I just wonder if
it’s ‘here’
or ‘out there.’”
Speaking of Out There
Stanley has cornered
a short, zitty guy, who
he keeps calling “Flea.”
Paul moves in, yelling
for Stanley to shut the hell up
and go sit this one out.
Flea retreats to a corner
to smirk in Stanley’s
direction, which stirs
everything up again.
Stanley stands, heads
in Flea’s direction.
Paul goes after Stanley,
warning, You’re going to
be sorry, shithead.
Kate moves toward
Flea, warning, If he
goes down, you go down.
Tony pushes me back
toward the wall.
This is going to he ugly.
Stay behind me.
He’s right, as Paul
wrestles Stanley down,
leveraging one fat body
with his own not-so-svelte one.
The room dissolves into howls
as Flea moves forward,
We hear from Justin Ha-ha, asshole.
And Kate takes him
down, easy as pie.
What did I tell you?
I start to cry because
this place is insane, and if
I’m here, I must be insane too.
Tony turns, wraps his arms
around me. Don’t cry,
Vanessa. Everything’s okay.
I’ll always be here
for you.
Conner
Now I Could Tell
A sordid tale of one
twin envying another,
of relentless competition,
even money on the win
until we were old enough
to learn the finer points
of cheating. You’d think
getting caught might concern
us. Not! Both of us had one
real goal in mind: attention,
especially from Dad, who seemed
to think his familial role
was demanding respect.
It’s hard to respect someone
who outlines expectations
without regard to feasibility.
But I’m not going there,
so I’ll try to placate
the bulldog. “Cara is bright,
I won’t deny that. What I
don’t understand is why
she feels the need to one-up
me, from clothes to stereos
to the finest wheels good
old Dad’s money can buy ….”
Just as I decide maybe
there’s more to the story
I’d like to confide after all,
Dr. Starr’s telephone rings.
One minute … uh-huh … oh!
On my way. Sorry, Conner.
Looks like we’re done for the day.
Dr. Starr Jumps Up
Almost overturns her big
armchair, moves swiftly
across to the door. Something
major has happened somewhere
in the building, that’s for sure.
Who knew the bulldog could
move so fast? I wonder what
I should do—stay or follow?
As if reading my mind, she
demands, Hurry up, Conner.
She sprints down the hall,
pumping her hands forward
and back. Stay right behind
me and don’t interfere.
Then, to herself, What were
they thinking? This isn’t TV!
Dogs, cops, and takedowns—
grandstanding! And tomorrow
is visiting day. How many
parents will be understanding?
Dogs, cops, and takedowns?
And I missed all that, under
interrogation by Dr. Starr—
our weekly one-on-one tryst?
She swings a wide right toward
the dining hall, mutters
under her breath, Damn if I’ll
take the fall for this one.
Not Again
This room is a setting
for lunacy. Paul and Kate
have a couple of guys down
on the floor. One is Stanley.
That dude is a walking
time bomb, always ready
to detonate, even when
his demeanor is calm.
So there he is, under Paul’s
substantial knee. Little Kate
has proven she’s more than
the mouse she appears to be.
And to my right, just inside
the door, Tony is holding
Vanessa like they’re an item.
There’s definitely more
to that relationship than
one might guess. As Dr. Starr
storms into the room, they pull
apart, press back against the wall.
I join them. “So, did you guys
get to see any of the action?
I was stuck in the confessional.
Can you tell me what happened?”
We’re guessing it was a meth
bust, Tony says. They hauled
Todd out of here in handcuffs.
rest is just Stanley.
We watch Dr. Bellows
and Dr. Starr extricate
Stanley from Paul’s grasp.
Another bizarre day at
Aspen Springs.
Tony
Rumors Travel Fast
We hear from Justin,
who heard from Dahlia,
who heard from who
knows who, that Todd’s
supplier was his brother,
who stashed the meth
in a hollow-handled
toothbrush. How this
deception was discovered
will be debated for weeks.
“Probably a random pee
test, don’t you think?”
That, or his brother
got busted and turned
narc, Conner says.
Vanessa has another
theory. Maybe guilt
got the best of him.
Conner and I just laugh.
“Cranksters rarely feel
guilty about what they do.
More likely, he felt proud
of himself—smug, even—
for getting away with it.”
Yeah, until the dog came
through the door, Conner
adds. Then he probably
felt like a total dumb shit.
Jeez, he’d already made
Level Three, hadn’t he?
“Yes, and hey, guess what!
I did too. Dr. Boston
told me yesterday.”
Me too, says Vanessa.
I hope that means
a trip out of here soon.
I Don’t Tell Them
The one condition
of my newly acquired
Level Three status—
a successful interaction
with my father, who’s
coming to visit tomorrow.
To quit stressing over
the thought, I ask,
“Do you have visitors coming?”
Vanessa answers, My
grandma will be here.
Can’t wait to see her.
Conner nods, stiff
as a mannequin. My
mother has finally
agreed to come. I’d rather
not see her, but have to,
to make Level Three.
“You haven’t seen
her yet? How long
have you been here?”
Six weeks, give or take.
She hasn’t even asked
to see me until now.
&
nbsp; Vanessa snorts. Sounds
like your mom is almost
as wonderful as mine.
“Neither of them could
be half as screwed
up as mine was,” I say.
We’ll have to compare
notes one day, Conner
says. You in, Vanessa?
Face the color of death,
she replies, Talking about
Mama makes her real.
Major Insight
In only six words.
“Well, someday
we’ll swap stories.”
I offer Vanessa my most
engaging smile, and
she tries to return it.
Conner plays the game,
plays it well. No need
to swap, really. I’ve
got stones enough for
all of us. And if I include
my dad, that will keep us
entertained for hours.
Oh, hey. Speaking of
entertainment, here
come the fine doctors,
looking rather distressed.
Suppose dinner will be late?
I’d say that’s a given.
Drs. Starr and Bellows
sweep across the room,
faces red and chests
puffing. Bodies move
to let them by, a wave
of agitation. All right,
everyone, back to your
rooms, commands Dr. Starr.
Dinner will be a little
late tonight, but I promise
you won’t go hungry.
She’s a regular sweetheart!
People begin to shuffle
past, and as Vanessa
moves to join them, I
reach for her hand.
“Remember—you’re not
alone.”
Vanessa
Just Another Day
Trying to keep my head
above water—the azure water
I’m sliding down into now.
Too much confusion.
Too much upset.
Too much time
without a mood adjuster.
I’m sure I’m not
the only one, either.
The Pill Patrol better
put it in high gear.
Conner says he’s been
here for six weeks,
which means I’ve been here
at least seven, maybe
closer to eight.
And I don’t feel better.
Don’t feel healed.
Don’t feel clearer.
I could stay in a place
like this forever
and never get well.
You’re not alone, Tony says,
and I believe
he believes that.
I’m here for you.
And I want to
believe that, too.
Don’t cry, Vanessa.
But I can’t
help crying now.
I Will Admit
Through flowing tears
that Tony has become
more than a friend to me.
He’s a bright planet
in the dark morning
sky of my existence.
Somehow seeing him,
even with his varied flaws,
buoys me with hope.
I am better for knowing him.
Conner, too, although he’s more
like a faraway star, brilliant,
but cold in his distance;
beautiful in his perfection,
but likely to burn too brightly,
snuff himself out.
I wonder where he came
from, what random joining
of energies created
such complexity.
My mother finally asked
to see me, Conner said,
and I wonder
what kind of
mother she is.
I’d rather not see her at
all, but have to….
Now that I
can relate to
completely.
If I include stones about
my dad, we’ll be entertained…
Stories about
Daddy are the stuff
movies are made of.
One Time He Came Home
For Christmas—an unusual
event in itself. We probably
saw him on holidays
two or three times over the years.
We worked and worked
to make the house beautiful
with paper chains, tinsel,
dollar-store candles, candy canes,
and a homemade gingerbread village.
Daddy arrived on Christmas Eve,
arms laden with presents—wrapped
in newspaper, cheered by colorful bows.
We wanted to open them right
then and there, but he made
us wait until morning,
because the best things
are worth waiting for.
We woke, filled with anticipation,
ran to the Christmas tree.
Daddy turned us around,
made us march down the hall
with respect for the meaning
of the day.
We sat on the floor, newspaper-
wrapped presents in our laps,
imagining all the wonderful
things inside. We opened them carefully,
peeling back layers of newsprint
until we reached the boxes,
sliced the Scotch tape with our fingernails,
lifted the flaps, and each of us found …
One MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat—
turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce,
in foil pouches); one Hershey bar;
and a handful of bullet casings,
because this is what
my men are getting today.
And one more thing: a scrap of paper
with a hand-scrawled
I love you,
Dad.
Conner
Tossing and Turning
Every lump in this mattress
a boulder against my back,
every wrinkle in the sheets
a two-by-four in my shoulder,
sleep denied by the fear
of what tomorrow’s visit
will bring. I squeeze my eyes
shut, try to focus instead
on the events of today,
find some relief, conjuring
Vanessa’s face. But then
visions of another face come,
black-and-white, frame by
frame, like in an old film noir.
Dark, my love for her was very
dark, a source of secret shame.
I get out of bed, go to
the window, look out on
a surreal scene—moonlight,
and in its muted glow, hints
of lacy flakes. Late March,
and snowing. Spring skiers
will be happy, but for me
it means a growing sense
of claustrophobia. To
sleep, I swallow Ativan.
Dr. B prescribed it when I
told her how nightmares keep
me awake. Every evening,
they bring me two. Usually,
I take one, stash the other.
Tonight I pray three will do.
A Voice Rouses Me
It’s Kate, rattling my bars.
Wake up, Sykes. It’s almost
eight and you missed breakfast.
Dr. Starr will give you a break
this time, mostly because
your parents are coming
today. Usually, missing
a meal will score you a
level drop. I know you
don’t want that, so haul
your ass out of bed. Her
arrogant tone is a taunt.
I rouse myself, try to
clear the Ativan fog,
lifting inside my head,
leaving fear in its place.
Dreams I cannot remember
have stirred another part of
me. I decide to let Kate see.
Without a word, I toss back
the blankets and climb from
bed, pajamas pointing stiffly
in Kate’s direction. She just
smiles. Was it something I said?
Your parents arrive at nine.
I suggest you get rid of that,
one way or another, then get
dressed in something decent.
No problem. I need neither
palm nor cold shower to
shrivel me instantly.
My mom is on her way.
Nine A.M. Exactly
I knock on Dr. Starr’s door.
Voices inside fade to black.
Despite the rumpled Lauren,
I reach for some semblance of pride.
Come in, Conner, calls Dr.
Starr, but my slippery hand
fumbles the knob and it’s
Dad, on the far side of the door,
who opens it, pulling me
through and right up against
him. It’s the closest we’ve ever
been, two strangers touching.
Immediately, he comes to
his senses, jerks backward.
H-hello, son. Good to see you.
Every muscle tenses, as if
I might try to hug him or
something perverse like that.
“Hello, Dad,” I answer, also
shifting into a quick reverse.
Will you please come inside and
close the door? Mom gives me
a cold once-over. I see you haven’t
learned to care for your clothes.
Impulse Page 12
