At my visit I tell Dr. Shaver that, too. “Nothing lasts forever, so I think it’s time I should be leaving Nathan.”
“Of course it’s good to hear you feel that way,” he says, “but I do wish I had gotten to know you a little better.”
Dr. Shaver is just being polite, I know that. Still, he doesn’t seem to understand that he knows more about me than anybody else ever will on this earth. Probably.
“And, of course, you’ll need to talk with Dr. Johnstone. He’s been away for a couple of weeks, but I believe he’s back now, so I’ll set up an appointment for you.”
“Do I have to talk with him?”
Dr. Shaver stops writing in my chart and looks up. “Don’t you want to?” he asks.
“No,” I say, flatly.
He shrugs. “Why not?”
“I just don’t care to. Don’t see a need to.”
“But he has to be the one to dismiss you. I can’t do it.”
“Why do I have to talk with him? Why can’t you just tell him I’m ready to go?”
“I don’t have that authority. I wish I did. Why don’t you want to talk with him, Elizabeth?” he says, like he is trying to get at something.
Can I tell this man yet another bizarre sex thing that’s happened to me? Will he believe me, or will he think I’m just going around making up all these sex stories, and that I am, after all, somehow crazy? Do doctors have their limits of what they can and cannot believe? And, besides, it all goes back to me. In the end, that’s where it goes. Will he think there’s something about me that makes people do sex things to me that I don’t want them to do? Well, I truly don’t think I do. I know I don’t. So I’ll just drop it, just leave it behind, because I’m ready to leave this place, and what might Dr. Johnstone do, if he finds out I’ve told what he wanted me to do with him?
So, even though I have to talk with him again, at least I don’t have to talk much, do I? I just plain won’t cooperate, and if he wants to dismiss me on that count, then that’s okay by me.
The first thing he wants to know is how I’m feeling about Mama doing what she did to me, and when he finds out I am okay on that count, he then wants to know how Angela and Elizabeth are getting along, and I tell him Elizabeth is doing better than ever, and that Angela isn’t going to be around to tell her what to do anymore, at least that’s what I’ve planned, although I may still have to call her down sometimes.
“But from here on,” I say, “it’s going to be I, Elizabeth, and everything that happens will happen to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth is the one who has to decide what to do, not Angela.” I want him to see that I am in control, and that he needn’t come trying to take advantage of me never again.
“Good,” says Dr. Johnstone, nodding his head and smiling like he was the one to put Angela in her place. “Good,” he repeats, looking at me, puzzling over me to see if I am telling the real truth. Then he wants to know if I’m going back to work at the pants factory.
“Nope,” I say. I want to get through this as quick as possible, so I make sure to give him the cold shoulder, because if he needs a shoulder, to my way of thinking, that’s all he deserves, a cold one.
“Then, what are you going to do?”
“Go to college. Probably.”
Then he starts talking about ordering catalogs and applying as soon as possible and getting accepted and taking entrance tests, all such stuff as Miss Hansom has already told me about. Me, I’m mostly thinking about what and how I’ll be studying in order to learn to get people to talking about their real selves. Will I learn that in books, or will I practice on people? But what if it’s something that just comes along with you when you’re born, and grows up all the time you’re growing up, what if it’s something I can’t learn in books, then what?
Dr. Johnstone doesn’t write in my chart this time. He’s read what everybody else has written in it, I know, so he knows all this already. I wish I could carry the silver-backed chart home to Mama and let her see it and explain myself to her. Tell her what I’ve learned, so she can take care of herself when I go off to college.
In some ways I have always thought Mama real strong, I guess because of the hold she’s had over me. But if she allows herself to be sick forever, that’s about like me allowing her to hold on to Angela through me. All this time I’ve been hating Mama because I thought she was being mean, not realizing that it was really because she was not being strong. Maybe hating myself, too. Yes, I know hating myself, too. And I don’t know who I feel the worse for. But I think now it is Mama. If only I could do something to make her know she doesn’t have to keep on being sick, that everything will be okay. No matter what she did in the past, we can’t change it, we can’t wipe it away and just pretend it didn’t happen by getting sick all the time, not her, and not me. If she could just see that Angela was Angela, and I, Elizabeth.
I, Elizabeth, is who Dr. Johnstone is talking to. “So, you’re not to tell anyone about it, okay?” he says, and I know I have missed out on something he has said, because my mind is spinning and turning on Mama and me.
“About what?” I say, making myself come again to him.
“Elizabeth, did you really not hear, or did you not understand what I said?”
“I must not have heard, because I don’t know what in the devil you’re talking about.”
Dr. Johnstone sighs. “What I said was, don’t ever mention to anyone that we talked about having sexual relations. You understand?”
I must look quite astonished, because he goes on trying to explain why I should not mention it to anyone, ever. “You see, it’s just all a part of therapy. I was merely testing you to see what your reaction would be to the idea of having sexual intercourse. And in asking you to do it here with me in the office, I could understand more your thinking about sexual relationships. Do you see?”
Since he is so concerned that I understand, I have to be honest with him, don’t I? So, “No,” I tell him, “I don’t understand.”
He takes a deep breath. “What don’t you understand about it?” he asks.
I take a deep breath, just like him. Deep breaths sure come in handy sometimes. “If it’s all just part of therapy, why am I not supposed to talk about it with anyone else?”
Dr. Johnstone grows a mite tense. “Elizabeth, all therapy is private and to be held in strictest confidence. You know that. I don’t tell anyone what you say and do in therapy, and you don’t tell anyone what I say and do. And don’t you ever forget that.”
Well, maybe Dr. Johnstone doesn’t know it, but I wasn’t born yesterday. So I know that a bit dog hollers. And Dr. Johnstone, he sounds awfully bitten to me. So, I just merely say what the real Elizabeth might say to yet another old man wanting to put his hands all over her, without her invitation. “Dr. Johnstone,” I say, “I promise that I, Elizabeth, will keep my therapy in strictest confidence. But,” I say, getting up to leave, “you see, I can’t ever predict what that little imp Angela might do. I’m sorry.”
What was once the hardest part about being at Nathan—talking with Dr. Johnstone—has at last become the easiest. The hardest part now about being at Nathan is thinking about leaving Nathan. Leaving people the likes of Dr. Adams and Miss Hansom. Besides getting a little makeup and a straight, new hairdo from Miss Hansom, both she and Dr. Adams have given me something that I’ll always have, something no one can take away from me, and that’s something like a little more belief in myself that I can do things the way I want to do them, and even more that I have a right to do things the way I want to do them. And even Dr. Shaver, I’ll have to admit, has given me maybe even the most important thing—by being a window for me to start looking out into the world, since I can’t keep hanging on to mirrors.
And besides leaving Dr. Adams and Miss Hansom, I will miss the Saturday night Mr. Fleet specials, dancing ’round and ’round and feeling free as a bird in the tree, and playing Ping-Pong with Lenny, who’ll give a trace of a smile every now and then when he gives a grand slam that I can’t return.
The only thing that worries me about leaving Nathan is Belinda, not knowing what will happen to her, although she isn’t crying as much now, probably because of the medicine, but maybe it will help her stop crying long enough so she can see some way to make the best of her daddy and brothers and sisters back home.
Delores is with me, talking words of encouragement as I pack up my things to go home.
“Delores,” I say, “I have this feeling like I’m going somewhere I’ve never been before. You know what I mean?”
She nods, her smile warming me up like the sunshine coming out. “It’ll seem odd, you’ll feel awkward, out of place, but, Elizabeth, you’ll be fine,” she whispers.
“But I feel like Mama and Daddy, well, I don’t know, I feel like they’re going to be strangers to me, and I, Elizabeth, will be a stranger to them. A stranger in my own house.”
Delores laughs. Well, she laughs as much as possible with such a hoarse voice.
“Going and coming from here,” she says, “it’s kind of like a twilight zone. Eerie, isn’t it?”
“Yes!” I say, so glad she has said exactly what I am feeling. “Yes! And do you feel like you’re standing back watching yourself? Like right now, it seems like I’m another person standing here watching my hands fold these gowns and put them in my bag. It’s weird, Delores! Am I crazy, or what?”
We both laugh. “If you were crazy, you wouldn’t be talking like this,” she says. “You’re going to be fine, Elizabeth. I’m so happy for you.”
“But, Delores, how long are you going to be here?” All of a sudden I can really talk with Delores, now that I’m leaving, I can talk. “Will you ever get to talking again? What are you going to do? What happened?”
Delores puts both hands around her throat. “Dr. Johnstone is thinking there may be a physical problem, not a psychological one. Especially since I haven’t had any traumatic thing to deal with.”
It might not be nice, but now was the time to find out if what Hemp had told me was the truth. So, I tried to say it as kind as possible. “Poor Hemp,” I say, “I never knew what to believe with him. But he said something about you lost your voice when you were about to get married.”
Delores just smiles, shaking her head, smiling at the memory of Hemp. “Hemp liked to tell tall tales, didn’t he? I miss him so much.”
Oh, Hemp. Why did you have to go and kill yourself? You were such a joy. Did you know that? Did you know that you were a joy to most everyone around you? You made us laugh. Couldn’t you see that? Should we have told you that we needed you here to make us laugh? Should we have shown you in some way how much we appreciated your silly jokes and your corny stories? Would you have still been here today if we had told you these things?
“Delores, what was wrong with Hemp? He seemed so happy. He seemed the last person in the world to have to be here.”
Delores shrugs. “Who knows? Once, he said this girl he was going to marry left him at the altar, and since he really didn’t want to get married, it made him so happy he became hysterical and he couldn’t get over being so happy, so he came here. Then he said that both his parents died in a plane crash, and since he didn’t like them anyway, that made him so happy he came here. Then, there was the story about him having two children and putting them in the stove to cook them, and—”
I held up my hand. I didn’t want to hear more. “I see,” I say.
Maybe Miss Cannon was right. Maybe this is a spooky place. Anyway, I am at last feeling a little glimmer of gladness to be leaving.
But then Delores pulls one on me. “Elizabeth, maybe this isn’t appropriate; but I’ve always wondered why you were here. To me, you seem like nothing’s wrong. At least you don’t show it.”
Here all this time, I thought it was written all over me the confusion and the turmoil I’ve been going through inside. I thought I was like a clear pane of glass and that everyone could look and see right through me. So, what can I say?
“I was just trying to be somebody else, Delores. Somebody else, and not me. And there wasn’t anyone I could talk with about it. Except Aunt Lona. But then I got so down, so depressed, I couldn’t even talk with her. And after I came here, I found out I really couldn’t even count on having the same people around to talk to all the time, so . . . well, I guess I found out there’s no one else left. Except me. I, Elizabeth.”
By the way Delores looks, I can tell that didn’t explain things to her satisfaction. But how can you explain yourself to someone else? Can you ever tell someone how you really and truly feel? I don’t know, anymore, I just don’t know. Anyway, I don’t have time to be thinking on that, since Miss Hansom comes in to help pick up my clothes, what few I had.
“You’ll write to me, of course,” Miss Hansom says, “and let me know the college you decide on.”
“I have to come back in a month to see Dr. Johnstone, so I can see you then,” I say. But the way I’m feeling now, I know I will never come back to see him again.
“Dr. Johnstone may not be here,” she says, “he may be leaving.”
“No love lost,” I say, without even stopping to think.
“It’s about time,” Delores says, right at the same time.
I look at Delores. She looks at me. “Are we thinking the same thing for the same reason?” I say.
Miss Hansom answers for us. “No doubt.”
At that, since I was standing right in the middle of both of them, I just automatically and without a moment’s hesitation throw my arms around both of them. “I am so glad!” I say. “I thought it was just me. I am so glad!”
“I thought it was just me, too,” Delores said, “until I mentioned his, uh, ‘little therapy request’ to Miss Hansom.”
“Sex is definitely not therapy,” Miss Hansom says. “Not with your analyst, anyway. Maybe with your husband.” And we all laugh.
“Well, there goes my therapy,” I say. And we all laugh again. And it feels so good to be talking so easy with two of the most gracious women I’ve ever met about a subject that I once couldn’t talk about with anyone. What feels even better is hugging them again, in my good-byes, and have it be a perfectly normal, natural feeling. I look at them and I think about what I’m doing. And it is okay. It is good.
“I promise I’ll write to you, Delores. I do want to keep in touch.”
Delores hugs me, her eyes misting over. “Be good to yourself, Elizabeth. You have so much to give to others. But, be good to yourself, first.”
“My turn,” says Miss Hansom, giving me her good-bye hug. “I may not be on this floor, when you come back,” she says, “but I’ll be on one of them, so you can find me, and fill me in on your plans. Promise?”
I have no idea what kind of plans I’ll be filling her in on. All I know is I have to get away from Littleton. And I wish I could bypass it and go straight to the college wherever I am going, but until I can settle in on what school I’ll be going to, I’ll have to make the best of things at home, like Belinda, and somehow she has helped give me the courage and the strength to do it.
I go to find Belinda, who is playing Ping-Pong with Lenny. Lenny is smiling his slight bit of a smile. Maybe Belinda will help him talk. Maybe Belinda won’t mind if he puts his hands on her breasts. Maybe that will help get her mind off her daddy and brothers and sisters and housework. And maybe her breasts will inspire him to start talking. Go to it, Lenny and Belinda. Go to it.
I find it quite easy to give Belinda a good-bye hug, probably because she just kind of falls into my arms, as if she’ll take all the hugs she can get. But it is a little harder to hug Lenny, mainly, I think, because he is so very shy about it. But I manage, in spite of his shyness.
“Lenny, you take care of Belinda. Belinda, you take care of Lenny. Okay?” They go right back to playing Ping-Pong, as if they are the only two people in the world.
Mrs. Krieger, Alice, Tommy, and Harold are in group therapy. It’s just as well I don’t see anybody else before I leave. I’ve had enough mixed-up, good-bye feelings for one day, even though they are mostly warm sunshine kind of feelings.
“Your mother should be waiting for you in the lobby,” Miss Hansom says. “This is your prescription, if you find you need it.”
“I still can’t believe she offered to come down and get me,” I say. “I just can’t believe it.” It is certainly turning out to be true, what Aunt Lona said about if you change, then people around you have to change, too, in some way.
I fold the little white piece of prescription paper and stick it in my pocketbook. For a moment I see little brown, plastic pill bottles encircling the walkway, planted alongside Mama’s magnesia bottles. I determine to myself that I won’t need the prescription. Whatever and however I feel, I won’t need it. Not ever. Not I, Elizabeth.
When we get to the green door with the little red exit sign above it, that song comes back to me again, you know the one about this guy coming to a green door and hearing lots of laughing and piano playing behind it and he was wanting so much for them to let him in so he could find out what was behind the green door? Well, I, for one, have found out what’s behind the green door, and if I told that man who wrote that song, I’d probably disappoint him, because, even though people may be playing the piano and laughing and dancing behind the green door, there’s no more joy and happiness there than anywhere else. And when you come right down to it, there’s gonna be pain and suffering no matter which side of the door you’re on, as long as you’ve got people just being people in the only way they know how.
My stomach is fluttering. Miss Hansom gives me yet another hug “good-bye,” and I step into the elevator. I am so elated that Mama is coming for me. After calling Aunt Lona to come and get me, she asked why didn’t I at least give Mama the opportunity to come. So, I decided what the heck, and took a far-out chance that Mama might find it in her heart somewhere to come on and get me. Maybe she would be glad enough about me coming back home, that she’d be happy to come down. Well, not happy. But at least maybe she’d do it. Even though I’m nervous at being closed up with her in the car for three hours, I’m glad she said she’d come down. Even though she won’t come up to talk with any doctor around, she’ll at least pick me up. Maybe that’s a good sign. Of what, I don’t know.
I step out of the elevator into the lobby full of people sitting, looking like they’ve been waiting forever. I search all around everywhere, looking for Mama. But I don’t see Mama anywhere. Who I see, instead, is Sheriff Tate.