Her Page 18

  PART 2

  The Mirror

  By Kristen Elliott

  The mirror

  Made of shattered glass and full of veins

  Disfiguring her maimed beautiful image.

  Inside and out

  A reflection bears the burden

  Of who she is

  What she has become

  And what will forever be.

  One side Her-self

  The other side just

  Her.

  CHAPTER 22

  When you are heavily sedated, it is almost like being awake, but you are so deep in sleep that you don’t even realize it. When I slept, I often dreamed. As I laid in the BCR, I had very vivid dreams of the past that felt real.

  John and I used to sit together after school and read our poetry to each other. I was just a freshman, and he was a junior. He played on the basketball team, swam for the swim team, made Honor Roll Society, and was in our high school's writing club. He was a celebrity in my eyes, and he had many admirers at our school. They were mostly girls. What kind of interest did he have in a loser like me? I wondered every time a pretty girl walked by and smiled, but he looked right through her and continued to talk to me and show me attention.

  John’s smile reminded me of my dad’s. John’s father was my dad’s brother, after all. Did that make us cousins? Well, technically John had no blood relation to me. John’s father and my dad weren’t really close to each other, as most siblings were. Our families were acquainted, and we lived close by, no matter what. In spite of it all, I still could not force myself look at John as a relative. I liked him too much. I loved him less like a relative, and more like what I wanted him to be: a boyfriend.

  My dreams carried me into a deep sleep filled with vivid images and heavy thoughts of sadness and nothing. Suppressed feelings arose in my dreams to haunt me, turning these dreams into the most awful, realistic nightmares. Mr. Sharp always found a way to work himself into my thoughts while I slept. His voice seemed louder in my dreams than it did when I was awake.

  “How many times have you been kissed, Kristen?” he taunted me. “Come on, and tell me how many. Have you ever been kissed?”

  I told Mr. Sharp, “He might kiss me. He might, if I look at him in the way those girls do when they want boys to kiss them. He’ll know, and he’ll want to.” Mr. Sharp cut me deep with a knife, so that I wouldn’t feel the pain of what I knew would never be.

  “John will never do that,” Mr. Sharp said as my blood dripped down my arms. “John won’t kiss you because he does not love you that way. No one can ever love you like that.”

  I wanted to wake from this dream. I didn’t want to be pulled back into the past. I didn’t want to see John smiling as he looked at my writings and read them aloud. This entity pulled me in. I was fourteen years old again, sitting in the room where the writing club met after school. John and I were the only ones in the room. I wasn’t in the writing club. I just wanted to let him read some of my writings, and I wanted to read some of his. I was sincerely interested in his writing as well as spending more time with him. It was nice to know that John was interested in my work. He was interested in something about me. That fact was hard to believe at first, but when he and I sat in the room together, just the two of us, and he smiled at me with genuine affection, I could not deny it. The feeling of being close to him was how I imagined being in love felt. I was nervous, but I was calm and excited all at the same time. This dream felt as real as when it had actually happened.

  The day was warm, and the sun was out in a partly cloudy sky. I felt my skin tingling like it always did when John smiled at me. He looked beautiful as he parted his lips slightly, smiled, and started to pass the sheet of notebook paper back to me that contained a piece of my soul in the form of words. He held the paper out to me and softly said, “Kristen.” It was just simply, “Kristen.” The sound of my name from his lips and the way he said it made me blush.

  “What do you think?” I asked nervously.

  “I think that you should join our writing club,” he admitted.

  As I reached out to grab my paper from his hand, I shook my head and said, “No, thanks. That’s okay.”

  His smile disappeared, and what looked like disappointment took its place. He snatched the paper back towards him.

  “Oh, you’re scared,” he said.

  “Scared of what? I’m not scared,” I defended.

  A grin appeared on his face.

  He said, “Yes, you are. You’re safe in this little world you’ve created for yourself. You write your poems and you keep them on a shelf. I’m the first person you’ve let actually read something because you’re afraid of letting your work out for other people to see and criticize.”

  “I’m scared? What about you? You haven’t put any writings of yours in my hands yet. I’ve already shared three of my poems with you, John.”

  He laughed, “You know what? You're right.”

  He reached into his notebook and, without looking at what he was selecting, ripped out a single sheet of paper. He slid it across the desk to me.

  I cleared my throat and began to read aloud. The poem did not have a title, nor did it have many lines. However, the emotion that it made me feel almost crushed me. I felt everything in those few lines that he wrote.

  I began, “Disappointment is like grinding your teeth ten times and then ten thousand times over.”

  John stopped me by calling out to me. I looked up from the paper, and saw that he was reaching his hand out to me.

  “I gave you the wrong one,” he said. “Don’t read that one.”

  “Now who’s scared?” I got up from the table and continued reading while pacing around the room.

  “I swear that I try to make you proud. I try to make you agree. Why is it that everyone else gets it, but you just cannot see? You said, ‘Fly that kite, son! Fly it, and you will see how high you can get it!’ It was almost like that kite was my life, and if I didn’t make it fly, you would be disappointed in me. Am I flying now? Is it enough? Or do you need more from me? Tell me how it should fly. Tell me which direction to get it into flight. Tell me how high. I don’t want to disappoint you, Dad, because I want to fly this kite. For you.”

  I looked over at John. He was silently staring at me. The look on his face was unreadable.

  I asked, “When did you write this?”

  “It’s old. It’s from middle school or something. I don’t know. Can I have it back now?” He seemed annoyed and anxious.

  Before handing him the paper, I sat down in the empty chair next to him.

  “If no one else sees how beautiful and great you are, I believe that he does. John, you are incredible. You know that, right?”

  John’s eyes stayed fixed upon me. His lips were shivering. He bit down on his bottom lip to control it. Of course, he couldn’t let me see him so emotional, but I had already felt the emotion in his poem.

  “John,” I called out to him.

  John nodded his head, and I watched his beautiful eyes as tears fell out of each one.

  “You know,” he whispered to me, “I wrote that after we had tried to fly a kite together. I had made Honor Roll for the first time, and Mom suggested that we celebrate at the park. My dad had this whole speech for me. He said that life was only going to move up from there. Since I made Honor Roll, he said that I could join the basketball team, and that I should keep making Honor Roll. He told me to keep doing exceptionally well so that I could have everything that I wanted in life when I got out of school. We got ready to fly the kite after the talk he gave me. It seemed like he wanted perfection from that moment on. It was as if he immediately expected it! But he wasn’t going to get it on that day, because I screwed it up.”

  “What happened?”

  “He hit me.”

  “What?” I almost laughed because of how he sounded. So what? His father hit him. We got a lot worse at home. What was one hit? I couldn’t laugh, though, because he looked up at me w
ith hurt in his face. I could see how much it had upset him to recall that painful memory.

  “He hit me because I couldn’t get the kite to fly on my first try. He was there, giving me orders and dictating to me, as I tried to follow everything he said on my own. He got so frustrated with me. I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t moving fast enough or doing it exactly how he wanted me to. So he took the hard, wooden handle that held the end of the kite, and he whacked me right across the face with it.”

  The metal ball in my chest felt like it was going to turn. I swallowed to make it stop.

  I asked, “What did your mom do?”

  “My mom only saw me fall to the ground. She didn’t see him hit me. I lied to her and told her that I accidentally hit myself. I didn’t want her to be upset. But I told Dad that if he ever hit me like that again, I would tell her, without hesitation,” he said.

  “Did he ever hit you like that again?”

  “No,” John said. “I think he was sorry for doing that. It was as if it wasn’t even my dad out there. He became someone else. I don’t know, but he hasn’t been like that again. Temporary insanity or something. Anyways, that’s what made me write that. Everything is fine now.”

  He snatched his paper out of my hand and put the paper containing my poem in my empty hand. I almost wanted to tell John that I knew how he felt. I wanted to tell him about when my Dad had become the monster, but I didn’t. Besides, John wouldn’t have really understood because his dad did not seem to be anything like Jack. It would have been nice to tell someone, though. I was too scared to say anything, so I stayed silent about it.

  John started packing up his notebook and putting his jacket on. I assumed that he was ready to leave, so I put on my jacket and put my notebook in my backpack. As we were preparing to leave, I asked, “So, can you a fly kite now?”

  He looked at me strangely. “What made you ask me that?”

  “Curiosity? To break the awkward silence? I don’t know.”

  “The truth is, I haven’t tried to fly a kite since then,” he admitted. “It’s in a box under my bed.”

  “You should take your kite out and fly it,” I said.

  “What would that accomplish?”

  “I get it,” I said. “So you’re scared.” I threw my backpack over my shoulder and left John in the room, alone.

  CHAPTER 23

  There were only two good things about being locked up in the Behavioral Control Room. One was that I was not expected to go to any group meetings that seemed to take forever, followed by the doctor saying, “Time’s up!” The other was that I was able to catch up on much needed sleep without Ms. Mosley bursting into the room, screaming for me to “Get up! Get up! Up! Up! Up!”

  The bad definitely outweighed the good, though. When they came in to wake me up, I felt like I was going to be taken to judgment and then sent to the gallows. Three counselors, a nurse, and a doctor, whom I hadn’t met before then, came into the room. It was overwhelming to see those many people around me as I was just waking up.

  Before anyone released me from the restraints, the doctor had to poke me. He pushed back my eyelids and flashed light from a penlight into my eyes. He lifted my shirt and tickled my stomach. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. When he heard me laugh, a smile appeared on his face. He pressed the hard and cold stethoscope to my chest and listened to my heart. The nurse checked my blood pressure and my temperature after the doctor asked her to check my vitals. Then he wrote everything down in my chart and nodded at the counselors.

  One counselor held my arms down, another held my feet, and then the other hovered over me and began to unlock the restraints with his key. I watched as the nurse held the needle full of the medicine that made me fall asleep. She looked ready. I kept my eyes on her as the counselor set me free. I didn’t like the nurses too much at Bent Creek. It was hard to trust them when they held needles in their hands.

  I closed my eyes as the doctor unwrapped the bandages around my wrists. I did not expect him to examine my wrists. It seemed like he was taking a long time. I had to keep my eyes closed because I did not want to see the damage that I had caused. It had to have looked worse than the little cuts on my arms and legs from Mr. Sharp. I felt the nurse wrapping the bandages around my wrists. I opened my eyes. The doctor was writing.

  When I thought that my arms and legs were mine again, two of the counselors grabbed my arms. I felt bombarded. I didn’t understand why they had to hold me until my feet touched the floor. My legs were like rubber. They wouldn’t go straight.

  “Easy there, Kristen,” a counselor kindly said. “Let us help you get back to the unit.”

  My voice was hoarse. I said, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just try to move one foot in front of the other like you normally do. We will hold you up.”

  The nurse and the doctor led the way as two of the counselors held on to me and aided me to the unit. The other counselor followed behind us. Once we were on the unit, the doctor took my chart to the counselor’s desk and started talking with Dr. Pelchat, who was sitting there with Ms. Mosley and Geoffrey. I turned away when Geoffrey made eye contact with me. I felt sorry for hitting him earlier.

  The kind counselor walked me over to the empty couch on the main unit. He asked me if I was all right and if I needed anything. I told him that my throat was dry, and I asked if I could get a drink of water. He smiled and went to get some water for me.

  When he moved, I saw Daniel sitting at one of the tables with Janine and a few other kids. Janine did not look good at all. Her hair was wet, she was in mismatched pajamas, and she didn’t have any of her make-up on. She looked like she had been sleeping all day and had just woken up. It wasn’t like Janine to step out of the room without her make-up on and her hair fixed up nicely.

  The counselor came back and gave me a cup of lukewarm water. I almost spit it back out, because it tasted disgusting. I heard him chuckling from above me. “I’m Mr. Anton. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Anton,” I said.

  “Just sit tight. Your doctor wants to see you in a few minutes,” he said. He started to walk away.

  “Dr. Cuvo?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “Dr. Pelchat wants to see you,” he clarified.

  Disappointed and scared, I looked over at Dr. Pelchat. He was talking to the medical doctor, and didn’t even look at me when I entered the room. It was just as I thought. I was going to be sent to the judge. I was going to be sentenced. Then, I was going to be sent to the gallows.

  CHAPTER 24

  Dr. Pelchat didn’t look my way when he walked off the unit with my chart. He didn’t have any other charts in his hands, either. That made me nervous. Before he left, he said something to Ms. Mosley that made her eyes widen. She tried to straighten her expression when she saw me looking over at her. Then she looked away when she caught me looking at her and Dr. Pelchat.

  When he left the unit, I stood up. My legs felt a lot better. I started walking over to the counselor’s desk, but Geoffrey got in my path.

  “Kristen, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be walking around right now,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t mean to hit you,” I explained. I felt a tear slide down my left cheek. The metal ball burned in my chest as the events of that day played back in my mind.

  Geoffrey’s warm smile told me that it was all right. He patted my shoulder gently.

  “Kristen, I am made of bricks. Really, I am.”

  We both laughed.

  “You feel like you can walk?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Yes, I think so.” I said.

  “All right,” he said. “Don’t go too far, though. Dr. Pelchat will be right back.”

  I ground my teeth unintentionally when I heard Dr. Pelchat’s name. There was no time for me to worry, though--I had to get to the bathroom, and quick!

  CHAPTER 25


  I walked back onto the main unit feeling refreshed and relieved. I heard laughter coming from the table where Janine and Daniel were sitting.

  I walked over, and Rocky said to me, “You have to see this.”

  It was a shock to see him smiling. Rocky always seemed depressed or angry whenever I saw him. When I looked down at the table, there were sheets of paper scattered around. There were drawings on the papers that looked like comic strips. Daniel was drawing fast. He pushed the papers out of his way when he finished one drawing, so that he could start another.

  One of the pictures caught my eye. It was a caricature of Janine. She had a big head and a little body. It was funny because the big head had a cowboy hat on it, and the little body had a skimpy mini-skirt that hardly looked like it fit her waist, with a little tube top over a pair of exaggerated breasts that bulged with cleavage. The cowgirl boots were drawn as big as the breasts. The smile on the caricature’s face was overly dramatic and silly.

  What made the picture even funnier was how Daniel drew his own face on a donkey’s body with an embellished smile. His ears were really eye-catching on his huge head. The little body was comedic, along with a tiny tail. Janine’s caricature had Daniel the Donkey on a rope leash. I didn’t bother to look at the other drawings. That was the one that everyone was looking at.

  Daniel laughed as he pushed his latest drawing towards Janine. She looked at it and smiled. Everyone just laughed harder. I did not. I watched her to see if she’d laugh, as he wanted her to. The drawing was of Janine’s caricature bent over a fence, and her butt was in the air, as if she were falling. Instead of the donkey trying to catch her, he just ogled at her large and excessively-drawn rear end that was up in the air. Daniel drew little hearts around the stupid, love-struck donkey’s face.