Impulse (9 page)

Everything always comes back to her, doesn't it? Plenty of times, tripping around town, no meds to stabilize her schizophrenic mood shifts, she looked like a regular lunatic--the kind that sleeps in the park, digging through trash cans for dinner and talking to pigeons like they can talk back. In fact, she did all those things.

Sometimes cops will look the other way. Other times, bad day or whatever, they decide to roust "the wackos," rough them up, haul them in, whatever their mood dictates. Once in a while, if the wacko takes offense and puts up some sort of a defense, the cop goes overboard. More than once, Mama came home with bruises. 235

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But what if one of those times, she never came home at all, and no one knew where she'd been taken to? She's got red hair, green eyes, no ties to the Middle

East. But under the Patriot Act, everyone is fair game.

I have no problem with increasing security to keep this country safe. But how do we decide who poses a threat? And--bigger question-- who decides? 236

241

Mr. Hidalgo Comes Over

You haven
'
t written anything,

Vanessa. Having a hard time

getting started?

I could tell him everything I've just been thinking, but that would take us all the way to lunch. "Just organizing my thoughts. I tend to do most of my writing inside my head."

He smiles.
Okay. But don
'
t let it get lost inside there. I
'
d like a first draft today.

I glance around the classroom. Conner is already finished. I can tell by the satisfied expression on his face. Tony is scribbling away. Guess he knows what he wants to say. 237

242

Others are chewing pencils, staring off into space. I don't want to look as scattered as they do, so I start:

Once we believed ourselves safe from attack, here on our

home turf hallowed ground.

The events that occurred on September 11, 2001, altered our
"
pie in the sky
"
view. The sad fact is, no one
is completely safe. I
'
ve
'
re all going to die someday. What
'
s

important is how we choose to live until the day of our judgment

comes...
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Six Weeks in Aspen Springs

The doctors say I'm making progress, however they define that. I'm mostly over Emily, I guess, so something inside me has changed. I no longer feel mad with desire for her, deranged by my inability to see her, talk to her. I haven't heard what happened after she broke down, admitted guilt. Not a single word, though I've begged Dr. Boston to ignore the rules, confide details of Em's self-imposed destruction. Despite our rapport, she maintains,
You know I can
'
t

do that, Conner It could adversely affect your therapy.

Please don
'
t pursue this further
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Once I even went so far as to reach across her desk, rest my hand lightly on hers, and say, "Then teach me how

not to care about someone who was everything to me. All I want is to know she's okay. Is that too much to ask?"

She flinched but didn't move her hand.
No. But it's more

important that we talk about you. Understand?
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The Only Way

To find my answers, learn anything more, is to do what it takes to let Level Three take me out the front door.

Even supervised outings should give me the chance to make a covert phone call. Until then, I'll play "good."

I've swallowed most of my pride, dressed down in sweats, showered naked with creeps, some of them way too obsessed with checking out other guys.

It's worse than any football locker room, because while jocks can be crude, perverse

even, they all have girlfriends

waiting outside. These losers

have no one but each other, one reason I haven't tried 241

246

to buddy up too close. Still, I stay cordial. No need to make enemies. Besides, halfway going along with the Aspen Springs

game plan has netted me Level Two. Unimpressive. Funny, I never regretted not

learning Ping-Pong until now. Even Stanley can beat me, and I haven't a clue how--he's too fat to move fast, so it must have more to do with spin. Whatever. Losing

every game to Stanley is beginning to wear thin. 242

247

So I'm Pushing Hard

To graduate to Level Three. I've kept my nose to the grindstone in school, stroked my way past Dr. B.

Now I've just got to convince Dr. Starr. The bulldog is waiting for me right now, sitting as far back from the patient's chair as the wall will allow, as if "suicidal" were contagious. Working the bulldog takes more than skill.

It takes subtlety. "Good afternoon, Dr. Starr. You look lovely in that shade of maroon." Okay, not great.

She grimaces.
Let
'
s get down
to business, Mr. Sykes.

When we last left off we were discussing your sister
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I don't want to talk about Cara, but we're playing by Dr. Starr's rule book. I shut my eyes, see my twin's

face, so like my own--soft, toffee brown hair; startling

hazel eyes; skin the color of coffee with lots of cream.

"She's really very beautiful.

Takes after our mother, outside and in. Meaning

she's a bitch." My heart aches, remembering.

249

Commotion in the Hall

Voices. Shouts. Shuffling feet and the scratch of claws against linoleum. Dogs can mean only one thing-- a drug search. I stick my head out the door, looking for the source of all this excitement. Uniforms, with real guns attached. Two German shepherds, sniffing along the corridor, asking to go inside rooms which, one by one, empty. Guys, some half-dressed. Girls, ditto. Which most definitely makes an impression on the guys.

Hey, Dahlia,
calls dim-

wad Stanley.
Nice pair of tits you got there.
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250

Hey, Stanley,
she yells back.
Some to you, but more of them!

Despite the situation, everyone has to laugh. Everyone, that is, except Todd, who has just been led out of his room, face in his metal-cuffed

hands, by a tall deputy and a short German shepherd. I thought he seemed buzzed the last time I saw him, but didn't go there at all. 246

251

As Todd Is Marched Away

The search continues. He may have shared his contraband, after all. Meanwhile, Paul and Kate appear. Half- dressed or fully clothed, we're herded toward the dining room, where we're instructed to wait until the operation is over. A sting, in Reno's premier RTC--residential

treatment center. The press will love this one, not that it's so uncommon. I've even seen drugs delivered to inmates at the juvenile 247

252

detention center-- left by a Dumpster within semi-easy reach behind the chain- link fence surrounding the exercise yard.

Paul and Kate pace nervous circles around the loosely grouped Aspen Springs flakes. Out in the hallway, I hear the muffled

voices of the younger kids--all under twelve-- who live in a different wing. Most of them have suffered abuse: physical, sexual, or (please specify) other. 248

253

Which Takes Me Back

Home to Ma, a string of "uncles" and their friends. Reno, small as it is, is home to a wide variety of perverts. Think how many there

must be on this poor, sick planet! The worst part is, since scientists tell us perverts beget perverts, you almost have to feel sorry for them.

Perverts aren't born-- they're created. I wish I could give every kid the kind of childhood I didn't have--one filled with toys, warmth, love. 249

254

Speaking of love, here comes Vanessa. Not only do I love her, but, funny as it sounds, I think I'm in love with her. Crazy

But how else can I explain the way I break out in a sweat when she's near, the way I look for opportunities to make that happen?

Hey, Tony,
she almost sighs.
Too bad about Todd, huh? I thought he was over all that.
And as she talks, I shiver at a cool hint of sweat. 250

255

Watch Tony

Listen to the voices of the little kids, out in the hail.

A strange expression creeps across his face. I wonder what he's thinking, but my intuition whispers it's one of those things he'd rather not talk about. At least not yet.

So I make small talk about Todd. "It's sad how people give their lives to meth. I mean, if you're going to kill yourself, there are faster ways than letting something chew up your brain one lobe at a time." 251

256

Tony shrugs.
Do enough

crank, your heart will give up before your brain does.

Most people don
'
t

do enough to die, though.

They just do enough
to keep getting more
and more stupid.

"Like stupid enough to smuggle meth into a place like this?"

Exactly. What was the guy thinking?

Now he
'
ll do serious

lockup, and that am
'
t pretty. Trust me.
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The Funny Thing Is

I do trust Tony. But why? A gay guy, from the wrong side of town, who I only met a few weeks ago? Why do I feel like I've known him forever? Were we friends in another lifetime? I've read about reincarnation. (Had to hide the books so Mama wouldn't find them-- she'd have skinned me alive) It doesn't sound so unreasonable. So I ask, "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

Tony shivers.
I
'
m not

sure what I believe in,

Vanessa, other than there

has to be a better reason for living than what I
'
ve

seen so far
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Such an incredible waste of energy, to work your ass off for sixty years, then shrivel up, die, and be nothing more than a memory--if you
'
re

lucky enough to leave someone behind who
will
remember you.

There must be more. Don
'
t you think?

Well, that conversation took a sudden sharp mm. I look him in the eye, find total sincerity and a need for someone to share his universal questioning. "Sure, Tony. I think there's more. I just wonder if it's 'here' or 'out there." 254

259

Speaking of Out There

Stanley has cornered a short, zitty guy, who he keeps calling "Flea." Paul moves in, yelling for Stanley to
shut the hell up and go sit this one out.
Flea retreats to a corner to smirk in Stanley's direction, which stirs everything up again. Stanley stands, heads in Flea's direction. Paul goes after Stanley, warning,
You
'
re going to be sorry, shithead.
Kate moves toward

Flea, warning,
If he goes down, you go down.

Tony pushes me back toward the wall.
This is going to be ugly. Stay behind me.
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260

He's right, as Paul wrestles Stanley down, leveraging one fat body with his own not-so-svelte one.

The room dissolves into howls as Flea moves forward,
Ha-ha, asshole.
And Kate takes him

down, easy as pie.
What did I tell you?

I start to cry because this place is insane, and if I'm here, I must be insane too. Tony turns, wraps his arms around me.
Don
'
t cry, Vanessa. Everything
'
s okay. I
'
ll always be here for you.
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261

Now I Could Tell

A sordid tale of one twin envying another, of relentless competition, even money on the win until we were old enough to learn the finer points of cheating. You'd think getting caught might concern

us. Not! Both of us had one real goal in mind: attention, especially from Dad, who seemed to think his familial role was demanding respect. It's hard to respect someone who outlines expectations without regard to feasibility.

But I'm not going there, so I'll try to placate the bulldog. "Cara is bright, I won't deny that. What I 257

262

don't understand is why she feels the need to one-up me, from clothes to stereos to the finest wheels good

old Dad's money can buy... " Just as I decide maybe there's more to the story I'd like to confide after all,

Dr. Starr's telephone rings.
One minute...
uh-huh...
oh! On my way. Sony, Conner. Looks like we
'
re done for the day.
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Dr. Starr Jumps Up

Almost overturns her big armchair, moves swiftly across to the door. Something major has happened somewhere in the building, that's for sure. Who knew the bulldog could move so fast? I wonder what I should do--stay or follow?

As if reading my mind, she demands,
Hurry up, Conner.

She sprints down the hall, pumping her hands forward and back.
Stay right behind me and don
'
t interfere.

Then, to herself, What
were they thinking? This isn
'
t TV.
'

Dogs, cops, and takedowns--

grandstanding! And tomorrow is visiting day. How many

parents will be understanding?
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Dogs, cops, and takedowns? And I missed all that, under interrogation by Dr. Starr-- our weekly one-on-one tryst?