Sisters in Sanity (10 page)
Authors: Gayle Forman
Those were about the longest two weeks of my life. No news about Mom. No more Sisters meetings. V finally came off Level One, but every time I saw her, she was shadowed by two Level Six girls or a counselor. Bebe wasn’t looking at me, let alone talking to me. Martha was always MIA—Red Rock had her on a strict schedule of death marches. And Cassie was glued to her new roommate, Laurel. No letters from Jed. No distractions. Nothing to think about but Mom.
When Clayton came back, looking neither tan nor rested nor bearing any visible signs of a fun vacation, I was polite. I asked her about her trip. Then I asked her about Mom.
Clayton leaned back in her chair and twirled the pen in her hand. She adjusted the air-conditioning knob and straightened the notebooks on her table. Then she opened my file and pulled out a letter. From the looping cursive, I knew it was from Grandma. From the tape on the back of the envelope, I knew it had been opened. I looked at the postmark: Monterey, California, dated almost four weeks ago.
“You’ve had this letter a month?”
“Something like that.”
“So why did you make me wait?”
“I didn’t think you were ready.”
“That’s not what you said. You said you weren’t at liberty.”
“Fine. I wasn’t at liberty. I hadn’t given myself the liberty to give you this letter. And now I have.” Clayton glared at me, waiting for me to open the letter so she could pick over every last piece of it. I slipped the envelope into my back pocket. Clayton looked surprised.
“You were so anxious last session. I thought you’d want to read it right away.”
“I don’t want to waste our session. And whatever’s in the letter will still be in it later,” I said with a fake
smile. The enveloped burned a hole in my pocket for the rest of the hour. As soon as it was up, I ran to the bathroom, where I could read it in peace.
My Dear Brittie:
How are you? I hope you are okay. I worry about you endlessly. Your father tells me you are in a special school, that you’ve been in some kind of trouble, but I just can’t believe it. Not my girl. You’ve always had such a good head on your shoulders, so I know that if there is anything wrong, you’ll work to fix it.
Are you warm enough out there in Utah? Are you eating enough? Can I send you some oatmeal bars? I would like to make a visit. I might even fly to see you. I’m getting used to airplanes now. I’ve actually flown quite a bit of late. I’ve been taking trips up to Spokane…to see your mother.
I probably should have told you about all this sooner, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up, or down, depending.
About a year ago, I stopped hearing from Laura altogether. After spending months lying awake at night, imagining all the awful scenarios that could’ve befallen her, I hired a private investigator to track her down. Well, the first man I hired was a charlatan; he took a lot of money and did nothing. But after Christmas, I hired someone else. This gentleman, a former police detective from Los Angeles, found your mother in no time. She was living in a homeless shelter in Spokane, Washington.
As soon as the detective found her, I flew up to see her. I was hoping that she might come live with me, or even check into a good private hospital I found in Santa Barbara. But mostly, I just wanted to hold her, to make sure she was all right.
From what I can gather, your mother has been living in this shelter, which is more like a group home, for a few months. She is physically in good health. Mentally, I
wish I had better news. One of the reasons I didn’t tell you about my visit right away was that I didn’t know how to break it to you. Your mother is very agitated still. She recognizes me one day and then doesn’t respond the next. I showed her a picture of you and she froze up, refused to talk. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live inside her head, and you mustn’t take anything she does personally. Your mother is mentally ill, but I know that deep down she loves you as she always has.
On the positive side, she has a group of what I suppose you could call friends and seems to have a little bit of a safety net. There are social workers who work at the shelter, so there’s always someone keeping an eye out for her. On my first trip, I tried to persuade her to come back to California with me, to check into a hospital, but she refused. I flew back home all set to forcibly transfer her and then I thought better of it. She has a modicum of stability in her life right now. She’s being looked
after, to some degree, which is better than nothing. She still refuses any kind of treatment, still thinks the doctors are all out to get her, but my feeling is that maybe over time, if I stay close to her, I can change her mind.
Which brings me to my current plan. I am going up to Spokane for the summer, to be closer to Laura, to see if I can’t gain her trust, find a way to help her. There are so many new medications she could benefit from. I can’t give up hope, and neither should you. Laura probably won’t ever be the woman we once knew, and it may take years to even get back some semblance of the woman she was. But we’ve got to try, right?
Oh, Brittie. This is all so hard, and I know how difficult it must be for you. I know you’ve been through so very much. As has your father. Now that I have become your mother’s legal guardian, I understand the weight of that responsibility. Don’t be mad at your father for what
he has done to you. He does it out of love. I understand that now.
I love you, darling. Stay well.
Grandma
“I hear your crazy mother was found wandering the streets in Canada,” Missy chirped to me, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. It was the following day in CT and, what a coincidence, I was in the mush pot. Sheriff was leading things, as he always seemed to these days.
“Spokane’s in Washington. Learn some geography, why don’t you. And how’d you hear?”
“I was told.”
“By Clayton?” So much for patient confidentiality.
“That’s not important,” Missy said, with this great, big sympathetic look on her face. “We’re here to help you process. Tell us how you feel.”
“She’s right, Hemphill. Own up to your feelings,” Sheriff said.
“You tell me what you know,” I said, facing Missy.
“Your grandmother tracked your mother down, found her living like, like some crazy homeless person,” she said.
“Mama’s a wild child, just like you,” Sheriff said.
“Neither of you know crap about my mom.”
“I know she lived in denial about her illness until it was too late,” Missy said.
“Shut up!”
“Whoa, girlies. Looks like someone touched a nerve there,” Sheriff said.
“Unless you get with the program, you’re gonna end up just like her,” Missy said.
“Missy, there is so much in the world that you don’t know, that to even begin explaining it all to you would take the rest of my life.” My voice came out steady, even though my insides were burning. “And I’d rather end up like my crazy, messed-up mother than spend even a moment as a conniving, cowardly little conformist like you!”
Everyone cracked up when I said that, even Sheriff, who loved nothing more than a good catfight. Missy’s face went white with rage and finally she shut up. But when she caught my eye, she mouthed “I’m gonna get you.”
I couldn’t sleep that night. I had so many emotions roiling around, about Mom—and Dad, as usual—but also about Missy, V, and Bebe. So I lay in bed and thought about writing Jed a letter. I’d been writing him a lot of imaginary letters lately. I’d gotten another note from him with fireflies drawn all over it, but I hadn’t been able to sneak anything out to him. Hence my telepathic missives.
In my mind, I could say everything I really felt, things I never would have been able to say to Jed’s face or in real letters. I told him about how much our night meant to me and about the feeling I’d had when I played with the band. The music had cleansed me of
so much unhappiness, and in my mind my love of music and my love for him were all mixed up. I told him about my fight with Bebe and my weird feelings toward V. And sometimes when it was really quiet and late and I couldn’t sleep, I would confide in Jed about the things that scared me most: that I’d never get out of Red Rock and get to be with him like a normal girl, that I never was or would ever be a normal girl. Maybe I was going to end up crazy too. Not the carving-my-skin, barfing-up-my-lunch, ditching-class types that passed for crazy at Red Rock. But voices-in-my-head crazy. Crazy like my mother.
I was still talking to Jed when the sun peeked through the shades. A day on the quarry with no sleep was a brutal thing, and I knew I was in for a rough go of it when I stumbled to the shower. And that was before I saw V crouching in the corner of the stall.
“Don’t scream,” she whispered as I jumped.
“How’d you get in here?” I whispered.
“Very sneakily,” she said.
“Aren’t you still Level Two?”
“Yes. But Level Two girls need showers too.” V pointed to the dressing area, where her escort was waiting.
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“You always use the second stall, Brit. For a rebel girl you’re a creature of habit.”
“Are you okay? We’ve all been worried sick about you. You must be going crazy in iso.”
“It’s not fun, but I’ve endured worse.”
“Couldn’t you just tell Sheriff that you were ready to face your issues?”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t work the fourth time around,” she said, smiling ruefully. “I was hoping I’d see one of you guys, thought you might slip over to see me.”
“Well, it’s been rough. We’ve all been under surveillance.”
“There are ways around that.”
I shrugged. “You’re the one who knows all the ways. What were we supposed to do?”
“That’s up to you.”
“What—you think I owe you a risky visit because of what you did?”
V looked genuinely surprised and then kind of hurt, which made me feel like a jerk. “You don’t owe me anything, Brit. There’s no outstanding debt between us.” She seemed sincere, but I felt like it was
all a lie. There was a huge debt between us, and now I would have to pay her back for something I’d never asked for in the first place. “Don’t sweat it. Your Christmas present was just more costly than I expected, but I was happy to give it to you. Did you have a good night out with Jed?”
I smiled just thinking of it. “I did.”
“So be happy. It was worth it.”
“To me, not to you.”
“That’s for me to decide. Are you mad at me or something?”
“Or something,” I lied. “I just feel guilty.”
“Brit,” she sighed with all her world-weariness. “Guilt is such a waste of an emotion. Don’t spend your energy on it—or on me.” And then she crawled under the stall to the empty shower next to mine and turned on the tap.
That afternoon on the quarry was one of my loneliest times at Red Rock. The heat had returned in full force, sending the counselors back to their Diet Cokes and magazines on the patio. It would have been possible to talk to the girls. But Martha wasn’t there, probably on another of her hikes. And Cassie was working alongside her new roommate again.
Bebe was still giving me the cold shoulder. So I just piled bricks by myself, replaying my sad conversation with V in my mind. It was so hot out and I was perspiring so much that no one noticed my face was damp with tears.
It was three long weeks before Bebe decided to end her silent treatment and make peace with me. Sort of. She approached me on the quarry, ready to strike a deal.
“This is all getting so tiresome, Brit,” she said. “I’m bored with it. Can we stop now?” No apology. No “I missed you.” No “darling.”
“You’re the one who’s pissed at me, Bebe,” I said.
“Look, I just said this whole thing was tiresome. Can we not talk about it? Besides, I have something far more amusing to tell you.”
“What?”
“Come with me.” I followed her over to where Cassie was piling bricks with her new roommate. “Brit, this is Laurel. Laurel, this is Brit.” We checked each other out. Laurel was tiny, a speck of a thing,
even smaller than Bebe, with black hair cut into a bob and gorgeous hazel eyes. Lucky girl to have Cassie as her brick buddy.
“Laurel is Cassie’s new roommate.”
“I know. Hi.”
“Hey.”
“It appears our Cassie and her Laurel are special roommates.”
“Huh?” I asked. Laurel was standing right there, so I wasn’t sure what Bebe was doing. Cassie, for her part, was pawing at the ground with her foot and blushing crimson.
“You know how being assigned new roommates was a punishment? Well they really found a way to nail Cass.”
I looked at Laurel, but her face was impassive. I didn’t know why Bebe was dissing her like this.
“They roomed Cassie with a lesbian!” Bebe said, cracking up now.
“I prefer the term
queer
,” Laurel said.
Bebe laughed so loudly that Cassie had to cover her mouth with her hand.
“But the idiots that run this place obviously don’t know I’m queer,” Laurel said.
“Ain’t that rich?” Cassie said. “Her mom put her here because she ran away to San Francisco when she was fifteen. But the reason she ran away is because she was afraid to come out in a small town with less than two hundred kids at her high school. Just like me.”
“I ran away because I was
advised
to,” Laurel said. “You see, when I started to feel too trapped to breathe, I called the national gay-lesbian youth hotline to ask about coming out. My parents are very religious, very conservative, and the sweet gay boy from the hotline told me to keep quiet until I could move somewhere, shall we say, more sophisticated. Then I should come out.”
“She ran away to Frisco the next day,” Cassie said, positively schoolgirlish in her admiration.
“Well, the hotline boy didn’t say how long I should wait to move, did he?”
“And your mom had no idea why?” I asked.
“Not a stitch,” Cassie answered. “Her mom found her and brought her home, but she’d had such a good time in Frisco that she took off again. Next time her mom found her, she’d brought one of the escorts from Red Rock.”
“And none of them have any clue why you ran?”
“Clearly not, based upon my roommate situation,” Laurel said. “Their ignorance is our bliss.” She grinned at Cassie.
“So are you two dears a couple?” the ever-tactful Bebe asked.
“We don’t feel the need to define it,” Laurel said.
“We ain’t a couple,” Cassie replied. “But aside from that girl at the beach, Laurel’s the first gay person I’ve ever met.”
“Honey, one in ten people are gay,” Laurel replied. “I’m just the first queer you
know
you’ve met.”
“Wow, Cass,” I said. “They should put you in the brochure. ‘I was miserable when I got here, confused about my sexuality. But at Red Rock, I got a lesbian roommate and all my troubles vanished.’”
“It’s all too perfect. I must tell Martha. It’ll cheer her up. Has anyone seen her?” Bebe asked.
Cassie had seen Martha heading out on one of Sheriff’s character-building treks earlier that morning.
“Poor darling,” Bebe said. “In this heat.”
“I know,” Cassie said. “It’s hotter than a two-dollar pistol.”
“I love it when you talk Texas,” Laurel said with an affectionate giggle.
“I guess Brit’s not the only one who owes our dear V a nod of thanks,” Bebe said, throwing another pointed glance my way.
“Drop it, Bebe,” I warned.
“Fine, it’s dropped,” Bebe said, back to her bitchy voice.
“We’d best split up now,” Cassie said. “Don’t want to separate the counselors from their
National Enquirer
s.”
“
Ciao,
girlies,” Bebe said, flittering off.
Cassie and Laurel moved away too. And just like that, I was alone again.
