it wouldn’t matter. That’s what happened last time.”

  “Last time? You did this before?”

  “Just once. I kind of thought I was pregnant at the time, until I got my period. But Derek was being so nice to me and buying me treats and mini Cubs T-shirts that I couldn’t tell him the truth.”

  “So what did you tell him?” My anger was surpassed by the curiosity and disbelief of it all.

  “I told him I lost the baby. At cheerleading practice. Everyone made a big deal over me after that, but then they forgot and Derek and I started getting in fights again. This just felt like the right thing to do.”

  I sat on my bed, dumbfounded. I was duped; I didn’t know Sandy at all.

  “I talked to Birdcage this morning and told him everything because I was so sick of changing Morgan’s fake diaper, and feeding her fake face, and losing sleep over a stupid, fake baby.” She whipped Morgan against the screen, and she dropped to the floor like the plastic doll she was.

  “Birdcage said they already knew I wasn’t pregnant because of all the blood and urine tests, and they just wanted to see how I’d handle the responsibility.” That is so messed up. They knew? Maybe Birdcage thought it wasn’t hurting anyone, since Derek isn’t here and he probably told her parents. Did they even consider how it would affect those of us who are paying Lake Shit customers?

  “Birdcage set up a phone call for me and Derek tonight, so I can tell him.” Sandy didn’t seem bothered at all. “I can’t wait to hear his voice. I hope he doesn’t dump me.”

  I think she wanted me to say something reassuring, but what did I know about sex and boyfriends and fake pregnancies? I was pissed that someone I thought was on my side was just as full of shit as all of the assalong adults here. “I need to do some homework,” I told her, and I lay back on my bed, not reading The Crucible.

  AFTER LUNCH

  Trying to ignore the Sandy betrayal sitch, I looked forward to my new QR final plan. I tell the workers that Abby’s seizure messed me up and I really need to go into the Quiet Room to let off some steam. Then I can finally give my full twenty-four-minute rendition of the CD The Ramones by The Ramones. Brilliant.

  Justin said he liked my plan and thought it would work. “Throw in a Doors tune for me if you remember.” God, why don’t I think that’s dorky? I feel like such a softy because I know in the real world I would’ve been skeezed by a guy who only likes The Doors. I love how Justin, someone who likes The Doors, and me, someone who likes punk, can be friends (and I hope, someday, more than friends), and some funny black guy from a completely different social world and I can be friends, and even someone who’s lived in a mental hospital for six months and I can be friends. Mental hospitals: bringing the world’s cultures together through lunacy.

  AFTERNOON

  Mother F-ers! When I got back from school today, I stuck my fingers out of my bedroom door. I was all ready to give my rousing “Abby seizure” speech so I could jam in the Quiet Room, but it took someone, I swear, ten minutes to come to my door. It’s so annoying because I know that either a) they couldn’t see my fingers because we’re not allowed to wave or call out or anything or b) they saw my fingers just fine, but they were too busy doing all the nothing that they always do to come over and see what I wanted. When Bettina finally came over, I said, “Um, I’m really freaked out because of Group today.”

  “What about Group?” Bettina scolded.

  “Abby’s seizure really freaked me out, and I need to go to the Quiet Room to, you know, let off some steam.”

  “Are you in trouble for something?”

  “No, I just told you why I want to go.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Being in the Quiet Room is for punishment only. If you go in there, we gotta supervise you, time it, and put it in your record. It’s a lot of work for us. You just stay in your room. You’ll feel better soon, I’m sure.”

  And that was it. Lazy turds. The whole reason they don’t want me to go in is because it makes extra work for them? I need to sing so badly, but I can’t do it in my room with Sandy moping on her bed. I was so ticked off at her for lying to me and so pissed at this hospital for trying to help me, so I snapped.

  “Why did you lie to me?” I blurted out at Sandy.

  “Lie to you
? What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? You told me you were pregnant. You made me feel sorry for you. I helped take care of your ‘baby’!” I used angry finger quotes.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t really think I was lying to you. I was lying to Derek.”

  “Derek isn’t here! I thought you trusted me—that we were friends!” I was embarrassed to say this. It felt like the whole mental hospital popularity that I experienced was all in my head.

  “We are friends. I thought if you knew the truth you wouldn’t have any reason to like me.”

  “You thought I’d like you better with a baby? I have never had a friend with a baby! Not that I couldn’t, but … There are a lot of things to like about you besides the fact that you can reproduce.”

  Sandy laughed. “Like what?”

  I reminded her of all the games we played that she came up with. How funny she was. How skinny she was. How she actually made me look good in her portraits. “Those are friend things, not pregnant girl things.”

  “Oh,” she smiled at me. “Thanks, Anna.” She dragged Morgan off the floor and plopped down on my bed. “Can I interest you in a plastic babydoll with a dented head?”

  “Not really.” I took the doll and got up, opening our bedroom door quietly. I looked back at Sandy and then whipped Morgan as hard as I could down the hallway towards the check-in desk. Sandy and I bolted to our beds and pretended to read.

  Instantly, Bettina opened our door. “Who threw this?”

  Innocently, I said, “I don’t know. She must have walked.”

  “But this is your baby,” Bettina accused Sandy.

  “She doesn’t have a baby. Ask her doctor,” I challenged.

  “Young lady, come with me.” Bettina pointed the doll at me.