THE QUIET ROOM
So I finally figured out how to get into the Quiet Room: throw a baby down a hallway and then talk back to an adult. Who knew it would be so easy? Or natural?
I followed Bettina next door to the Quiet Room. She unlocked the white door with one of the thousands of keys on her key ring. “One hour,” she said. “Then I’ll let you out.” I walked inside, and she shut the heavy door behind me.
The Quiet Room wasn’t exactly what I expected. The walls were white cinder blocks, not the padding I pictured. The floor was also white, and there were screened windows just like the ones in my room. The only object in the room was a large mirrored half-bubble on the ceiling with a camera inside.
I walked around slowly. Hesitantly, I spoke to myself to get used to the sound of my voice in such an enclosed room. “Well, here I am in the Quiet Room.” My cautious words echoed slightly. I spoke the words again, louder. They bounced back to me. Forgetting about the camera, I yelled a primal scream from the bottom of my stomach. I waited. No one came in or knocked on the door. I was alone. I started to sing. I sang my heart out, loud and fast and screeching. Every time I finished one song, I thought of another that I’d been dying to hear for almost three weeks. I sang every song from beginning to end. I even played a little air guitar, but quickly stopped when I looked at the camera bubble. I felt kind of stupid, but amazingly free. I even felt a little bad. I did something wrong, and I was punished for it. GETTING IN TROUBLE was always this huge scary monster hanging over my head. Why? It turned out to be kind of fun. Maybe that’s why the bad kids don’t seem to care when they get in trouble. Really, it’s not so bad at all.
In the middle of one of my favorite Ramones songs, I heard the door lock click. I stopped abruptly, and Bettina motioned for me to come out. She walked me back to my room, the silence echoing in my ears.
I slowly eased myself onto my bed. My arms and legs were sore from moving around so much and my throat felt raw, but I finally got to hear my music again. It was so worth it.
MONDAY AFTER DINNER
After congratulating me on my moving musical visit to the QR, Matt O. reported that he, Justin, and I would be visiting the Shedd Aquarium on our field trip this Thursday. That’s so cool. I love field trips. Whenever we went on one during school in the real world, it was like everything changed. Every student and teacher looked and acted differently. Popular kids talked to the dorks, and the jocks talked to the punks. Bus rides and lunches were like another world. Teachers lost interest in the students and chatted the whole day with each other. They even fell asleep on the bus rides home. I don’t know what the Shedd field trip will be like on Thursday, since there are only three of us. Will we even take a bus? How many chaperones will there be? Eeew—will Eugene go? Will we have to do some kind of special fish therapy? Ohmigod—what if they have us swim with the dolphins? Poor dolphins. It’s so sad that they’re trapped in Chicago and are forced to perform stupid dolphin tricks for measly rewards of fish. If we get to swim with them, I will do my best to set the dolphins free (although I don’t think a bunch of dolphins would fare very well in Lake Michigan).
Speaking of freedom, the field trip will be my first time outside in twenty-one days. I wonder what it will feel like. Will I get instant sunburn because my skin isn’t used to sunlight? What if I go blind? What if I start sweating profusely from a weird chemical reaction between the sunlight and my new armpit hair, and Justin thinks I’m a repulsive, sweaty pig? What if going back into the real world starts up my panic attacks? Ugh. Who would have thought a field trip could cause so much stress?
AFTER FREE TIME
Level III. This is the life. Justin and I sat on opposing green and yellow fart chairs next to the stereo. We decided it was fair for each of us to take turns tuning the radio dial until we found a station we both agreed on. We started low on the dial and worked our way upward. I would have liked to have found a cool college station, but Lake Shit doesn’t get good reception and I wasn’t sure if Justin would OK the obscure music they play. We passed adult contemporary (snore), slow jams (gag), and hip hop (shouts of “Leave it! Leave it!” from the rest of the Free Time crowd). Justin’s finger stopped on the classic rock station, which seems to be the mental hospital standard. “How about this?” Justin looked eager. It was a Who song, I believe, which I could tolerate. I mean, as long as it wasn’t a god-awful Eagles song that my dad used to force upon me as a child, it wasn’t that bad. And how could I say no to that face? We didn’t really talk the rest of Free Time but instead enjoyed being able to choose (sort of) and listen to music. Of course, I know it was the perfect opportunity to talk to him about his hand, but he looked chill. I didn’t want it to look like the only thing I ever noticed about him was his hand. Besides, wouldn’t he have told me about it already if he wanted me to know?
The only moment of Justin-and-Anna interaction came when that embarrassing song “Feel Like Makin’ Love” came on the radio. I didn’t know it was that particular song at first because it started out all acoustic and generic classic rock-y. But then it went all jammy, and the guy was yelling, “I feel like makin’ love!” over and over, and finally added, “ … to you!” So sick. I couldn’t help but sneak looks at Justin every five seconds or so to see what his face looked like and if he was looking at me. I couldn’t tell, though, because I didn’t want to move my body and make it obvious, so I kind of just peeked at him from the corner of my eye at frequent intervals throughout the song. I hope he didn’t think I was some leering freak. Or maybe he thought that I thought that whatever I was doing with my eyes was flirting, and he just pretended not to notice because it was not turning him on at all. Did he feel like making love? Would I ever know if I felt like making love? I glanced over at him so many times that I got a crazy headache and had to close my eyes. When Free Time ended, Justin and I got up, exchanged quick glances, and said, “Good night.” Crap. Now he’ll never feel like making love to me because he thinks I’m some creepy-eyed pervert. Do people actually say that anymore? Making love, I mean. What sounds better, though, “having sex?” “Getting nasty?” Never mind. Pretend I never wrote any of this. Justin would have to touch or kiss me or do anything before I ever have to think about what I’ll call it, and that is not going to happen. When could it happen?
Maybe Justin is just shy, and maybe he can’t tell if I like him because I’m sending him weird sideways glancing eye signals that he can’t comprehend. What if somehow I make the first move? Not sex, of course, but what about trying to kiss him? What have I got to lose, except for my dignity, having to deal with the horrible pain and humiliation of rejection, and the pathetic knowledge that I may never actually kiss a human being in my entire life and that some guy in a mental hospital won’t even kiss me … Plus, the fact that I’m too big a wuss to ever ask him about his hand, let alone kiss him. Will the pain never end?
BEDTIME
Snack tonight was pretty good—white chocolate–covered raisins. Sandy didn’t want hers, which was different, since she’d been eating for two and more. I guess her acid-washed jeans were getting a little snug, and she wants to get back into shape for her reunion with clueless Derek. They talked on the phone for about five minutes tonight, and she came back beaming.
“He still loves me. He can’t wait until I come home, and he’s glad we won’t have a baby to take care of.”
“He wasn’t mad at all?”
“Well, he kind of thinks it was another miscarriage.” I rolled my eyes. “I won’t do it again. I swear.”
“As long as I don’t have to be around when you do.”
Even though Sandy was still lying, at least she wasn’t lying to me. Plus, she was the only friend I had in the room with me for the next ten hours, and I really needed someone to talk to about Justin. I said, “I have to tell you about something.”
“Don’t tell me: You’re pregnant!”
Was she kidding? “Um, hardly. But there is someone here I kind of like.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, I know. Justin. And I don’t blame you. He’s a real sweetheart.”
Ohmigod! She knew? Was I that obvious? Did everyone know? Was I following him around like a roly-poly puppy? “How did you know?”
“Because he always smiles at you. Whenever I talk about you in Group, nothing bad, of course, just when we’re talking about roommates and stuff, he listens. And you guys sit by each other and …”
“Wait. Everything you just told me has to do with what Justin is doing.” I was confused.
“Well, yeah. I just assumed it was mutual.” Sandy shrugged.
“Mutual? As in I like him and he likes me?”
“That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it?” Sandy didn’t get it.
“So what you’re saying is, you think he likes me?”
I was waiting for a “maybe” or “possibly” or an “in your dreams,” but Sandy said, “Totally.” I was quietly taking in this bizarre fact, when Sandy asked, “Is that all you wanted to talk about? I want to fall asleep so I can dream about Derek.”
I nodded, and she flicked off the lights.
This conversation was like a revelation. Not that it’s really, truly official at this point (’cause what’s the point of knowing someone likes you if you don’t hear it from them), but if someone else with actual guy experience is noticing things, then maybe the things are really there.
Please, God, let me dream about Justin tonight.
Day 19
Tuesday, Day 19
MORNING
For the first night in forever, I slept well. It was wonderful not having Morgan in here to wake us up. I did have a weird dream, though. Morgan was driving the pink getaway car while Sandy and I sat in the backseat eating Cap’n Crunch and singing “Feel Like Makin’ Love.” I wonder what Freud would say about that one.
AFTER GROUP––BOBBY’S GOODBYE
I felt a little sniffy as we said goodbye to Bobby in Group. Not that I knew him that well, but I liked having someone younger, sibling-ish, around.
He chose hugs for his goodbye. As we went around the group, each person had to say something nice about Bobby along with their hug.
Phil: “I’m going to miss our cereal challenges.”
Matt O.: “You were fun to play cards with.”
Colby: “I was never afraid of you.”
Sean: “You always had lots of Band-Aids.”
Tanya: “You didn’t annoy me that much.”
Me: “You reminded me of my little sister, but not in a girly way. Just because you’re younger. And nice. I’ll shut up now.”
He gave me a young, weak hug, and Group was over.
I wonder what the goodbyes will be like when (if?) I get out.
BEDTIME
Watching Justin at dinnertime (I hope I didn’t look like a drooly stalker) has convinced me that I have to do two things: 1. I must find out what the deal is with Justin’s hand and 2. I am going to kiss Justin at the Shedd Aquarium. I figure it’ll be the easiest place to do it because I’ll be with him all day and probably under not as much supervision as normal, what with the slackness of adults on field trips. I’m sure my level will go down for next week anyway because of the baby-throwing incident, so even if I get caught and in trouble it won’t really make a difference. Shit. I guess Justin will get in trouble, too, and if he doesn’t want to be kissing me, then not only will I be dissed, but he’ll be mad at me for lowering his Level. But if he does want to be kissing me, then he won’t care, just like I won’t care. Oh god. Even bigger problem: How do you kiss?
Day 20
Wednesday, Day 20
BREAKFAST
Sandy and I had to eat in our room this morning because we’re both scheduled to meet early with our doctors. I wonder what Dr. Asshole is going to say about my Quiet Room stay.
While we ate and waited, I thought it might be the right moment to ask her about something I was a little nervous about. I wasn’t kidding last night about being clueless about kissing. I have no idea how. I mean, of course I know how to pucker and peck, but I was kind of hoping I’ll get to use my tongue with Justin. The aquarium may be my only chance to ever kiss him, and I do not want to screw it up because of my ignorance in the realm of kissage. I decided to get Sandy’s help with Operation Justin.
“So I’ve decided to make a move on Justin at the aquarium.”
“That’s so great! He seems kind of shy in Group, so I bet he’s going to love that you’re finally taking control.”
“Really?” I felt a twinge of jealousy that Sandy knew a bit about Justin that I didn’t. But I needed more info. “Are you sure he won’t be grossed out?”
“Anna! Are you kidding? How could he possibly be grossed out by you? You’re adorable!”
“I know, the adorable chubby girl.” I hated how anyone who wasn’t skinny had to be in the cute range of attractiveness, not the sexy range.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean that you’re so smart and funny and interesting and creative and, I am not just saying this, so pretty! He will totally be thrilled when you kiss him.” Strangely, I kind of believed her at that moment. Now for the embarrassing part.
“Sandy?” I asked in a way that she knew I wanted something.
“Yeah?” she answered suspiciously.
“I need your help with something.” I was not quite ready to get to the point.
“Like what?” she asked, imitating the slow way I kept asking her things.
“Well … how … exactly …”
“Uh-huh?”
“Do … you …”
“Oh god,” she interrupted, “you’re not going to ask me how to have sex, are you?”
“No!” I laughed, although it did freak me out that (hopefully) someday I would have to figure that out, too. “How do you kiss someone?” There. I got the question out. I would’ve asked you, of course, Tracy, but who knows when and if the letter would get out in time. I needed info fast.
“What do you mean? You just do.”
Oy. I knew this would be difficult. I knew that it really was just natural for most people and I was just a freak of nature who was missing the make-out gene. “Um, like, but what do you do with your tongue? When do you use it? And how? And why do people in movies look like they’re eating each other’s mouths instead of giving kisses? And why do they move their heads so much?” The questions just kept coming. I felt like a kindergartner.
Sandy looked pensive. “Hmmm. I never really thought about it in those ways. Here. Make a fist.” I closed my fingers tightly into my palm. “Not so hard. A soft fist. Now kiss it.” Oh god. So embarrassing. What if they really do have surveillance cameras set up behind the light fixtures in our room? You know they’re going to sell tapes of this to America’s Lame-Ass Home Videos, or whatever that show is called.
I crept my mouth towards my hand and quickly gave it three fast, close-mouthed kisses. “There,” I said, red and hot in my face.
“Real smooth,” she laughed. “Try this.” She softly opened her mouth a little and lightly wrapped her lips around her thumb several times. I tried it, and it felt OK. “Now add your tongue,” she said. She rhythmically moved her tongue in and out of the mouth-hole she made on her hand, while at the same time moving her lips like she did before. I tried it, and after a while my hand was full of slobber.
“Is your hand all wet?” I asked.
“No,” she answered. “Maybe you’re using too much tongue. You don’t have to french the whole time. Just sometimes, in the middle of everything.” Check. Tongue during middle. Not whole time.
“What do I do with my hands?” I asked, feeling more confident about the mouth part.
“Well, that depends on how much you like the guy and how far you plan on going.” I knew how much I liked Justin, but I didn’t think we’d be rounding many of the bases in front of all the people at the aquarium. “Why don’t you put them on his back or on his hips or on his face,” she said. “That part should come pretty naturally. I’m trying
to think back to the first time I kissed someone.” Think back? This was so humiliating. Someone the same age as me was having a senior moment because it had been so long since she had her first kiss.
“That’s OK,” I said. “I think I got it.” I wanted to stop talking about it so I could lie on my bed and envision the actual act of kissing Justin. Wouldn’t it be the most amazing thing if it actually happened?
AFTER DOCTOR MEETING
Shit. I just found out the worst thing. Dr. Asshole told me that I’m going home on Friday. How can I go home already? I just got here! What have they even done to fix my problems? Nothing! I don’t want to see my parents this soon, not after they locked me up here. And what about Sandy? What is she going to do here without me to be her friend? What about Matt O.? He’s become a really good friend, too. And Justin. What about Justin? My first chance that a gorgeous guy could possibly like me, and I’ll never know because I’m leaving. Then I’ll go to my home and he’ll stay here and fall in love with the next girl who moves onto the floor.
I’m crying. I’ve been crying since my doctor told me. I haven’t cried in a couple of weeks, and now I’m doing it again. This place is horrible. How can they lock me up and force me to become close with all of these cool people and then rip me away from them again? Dr. Asshole said there was nothing I could do to stay. He said my insurance only covered twenty-one days, but that I seemed fine anyway so it shouldn’t make a difference. The insurance. So my parents didn’t put out for the super-sized policy.
Only three weeks. Is that enough time to fix a person?
TWO MINUTES LATER
Maybe I am fixed. There’s no way I would have ever thrown a doll and screamed at the top of my lungs before I came here. And I never would have befriended most of the people here in my normal life, because I would’ve been too shy or insecure. I never would have crushed on a beautiful boy and believed in the possibility of him liking me. And I certainly never would have considered trying to kiss him, which I still am considering because Dr. Asshole informed me that I am still at Level III. “Why not,” he said. “Go on the field trip.” So I am going to kiss Justin. At this point, what do I have to lose?
Get Well Soon Page 13
