Chapter 8

 

THE NEXT MORNING Pru and I sat together at breakfast. She stirred her cold oatmeal absentmindedly, keeping her eyes down.

“Doctor Jackass says I get to go home tomorrow. Home to Janice and Doug, Woo goddamn hoo. Janice can fake fawn over me and Doug can give me a stern lecture about how disappointed they are that this happened again,” she said.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Dylan gets out tomorrow too. Any word on when you get out of this place?”

“You’re both leaving tomorrow?” I felt like I was going to throw up.

“Aw, don’t worry, Banj. You’ll probably get out the day after tomorrow. You came in a day after us. Are you on Facebook? I want to friend you as soon as I get back to paradise.”

I wasn’t on Facebook. I saw no point in humiliating myself by broadcasting to the entire universe that I had no friends. I didn’t want to admit that to Pru though. I kept my eyes down. “Nah, I’m not on Facebook. My phone barely works and I have to share a computer with my mom,” I said, hoping my excuse didn’t sound too lame.

“Yeah, I think Facebook’s stupid. You’re smart not to be on there. It’s fake and only makes you feel crappy about your own life.” She was clearly trying to make me feel better.

“So will you write down your number for me?” She slid a piece of paper and a felt tip marker toward me.

I scribbled my number and tried to hold back the tears. “Where’s Dylan?”

“I think he’s having his discharge meeting with Doctor Jackass.”

“What’s a discharge meeting?”

“They don’t let you out of here until you meet with Doctor Jack and come up with a treatment plan, which is basically him telling you what meds you gotta take and what will happen to you if you don’t. It’s total bullshit. This whole place is total bullshit.” Pru folded up the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of her purple skinny jeans.

“So when you meet with him be sure you agree with everything he says, no matter how ridiculous. Trust me.”

My head was pounding. “You know, I didn’t really want to kill myself before I came in here. I mean I thought about it, but I wasn’t planning on it, but this place almost makes me want to. It makes life seem more pointless than it did before.”

Pru ran her fingers over her nearly bald head. She looked suddenly shy. “True that,” she said, but she was only half listening to me. She picked up the marker and turned it nervously around in her hands. “So hey, is it . . . is it really alright if I call you when we get out of here? I actually don’t have any real friends.”

“Why do you think I don’t have a Facebook? I would have like two friends and they would both be related to me,” I said.

“Yeah, I have Facebook friends, but they aren’t real. It looks good to my parents and my counselor though. Shows that I have a social life, which I totally don’t, but a having a fake social life makes them feel less afraid that I will off myself. It’s all a load of shit. I think half the reason my parents even care that I stay alive is because having a black rescue baby that offs herself would make them look bad.

“Too bad you don’t have a Facebook because then I could post, at the psych ward with Banjo . . . what’s your last name?”

“Logan.”

“At the psych ward with Banjo Logan and then you could be all LIKE.” She twirled the marker in her fingers. “So it would be rad if we could maybe hang out after we bust out of this place. Dylan too. I have a feeling he’s as pathetic as we are.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of actually having real friends. “That would be awesome, Pru.”

“Hey, that reminds me,” Pru said, regaining her confidence and with it her hyperactive way of talking. “So I feel like I need to tell you this because I’m pretty certain you’ll get it, but I need to keep it on the down low for now because if I’m out about it my parents and my counselor, and for sure Doctor Jackhole, they’ll just see it as a symptom of how crazy I am. But I want to tell you. You’ll be the first person that I have ever told this to. So . . . um, I sort of think I identify as a boy, or maybe genderqueer. I mean, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m trans. Damn, I know I am. I’m so not a cis girl. I’ve known it since I was a little kid. That doesn’t freak you out, does it? I mean your girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever was genderqueer, right?

“Dude, I’m gonna change my damn name the second I turn eighteen. Something gender neutral or male and Imma gonna make damn sure that whatever name I pick will be Ethiopian as well. It’s too dangerous to be out about this now though. I can’t risk it. So you’re okay with that, right? I mean, I’m pretty certain you are, but if you’re not I’d rather just find out now.” I swear she didn’t take a single breath as the words spilled out of her mouth.

I rolled my eyes at her. “Are you kidding me? I don’t have any friends at all, so my standards are fairly low.”

“True. I supposed that makes sense. I mean, you can’t really complain about being friends with a fat, freaky, Ethiopian girl/boy any more that I can complain about being friends with a knocked up teenage dyke with bad hair. Gotta take what we can get. I guess we’re even. But what about Dylan? We may be weird, but he collects dragons and likes the cis boys.” We both burst out laughing at how witty we were.

“Well,” I said, “let’s give him a chance. Worst case scenario is he will make us feel better about ourselves, right? I mean, at least we don’t collect dragons.”

“Dragons are so 1990.” Pru laughed. “Although that might make him retro and retro is in, so maybe he’s actually cooler than we are? Maybe Dylan’s a hipster.”

“Damn, now that’s a scary thought.” Just then Dylan came into the room. His eyes were red and his face was blotchy.

“Dude, you okay?” Pru asked.

“Th-they’re s-sending me to a f-foster home, or m-maybe a g-group home. I-I-I don’t even know. M-my parents d-don’t want me b-back. A group h-home . . .” His face crumpled into tears. He was struggling to control his stuttering.

Pru got up and put her arms around him. “Jesus.” Dylan buried his face in Pru’s neck.

I didn’t know what to say. I reached over and smoothed his hair. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

A huge, hairy, gorilla of a nurse, who looked like he purposely bought his clothes too small just to make his muscles look bigger, yelled across the room, “Back it up, Prudence, back it up.”

He held up four meaty fingers and then folded  them down one by one as he counted backward. “Four. Three. Two . . .”

“Okay! Okay. I’m just giving him a hug, not a goddamn blow job!” Pru yelled and then quietly to us, “Jesus Christ, I hate this place. No wonder we’re all crazy.” She looked at the nurse and raised her voice so he could hear her. “God forbid you express human emotion in this crap hole.”

“Ms. Anderson, would you like a demerit? Some time in the Quiet Room? Delay your release? C’mon, back yourself up. You too, Ms. Logan. Back it up, ladies. Leave room for Jesus,” he said with the slightest hint of a southern accent.

We both backed away from Dylan.

“Leave room for Jesus?” Pru whispered, raising her eyebrows.

“Let’s go play Monopoly,” I suggested. “That way we can talk.”

“Okay, okay,” Pru yelled at the nurse, “I’m sorry.”

Dylan shoved the tears away with the palms of his hands.

The two of them sat down at the table while I grabbed the tattered Monopoly set off the shelf of games. I tossed the box onto the table as I pulled up the wobbly chair. Dylan kept shoving his tears away as I set up the game. I hated this stupid game, but we had to look busy and Monopoly would be a good excuse to be busy until Group.

As I set up the board Pru asked, “Dyl, what’s up? What happened?”

“They w-want to r-release me t-t-tomorrow,” he shook his head as if to clear the stutter, “but my p-parents are refusing to take me b-back. They s-said they are afraid of wh-what I might do to my little b-brother . . .” He burst into fresh tears. Pru and I sat there helplessly watching him. If we touched him, we would be busted by the hairy nurse.

Dylan took a deep breath. He tried to speak slowly, deliberately. “S-so that means I-I have to go to a f-foster home. And if they can’t f-find a foster home then I-I end up in s-something called a R-r-regional C-crisis Center where I’ll have to stay until they f-find a foster home for me. And if there are no b-beds in the C-c-crisis Center then I’m stuck h-here until there are. I-I can’t believe this is h-h-h-happening. I can’t b-b-believe . . .” He sobbed.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t imagine what Dylan was feeling. He went from having a family to being completely alone in the world. I thought about how Gray had been completely alone in the world, even more than Dylan. At least Dylan had a sliver of hope that his parents would come around. Gray had nothing. I put my hand on my belly, hoping the kid would kick. I wish Gray had known about our kid. Regret washed over me. If only I hadn’t left that night. And then again, if Gray were still here I wouldn’t know Pru and Dylan. That thought filled me with such shame that I felt sick to my stomach. I closed my eyes and dug my fingers into my palms. I tried to push Gray out of my head.

“Banj? Banj? Hey, are you there? What’s wrong?” Pru’s voice was worried.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“Man, look at the three of us. No wonder we’re here. We’re like the Three Dysfunctional Musketeers. We should start our own gang or club or something.”

I smiled and met eyes with Dylan. He smiled too. “We t-t-totally should. What should w-we c-call ourselves?”

“The Misfits?” Pru said.

“Um that’s a band,” Dylan said stutter-free.

“Oh, yeah. Oops. But how did you know that, Dyl?”

“You g-guys think I’m just the pathetic Ch-christian closet c-case, don’t you?”

Pru and I glanced at each other, but said nothing.

“Well o-okay, I sort of am,” he made a sound that was almost like a laugh, “b-but I’m also a huge m-music nerd. I h-hid two things from my p-parents: g-g-gay p-porn and my music collection.” He smiled even as he kept pushing the tears away.

“I have this ridiculous Christian music c-collection to keep my parents unsuspicious, but I-I also have a secret iTunes account with the b-b-best indie music collection you’ve ever heard.”

I couldn’t help but notice that his stuttering slowed down as he talked about his music.

“And n-not only that, but I have a collection of h-hard to find CDs that I labeled with all the hit Christian bands so my parents wouldn’t s-suspect. Now it’s all g-gone though. My dad smashed everything. I still have my iTunes, but all the CDs are g-gone. And so is my computer, iPod . . . and e-e-everything else.” He swallowed hard.

“Favorite band?” Pru asked, trying to distract him.

“That’s impossible.”

“Try.”

“W-well,” Dylan said. “I guess maybe Metric, M-mimicking Birds, um Radical Face . . . I like Blind Pilot, definitely Vampire Weekend and—”

“Vampire Weekend?” Pru made a face. “What is that the soundtrack from Twilight or something? You and Amber totally have something in common.”

Dylan laughed. “No Pru, they’re a b-band. One of the guys is this gay Iranian g-guy. Super adorable.” He blushed.

Pru threw her hand out in an exaggerated stereotypical gay way and lisped, “Totes adorbs dot com.”

“Pru, wh-why do you have to be such a j-j-jerk?” Dylan looked hurt.

“Oh, damn, I’m sorry. I was just joking around. I’m sorry, Dylan.” Pru sounded almost frantic. “I was just messing around. And I totally know who Vampire Weekend is. You have good taste in music.” She slapped herself in the head and clenched her teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Pru was amping up again.

“It’s okay,” Dylan said, quickly. “I’m-I’m just kind of a wreck right n-n-now. I’m sorry too.” He paused. “S-so m-maybe when we get out of here I could have you g-g-guys over to listen to . . .” He stared at us in blank confusion. He had no place to have us over to.

“We were actually just talking about that while you were in with Doctor Jerkhole,” Pru said. “We were thinking that the three of us need to hang out when we get out of this place. Though we wouldn’t be able to go to my house. Janice and Doug would not be in favor of me hanging out with mental ward rejects, especially homo mental ward rejects.”

“You guys could totally come over to my house. My mom wouldn’t mind. Actually she’d probably wet herself with excitement over the idea of me having friends. Plus, you all are gay so that’s bonus points.” I felt a rush of excitement at the idea of this. “We could have a music night. Dylan could get on his iTunes and . . .”

“Your m-m-mom wouldn’t mind that we’re g-gay?” Dylan looked shocked.

“My mom’s gay too.”

Dylan’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Yeah. She’s queer like us.”

“You’re l-lucky,” he mumbled.

“So what are we going to call our gang?” Pru said, trying to keep Dylan’s thoughts away from the bleakness of his current life.

“How about The Liminals?” I said, remembering those quiet nights when Gray would draw words onto my naked back. I could almost feel their soft fingers tracing the letters across my shoulder blades. The night they had traced liminal on my back I had struggled to guess it. When I finally did they asked me if I knew what it meant. I didn’t.

“The space in between,” Gray said. “The liminal spaces are where I live. I’m in between a boy and a girl; in between this place where you and I are right now and the place where my mom is. I don’t really fit anywhere, so I hover in the liminals.”

“The Liminals is a b-band too,” Dylan said, bringing me out of my memory.

“I don’t care,” Pru said, “I like it.”

I glanced at Pru and saw that she was looking at me hard. As intense as she was, I was starting to realize she had another side; a perceptive and gentle side. We had only known each other two days and already she could tell when I had gone some place in my head. Pru liked to act tough and disconnected, but she wasn’t. We held eye contact for a minute, then she smiled and looked back to Dylan.

“What do you two weirdos think?” She jumped up, interrupting herself. “Oh my God, that’s it! We can be the Queerdos!”

Dylan and I laughed in spite of ourselves.

“Dudes, that’s so it. Our dysfunctional club of pathetic queers should totally be called The Queerdos. I mean I’m sure somebody has thought this up before, because it’s way too good and I know that I can’t possibly have just invented it. Though maybe I did. I’m pretty damn witty after all, but whatevs, right? I don’t give two damns about someone else beating me to this punch. We are the perfect Queerdos. No one before us could possibly be as queerdo as us.”

Pru’s words were exploding all over us.

“Oh no no no . . . get this! We can be The Three Must Be Queerdos! All in favor raise your hand.”

Dylan and I raised our hands and then we did a triple fist bump.

“Okay, it’s now official. From this day forward we shall be known as The Three Must-Be-Queerdos and we shall have a music night and we shall be friends!” Pru slammed her hand down on the table, causing the gorilla nurse to shoot us a look.

I thought, this was what it was like to have friends. It felt good.