"Hey," says a girl with short red hair before she takes a long drag. "Welcome to the nuthouse."
I glance nervously at Ms. Blanchard, and she just smiles. "Hi, girls. This is Ruth. Your new enlistee."
"Lucky you," says an overweight girl. She has bad acne and is wearing a black knit cap pulled low on her forehead, a strange fashion statement for such a warm June day. "Hope you enjoy your stay"
We go inside and I am introduced to a woman named Juanita, who asks me to fill out some paperwork, forms that seem mostly medical in nature. I do the best I can but can't really remember when I had my last tetanus shot, although I think it was in sixth grade when I stepped on a nail. And what childhood diseases have I survived? At the moment it seems somewhat miraculous that I've survived at all. I look around hopelessly, wishing someone would give me a clue here, but Ms. Blanchard has gone off in search of her sister.
After I finish the forms, I receive a three-page questionnaire. "You can fill this out later if you want," Juanita tells me. "No big hurry, but sometime today would be good."
"Right." I glance around the foyer where I've been sitting. The house seems clean and well maintained but somewhat sparse.
"There she is," says Ms. Blanchard as she comes down the stairs with a tall, dark-haired woman. "Ruth, this is my sister, Nicole."
Nicole holds out her hand to shake mine. "Nice to meet you, Ruth."
"Nice to meet you too," I stupidly echo.
"I'm sure you feel pretty weird right now," says Nicole. "But that's how everyone feels when they first arrive. Don't worry, it'll get better in time."
"I have to get going now," says Ms. Blanchard as she puts the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "But I know you're in good hands, Ruth. These people know what they're doing."
I nod, but I am sorry to see her go. She seems like my last connection to my old life. "Thanks," I mutter. "Have a good drive back."
Nicole gives me a quick tour of the house, which is mostly bedrooms, a meeting room, a kitchen, and a dining room. "Everyone helps out," she says, pointing to a job roster on the bulletin board. "We try to be like a real family"
A real family? What is that? Like on TV? Like the Osbournes? They're real, aren't they? And in some ways not so different from my own.
"I know this is hard," Nicole is telling me. "And it'll continue to be hard for a while. But if you let us, we can help you. You just have to be open."
The smoker girls are coming back inside now. Nicole calls to one of them. "Alexi," she says. "Can you come here?"
The overweight girl with the ski cap joins us. "What?"
"Ruth is your new roommate," Nicole tells her. "Can you take her to her room and show her where to put things?"
Alexi doesn't look too thrilled with this assignment but says, "Yeah, I guess."
"Thank you."
So I follow this girl up the stairs and down a hall until we get to room 4B. "This is it," says Alexi. "You get the bed by the window. I would've taken it but I have asthma."
I want to ask her why she's smoking if she has asthma, but I know to keep my mouth shut.
"This is your closet," she says, pointing to a narrow closet on my side of the room. "Spacious, I know, but most of us travel light." She looks at my bag. "Looks like you do too."
I set my bag on the bed and look around. The room, like the rest of the place, is fairly sparse. Two twin beds, two bedside tables with reading lamps, a wooden chair by each bed, and other than a poster on the wall between the two beds, that's pretty much it. I look up at the poster, which is only words. "By his stripes you are healed." I have no idea what that means. Like is it talking about some magical zebra or tiger? Again, I don't ask. Maybe I don't want to know.
"Our bathroom is down here," continues Alexi as she leads me to the end of the hall. "We share it with four other girls." The largerthan-average bathroom is neat and clean. There are two toilets in stalls, so at least I can expect some privacy. Alexi is standing near the sinks, holding up her hand gracefully, like she's a game-show girl showing off the prizes. She points to a shelf that's divided into six portions. "This is your part of the shelf," she says dramatically, "to hold your personal items."
"Right."
"And," she says, "I guess that's about it. Any questions?"
I shake my head.
"Then I shall depart."
"Thanks," I say in a mousy voice. I go back to my room and unpack my bag. I'm not even sure why; it just seems the right thing to do. I hang my shirts on the wire hangers and then set my folded jeans and things on the shelves at the bottom of the closet. Since there's no dresser, I assume that's what the shelves are for. Then I take my "personal items" and put them on the shelf in the bathroom. Now I'm not sure what to do. It's not quite five o'clock, and dinner's not until six. I remember the questionnaire I'm supposed to fill out "sometime today" and figure that might be a good way to waste an hour.
The questions are really hard. Not hard like a test I forgot to study for, but hard as in I'm not sure I want to write down honest answers, or any answers at all for that matter. And some of the questions seem pretty subjective, like I could write down any answer and not be right or wrong. Finally, I just decide to get it over with. It's not like I'm going to be graded, right? And maybe I don't even know what the truth is anyway. Isn't that why I'm here? So they can straighten me out?
I meet the rest of the girls at dinner. I'm guessing there are about thirty or so all together. But there's no way I can remember all their names. I do get that the redhead who was smoking on the porch is Charisa, and she seems to be some sort of leader here-or at least most of the girls seem to respect her.
I'm kind of surprised when Nicole says a prayer before the meal is served. I didn't realize this was a religious kind of place. But it's only a short prayer, a thanking-God-for-the-food sort of thing. We sit at two long tables that pretty much fill this room. Several girls who are on KP today bring us serving dishes of food. Everyone has KP one day a week, and they're expected to work on all three meals for that day. Nicole said that I'll be on the chores roster starting Monday
"Sunday is kind of a day off for everyone," she explained earlier. "We have meetings, but that's about it. There aren't chores to speak of, other than making your bed. And no classes. You pretty much just get to hang out. It's a good time to get to know the other girls."
I'm not so sure I want to get to know these girls. I can already tell that some of them are pretty messed up. Like my roommate, for instance. After having a closer look, I now know why she wears that ugly ski cap. It's because she's bald. What's up with that? And then this chick sitting next to me, she's got on a sleeveless top and her arms are a mess from cutting. They're also covered with these small round scars, which I'm guessing are cigarette burns. Gross! I can't believe she doesn't want to cover it up. It almost made me lose my appetite.
As dinner winds down, some of the girls start to argue about which DVD they're going to pick for "movie night." I swear a couple of them look like they're about to get into a catfight over it. Maybe this place really is a nuthouse.
Finally, it's time to clear the tables. I follow the example of the other girls, scraping my plate into a plastic trough, then depositing my dishes and utensils in the designated places. Then I sort of slip out the door, go upstairs, and take refuge in my room. Rather, m_y side of the room.
Okay, I feel really frustrated now. I don't know exactly why. I mean, no one's said or done anything to hurt my feelings, but I feel so displaced, so lost, and even a little lonely. Do I wish I were home getting yelled at by my dad right now? Maybe so. At least I know the rules to that game. But here, I'm locked up with a bunch of crazies, and who knows what might happen next? It's really pretty freaky.
Even though it's only seven o'clock, I feel like going to bed now. I wonder if anyone would notice, or even care.
But then I would feel so stupid if they came up here, looking for me, and saw that I was in bed. Maybe they have rules about that. I kn
ow I signed an agreement to abide by the rules, but I was so nervous that I read the list pretty fast. And now I can't even remember what the rules are. I try to take deep breaths, try to relax, but it's like 1 just keep feeling more and more uptight. And then it occurs to me that my old faithful Altoids box is still in my backpack.
Okay, I do remember that one of the forms I filled out asked whether I had brought anything sharp or dangerous with me, and naturally I checked no. It's not like I had actually forgotten about the Altoids, but I figured I could always say that in my defense. That little red-and-white tin seems to be calling to me now, promising me some relief, a little bit of peace and comfort.
But I can still hear girls moving around the house like they haven't started the movie yet. Some are coming upstairs, and I can hear some of them using the bathroom, and I wonder where I can possibly do this. Where is a place that's private?
I decide that I must simply wait until things quiet down. Movie time begins at eight, and I expect that most of the girls will be clownstairs by then. If I can just keep it together for fifty-five minutes, then everything will be okay.
And so I wait. When Alexi comes in to get something, I pretend to be working on that questionnaire. Like I'm trying to do a really good job.
"You coming to see the movie?" she asks as she rummages through a paper bag in her closet. She finally emerges with several candy bars, which she quickly pockets. I can tell she didn't want me to see that, so I pretend not to notice.
"I don't think so," I tell her. "I'm kind of tired. It's been a long day, you know."
"Yeah, it's always like that at the beginning."
The beginning of what? I just nod like I know what she means then turn back to my questionnaire.
Finally the upstairs is quiet, and I'm pretty sure the movie is starting by now. It's a little after eight when I creep down the hall to the bathroom, Altoids box in the back pocket of my jeans. I go into the stall farthest from the door, put the lid down on the toilet, and sit. I hold my breath for a few seconds, just to listen and make sure no one's coming upstairs. But it's still quiet.
Within minutes I am done with my little deed. I hold a wad of toilet paper against the cut, pressing it hard to stop the bleeding. But I totally forgot about bandages. They're still in my backpack. I listen carefully before I emerge from the stall, still holding the toilet paper to my arm, making sure that no one's around. Then I even snoop through the other girls' shelves to see if anyone else has some bandages that I could "borrow." Of course, there are none. What am I thinking?
So, keeping the wad tight against my arm, I pull down my sleeve and tiptoe back to my room. I quickly locate my box of Band-Aids. Then, with my clothes still on, I get into bed and pretend to sleep.
But as I lie here with my eyes closed, all I can think is that I am a stupid mess. A big stupid mess. And I don't see how anyone can ever straighten me out.
nineteen
SOMEHOW I MAKE IT THROUGH SUNDAY WITHOUT CUTTING. OH, I GET TEMPTED, all right, especially when my roommate is anywhere nearby. I have really tried to avoid her today. I don't know what it is about Alexi-and believe me, it could be lots of things-but it's like I cannot stand this girl. I can't stand to see her, or hear her, or even smell her. And it's not just because she's fat, but it's like how she talks in this sort of dramatic, sarcastic way-like she's the star of the show, and everything is all about her.
On top of everything else, she farts in bed. Really loud, like she gets a kick out of it. Talk about sick! Even my brother, Caleb, isn't that gross. And she snores-I mean seriously snores. I think I was awake half the night listening to her sawing logs. Just the thought of this girl makes me want to cut myself!
So I'm wondering, how am I supposed to get better at this place if my roommate makes me want to cut? Even so, I keep telling myself that I won't give in to this. If I can resist the urge to cut today, I might be able to make a better case of getting out of here sooner. Which is what I think I want to do. I want out of here ASAP. I plan to speak to Nicole about it first thing Monday.
Then Monday is here and suddenly I'm going to classes and group sessions and doing chores and doing my journal assignments, and there's no chance to tell Nicole that I want out. So I end up in the bathroom stall with my trusty Altoids box, and I tell myself that I can give this place another day.
Tuesday comes, and I sit through the classes and group sessions, doing my time, and I do my chores and journal assignments. I say as little as possible to everyone. and finally it's time for bed, and I'm actually pretty tired. Amazingly, I have not cut myself.
Then Wednesday comes and I am totally fed up. I'm sick and tired of hearing these girls going on and on about their stupid lives during group sessions. Okay, I realize that some of them have really big problems. Some have been sexually or physically abused, and it's no surprise that they're cutters. And then you have girls like Jessica, who's been cutting herself since her dog died. Her dog died-give me a break! And then you have the freaking crazy ones like my roommate. She's not only a cutter but she pulls her hair out too. That's why she's bald. She's even pulled out her eyebrows and eyelashes. She says she does it because she's fat. Like being bald makes it easier to be fat? Whatever
"So you think you're better than the rest of us, Ruth?" demands Charisa at this afternoon's group session.
"Huh?" I snap to attention, since I'm pretty sure she's talking to me. "What?"
"I said, do you sit there while we talk just thinking you're so much better than us?"
"No," I stammer. "I never said that."
"Sure, you never said it. But we can tell just by looking at you that it's what you're thinking. Right, guys?"
Everyone pretty much nods. I'm not sure if it's because it's Charisa making this accusation or what, but I have no idea how to respond. I've been in this same small group for three days now and I know most of the names of the other seven girls, as well as their problems. I guess I'm just a little tired of all their whining.
"Is that true?" asks Nicole, our moderator.
"What?" I say, stalling for time.
"Do you think you're better than the other girls?"
"No." I shake my head and look down at my lap.
"You do too," snaps Charisa. "Everyone can see it."
"That's right," says Alexi. "You're always looking down your nose at one. You think I can't tell?"
Well, that just does it. Something in me can't take it. "Okay!" I say loudly. "Maybe it's true. Maybe I don't think I need to be here. So what?"
Alexi just laughs now. "Yeah, talk about denial. Ruth Wallace wins the cake. We should call her Cleopatra, cuz she be da queen of de Nile." Then she does this cheezy Egyptian thing like she's the first person who ever thought of that ancient joke, and everyone laughs.
I totally snap. I want to hit Alexi. I want to smash her ugly face in. I stand up and point at her. "Look, I'm not like you, okay? I'm not messed up like you are. I mean, look at yourself! You're a onewoman freak show. And I have to share a room with you. I have to listen to you snoring like a stupid buzz saw every night. And I have to smell your freaking farts! And I have to-" Suddenly I feel sick and shocked, like I cannot believe I have just said that. What is wrong with me?
I can tell by her face that I hurt her. But she's right back at me now "And you think you're little Miss Perfect? You think you can pull something over the rest of us? We know you're just as messed up as the rest of us. Only you're never going to get better, little Miss Perfect, because you can't even admit it."
"Admit what?" I no longer care what she or anyone else in this room thinks.
"That you can't quit cutting yourself. Yeah, you sit there one meeting after the next, you listen to the rest of us telling about our problems, but you can't even admit that you're a cutter. And I happen to know that you've been cutting yourself since you got here too."
Now the room gets quiet. And I know this is considered a serious offense. Cutting is definitely against the rules.
; "Is that true?" asks Nicole.
I don't answer. I just stare at Alexi like I wish she were dead. And I do. I really wish she were dead.
"It's true," spits Alexi.
Nicole and everyone else are looking at me now.
"Ruth?" says Nicole in a calm voice. "Have you been cutting?"
"No." I look down at the floor now
"Liar!" says Alexi.
I don't respond.
"Ruth, we'll talk privately after the session," says Nicole.
And then she continues with the session. I just sit there like a stone. All I can think is that I want out of here. Let me out of the loony bin before I really hurt someone.
Nicole leads me to her office after the session ends. "Have a seat," she says then sits across from me.
"Why did you let Alexi treat me like that?" I say.
"You both said some ugly things, Ruth."
"But she started it." I guess I'm hoping that if we can keep this focused on Alexi, I might somehow escape.
"That's what happens sometimes. The girls won't tolerate having someone in their group who won't participate."
"I participate."
"No, Ruth. You pretend to participate. But you're not really sharing. Don't feel bad, though. A lot of girls start out the same way. Good grief, it took Alexi two weeks before she finally gave in."
I consider this. "But what I said was true. I can't stand Alexi. I hate being her roommate. She makes me totally sick."
"You were sick before you got here, Ruth. Alexi might bring the sickness to the surface. But that might be a good thing too."
"A good thing?" I hear the volume of my voice increasing. "How can it be a good thing if she makes me want to cut?"
Nicole nods. "So Alexi was telling the truth."
Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred Page 12
