Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred (15 page)

"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.

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?"

I act like that's what I mean. But what I'd really like to tell her
is that it's because I might be gone tomorrow. Still, I don't mention
this. For one thing, I don't know for sure that it's really going to
happen. And besides that, I'm not so sure I really want to go. I mean,
what will this place be like? Then there's the fact that my dad was
actually acting pretty civilized tonight. And I'm not even grounded
anymore. Maybe things can change without me going off to some
weird cutting clinic or whatever it is. I mean, I have no intention of
cutting myself right now. Maybe I'm better already.