Sliding On The Edge

by C. Lee McKenzie

  “You met them once, but you don’t really know them. I don’t think you do, anyway.” Marta laughs. “See, I can’t read minds. Anyway, they want to know what Las Vegas is like. What you’re like.”

  Marta chatters on and on, and I’m like, thinking, What the hell. I’m out of here soon anyway, so why not? This is probably gonna be the first and last sleepover of my life, so it doesn’t really matter. “I’ll ask Kay to drive me to town. I’ll come if she’ll bring me.”

  “That’s super!”

  Suddenly Marta is a grateful Golden Retriever. What have I done?

  “I’ve got class,” I say. “Gotta go.” But I’m not getting away. She’s in lock step with me down the hall to Chemistry. I’ve got a buddy, a pal. Just what I’ve always wanted. Sit. Stay. Roll over.

  I promised to meet Kay at the curb at exactly three o’clock, so when Chemistry class ends, I’m doing my best to be on time, but Marta’s not helping me get out of there.

  “My mom’s letting us have the whole place to ourselves. She’s really excited you’re coming too because... well, she’s just excited. Bring your sleeping bag, and if you’ve got CDs, I just got this really cool—”

  “Okay, Marta. I got the idea. I’ll be there. But I gotta go meet Kay right now.”

  Finally she gets the message and I drag myself out the door and down the steps with two minutes to spare.

  When the truck rattles to a stop in front of me, I glance at my watch. Three o’clock. I shake my head. How can she always be exactly on time?

  I climb in. I want to whistle because she looks totally cool. Instead I look at the truck and say, “Wow! Who did the number on Mr. Bumpy here?” Kay looks so grim that I think a little humor might make the trip easier.

  But she doesn’t smile. “It wasn’t me.” She looks at me and I get the feeling she wants to start over from when I first got in the truck. “Kenny washed it,” she says with what sounds like a sigh. “Seat belt.”

  Once. Just once, I wish she’d forget the friggin’ seat belt.

  It’s the usual silent running. Kay should have been a submarine captain. But I can tell from the way she grips the steering wheel, that she’s a total wreck. Hey, I want to say. It’s my head they’re examining, so what’re you all twisted about?

  We pull into the parking garage, and without waiting for me to close the truck door, she’s loping off across the garage to the elevator. What’s with her, anyway

  “You okay?” I ask, knowing from the way her hand’s shaking, that she’s not.

  “No. I’m not,” she snaps.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  I think, Then why in hell did you do this? I don’t need a shrink. I don’t want a shrink. I may get down sometimes, but who doesn’t? Even horses, right?

  And now I’m thinking about Magic. How he talks to me. How he knows me better than any shrink ever could. He even knows me better than that creep, Monster. Easy, girl. You want the shrink to hear you talking with Magic or Monster? Let those items slip, and you’ll be in a padded cell seeing major shrinks every day.

  In the elevator, Kay’s eyes are closed. Is she praying? We stop at the sixth floor. Kay heaves one shaky sigh, then she’s out the door.

  Okay, Ms. Shrink. Here’s comes Shawna and The Stone.

  Chapter 33

  Kay

  When the receptionist announced them and shut the door, Dr. Lubell rose from behind her desk and held out her hand. “Welcome. Please sit down.”

  Kay took a seat on the couch as the therapist indicated. Her armpits felt damp, just the way they did that first day when Shawna arrived at the bus depot. Kay wanted in the worst way to lift her hair up from the back of her neck. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn her hot flashes had returned.

  “Do you want to begin by talking about what brought you here to see me?” Dr. Lubell asked.

  What has brought me here? Kay suddenly wondered. Was it really Shawna’s problems, or were they mine that did it? Family issues. What were they? Her well-organized spreadsheet of causes and effects had scattered like autumn leaves. She didn’t know how to answer the doctor’s question.

  Kay leaned forward and put her arms across her knees before she realized that this was how she sat when she had serious business to discuss with Kenny. She missed the feel of her jeans against her legs. She missed the comfort of her old friend listening to her problems.

  Finally she spoke: “I’m worried about my granddaughter.” She sat back against the hard sofa cushion and took a moment to think about what she needed to say to this woman who was sitting across from her. Make it simple, she thought

  She wished the therapist wore glasses, didn’t have perfect, white-tipped fingernails, didn’t look like she was just out of college. Kay couldn’t shake the feeling that she was at a social gathering, about to reveal private secrets to a gossip columnist.

  Suddenly her throat went dry, and no amount of swallowing helped. The words in her head came to her lips, and she watched as Dr. Lubell nodded her very blond head. Kay prayed that what she was saying made sense.

  “I’m not . . .” Kay thought that maybe, if she cleared her throat, her reason for being here would be easier to express. “. . . handling the situation well.” She heard her own words, but they seemed to come from someone else’s lips. “…I just don’t know how.” She heard herself utter that sentence, because that was the most important part of the whole speech. It was painfully true, too, and it exhausted her to say it. She was glad for the leather sofa at her back.

  It was Dr. Lubell’s turn. “Shawna, do you want to say anything about your grandmother’s concern?”

  Shawna glared at first the doctor, then at Kay. Kay felt the heat of Shawna’s anger, along with her own rising tide of self-doubt. Had she been right in demanding to sit in on this first session, despite the doctor’s wish to meet with Shawna alone?

  But she couldn’t just leave Shawna stranded with someone neither of them knew. Kay was nervous enough herself. How would Shawna feel, especially alone in this room with a stranger, even if she was a doctor? Kay rubbed her eyes. Robby had asked for the same privacy, and he’d talked her out of staying. And she regretted not being there in that room, being with Shawna while Robby asked her his questions. Was she making mistake after mistake?

  Shawna scowled at Kay and shoved the neat pile of magazines across the glass table. “What’s all this crap about me being angry?”

  She is angry, Kay wanted to scream. Why else would she act the way she does? Why else would she look at me with eyes that shoot bullets?

  Dr. Lubell was saying something about anger... about being pissed. My god, she sounded like Shawna.

  Shawna let loose with her mouth from hell and shouted back at the doctor.

  It was the therapist’s turn, “Do you want to tell me why you’re so pissed.”

  As Shawna jumped up from the couch, Kay felt as though someone had drained any energy she had in reserve, quickly pouring it onto the carpet. She looked up at her granddaughter, thinking, that yelling never calms a horse. So she quietly said, “Shawna, sit down, please.”

  After Shawna’s outburst, the room became silent, as if it were pulling back just like its occupants, and regrouping for the next verbal onslaught. Kay just kept still and listened.

  Dr. Lubell then asked Shawna, “Is there anything you feel comfortable sharing with me?”

  Kay squeezed her fists so hard, her nails nearly cut into her palms.

  Shawna shook her head. Then, in that way she had of becoming absent, disappeared inside her skin. Her eyes roved the room desperately.

  Escape? Is that what she’s looking for? Kay wondered.

  “Do you have any idea why your principal might think you’re depressed? Why he suggested you talk to me?” Dr. Lubell asked softly.

  Tell her about the picture, Shawna. Tell her what you wrote, how you reject everyone. Tell her!

  But Shawna did exactly what Kay expected. She shrugged.

 
; “Do you know what I mean when I use the word depressed?”

  “No.”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her here. Maybe the school’s way off base. I need some kind of grandmother’s manual, because I know I’m doing everything wrong. Pay attention, Kay. Pay attention. I’m trying.

  “I like ice cream.”

  What? What did she say about ice cream?

  “Me too,” Dr. Lubell said.

  And Shawna’s smiling? What did I miss? Pay attention.

  “What do you want different in your life?” Dr. Lubell asked, and Kay held her breath for the answer. She had so many things she wanted to say. I want my granddaughter to love me. I want to love her. I want my son back. I want my life back the way it should be. But the question wasn’t hers to answer, so she waited for what Shawna would say.

  Shawna, the smile gone so quickly that Kay doubted she’d seen it at all, sat with her eyes closed. Her jaw was set in that way she held it when she wanted to explode, when the full force of her anger ran free.

  Yes, Kay thought, she holds back a lot of what’s inside her. . . everything except language that could singe a hide from twenty feet. That, she never holds back.

  Kay was tired and hot. She wanted to rip off her suit and free her feet from their misery. She wanted to get out of this office. So far, Dr. Lubell hadn’t done more than ask a few questions. Was this all there was to counseling? What had she expected? A miracle, that’s what.

  Shawna opened her eyes at last. “I want... to go home,” she said.

  Home? Did she say, home? Kay leaned her head back against the couch. Suddenly it was too heavy to hold up.

  Chapter 34

  Shawna

  When the receptionist introduces us, I’m thinking, Who in the hell is Shawna Stone?

  You, dummy.

  Me?

  Yes. That’s your real name.

  Is that the name I’ll keep forever?

  Why not? Here lies Shawna Stone, chiseled in... you guessed it, Stone!

  Does having a real name make me more real?

  I think this is a question for the shrink, who isn’t what I expected. I pictured her with thick specs and bangs, but even as old as she must be, she still qualifies as hot.

  And I’m still trying to digest seeing my grandmother in a black silk suit that curves over her hips. She looks pretty sharp in her white silk shirt, with no plaid anywhere in sight. A tiny gold chain gleams at her throat, and she’s wearing black leather heels, which shoot her another two inches up into the stratosphere.

  Kay sits sweating on the couch, like she’s just crossed the finish line. It’s time to play their game, so I sit next to her and try on my obedient face.

  The therapist sits opposite us on another couch. Between us is a glass coffee-table with a stack of magazines and a small silver bowl. The room around us glows with light, but I don’t see a single lamp.

  The shrink leans back and folds her hands in her lap like she’s settling in for the long haul. “Do you want to begin by talking about what’s brought you in to see me?” She looks at me and then at Kay. I have an answer to her question, but I’m not answering questions today. You want to hear what I’d tell Ms. Shrink if I was in the mood? I’d say, a truck. A beat up, hammered piece of shit. That’s what brought me here.

  “I only spoke with you on the phone briefly, Mrs. Stone. But you seemed to feel it would be helpful for you and Shawna if you could both talk to someone to work through some family issues.”

  What family issues? Maybe I need to ask questions instead of answer them.

  My grandmother leans forward and puts her arms on her knees. “I’m worried about my granddaughter. Shawna is—” She stares at the tabletop then sits back again, like she’s rehearsing her words inside her head. “Her principal and her teacher think she needs to talk to a professional who knows how to work with a young person who... who might be... depressed.”

  Kay swallows hard and her gold chain shines in the magic light. “I get the feeling she’s angry at me... at everything and everybody. When she’s not angry, she doesn’t seem to care about anything.”

  I’m listening to her like she’s talking about somebody I don’t know. It’s interesting to hear her describe somebody, and how they act and what they feel. She’s talking about Shawna Stone. Don’t know her. Sorry.

  “I’m not,” Kay clears her throat, “handling the situation well. I really don’t know how.” Kay sits back now, as though she’s used up her batteries and needs to recharge.

  The shrink nods. “Shawna, do you want to say anything about your grandmother’s concern?”

  I shake my head.

  “She said you seem angry at her, and she’d like to understand what she can do to perhaps work through that anger with you.”

  I close my eyes. I hate being here, and I shove the stack of magazines across the table. They hit the silver bowl and it clatters to the center.

  “What’s all this crap about me being angry?”

  “I can see I’ve pissed you off. But I’d really like to know you, so I don’t want to do that again.”

  I can’t read her face. I can’t tell where she’s going with all this blah blah. I don’t say another word.

  “I see that you don’t want to talk about how you’re feeling.” She cocks her head at me, and I stare back. “That’s okay. Maybe another time.”

  Who’s the nut here? Why would I talk to her about anything? I’m being drilled by a psycho-shrink hottie, and corralled by granny-in-a-suit next to me. I’d like to walk out right now, just slam the door in their faces. I didn’t expect this party with mood lighting. I’ve got other things to do with my time.

  Kay’s gone mute and practically buried herself into the leather couch. I wonder if she’ll sink inside and disappear. The hottie is looking at me, her expression as flat as if she’s ironed it on.

  It’s so quiet I can hear myself breathing. How did I let Kay drag me here? Why? How can I get out of here, ASAP?

  “Okay, I’m pissed.” She used that word so... I . . .CAN… TOO. I glare at my grandmother.

  “Do you want to talk about why you’re pissed?”

  “I hate... your crappy questions... your—”I wave my arms“—crappy room. I feel like hurling this damned silver bowl against the wall and getting the hell out of here.”

  “I can understand your wanting to be someplace besides this stuffy office.” She looks around her. “But are you willing to help out your grandmother and me by giving us a little time here?”

  Huh?

  “How about telling me where you’d like to be instead? Where do you like spending your time?”

  I shoot up to my feet. “What you’re asking, it’s nobody’s business.”

  “You’re right, but I just want to know you better. Forget I asked you that question.”

  “Shawna, sit down please,” Kay says this softly, like she’s too tired to raise her voice.

  I melt into the chair. Suddenly I’m tired, too. I feel like I could sleep for a week.

  “Let’s start again, shall we?” The shrink’s looking at me, waiting.

  I’m not going to talk to her anymore.

  “Is there anything you feel comfortable sharing about yourself? Something that will help your grandmother know what she can do to make things better between you?

  Now Kay is looking at me, too. I’ve got four eyes boring holes in me.

  I shake my head and study the panels with their mystery light. Not one more word. No. I feel Monster’s nudge, and the shaky feeling travels down into my stomach. I’d put my head on my lap if I were alone—if these two women weren’t at me with all this drool. I don’t want anybody to know me. And if I needed help, I’d ask for it. I don’t need anything from anybody. Leave me alone. I do fine by myself, alone. Me and Mom... we do just fine alone. It goes south when other people mess with us . . .or with her. I push my hands under my thighs and wait for Monster to scram.

  “Do you have any idea why you
r principal might think you’re depressed?”

  Hottie isn’t letting up. I shrug.

  Kay rubs her eyes.

  “Do you know what I mean when I use that word, depressed? It’s used so much that I wonder if anyone really knows what it means anymore.”

  “No.” That slips out before I catch myself.

  “Would you like to find out?”

  Would I? Hell, no. De = down, Pressed = pushed flat. That’s enough.

  For a while the shrink watches me, then asks, “What makes you happy, Shawna?”

  Happy. That’s the word Principal Green used. What is it about these people in California, always going on about being happy? They don’t get it, do they? Happy isn’t something I know much about. And even if it comes, it doesn’t stay. Then that moment slips into my mind.

  In a place I don’t remember, the woman’s long red braid is tied at the end with a velvet ribbon, and lying over her shoulder like a thick red rope.

  I’m five. Mom is gone. The woman knocks at the door and asks why I’m crying. Then she props me up on pillows and feeds me ice cream, and I lick the spoon and she laughs and I laugh—

  “I like ice cream,” I say.

  She smiles. “Me, too.”

  I’ve said something right?

  “If someone asked you what you wanted to change in your life, would you feel like answering that?” the shrink asks.

  And while I’ve squeezed my eyes shut against the light, I’m wondering who in the hell wrote her script?

  I don’t want anything to be different in my life because there’s no way anything else will be any better than what’s happening right now.

  But she’s the first person who ever asked ME what I want. Me, Shawna Stone, or whoever the hell I am. Mom never asks me what I want. She’s always telling me what SHE wants... needs... has to have, or SHE’LL just die!

  Kay never says anything, one way or the other, except for me to follow her rules. Any day she’ll hook me to a lead and trot me around in a circle until I learn the steps as good as her gray does.

  What do I want? Give her something, Shawna. Anything. And then go over that question later, when you’re not being squeezed—de + pressed—for an answer.

  I open my eyes and look straight at her. “I want... to go home.” When I hear myself say the word, home, I don’t believe what flashes in my brain. I don’t see the Casino Royale, with all its lights and its racket. No. It’s that damn red house with the barn, and Kenny Fargo hurling spit on the porch, with Kay leading the gray out to the trail, and me holding a stupid apple, my leg over the fence reaching out to Magic.