Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred (17 page)

BOOK: Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred
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"Ruth needs to go away for treatment," she says calmly, as if
this is something that happens every day. "I'm taking her to a place
where she can get the help she needs." She nods to the packet of
papers sitting on his lap. "I need you to sign the forms where they're
marked with those yellow tabs." She looks back at me. "You go get
your things, Ruth. I'll finish explaining the legalities to your dad."

The way she says legalities seems to give her the upper hand,
and so I go back to my room and add a few more things to my bag. I think maybe I really am ready to leave.

"Well, I'll sign these," my dad is saying. "And you can take her
today. But I'm calling an attorney and I'll have her back here by
Monday. You can count on that."

"Do what you think you need to do," she tells him.

"And don't you be thinking I'm paying for any of this nonsense."
He holds the pen in his fist like a weapon. "Because I'm not forking
over one cent for the state's stupidity"

"It's all been taken care of," she assures him.

I hover in the hallway waiting for him to finish signing the
papers. I have no idea what she said to him while I was in my room.
But apparently he has agreed to this. At least for now. I'm guessing
she mentioned something about Caleb and the protective-services
people. I suspect she has my dad cornered, and he knows he doesn't
have a leg to stand on, at least for the moment.

He's scowling when I come out. "I don't know what kind of
nonsense you think you're pulling now, Ruth, but you can be sure
I'll get to the bottom of it."

"Feel free to call the caseworker," says Ms. Blanchard. "Her number
is on that card I just gave you. She can answer any of your questions.
Or your attorney's." Then she turns to me. "Ready, Ruth?"

For the first time that I can remember, my dad is perfectly
speechless. His mouth is partially open, but he's just standing there
with some papers still in his hand, saying nothing. But, oh, is he
ever mad. I can see it in his eyes. Like a smoldering volcano, he is
ready to blow.

"Let's go," says Ms. Blanchard, and I wonder if she feels it too.

There are two cars in the driveway. And I remember how she
said she'd be bringing backup. She hands the packet of papers to
the man in the other car, and we get into her car, and finally we are pulling away from my house. I think I can breathe again.

"I'm worried about my mom," I say suddenly.

"Is she home?"

"Yeah. She's always home." It hits me full force now. "And now
that Caleb and I are gone, I'm worried ... what if he takes it out on
her?"

"Do you think he'd hit her?"

"I don't know. He'll yell at her at least. And that can be just as
upsetting, you know."

"I know" She considers this. "Is there anyone you can call? A
family member or friend who can check up on her."

"Her brother," I say suddenly. "I'll bet Uncle Rod could help
her."

Ms. Blanchard hands me her cell phone and before long I am
talking to my uncle. I explain that I am leaving home for about a
month and that I'm worried about my mom. I manage to do this
without actually mentioning exactly why it is that I have to go. And,
to my relief, he doesn't ask.

"Don't worry, Ruth. I'll check on her. Maybe I can even talk her
into leaving now. Now that you kids are gone, she doesn't have any
reason to stay"

"That's true," I say with realization. "She really doesn't. Maybe
this can be her ticket out too."

"I sure hope so."

And so I feel a little relief as Ms. Blanchard drives me down the
highway. "Where are we going?" I ask.

"Promise House is a couple of hours from here. About twenty
minutes from Crawford, kind of out of the way."

"That sounds out of the way" Now I'm feeling a little worried.
"Is it the kind of place where you're locked up?"

She laughs. "No. Trust me, I think you're going to like it."

I want to trust her. So far she hasn't given me any reason not to.
But at the same time I feel this blanket of sadness covering me. Like,
how pathetic am I that I have to be transported to some nuthouse
where people are treated for hurting themselves? Really how sad is
that?

But I keep these thoughts to myself. I just stare out the window
and watch the countryside pass by. I watch cows in a pasture and
wish my life were as simple as theirs. Just eat your grass, drink your
water, soak up the sun, and sleep whenever you like. Oh, sure,
they're destined to become hamburger or somebody's new shoes,
but they don't know that. Maybe ignorance really is bliss.

Don't think about anything. Just chill and see what happens next.
And, hey if this place doesn't work out, I can just leave. Right? But
where will I go?

Don't think about anything.

 
eighteen

Ms. BLANCHARD TURNS DOWN A LONG DRIVEWAY THAT LLADS 10 WHAT LOOKS
like an old farmhouse and several outbuildings. But it's not rundown at all. In fact, everything appears to be in good shape, like
someone actually cares, and there's a big wraparound porch, where
several girls are sitting on the steps.

She parks off to the side and I get out, pull out my bag and
backpack, and slowly walk with her up to the porch. Why is this so
hard? As I get closer I can see that the girls on the porch are smoking. And for some reason this surprises me. Not that I've never seen
anyone smoke. I mean, Caleb does and a few of my friends do. Even
my dad does, although he likes to pretend he doesn't. But I guess
because I sort of assumed this was a clinical kind of place, I never
figured that smoking would be allowed.

"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.

BOOK: Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred
3.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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