This is What I Did (12 page)

And I didn’t know exactly what they were saying, but then I knew exactly what they were saying.

I couldn’t run away from it even though I wanted to and my parents wanted me to and I wanted me to and everyone wanted me to.

It was here.

I sat down on the floor.

On the black floor of the stage, and I didn’t cry.

Because I just sat there and thought about being nowhere and no one.

Or in a coma.

But then this:

Why did she put it in caps?

Dr. Awkward? No trace?

What was she trying to say?

I didn’t write back.

I decided I wasn’t going to make sets.

I wasn’t going to be in the play.

Maybe I wasn’t even going to go to school.

But then the next day I still went to school and I still went to the rehearsal.

Even though I don’t know why.

But I wasn’t going to go to the set thing and Laurel could throw up and die if she wanted and I wouldn’t care and I hated everyone and I would not show my face at set making and I didn’t know why she wrote Dr. Awkward and then NO TRACE, NOT ONE CARTON. If she was trying to say she didn’t want to write a trace anymore that was fine with me.

Ms. March found me and she said: Logan, Mr. Jeffries said you didn’t show up yesterday for the tree construction.

Me: I went to the stage and no one was there.

Ms. March: Oh, yes. I’m sorry about the mix-up. A couple of other people got confused also. The tree making is located in the art room. Mr. Jeffries is heading it up. I’m sorry I wasn’t clear about that yesterday.

Me: Mmmphh [or something like that].

Ms. March: You’ll go there after practice, won’t you? They really need bodies, Logan.

Me: Okay.

Ms. March: I told Mr. Jeffries he could rely on you. He can, can’t he, Logan?

Me: Yeah, okay.

I didn’t know what else to say.

I mean, what could I say when she just asks me like that?

So I went.

After my fight with Bruce and the shovel, Scouts was worse than anything.

Jack was still so mad it was hard for him to even look at me.

But he told me he wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Patsy, and he made Bruce promise too. This was because of Dad and he felt bad for him and he didn’t think he deserved the crap he’d heard had happened to Dad and Mom and our family because of me.

In Jack and Patsy’s kitchen right after the fight with him and Bruce:

Jack: I was giving you the benefit of the doubt but you’ve proven your reputation, Logan.

Me:

Jack: I really can’t believe this.

Me:

Bruce: He’s such a jerk, Dad. He totally attacked me for no reason. He’s psycho.

He’s really psycho.

Jack: Okay, okay, Bruce. I’ll deal with this. You go get cleaned up and don’t tell your mother about this.

Bruce: What? Why not?

Jack: Because I say so.

Bruce: But . . .

Jack: Are you still talking? Go get cleaned up and we’ll go shopping for that stuff you wanted after all the boys finish their fires.

Bruce gave me a look that I can’t say and then he left.

Then Jack in my face.

Jack: This is because I like your dad. If you ever touch my kid again . . . if you ever touch anyone in this neighborhood, I’ll know. I know about you and I’ll know. I want you at Scouts on time, every time, and don’t make one misstep or else. One misstep . . . I’m warning you.

Now, go home, Logan.

When I finally went back to Dr. Benson for my second appointment, I was ready.

Mom and Dad at first said I didn’t have to go and I said: Good.

Then, later, I heard Mom crying: It’s my fault. I was so manipulative. We should’ve told him what it was all about.

Dad: Yeah, we should’ve told him, Sil. But we didn’t know how to handle it.

And my mom was sort of sobbing. That’s when I went into their room.

They both stopped talking. Ugghh.

Me: Okay, what now?

Dad: I’m sorry, Logan. I’m sorry about everything.

My mom was trying to pull it together. She looked pretty bad — I’m not used to seeing her like that.

I went over and sort of hugged her.

Me: It’s okay, Mom.

Mom: Oh, Logan, it’s not okay. It’s not okay. We keep messing up.

And she was sobbing again, this time into the shoulder of my sweater, and it was really weird.

She was shaking and I didn’t know what to do and Dad was just sitting in his chair looking at his hands.

Finally Mom went into the bathroom to wipe up her mascara.

Me: What does she mean, keep messing up?

Dad: She means that we didn’t know how to protect you back on Mulholland and we thought Judge would be a better place for you. A place you could maybe restart.

Me:

Mom came back and sat on the bed. I was still standing there. Mom was so upset I wondered if it would hurt the baby. I think I read about that somewhere.

Dad: But, Logan, it’s pretty obvious it’s not going to go away. That’s why we found Dr. Benson. He’s really good and some friends recommended him very highly. We just thought it would be a good idea . . .

Mom: We thought it would help if you talked about it. You never talk about it. You always just sit in that room.

Me:

Mom: And I should have told you where we were going but lately I never know what you’re going to do. I don’t know what’s going on in your head. You barely talk about anything anymore. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t.

She was rambling and then crying again.

Dad: Silvia. It’s okay.

Mom: No, it’s not. It’s not.

That’s when she left the room and went I don’t know where.

I was sick of being in the middle of everything.

Me: Dad, I’m fine.

Dad: I know you are. You are. You’re handling everything a lot better than I would if I were in your situation. But do you think you could at least talk to this guy — a couple times? That would really help your mother, and I think it could maybe even help you.

I told him I would.

I told him I’d do whatever so that everyone could stop worrying about me.

And he said thanks: It was weird to have him say thanks how he did.

So the next time I went to Dr. Benson, I was ready.

Dr. Benson: So, Logan, how are you feeling?

Me: Fine.

Dr. Benson: I’m sorry about last time. I guess it would’ve been better had you known what you were getting into.

Me: Yes.

Dr. Benson: Do you feel better now?

Me: Yes.

Dr. Benson: Do you know why you’re here?

Me: Yes.

Dr. Benson: Do you want to tell me?

Me: Not really.

Dr. Benson: Why not?

Me: Because you already know.

Dr. Benson: Okay, that’s fair. Well, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? You’re in junior high, right?

Me: Yes.

Dr. Benson: Why don’t you tell me a little about that?

Me: It’s fine.

Dr. Benson: So you like it?

Me: It’s okay.

Dr. Benson: Let’s talk about okay. What does okay feel like?

Me:

Dr. Benson: Do you understand what I’m asking?

Me: Not really.

Dr. Benson: Okay, I’m asking you to think about what you generally feel like when you go to school. You say okay. But I don’t get what okay means. Does okay mean you don’t dread going? Does it mean you like going? Does it mean you prefer it over other things?

Me: I don’t know.

That’s pretty much how the whole “session” went. I knew what he was trying to do and I knew it wouldn’t work. I’d cooperate however I wanted to and that’s it.

Dr. Benson didn’t get anything out of me.

Nothing.