You wish you weren’t present. You wish all of this were in your past.
After dinner, which you don’t eat because it’s chicken, you go into the lounge and sit at one of the benches at the long tables. Some of the younger kids have been here earlier and they’ve left coloring pages and crayons.
You pick up a crayon. It’s the carnation-pink one. You smell it. It brings you right back to preschool and the feelings you had when you were little. When things were simple and easy. When your biggest worry was whether you wanted to color with the carnation-pink or the lavender crayon from your big box of Crayolas. When you hated to peel the paper off the crayon because the pointy crayon was turning into a nub and it was time to stick it in the back of the box and twist it in the sharpener.
Savara joins you, and she picks up a green crayon and reaches for a coloring page. She chooses a picture of Spider-Man.
You’re coloring a Barbie page—she’s in her convertible on a road to nowhere. It feels oddly like your life, except you’re not perfect Barbie and you’re not in a convertible, you just feel like you’re going nowhere. You search for a yellow crayon and find canary and color the long strokes of Barbie’s hair.
“You okay?” Savara finally asks.
You shrug.
“Today totally sucked,” Savara says.
“Yeah.”
“I’m leaving on Friday,” she says. It’s Wednesday night.
“Why’re you here anyway?”
“I’m bipolar. I’m getting my meds adjusted. This is my third time here.”
You both keep coloring. It’s therapeutic. You feel your heart rate slow. This is the calmest you have felt since you got here.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
“Well, hopefully they got my meds right this time,” Savara says.
“Have you ever…” You don’t want to finish the sentence but Savara knows what you’re asking.
“I think about it. A lot. But no.”
“Do you want to get better?” you ask.
“I do. I really do. It’s just so fucking hard, you know?”
“I know.”
You both continue to color and then it’s six o’clock and the parents who have been waiting outside are allowed to come in. Savara’s parents are here. Your parents are here. You get up and hug them, and your mom immediately bursts into tears so you do too.
Your dad wraps his arms around the both of you. “Don’t cry, Pea, honey, it’s okay.”
You and your mom cling to each other for a while longer, and then she pulls away and wipes tears from your eyes.
The first thing you ask your parents is if Ben called the house. It’s the most important thing you want to know.
“He did. Late last night,” your dad says.
“You talked to him? What did you say? What did he say? Tell me!”
“I told him that you were here and we weren’t sure when you’d be home but you’re getting the help you need.”
You don’t exactly agree with this but you don’t say anything about it.
“Did you call Shayna?” you ask next. “Does she know where I am?”
“Yes, she knows where you are. We’ve got her plugged into the situation.” Your dad says this like he’s reporting football scores. You want to smack him.
“Are you okay?” your mom asks. She brushes a piece of your hair away from your face.
“It’s awful.” You tell your parents how horrible your physical exam was.
“And I wanted to call you this morning but they wouldn’t let me,” you add.
It’s as if neither of your parents knows how to respond. You keep talking.
“They don’t even care that I have an eating disorder.”
You have moved over to a quiet spot in the lounge, near the window, and you and your parents sit on three of the Lego chairs.
Your parents look at each other. You hope they are rethinking sending you here.
“I call these the Lego chairs,” you say. “You can’t move them. So no one can throw them if they get pissed.”
Your mom looks shocked.
“Mom,” you say, “don’t worry about that. The only good thing is that the kids are nice.” Then you tell them about Malik. They say they already knew. Dr. Winthrop came out and explained the situation to all the visitors before they were let in.
“It’s so sad, Mom,” you say. “He seemed like such a nice kid, but at dinner last night … God, it was only last night that he was alive … he said he’d tried to kill himself three times.”
“Oh dear God,” your father says. You wonder if your parents are beginning to see how crazy it is that they’ve sent you here, and that you don’t need to be at the Crazy House. So you try to use it to your advantage.
“I shouldn’t be here. No one cares that I have ARFID. They’re not making sure I’m eating the right stuff or helping me get better. No one cares if I eat. You have to get me out of here.”
Your parents exchange worried looks.
“Can’t you call Shayna again, Mom? Can she do anything to get me out sooner? I want to go back to Healthy Foundations. I was trying hard, I really was. Shayna told me to expect ups and downs with therapy. Maybe the cutting was just part of the downs. I didn’t mean to do it. Can you get Shayna to come here and talk to them?”
“Maybe,” your mom says, but you’re not entirely sure your mom believes you. Maybe your mom wants you to stay.
Your dad speaks then. “Pea, we are really scared that you’re going to hurt yourself. We feel that you’re safe here, despite what happened to Malik. We understand he was severely troubled. But you need to learn some skills and some ways to lower your anxiety. You haven’t been yourself, and then that anonymous tip came in to school. We’re concerned for your well-being.”
“Dad!” Your voice has risen and the guard turns to see if there is a problem.
“What about the cutting though?” Your dad moves his body closer to yours and touches your hands and you instinctively pull away. “Clearly you’re hurting yourself. You must have thoughts about hurting yourself?”
“I don’t know,” you admit.
“Why did you do it?” your mom asks.
“Mom. I don’t know. It was stupid. I’m not going to do it anymore. I promise. It just … it just … it felt like it soothed me for the moment. I don’t know. Maybe like how a glass of wine soothes you?”
You didn’t want the words to sting her but you suspect they might. “I don’t mean it in a mean way. And I know I shouldn’t compare the two, but it calmed me down when I was feeling tense. And I know I need to find a better way to cope. I know that now. And I’m ready to figure that out. But this is not the place.”
Your parents glance at each other again.
“Really, Mom, Dad. I don’t need to be here.”
You can tell your parents are considering your words.
“We all have a meeting with Ms. Reynolds and Dr. Winthrop on Friday. I’ll see if it makes sense to have Shayna come,” your mom says. “But until then, do whatever they say you need to do, okay?”
“Yes,” your dad agrees. “Dr. Winthrop told us about your fit this morning. If you behave like that, they’ll just have reason to tell us that you need to stay. Got it?”
“Dr. Winthrop is crazy,” you say. “I just want to go home.”