When Reason Breaks (15 page)

Emily laughed and walked past Elizabeth.

“Where are you going?”

“Like I said, I'm curious. Come on.”

The two stopped once they were deep into the woods, much farther than where Elizabeth fell. The trees here were broad, tall, and numerous. Bright autumn sunlight pierced through the branches in interesting angles, like mini-spotlights from the sky. In the center of this area was a small clearing, a place where a few trees didn't grow. There was enough room for a person to lie down comfortably, so Elizabeth did. She crossed her legs at her ankles, closed her eyes, and rested her arms away from her body, palms up.

After a few moments, she opened one eye and caught Emily staring at her.

“Listen, Delgado, if you're going to chill here, sit down and stop worrying about getting your designer clothes dirty.”

Emily smiled and lowered herself to the ground.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” said Elizabeth.

For several minutes, they observed the surrounding nature. Leaves of varied hues fluttered to the ground, while the evergreens stood tall, full of themselves, like a group of confident teenagers huddled together, talking and throwing their hair back slightly when an occasional breeze blew by.

Elizabeth sat up and dug out a package of Pop-Tarts from her messenger bag. She turned to face Emily and handed her one.

“So, I'm looking at your hair and I remembered something,” Emily said, breaking the silence. Elizabeth squinted her eyes and braced for what she figured was coming—questions about how she looked before, why she changed, what happened. Instead, Emily said, “When I was little, I hated washing my hair, so one day I dumped all of the shampoo into the toilet and put the cap back on the bottle, so my mom wouldn't notice. The problem was, I didn't flush the toilet, and our dog drank out of the bowl. He walked right into my mom with suds all over his snout.”

Elizabeth snorted a laugh and shook her head.

“Once, my sister was helping my mom with the groceries. She dropped a soda bottle, but didn't say anything and put it into the fridge. Well, a few minutes later, I opened the fridge and grabbed the soda, but did she warn me? Of course not. I opened the bottle and the soda erupted like a volcano. My mom was shouting, ‘Get out of my kitchen.' We ran outside and laughed so hard it hurt.”

“That's funny.” Emily mentally scanned her memories.
“When I was little, I was afraid of the dark, so I used to sleep with a pile of stuffed animals. There were so many, you couldn't see me. I still have a stuffed dog I named Abercrombie way before I knew anything about the clothing store. I know it's silly, but I can't part with him.”

Elizabeth didn't hesitate. “I hate thunderstorms. I used to run into my mom and dad's room and jump into their bed. My mom would sing lullabies to calm me down. Now, when a storm passes, I put in my earbuds and listen to music.”

“Punk?”

“No, classical.”

“Cool.” Emily hesitated and then said, “My parents want me to see a doctor because I'm always tired and I ache all over like I have arthritis. They think something's wrong with me.”

“You might be anemic or have a vitamin deficiency or something,” said Elizabeth.

“Maybe.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Last year, my father left us. He fell in love with another woman, a family friend who was also married. I found out because I caught them kissing in his car near Rogers Park. At first, I froze, but then something snapped inside me. I ran to the front of the car at an angle, leaped on the hood, and started jumping up and down.

“When my dad got out of the car, I dived on him. We landed on the street and I started hitting him. After a while, he wrapped his arms around me, like he was hugging me, and he let me flail until I was spent. He kept saying, ‘I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I'm sorry.' I told him to shut up. I turned
away from him and crawled to the sidewalk. He reached out to me, but I kicked his hand and told him I hated him and to leave me alone. Part of me wanted him to get away from me, but another part of me wanted him to pick me up like I was three and tell me everything was going to be okay, that he would fix everything.”

“What did he do?” asked Emily.

“He did what I told him to do. He left. We don't talk anymore. He tries, but …” Elizabeth shook her head. “And my mom pretty much hates me. I don't blame her. So, my parents want me to see a doctor, too.”

“Why?”

“Really, Delgado?” she said with a laugh as she wiped her tear-streaked face with the sleeves of her hoodie.

“Yeah, well, maybe something is wrong with you,” Emily said with a smile. “I'm sorry. I knew your parents weren't together, but I didn't know the details.”

Elizabeth nibbled on her Pop-Tart. After a while, she said, “I'm sorry about Friday.”

“Okay,” said Emily.

And they sat on the ground in comfortable silence, letting colored leaves and the cool wind hit them, until their Pop-Tarts were gone and the late bus arrived to take them home.

Going to the doctor was less of a nightmare than I expected. He asked lots of questions: Are you sleeping too much or too little? Do you have headaches or other physical pains? Is your energy level low? Is it hard to make decisions? Do you feel like a failure? Has your appetite increased or decreased? Have you considered self harm or suicide?

I answered most of his questions honestly. He knew I had lost weight, since the first thing they always do is throw you on a scale. I told him my mental state would improve if the world weren't so concerned about body image. He didn't laugh. Not even a grin. Oh well. I hadn't lost the weight intentionally
.

When the doctor asked if I had felt this way for more than two weeks, I laughed out loud. He didn't think it was funny. He prescribed an antidepressant and gave my mom a list of therapists to call. There was no way I'd talk to a shrink; she couldn't force me. My parents agreed I should start with the pills, and then they argued for hours on the phone about whose fault it was. For the rest of the day, my mom stared at me and talked in short, baby-like sentences, as if anything more would break me
.

The prescription wasn't a solution, but a first step to … what? Normalcy? No. That would be asking too much. Feeling better? Maybe. Who knows? I read the fine print about the possible side effects—everything from a mild headache to increased suicidal thoughts, especially in young people. So, taking the pills could magically cure me or make matters entirely worse? Brilliant
.

I didn't take one the first morning I was supposed to, but I brought it to school, rubbed it with my thumb and forefinger like a worry stone. Could it really work? Or would it be like taking aspirin and when the medicine wears off, the pain returns? In that case, wouldn't I have to take these forever? And wouldn't that be like wearing a mask for the rest of my life? On the outside, I'd be smiling, laughing, but what was going on underneath?

I wanted to talk to someone—not a shrink, but maybe you—about all of this, but I couldn't. I knew you'd have to report it to someone else. It's not your job to fix me. And then, there'd be meetings with counselors and social workers and psychologists and psychiatrists. And all of them would want to know the same thing, “What's wrong?” and they'd stare at me, waiting for an explanation
.

So, I pretended to take the pills and never talked about it to anyone after that day at the doctor's, not even you, Ms. Diaz, although you probably would have understood
.

Emily walked beside Sarah and Abby as they made their way to first period. Sarah and Abby exchanged glances. Sarah had a questioning look on her face; Abby rolled her eyes.

Sarah hooked her arm around Emily's elbow and leaned into her a little as they walked.

“So, we're ready to do some Christmas shopping. Want to join us?” asked Sarah.

“Sure. When, though, because I promised to help Kevin with his shopping, too.”

“Kevin can survive without you for an afternoon,” said Abby. “We need some girl time.”

“Yeah, Em, we miss you,” said Sarah.

Emily offered a weak smile. “I know. I've been busy …”

“You don't have more to do than anyone else,” said Abby. “If you're going to stay with Kevin, you have to learn how to fit us in. We were here first and we'll be here if you guys break up.”

“Jeez, Abby,” said Sarah.

“What? It's true. If you cut off your friends when you're dating someone, you'll be all alone if the relationship ends.”

“And I wonder why she's cutting us off, Abby? Maybe it's because you have no filter between your brain and your mouth,” said Sarah.

“What? We've talked about this kind of stuff a million times during sleepovers. I thought we all agreed that we'd stick together when we dated people. I'm not trying to be mean. You get that, right, Em?”

“Good morning, ladies,” Ms. Diaz said as the girls reached her classroom.

“Good morning,” Sarah and Abby said cheerily.

“Emily, are you okay?” Ms. Diaz asked. “You look a little pale.”

“I think I have a cold or something. I don't know.” Emily shrugged and circled a piece of hair around her ear.

“Well, I hope you feel better.”

“Thanks.” Emily walked into the room behind Abby and Sarah, but stopped and added quietly, “I haven't finished the essay yet. May I have an extension?”

“Sure. Give me the paper on Monday. If you're still not feeling well, hand it in whenever you can. You've never asked for an extension before, so I'm fine with that,” said Ms. Diaz.

“Okay, thanks.”

When Elizabeth approached, Ms. Diaz said, “Welcome back.” It was her first day in class since her internal suspension.

“Thanks,” Elizabeth said with a grin. She carried an art portfolio along with her usual book bag. “May I present something for extra credit? You said we could, right?”

“Yes. Students presented yesterday, but since you weren't in class, you can share today.”

“Thanks.”

The rest of the students shuffled in and sat down.

“All right, class, before we get to what I have planned, Elizabeth is going to present her work since she wasn't here yesterday. Emily, are you joining her?”

Emily's eyes widened and her mouth opened and shut, like a fish trying to breathe out of water.

“No,” Elizabeth answered. Emily looked relieved. “We're working on the parts separately, and this is sort of about what we did but sort of not.”

“Okay, your vague description makes me a little nervous,” said Ms. Diaz.

Elizabeth grinned as she carried her portfolio to the front of the room. She unzipped the case and gently pulled out a large final draft of the sketch she worked on in class the previous week. She carefully attached the drawing to the easel Ms. Diaz used for her flip chart. She also retrieved note cards with writing on them.

For the first time, the whole class saw what sparked the argument between Ms. Diaz and Elizabeth: The screaming
girl, her wrists bound, her ankles tied to the chair legs. The pink blindfold, the lone color in the dark scene created with black charcoal. The two other images of giant men surrounding a small girl who dies unnoticed.

Students stared wide-eyed. Tommy nodded in approval.

“Whoa, Davis,” said Kevin, breaking the silence. “Creepy, but I like it. It's disturbing and beautiful at the same time. Kind of like you.”

Students laughed.

Elizabeth glared at Kevin. He expected a snarky comeback, but instead she agreed with him.

“Exactly. ‘ 'Tis so appalling – it exhilarates.' ”

“What?” Kevin asked.

“The picture is about the poem Emily and I worked on, but that line is from another poem. Before I go any further, though, I promised my mother I'd apologize to the class for my behavior last week. She's going to e-mail you, Ms. D, to confirm that I did, so here I am saying publicly: I'm sorry for disrupting the class and for being disrespectful.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” said Ms. Diaz.

“But, I'm not sorry for what I drew,” she added.

“All right. Explain.”

“Well, I did a little research. At first, I looked for interpretations of the poem we got last week. I wanted to get a new idea for the visual part that would be less disturbing. But as I looked around, I discovered something.” Elizabeth paused. “Emily Dickinson had a dark side. I mean, I don't know if she had a dark side in her real life, but she wrote
some dark poems. They aren't all about chestnuts and bumblebees. She wrote a lot about death and pain.”

Elizabeth reviewed her note cards. “Like, one poem, number 335, starts: ‘ 'Tis not that Dying hurts us so – / 'Tis Living – hurts us more –.' Most people are afraid of death, and probably of dying a painful death, but this line says life, with all of its daily drama, is more painful.

“Poem number 281, the one that starts ‘ 'Tis so appalling – it exhilarates –,' is one of her Gothic poems. At first I wondered, how can something be appalling and exhilarating at the same time? But then I realized, we pay money to watch horror movies, and we slow down to stare at car accidents. Why? Because they're frightening and fascinating at the same time.”

Elizabeth flipped to another note card. “She's got lots of cool, disturbing comparisons, too. One example is ‘My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –.' Another is ‘A still – Volcano – Life – / That flickered in the night –.' Life equals a loaded gun. Life equals a still volcano. Loaded guns eventually go off. Volcanoes erupt.

“She even wrote one about suicide. At the end of poem number 1062, the person in the poem ‘Caressed a Trigger absently / And wandered out of Life.' ”