I’m in and out of sleep for the next few hours, or maybe days. When I’m not asleep, I just stare at the snow-covered mountain range that is my pillowcase and try not to think. When my muscles get stiff, I roll over and stare at the ceiling fan. Then back to the pillow. My body feels so heavy. My feet are sore from the walk home. I think I might still be wearing my shoes, but I don’t have the energy to check.
No great American musical fills the back of my eyelids. Nothing to ease the feeling that I’m drowning. Just this numb, familiar feeling of tumbling down. Alone with this guilt. Perched on my shoulder to keep me company. I’ve been here before. I guess I never pulled myself very far out.
This is all so hopeless, like I’ll always either feel this way or be just about to trip and tumble back into it.
I catch an unexpected whiff of my armpit. I’ve smelled worse from sweaty kids in gym class, which surprises me. Maybe I haven’t been lying here as long as I thought? I can see fading sunlight creeping past the sides of the Minecraft blanket that’s covering my window, so I guess this endless day continues on.
The more time I stare at the cobwebs in the corner of my ceiling, the angrier I get. Why the fuck would Dr. Palmer set a kid free to work in a psychiatric hospital? Two idiot kids! Of course, I fucked up. Of course, I almost killed somebody. What was my plan? I’d play my guitar and think I’m gonna fix these people? I can barely put a Band-Aid on a skinned knee. Who the hell let me try to put one on schizophrenia?
But this mess comes back to me. I wouldn’t stay in the medication office with Rolex. I needed to play therapist. I wanted to start a band. I got cocky and thought I had everything figured out. I blew off Evie because I was playing with a shinier toy named Andy.
I’m to blame.
I look over at my dresser. My phone is in the top drawer, resting on my last pair of clean socks. I’m sure Jace is filling my inbox with worry. This isn’t fair to do to him, but I seriously can’t move right now. I take a deep breath, but no air seems to fill my lungs. Nothing could make me move from this spot.
Nothing.
“Salem! I’m home!” A door closes. The muffled voice looms closer. “Is my baby angel boy home from work already?”
Oh, come on! No, no, no. Not now. I yell, “I’m here, Mom. Taking a nap. I just need some privacy if that’s––”
“Knock, knock!” She strolls right into my room. “You’re home! So dark and gloomy in here. And why are you wearing your shoes in your bed? Tell your mother, Salem. Is something wrong?”
I force a smile. I swear, it hurts. “Nothing’s wrong. I was tired, so I took a little power nap.”
She shoots me that I-can-read-your-mind look. “You know you can’t fool your mother. Is this about a girl? A boy? I won’t bring up a parade, I promise. You can tell me. Do you remember how we used to talk? When you were little and had an argument with one of your little friends, you used to tell me all about it. Do you remember? You would cry ’til you felt better.”
Huh? “Cried? I never cried. You have a strange way of remembering things. And I’m trying to nap here.”
“Oh! You would cry your little blue eyes out, and I would sing to you, and you would cry some more because you thought my singing was so beautiful.”
“Okay. Now you’re just messing with me.”
“A little.” She winks. “Cheer up! It can’t be that bad.”
Oh, yes it can. “Really. This is just a nap. I’m fine. I could cut up an onion and cry if it makes you feel better?”
“Fine. But then you’ll join me for dinner. I want to tell you all about Harold. Tomorrow is my day off, and he’s coming to take me for a ride on his yacht! It’s called The Codfather. Isn’t that clever? Did I tell you he’s a very successful eye doctor?”
There are so many things about that sentence that are disturbing. Most of all that she’ll be home all morning. Some sunburnt asshole with a rowboat is coming over when I’m feeling like this, and I have to eat dinner. “Great. Call me when it’s ready.”
“I was just gonna heat up a Weight Watchers Three Cheese Ziti. I love the tomato sauce! Spicy, like your mother. I’ll make two, and we can talk some more.”
“Yummy!”
“I can make something from scratch. It’ll just take a little while. I have ingredients to make the stuffed peppers that you love.”
“No! I mean, no. The ziti sounds good. Thanks.”
She walks out of my room, and I collapse face first onto my bed. I don’t move an eyelash until I hear her screech, “Salem! Dinner’s ready. Don’t let your ziti get cold!”
For the next twenty minutes, I eat my 230 calories of flavorless pasta and listen to the story of how Harold “floated like a ballroom dancer” into the restaurant where my mother works. She goes on and on, telling me how he ordered a piece of coconut cream pie and gave it to her to take home. It’s so hard to focus. I look at my plastic, sauce-stained bowl, and all I can think of is Evie and her arms.
“So, Salem. Do you think I should?”
“Huh? Do what? Eat the pie? Sure.”
“No! Have you heard a word I said? Where are you tonight? I asked if you think it’s okay for me to go out on his boat tomorrow? I mean, I barely know him.”
“Oh. Maybe not. Maybe you should just––”
“Well, it is a yacht club. I imagine there will be quite a few very well-off people around. What do you think I should wear?”
“Sounds like you have your mind made up. Thanks for dinner. I’m gonna go answer some emails in my room.” I realize I need a quick reason why I’m not working tomorrow. “I might be around tomorrow morning. Dr. Palmer gave us some money to pick up art supplies.” I couldn’t have come up with anything better than that? “The store doesn’t open ’til ten.”
“Okay. Harold’s going to pick me up before breakfast, so I’ll wake you up early. We can spend some time together before he gets here. I think I’ll wear my white pants and that chestnut silk shell with the little embroidered anchors. I should bring a sweater. It gets cold on the lake.”
Wake me up early? How am I going to put on a happy face all morning? What was that about a shell? “Great, Mom. Solid plan.”
I drag my feet back to my room. This is one of those times I wish I had a couple of dozen locks on my door. I pull my dresser drawer open and pick up my phone. Twenty-two texts from Jace. That might be a new record. Now I feel even worse. My thumbs get busy. Not going back. NEED space. Don’t worry. He’s gonna worry. I can’t help that. I delete what I wrote and try again. I’ll be okay. NOT GOING BACK. Send. Then I add, EVER. Send. I wish I could unsend everything, because now it all sounds pathetic and overly dramatic.
I just want to take out all of my frustrations on this phone with a sledgehammer and then sleep for a week.
The phone gets turned off and my head hits the pillow. Please let me stay asleep all night. I don’t want to think anymore.
I can’t be sure if I stayed asleep for ten minutes or ten hours when I hear a knock at my door. I’m super groggy and confused. Does the woman have any sense of privacy? I swear I will throw her frittata at her goddamn shell-shirt. Who does this?
“What?” I groan.
“Salem, that Dr. Palmer—your boss?—is here! In our house! He’s worried about you and wants to talk. I don’t like this. What’s going on?”
Seriously? “Come in, Mom.”
She steps inside. “What’s going on? Why is that man in my living room? Are you okay?”
I think this might be a bad dream. “He’s here at our house?”
“That’s what I said! Are you taking drugs? You tell me what’s going on right now, Salem.”
I can’t tell her why he’s here, or what happened at the Manor. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I have an idea of how I can end this quickly and get back to sleep. “Listen, Mom. I don’t want to see him. Maybe he’s dropping off more money for the art supplies? Tell him I’m okay. I just need . . . I don’t know. Tell him I’m asleep.”
She pulls the blankets off my body. “You get out there and talk to that man right now! He said that he was concerned, and now I am, too. I can’t believe my son is doped up on some kind of street drugs. What color pills did you take?”
Shit. “Okay, okay. I’m not on drugs, Mom. Jesus!” I rub some consciousness into my eyes. I can’t worry her about what’s happening. How I was so upset that I ran away from work. That I hid in my room all day. It would crush her. “I’ll talk to him, but please just go to your room for a while. This is probably about one of the people at the Manor, and we can’t talk about them in front of other people. You know, confidentiality and all.”
She looks cautiously relieved. Maybe a little impressed by my use of the word confidentiality. “I’m going to let you talk with the good doctor, but if you need me, for anything, you just––
“I will. I’m sure this will just take a minute.”
She sits down on my bed. “I’m going to wait right here for you.”
I hate the idea of her hanging out in my room, but I don’t push my luck. “Okay, that’s fine.” I shove my phone into my pocket and try to look casual as I leave the room. To stroll to the living room to talk with my boss, the psychologist, and father of the girl I might have a crush on.
This day just keeps on sucking.