Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred (13 page)

IT'S NOT EASY TELLING MY FRIENDS THAT I'M GROUNDED. FOR ONE TILING, IT
sounds so juvenile. I don't know anyone my age who gets grounded
anymore. At least not that they talk about.

"That is so lame," says Abby when I call her on Sunday night,
after my dad's gone, and tell her that I can't ride to school with her
anymore. "What difference does it make how you get to school? I
mean, as long as you go."

"I know. It's totally ridiculous. But when has life with my dad
ever made sense?"

"And until school's out? Man, that totally sucks. You're going to
miss some really good parties, Ruth."

Right, like my dad even lets me go to "really good parties"
anyway. But I just say, "Yeah, I know."

"What happens after school's out?"

I force a laugh that is unconvincing. "My dad has it all figured
out. I'll be working the counter at the tire store. Full time. And lie's
going to handle the money for me. Part of it will be used as my
contribution to the household income, you know, since my mom
doesn't work anymore. And the rest will be put into my college
account. And, oh yeah, if there's any left over, and if I'm good, I will
continue to get an allowance." I don't mention that I will be getting no allowance while I'm grounded-although I'm still expected to
do the same chores. Well, the same plus Caleb's too.

"That's like slavery!" exclaims Abby.

"Tell me about it."

"Can't your mom do anything?"

Okay, I'm thinking Abby should know the answer to this by
now. But in all fairness, her life is so totally different from mine that
sometimes she just does not get it.

I try to explain that Mom is barely here. That she is the ghost
mother, the green phantom, and I cannot expect one bit of support
from her.

And finally there's a long pause. "Ruth?" she says in a serious
voice. "How about, you know, the cutting thing?"

As much as I hate to lie to my best friend, I just cannot handle
her getting on my case right now. "I'm fine," I tell her.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I can see how stupid that was. Really, I'm okay. Well,
other than being totally frustrated about being grounded."

"Yeah. It seems really unfair. I just totally don't get your dad,
Ruth."

"You and me both."

The next day I tell Glen about being grounded. He seems to
understand this a little better than Abby.

"It's just the way those messed-up kind of guys think," he tells
me as he walks me to the bus after school. "My dad was the same
wayy A real control freak. If Mom or I did anything he didn't approve
of, man, you better watch out. We always felt like we were walking
on eggshells when he was around."

"Yeah. That's exactly what it's like," I admit.

He looks at the big yellow buses lined up like kid-eating beasts, ready to devour the unfortunate losers who are forced to ride in
their bellies. "I wish I could give you a ride home."

"Me too."

"You really think your dad would know?"

I shrug. "I don't honestly know how, but I wouldn't be surprised
if he has spies watching me. Or maybe he'll take a break from work
just to check on me." I squint down the street, looking for his ugly
red truck amid the after-school traffic. "Who knows, he could be
watching me even as we speak."

Glen nods. "That's like something my dad used to do. He even had
this creepy set of field glasses hidden beneath the seat of his car."

"Right." My dad has binoculars too, and I think he does keep
them in his pickup. So weird. "Anyway," I continue. "I think for at
least the first day, I should just go along with it."

"Yeah." Glen gives me a little half smile. "Maybe things will
lighten up later. My dad was like that. He'd blow up and lay down
the law one day, and after a while, he'd sort of forget."

"Yeah, maybe." But even as I say this, I know this is where my dad
and Glen's dad differ. Although Glen's dad was physically abusive,
according to Glen, he was usually sorry afterward. But my dad,
though verbally abusive, is never, ever sorry. And no matter what he
does, he is always, always right. He is always justified, and the rest of
us are stupid or rebellious or whatever adjective he's glommed onto
for that day. And if anyone (at least in his immediate family) doesn't
agree with him, he will blast them until they do. End of story.

A week passes, and I continue to comply with Dictator Dad's uncompromising rules. I can't really explain it, but it's like I've gone numb. I don't really care anymore. Nothing really matters. I've heard that people
can endure a lot of pain if they're convinced there is an end in sight.
Maybe that's the difference for me. That somehow, in the midst of all
this, I think there is an end for me. And that in itself is comforting.

It's like when you're at the dentist and he tells you he's almost
done, but he also tells you to let him know if you need any more
anesthesia as he finishes his drilling. And even though it hurts,
because you believe the end is in sight, you can actually put up with
more drilling and pain than you could if you thought it was going
to go on forever.

I think that's where I'm at right now. I have a feeling that the
end is in sight. Like my pain doesn't have to last much longer. That
I will soon be able to take control again. First I have to make it to
the end of the school year. Don't ask me why. I just do. And then
maybe I can end this thing. Stop the pain for good. Does this mean
I'm going to cut too deeply one day? Perhaps. More likely, I'll just
run away and live somewhere else. I'm not even sure what I'll do.
But one way or another, I feel certain that, once and for all, I'm going
to end this thing.

Unfortunately, Abby is getting really irritated at my lack of availability, not to mention the way I sort of check out a lot of the time.
Maybe our friendship is on the line. But I can't do anything about it.
I'm not sure I even care anymore.

"You're changing, Ruth," she tells me for like the hundredth time
as we're walking to class. "It's like someone's done a lobotomy on you
or something." She waves her hand in front of my face and then snaps
her fingers. "Earth to Ruth. Come on, wake up, snap out of it."

I force a smile. "Sorry," I tell her. "Guess I'm just tired or
something."

Glen is even concerned. "He's killing you, Ruth," he tells me this morning. "He's going to make you turn out just like your mom.
Can't you see it?"

I just shrug. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Get help," he tells me.

"Help?" I just look at him, blankly I'm sure.

"Talk to a counselor or something."

"Like the school counselor?" I look at him like he's crazy. No one
in their right mind would want to talk to Ms. Blanchard. Seriously,
she looks like the biggest phony baloney of all time, like one of the
Stepford wives.

"1 don't know." I can tell he's discouraged, which makes me feel
guilty. Like I'm raining on everyone's parade these days.

"I'm okay," I tell him. "And, hey, if it makes you feel better,
maybe I will talk to Ms. Blanchard. I guess it couldn't hurt."

He brightens. "Yeah. I mean, it's free. And it's confidential. And
who knows?"

"Yeah, who knows?" But even so, I'm certain that 1 will not talk
to Ms. Blanchard. What good would it do?

"Besides, there's only one more week of school," he reminds me.
"And this could be your last chance for a while. I mean to talk to Ms.
Blanchard." And then he walks me down to the office to "help me"
make an appointment. What is it with this guy? Is he like codependent or something?

Fortunately it's not too painful to make an appointment. You
just tell the receptionist your name and who you'd like to talk to,
and she gives you a little card with the time and date on it. No big
deal. My appointment is scheduled for Monday morning at nine
thirty. Great. I can hardly wait. Maybe I'll be sick that day.

Or sooner, as it turns out. The truth is, I've been cutting more than
ever this past week. It's like I'm addicted, like I can't stop. As freaky as it sounds, and as much as I hate to admit it, it's almost like I've actually scheduled certain times to do it. I keep telling myself this is just a
temporary thing, a quick fix that will eventually become unnecessary,
because I do feel certain it will end as soon as the school year ends.
My stress level will go down then and everything will change for the
better. But for now I find myself cutting daily, sometimes three times
a day. I usually cut just before lunch just so that I can make it through
the rest of the day, and then again after I get home from school just to
help me to relax, and almost always following any sort of "conversation" that I'm forced to endure with my dad.

And then today, just as I was experiencing a little relief right
before lunch, things got messy. The last thing I remember, I was
standing in the john, breathing deeply and trying to block out everything as I returned my little Altoids box to my pack. And then my
ears began to buzz and I felt kind of lightheaded, then wham! The
lights went out.

And now I am totally shocked to discover that I am lying on a
couch in the health room. How did I even get here? I sit up and try
to get my bearings, trying to remember what happened and listening to the conversation going on over by the doorway.

"Ruth is my best friend," I hear Abby pleading with someone.
"Please, let me come in and see her."

"All right," says a woman's voice. "You might as well, since we've
been unable to reach either of her parents."

"Ruth!" says Abby as she comes in and sits next to me. "Are you
okay?"

I kind of shrug and look down at my hands, relieved to see that
my sleeves are all the way down.

"What happened?" she demands.

It's coming back to me now, the bathroom, hitting my head ... I reach up to feel a lump on my forehead. "I fainted," I tell her.

"Yeah, I know. Everyone's talking about it. Sherise Barrett heard
you go down. She and a couple of her friends helped you clown
here."

"Yeah ... I kind of remember now. I told her I was okay."

"Right." Now Abby puts her hand on my shoulder. "Were you
doing it?"

"Doing it?" I say weakly

"You know, cutting."

Now I firmly shake my head. "No. But I'm having my period, you
know, and it's really had this month. I think that's why I fainted."

"Oh." She sounds relieved.

So that's the story I tell the school nurse, and she buys it.

"I've left messages at your home and your dad's business," she
tells me. "But no one has called back yet."

"That's okay," I assure her. "I'm fine now." I look at the clock
and see that it's still lunchtime. "Can I go get something to cat? I
think that's part of the problem, you know, like low blood sugar or
something."

"Or maybe anemia," she says as she jots down a note. "But how's
your head feeling?"

I reach up to touch it. "It's a little sore, but I think it's fine."

"Well, it's up to you whether you go back to class or not. I can't
release you to go home until I speak to your parents, though."

I force a smile. "That's okay, really I'll be fine. I just need to get
something to eat."

"All right. I guess you can go. But if you start feeling bad, please,
come hack and see me."

"Sure," I tell her. "No problem."

But as Abby and I walk toward the cafeteria, I am more anxious than ever. That was close. Too close. Of course, all my friends are
very concerned, and Glen asks if I'm okay, and while I should enjoy
this attention, all I want to do is get out of here. I know they don't
actually know that I'm a cutter-well, other than Abby, and even
she's in her own little fantasy world of belief that I've quit-but I'm
sure they could easily find out. Every comment they make reminds
me of clogs sniffing around, trying to uncover something, or dig up
an old bone that is buried somewhere. But I force a smile and offer
evasive answers as I hurry to finish my lunch and leave.

"You sure you're okay, Ruth?" asks Glen as he joins me.

I try not to look too exasperated. "Yeah," I say. "I'm fine. I just
fainted, okay? It was humiliating enough and I'd just like to forget
it now. You know?"

He puts an arm around my shoulders as we walk down the hall.
"Okay. I just happen to care about you. Is that a problem?"

I look up at him. "No," I tell him. "That's not a problem."