Impulse (11 page)

But even if it were perfect, I couldn't taste a thing. I'm neither up nor down today, just cruising in shades of gray--a cold, colorless place, something like being dead, I guess. Maybe I am dead and just don't know it yet.

Some people say ghosts don't know they're dead, so they keep moving through the same old buildings, the same old streets, trying to talk to people there, to find out why they can waltz through plaster walls like they're water. I think that would give me a pretty good clue. Far as I know, I can't pass through a wall. Think I should try? 287

292

Enough, already. I add my plate to the "scrape and rinse" stack, almost wishing they would give me kitchen duty--unlikely, considering my passion for sharp instruments. But it would give me something to concentrate on besides seeing Grandma in an hour or so. It makes her so sad to visit me here. And that makes me sad. Sad, and cruising gray. 288

293

I Go Back to My Room

Think about trying to walk through the wall, opt for the door instead; dig through my drawers for my favorite denim skirt and a light blue cotton blouse, long-sleeved; lay them out on the bed, as if I were in them. Before I change, there's something I have to do.

The bandage is long gone from my left hand, and my fingers almost work right again. There's a pretty scar, like little knots, joining hand to arm. If I cut there, I'll ruin the artwork. I look at my right wrist, wearing a bracelet of little scabs. Can't cut there. Someone will see. Through the gray haze, a cloud of frustration rises. 289

294

But I've got a new secret weapon. Yesterday, when all was in chaos, I noticed an empty Coke can in a wastepaper basket. No one observed as I reached down, extracted the pull top. I remove it from its hiding place beneath my dresser. Run one finger lightly over its lovely saw- toothed edge. Place it on the fold line inside my left elbow. Close my eyes and let it bite. Easy now, a shallow cut is all I need to slice through the gray. 290

295

Five After Eleven

I walk into Dr. Starr's office, dressed in the clean denim skirt and blue cotton blouse, smiling at the deception, wrapped in toilet paper, hidden beneath long sleeves.

Grandma comes over, gives me a hug, and I hope she doesn't wonder why I don't hug back with much enthusiasm.
You look so pretty today, Vanessa. Blue suits you.

Dr. Starr interrupts the syrupy

stuff.
Your grandmother and I have been talking,

Vanessa. Please have a seat.

Now, why haven
'
t you

told me about your mother?
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I feel the smile slip from my face but don't know exactly how to respond. "Wh-what about her, exactly?" I bend my left arm, squeeze tightly, wince at the beautiful pain.

You never mentioned her BPD. Bipolar disorder

happens to be genetic.

Did you know that?
She waits for me to nod.
It
'
s also very treatable.

So why haven
'
t you

said anything?

I smile at the throb in the crook of my left arm. "You never asked." 292

297

Postcards from Home

That's what my parents' visit reminded me of. Dad talked about my straight-A status, my goal of a law degree.

He must maintain his GPA,
agreed Mom.
I expect you
'
ll see to it, Dr Starr I feel the need to underline that.

That was funny--Mom

made the bulldog blink.
That will be up to Conner,

I
'
m afraid, Mrs. Sykes.

Dad talked about sports.
He
'
s a star running back. I hope this experience won
'
t bar him from playing.

Conner will have to remain on medication for some

time. His coach will drug-test--

that
'
s a foregone conclusion.
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And that made Mom blink.
Medication? What do you mean? Surely you have no expectation we
'
ll allow

him to use drugs? That goes against everything we stand for as parents. Who knows how he
'
d end up?

Dr. Starr cleared her throat.
Conner is suffering from severe depression. Prescription

medication is his best hope.
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299

Did They Even Know

I was in the room? Did they care? "Hello, everyone. Conner to Earth. Are any of you even aware

that I'm sitting right here? Quit talking about me like I don't belong in this conversation. Don't you get

that in the space of just a few months I'll be all by myself, out on my own, and none of you will matter?"

Well spoken, if maybe a bit blunt. But it wasn't a touchdown. More like an ineffectual punt.

Mom picked up the ball at a hard sprint.
I just don
'
t

understand how you could

treat us with so little regard.
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300

We have standing in this

community, a reputation to protect. Did you expect to act with impunity?

"I'm sure you can't understand this, Mom, but everything isn't about you." I looked her in the eye, willed myself calm.

"What I did had nothing to do with you. It was about letting myself feel--desire, pain, fear. Emotions you don't permit." 296

301

Totally Straightforward

In fact, maybe as honest as I've ever been, but did they get it? No frigging way. They'll never understand.

At least the bulldog was cool.
Let
'
s all relax, shall we? Assigning blame and laying guilt won
'
t change the facts.

Conner seems to be doing

well. He has opened up
in therapy and I believe he will excel in the classroom.

What we need to work on now is the family dynamic.

But without your cooperation,

I don
'
t see how that
'
s possible.

Mom reacted about as expected.
We
'
re here, aren
'
t we? Don
'
t you dare say that we have

neglected to cooperate.
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302

What I mean, Mrs. Sykes, is that we must tone down the rhetoric. It
'
s the only

way to mitigate confrontation.

No more, no less, time was up. Dad reached for my hand, shook it good-bye, just like a client.
I
'
m glad you
'
re making progress.

Mom refused to look at me, so I took the high road. "Bye, Mom." And as I turned to go, Dr. Starr said, "Conner? Level

Three." 298

303

Guess My Level Three Status

Is safe for now. It was good to hear from Dad's lips that he took some blame for the things that have happened in my life.

God knows there
'
s enough blame to go around, Anthony,
he said.
But it breaks my heart to know that maybe I could

have made things easier saved you pain. I had it all wrong last time, Anthony, when I said I could forgive you.
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See, I asked the Man Up stairs for forgiveness. He told me I had to ask you first. Forgive me, son, for not being a father to you.

It was like he dropped a half ton of bricks, straight into my belly. If God really had something to do with this, how could I say no? On the other

hand, how could I be sure, 1. God
did
have something to do with it and, 2. Dad
really
meant what he said? "I need to think it over." 300

305

We Left It at That

Better than how we left things last time, for sure. I even let him give me a hug good-bye. It felt really weird, uncomfortable for both of us. I think I even held my breath, and when he let go, I felt numb, like he'd squeezed me too hard. Three hours later I'm still numb.

I don't know if I can step forward, let go of a decade of hard feelings, even if God
does
want me to. It's a damn hard test. 301

306

Part of me says,
What the hell, give him a chance. It
'
s not so much to ask.
Another part screams,
Another chance to what? Screw you over again?

This totally sucks. I mean I've been given something I dreamed about for too many years--the chance to know my father again. So why can't I embrace him?

Things were so much easier when I was just Tony, who nobody cared about. Maybe not better, but for real-- a whole lot simpler. 302

307

Think I'll Wander

Down to the rec room. See who else has been shredded today. Carmella waves as I walk through the door.
Hey, Tony. What
'
s shaking?

"Nothing can shake quite like you, dear. Love your blouse." She glances down at the flawless turquoise silk.
This ol
'
thing? Thanks!

Carmella is great--a part-time house mother at age twenty-three. My hunch is she won't last long. She cares much too much about us. 303

308

In fact, from what I've heard, the burnout rate for staff at places like this is exactly three years. Seems optimistic to me.

I can't even imagine dealing with a bunch of emotional cripples, not to mention a few total wackos, day in, day out, for three years.

And so, Tony,
calls sweet Carmella,
come here, tell me about your day.
Why not? Who knows? Maybe she's got a personal line to the Man

Upstairs. 304

309

The Cat's Out of' the Bag

Grandma told Dr. Starr all about Mama's gear shifting, and how she ended up--minus my relatively major part in the soap opera, of course. Glad Grandma doesn't know all my secrets.

Vanessa is very protective of her mother;
Grandma said.
She doesn
'
t often share information of such a sensitive nature. None of us do, in fact. Her father would have a conniption fit.

I can understand wanting to protect her privacy,
said Dr. Starr.
And I can

understand your wanting to protect your granddaughter.
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However, we cannot make

real progress unless we put

everything out in the open, so we know exactly what

we
'
re dealing with.

So now I will start a new regimen of treatment. Lithium, here I come, weight gain, runs, and all. But hey, I didn't break down and confess. Grandma turned traitor, not me. God love her. 306

311

And Through It All

No one noticed how I kept my arm bent tight. Good thing, too. A thin, red line stains my pretty blue blouse, right at the crease in the elbow. Guess I cut a little deeper than I meant to. Better be careful. I'd hate for my arm to drop off at dinner or something. Ha.

A cold-water rinse is called for, but I'd better wait until later tonight, when everyone's back in their rooms and the bathroom offers more privacy. 307

312

Meanwhile, I change back into my sweats, Saturday red, same as all the other Aspen Springs residents. Identity isn't something they encourage here.

My shirt is barely over my head, pants still on the bed, when the door opens suddenly. It's Paul, with goodies.

His eyes immediately fall to the V between my legs.

Sorry for barging in, but

Dr Starr wants you to start on the lithium right away.

Take this, then finish getting

dressed.
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nothing's Different

Level Three. Awesome, movies, mall trips, maybe a barbecue in the park-- small perks for facing up to Mom. Holy crap. I'd almost forgotten just what a bitch that woman can be, a rotten example of humanity. Wonder if she has any, stashed inside. And Dad? He was only civil to free himself of the nagging thought that he might somehow be responsible for the things I've done. Quite likely, Dad.

His parting remark as I

closed the door was so

Dad-like.
Be sure to keep an eye on your GPA.
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Still carping about my grades, hoping I'll land a scholarship so he won't have to worry about coping with an Ivy League tuition. A state university won't do for dear old Dad. No, that's a fate worse than death.

Wonder how he would have

felt if I'd done the deed correctly. I wonder if he or Mom would even have cried. 310

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Another Level Three Perk

Is holidays at home, but I don't care about going home for Easter or Fourth of July. It was a rare

occasion for us to celebrate holidays together, and certainly not without debate over stupid things like turkey or ham; fireworks in Reno, Tahoe, or Virginia City. Damn if I'll miss any of that.

July. Will I still be in this place then? Would I rather be home, biding time in a state of total disgrace?

Would they leave me alone long enough to call Emily? Would she take my call? Could I be strong if she didn't? 311

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Would she even be home? Or maybe she's moved away from her husband, her students, the hound dog press. And me.

How much does everyone at school know? Stupid question.

The best-rehearsed denials can't fool inquiring minds.

My first day back will be hell-- the debris of my many failures. I wonder how a GED affects GPA. 312