I couldn’t sleep again tonight. I don’t know why. I’m pretty used to functioning without the little blue pill now, and it wasn’t like I was having bad dreams or anything. I just couldn’t sleep. So I went into the lounge, thinking I might finally write Allie that letter after all or maybe help Nurse Moon with her crossword. But Sadie was in there, sitting on the couch and reading a magazine.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked her.
“Did you know that only about half of the eggs that get fertilized ever actually turn into babies?” she said, putting down the magazine. “And out of those, only about eighty percent are actually born. The rest get miscarried.” She counted on her fingers. “That means out of a hundred fertilized eggs, only forty are ever born.”
“Those aren’t the best odds,” I said.
“And that doesn’t include the ones who are born with defects,” Sadie added. “That’s something like another ten, so ultimately we only have about a thirty percent chance of coming out with no defects.”
“I guess it depends what you consider a defect,” I told her.
She nodded. “If you look at it that way, there’s like a zero chance of being born normal. But think about it: Right from the start the odds are against you. It’s kind of amazing that any of us ever get here at all.”
“Sort of makes you feel even worse about trying to kill yourself, doesn’t it?” I said.
Sadie shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” she said. “But yeah, I guess it does in a way.”
“Are you sorry you tried?” I asked her.
She looked out the window. It was snowing. Not hard, just a few flakes. If I’d been at home I would have been hoping for it to turn into a blizzard so that school would be canceled. But when you’re locked up, blizzards don’t mean much.
“I don’t know if I’m sorry or not,” Sadie said. “If I hadn’t tried, I’d probably still be sitting around in my bedroom being miserable and writing bad poems.”
“I don’t think most people would consider that a good deal,” I said.
“Maybe not,” she told me. “What about you, are you sorry you . . . did what you did?”
“I’m sorry they stopped me,” I told her.
“What’s so bad about your life?” she said. “From what you’ve told me about your family, they don’t sound so bad.”
“They’re not,” I admitted. “They aren’t the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“I am,” I said. “I’m the problem.”
“And what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I’m just complicated.”
Sadie rolled her eyes at me. “Everyone thinks they’re complicated,” she said. “But actually there are only a couple of things you can have wrong with you. Which one did you get? Low self-esteem? Fear of failure? A martyr complex? Trust me, after three shrinks and a couple of visits to this place, I’m an expert on all of them.”
I was surprised to hear her say that. I didn’t know she’d been in the hospital before. “I thought this was your first time here,” I said.
“Second,” she said. “The first time it didn’t take, so they sent me back. But we’re not talking about me; we’re talking about you. So talk.”
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s watch some TV.”
I turned the set on and flipped around. Finally I settled on the Lifetime channel, which is always guaranteed to have on some completely idiotic movie about a girl with anorexia, or a woman who gets amnesia and forgets she has an evil twin, or maybe even a family who hires a really creepy babysitter who ends up stalking them. And sometimes you hit the jackpot and end up with a movie that has all of those things in it. And believe me, a movie about an anorexic twin with amnesia who hires a psychotic babysitter is not to be missed.
“Want to play the dialogue game?” I asked Sadie.
“You’re on,” she said, and I turned the sound off.
We sat and watched the movie for a few minutes until we had the main characters figured out. One was a teenage girl, and the other was an older woman who seemed to be the girl’s mother. They were in a diner, eating greasy burgers and arguing about something.
“I’ll take the mother,” Sadie said. “Alison, I know you’re keeping something from me,” she said in what was supposed to be a motherly voice.
Alison is Allie’s real name, and for a second I wondered if Sadie had picked it on purpose. But there’s no way she could know about her. It was just a freaky coincidence.
“What makes you think I’m hiding something?” I said, trying to sound like an annoyed teenage girl.
“I found your diary,” said Sadie. “And I read it.”
“How could you!” I said.
“I had to, Alison,” Sadie continued. “And I’m glad I did. How else would I have known about . . .”
“About what?” I demanded. “What do you know about?”
“About Chris,” said Sadie. “That’s right, I know about Chris.”
“I was going to tell you,” I said.
Sadie shook her head. “I’m so disappointed in you, Alison. How could you not tell me? I’m your mother. If you’re seeing a boy, you should talk to me about it.”
“Chris isn’t a boy,” I said, surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth.
Sadie turned and looked at me. “What?” she said.
“Chris isn’t a boy,” I repeated. “Chris is . . . a girl.”
Sadie cracked up. “I didn’t see that one coming,” she said in her real voice. “Good twist. I thought she was just going to be knocked up.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t go wrong with a teenage lesbian story line,” I said. “Had enough?”
Sadie nodded. “I think we’ve worn this one out. Besides, I’m kind of tired. I’m going to bed. What about you?”
“I’m going to stay up for a while,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After Sadie left I just sat there looking at the television screen. The sound was still off. In the movie, the girl and the woman had gotten into a car and were driving somewhere. They were still arguing. I watched their mouths moving without any sound coming out. And the more I watched them, the more I thought that that’s exactly how most people are. They move their mouths, but nothing important comes out. They just talk and talk and talk.
That’s what Cat Poop wants me to do: talk. But like I keep telling him, there’s nothing to say.