Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred

by Melody Carlson

  "Something like that. Although it's tricky, because you're still a juvenile. But trust me, okay?"

  I can't see that I have much choice. Still, I'm not happy with this unexpected twist. I only came here today to see what I could do about my dad. He's the one with the big problem. And suddenly the focus has shifted to me. Like I'm the one to blame here. It just doesn't seem fair. But I play along and tell Ms. Blanchard that I trust her. She promises to get back to me in the next day or so.

  "In the meantime, Ruth"-she looks right into my eyes now-"do you think you're in danger? I don't just mean from your dad. Are you safe from yourself? Do you think you can keep from cutting until I see you again?"

  "Honestly?"

  "Yes. Honestly"

  I really consider this. "I don't know," I finally say. "And that's the truth."

  She nods. "I understand."

  To my amazement, I believe she does. Do I think that will make a difference? I honestly don't know. But I do feel a tiny flicker of hope, though hope itself kind of scares me these days. Every time I get hopeful, the rug gets pulled out from under me. And I'm just not sure how many more tumbles I can take.

  fifteen

  "HOW'D ii CC)?" GLEN' ASKS ME AT THE BEGINNING OF LUNCHIIMt', BEFORE I have a chance to slip off to the bathroom to cut.

  "What?" I say dumbly, like I'm clueless as to what he's talking about.

  "You know, Ruth, the counselor appointment."

  I glance around to see if anyone's listening. It's not like I'm eager for everyone to hear that I went to the school counselor this morning, especially after my little fainting episode on Friday. They'll really think I'm a freak. I may be a mess, but I still have a little bit of pride. "Mind if we keep this private?" I say as we're heading into the cafeteria.

  "Sure." He takes my hand now and gently pulls me out of the lunch line. "How about if we go out to lunch then? That would be private."

  I consider this. If Dad sees me I'll be in even more trouble. On the other hand, what can he do to me? Ground me for life?

  "Okay," I say, suddenly feeling like this could be fun. Maybe I need some fun. Maybe it's time I took some risks. What do I really have to lose anyway? "Why not?"

  It feels so good to be sitting in Glen's car. Like maybe I'm still a real person and not just my daddy's robot girl. Maybe it's possible that I could have a life again. Maybe meeting with the counselor will change something. Or maybe I'll get better on my own. Or with Glen's help. Just being with him now kept me from cutting. Maybe that's a start.

  "So, how'd it go?" he repeats as he leaves the school parking lot.

  "Not as bad as I'd expected," I admit. "Ms. Blanchard is a lot nicer than I thought."

  "Cool. Did she have any suggestions for how to deal with your dad?"

  I'm not sure what to say now. "Sort of," I finally tell him. "She's going to get hack to me in the next couple of days."

  "That's great, Ruth. Maybe things are going to change."

  "Yeah. Maybe." Of course, I'm not sure exactly how. Even if I can get into this Promise House place, there's no way my dad can remain in the dark. I'm sure he'll go through the roof when he hears what I've been doing to myself. It's not like I don't know that it's stupid and senseless and everything else I'm sure he'll say it is. I can only imagine all the new names he'll be calling me. I'm not sure I can take it.

  "You don't sound too convinced." Glen pulls into a fifties-style drive-in restaurant, the kind where you get served in your car.

  "Good idea," I say.

  "Huh?"

  "The drive-in," I tell him. "I'll feel safer about not being spotted if we stay in the car to eat."

  "Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

  "And do you mind if we don't talk about the whole counseling thing?" I make my best attempt at a smile for him. "I mean, it's been so long since I've had any kind of freedom. I'd like to just enjoy this. If you don't mind."

  "No problem. And I totally understand how you feel. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, Ruth. If you need to talk."

  "Thanks. And I really do appreciate that. But for right now I'd rather turn up the radio, chow down a burger, and pretend that life really is cool. Okay?"

  "You got it."

  So that's what we do. And it really does feel good to think that life could be like this. But even though it feels good, I know it's a deceiving kind of good. I know that reality will slug me in the gut again. Probably before the day is over. And it'll probably hurt even more coming on the heels of this moment.

  I wonder if a person in prison ever feels like this. I mean, you could really torture prisoners by giving them a brief little taste of freedom and then slamming them back into their prison cell. Like, Ha-ha, see what you don't get to enjoy?

  After school, I consider accepting Glen's offer of a ride. I already broke my dad's tyrannical manifesto at lunchtime. What's the big deal if I break it again? But then I decide not to risk it. Why push my luck?

  "Thanks anyway," I tell him. "But I'd rather not take a chance."

  "Well, you've only got a few more days of being grounded."

  "Right." I look over toward the buses, which are already mostly loaded, and realize I better hurry. "See ya!"

  At home, I go through my regular routine of chores, and I actually manage to function without cutting. I can see that my mom did a few things today, but they are kind of haphazard, like she didn't really put much effort into it. Even so, I tell myself it's better than nothing. I tell myself that it could be a beginning. It could be a turning point.

  By five o'clock, I'm starting dinner. And I think that everything's under control, like I've done a good job and maybe this will be one of those rare nights when my dad doesn't lose it.

  "Why didn't you put the garbage can out on the street this morning, Ruth?" he demands as soon as he has one foot in the door.

  Monday, I'm thinking. This is Monday, trash pickup day, and I totally forgot to put the can on the street. Probably because I was freaking over my appointment with Ms. Blanchard. Now it'll be full for a whole week. Not just full but overflowing and stinking, and every time my dad sees it he will just get madder and madder.

  "I'm sorry," I say like that will change anything. "I totally forgot it was Monday."

  "You're so stupid!" He throws his lunch box into the sink. "So worthless and stupid." Then he turns and glares at me. "How could you forget it was Monday?" He holds up his fingers. "First its Saturday then Sunday and next comes Monday. Didn't you learn that in grade school, or maybe even kindergarten?"

  "1 just forgot-"

  "What is it that's distracting you, Ruth? You been sneaking around with that boyfriend of yours?"

  "No!"

  "Well, what then?" he yells. "What is it that's distracting you?"

  "I don't know." But I do know, and suddenly I'm freaking that he might know about my appointment with Ms. Blanchard. What if she called him and told him everything? Was I a fool to trust her?

  "You're not only useless, Ruth, but you're completely hopeless as well!" Then he swears and heads off to the living room with his newspaper.

  All things considered, it could've been worse. And although I tell myself this, I also feel like I'm at the end of my rope. I can't go on like this. The whole time that I'm fixing his dinner, I'm thinking about cutting. As I chop the lettuce for salad, I think about cutting. As I slice tomatoes, I think about cutting. As I chop onions, I think about cutting. And finally when dinner is finished and on the table, I have no appetite. All I want to do is go to the bathroom and cut. And that's exactly what I do. I don't even care that my dad is still in the house.

  It isn't until Wednesday that I hear back from Ms. Blanchard. I get a note during first period and am excused to go to the office. Though I'm not sure that I totally trust her, I do feel fairly certain that she hasn't contacted my dad. I would've heard about it by now.

  "Hi, Ruth," she says as I go into her office. "How's it going?"

  I shrug. "About the same
."

  "Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner. But we were trying to get this set up."

  "What? What are you setting up?"

  "Okay, this is the plan: Nicole, that's my sister, she's got it all set for you to come to Promise House. She had to pull some strings, but because it was for me-"

  "Wait," 1 say, holding up my hands. "Wait a minute. What does this mean? Who's going to pay for this? And what about my parents? What are you saying here?"

  "Calm down, Ruth." She leans forward and gives me a fairly stern look. "Listen to me. Let me explain. Then you can ask questions. Okay?"

  I take a deep breath and finally say, "Okay." But the truth is, I'm totally freaked. There's no way I can pull this off with my dad. I will be toast.

  "Nicole has a spot for you. You will go as soon as school's out for the summer. On Saturday if you like. You'll stay there for thirty days-"

  "Thirty days?" I practically shriek. "There's no way my dad will allow that. He has a job all lined up for nie. He expects me to-"

  "He lies to allow you, Ruth. Trust me, he doesn't really have much of a choice. I've already written up a report. I've described the emotional abuse. I've made it clear that you are at risk and-"

  "No. This is too much. You've gone too far. There's no way this is going to work. And what about my mom? And any brother?"

  "Listen to me, Ruth. You can't rescue your mom or your brother. And you know you can't help your dad. All you can do is take care of yourself right now. And you have to stop cutting."

  "I will. Really, I will. I can do this on my own. I don't need to be locked up in some clinic to get better-"

  "Show me your arms, Ruth."

  I look down at my lap, saying nothing.

  "I mean it, Ruth. If what you're saying is true-if you can fix this thing yourself- then just show me your arms and prove it."

  I still sit there silently as she gets up from her chair and comes around next to me.

  "Show me your arms, Ruth. Prove to me you can handle this."

  And so I unbutton the cuffs of my denim shirt and slowly push up my sleeves to reveal not just my old scars in various stages of healing, but all the many recent ones, including three new bandages.

  "Oh, Ruth." Now she bends down and takes my hands in hers. "Look at me."

  I reluctantly look up. "What?"

  "You are going to beat this, Ruth. You are going to get well. But you can't do it on your own. Do you understand me? Your family is a big part of your problem, and you need to be someplace away from them. You need help to get well. Nicole and the other counselors know how to help. But you have to let them."

  `But I-"

  "No buts, Ruth. You know you have a problem. The first step toward healing is admitting that you have a problem. Can you do that?"

  I look down at my horrible looking arms and nod my head. "Yeah, I guess so."

  "Do you know that cutting is an addiction?"

  I look back up at her, slightly confused, but also sort of getting it. "An addiction?"

  "That's right. Like drugs or alcohol or gambling or sex or anorexia or whatever. It's an addiction. And it will take a lot of work on your part to get over it."

  Somehow I know that she's right. Maybe not necessarily in my head, but somewhere inside of me, I do know she's right. "Okay," I finally say. "I'll do it."

  She's got a pile of paperwork for me to read and sign. And feeling like I really have no choice, I give in and sign them.

  "We'll handle your parents," she tells me. "The plan is to inform your father of what's going on when I pick you up."

  "You pick me up?"

  She smiles now. "Do you mind? I thought under the circumstances, well, maybe you could use a friend."

  "Well,I,uh..."

  "Is Saturday or Sunday better?"

  I consider this. "My dad works until one on Saturdays. And he has Sundays off."

  We decide that she'll come for me on Saturday at two. She will call my dad in advance and let him know that she needs to talk to him.

  "What will you tell him?"

  "Is your brother still gone?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, I won't lie. But maybe I'll make him think it has to do with that."

  "So he won't get mad at me?"

  "Right. And I won't give him too much notice either."

  "Thanks."

  "You just have a bag packed and be ready to go."

  "What if he says no?"

  "He won't, Ruth. I'll have backup with me."

  "Backup?" I imagine cops with guns.

  She smiles. "Just a friend from Children's Protective Services. But he should be able to convince your dad that he has no choice in this matter."

  "Do you think this will really work?"

  She nods as she puts the paperwork back into a large yellow envelope. "I do."

  I thank her and tell her that I hope she's right. However, I have my doubts. Just the same, I begin to formulate a plan.

  sixteen

  DAD INFORMS ME THAT I'M TO SHOW UP AT THE TIRE STORE FRIDAY AFTER school to interview with the owner. When I ask why I have to meet with the owner, he gets angry.

  "I may run the place, but I don't own it, Ruth! Just because I want to hire you doesn't mean that it's a sure thing. You have to meet with Mr. Jackson and convince him that you'll be as good as I told him." Then he laughs in a mean way. "Maybe you should wear a skirt. Jackson's a leg man."

  But I don't wear a skirt on Friday. I wear neatly pressed khakis and my white linen shirt. I think I look fine. Besides, I'm hoping that I'll never really have to work there. But there's no way I can tell my dad that. To my surprise and relief, Dad actually agreed to let Abby drive me over here.

  "But then you stick around and ride home with me after work. Might give you a chance to get to know some of the guys and see how things work, so you don't make too much of a fool of yourself if Jackson decides to hire you."

  Mr. Jackson actually seems fairly nice. And I do my best to convince him that I'm good on the computer and fairly friendly with people, and when he asks about my GPA, he is finally convinced.

  "Welcome to the Jackson's Tire Company team," he says. "Your dad says you'll be ready to start work on Monday."

  I swallow and nod, wondering if he can see right through me. Does he know I'm lying? "Sounds fine."

  But he just shakes my hand and then heads into one of the back offices. I nod to my dad to signal that I got the job, then I go sit in the waiting area. As I sit there, it occurs to me that I cannot stand the smell of tires. The acrid smell of rubber makes my eyes burn and my throat constrict. The prospect of working day in and day out in this brightly lit, stark atmosphere, where tacky posters of tires and wheels are plastered all over the place, makes me literally sick to my stomach.

  "I heard you made the cut," says my dad when it's finally closing time and he's locking the front door.

  "Yeah."

  "Good. I was hoping that you wouldn't embarrass me too much."

  I don't respond to that.

  It's been a while since I've actually sat in my dad's pickup. But the way I feel now is exactly the same as when I was little. I don't want to do or say anything wrong. I think if I can be perfect and good that everything will be okay. Of course, I know better now. But I also know that it will do no good to rock my dad's boat. Keep quiet and mind your manners. That's what Mom used to tell us. Like that would make a difference.

  Finally we're home and I go straight to the kitchen to start fixing dinner.

  "Why don't we call out for pizza tonight?" says my dad.

  I try not to look too shocked. "That sounds good." And he tells me what he wants on the pizza and to make the call. Feeling slightly off guard, I dial the phone and place the order. We haven't ordered pizza since before Mom's breakdown. I wonder what the special occasion is, then figure maybe it's me getting the job. Maybe Dad feels like his financial load is lightening now that I'll be contributing to the income. And I actually start to feel guilty. Like
maybe I should forget about my little getaway plan, stick around, and help out like he expects me to. Be the good daughter.

  Maybe I'll have no choice. I mean, Ms. Blanchard has her papers and her plans, but she hasn't met my dad yet. Somehow I think he could derail anyone. Even her.

  My dad doesn't stick around for long after the pizza comes. He seems antsy, and I figure he must have someplace to go. For once he doesn't pick a fight with me to give him an excuse for going.

  "Any plans tonight?" he asks me.

  "Huh?"

  "Well, its the last day of school and you're not grounded now. I wanted to know if you had any plans."

  I hear a trace of irritation in his voice. "Oh, I might call Abby. If that's all right."

  `Just leave a note. Same as before." Then he takes off.

  Feeling slightly stunned, I reach for the phone, dial Abby's cell number, and tell her the good news.

  "Want to go to the party at the lake?" she asks.

  "Oh, I'm not sure," I say, sure I'll end up getting caught at a party where alcohol will be flowing freely. My dad would probably ground me for the entire summer for being involved in something like that. "Maybe I better not."

  "Why not? It's going to be fun."

  "I just don't want to risk it with my dad. I'm barely out of hot water with him now. If anything went wrong ... you know?"

  "Yeah, I suppose you're right. I probably shouldn't go either, but I already promised Phil Simmons that I would."

  "You're going out with Phil?" The news registers like a surpriseparty shout. Phil is a senior that Abby's had her eye on for months.

  "Sort of. We've been talking some. Especially since my best friend has been so unavailable lately. I told him I'd go with him. But you could come with us--

  "No thanks." That totally settles it for me. No way would I horn into her first date with Phil. "But have fun, okay? And be careful."

  She laughs. "Yeah. Don't worry. Hey, how did the job interview go?"

  I tell her I got the job, but then add that it probably doesn't really matter.

  "You mean because your dad is going to confiscate all your money anyway?"