Could I be sitting on the same couch as the online stranger who I poured my heart out to? Could she be the same random girl I’d seen on a bus just yesterday, who also happened to show up in one of my dreams? Frmda6 had a crazy-jealous boyfriend — that must be the guy from the bus! My mind is officially blown!
“Emerson? . . . Emerson?” Joyce’s voice shakes me out of my stupor. “Are you okay?” The shock must’ve shown on my face.
“Sorry. I’m a bit tired,” I say. It’s not the whole truth, but I’m not lying either.
Max continues and I feel badly for her. For all my parents’ faults, they’re doing better than Max’s family. Dad would never leave us. And they would both do anything and everything to look after me, even if they are totally warped in their thinking.
I like Max. If she really is Frmda6, she is the first person I’ve ever shared my problems with. I wish she could get through this and somehow be happy. I don’t know what to think about my own situation anymore.
Joyce asks Max what she did to cope with all the hard things she’s dealing with. Max answers, “. . . Well, I listen to music in my room a lot. I chill with my dog. But I’m sad a lot too.”
Joyce tells her, “Music and your dog are good strategies. I think there are other strategies that could be added to your tool box, Maxine.” She continues, “Today, you decided to do something far more drastic. Have you thought about or actually tried hurting yourself before?”
Max nods slowly. “I’ve thought about killing myself for . . . I don’t know, a long time, I guess.” I watch her face redden. Joyce waits. I feel exhausted. But then Max does something to make me forget how tired I am. Still staring at the floor, she pulls up both her sleeves.
Her forearms have been slashed. There are scars on each side — my head turns away before I can count how many. Max’s arms look like they’ve been created by a makeup artist working on a horror movie. That’s the best I can describe it. I wonder for a second if maybe her father or her boyfriend did that to her. Joyce asks her if she’d made those cuts herself. Max nods while she pulls her sleeves back down. I’ve heard about kids who cut themselves. But I’d never actually seen it before. I feel like throwing up.
Joyce asks, “Max, did the doctor see your arms earlier?” Max shakes her head. “Would you be okay with a doctor looking over your cuts, when we’re done talking? Just to be sure they’re not infected.” Max nods. I wonder if her mom and dad know about this. Or her boyfriend. Wouldn’t that be enough for them to get her some help? Or at least treat her better? She must hide the cuts from everyone. I know if it was me, I would be careful not to show anyone. I felt sick when I saw them, but I’m glad Max decided to show Joyce.
Then Joyce asks about me. “How long have you and Emerson been friends? It’s wonderful you had someone to come to the hospital with.” I freeze.
Max answers. “We met on the bridge for the first time. Emerson just showed up. If he hadn’t come at that exact moment, I might have gone through with it.”
“You two didn’t know each other before tonight?” Joyce’s eyes widen. “What were you doing in the park at that time, Emerson?”
“Uh . . . I couldn’t sleep.” It helps that I’ve repeated this excuse a couple of times to Max. I push my backpack farther under my chair with my foot. If anyone found my noose, there would be a lot of explaining to do. “I sometimes go for a ride on my bike when I can’t sleep.”
“Hmmm . . . does that happen often? Maybe you could talk to a doctor about your sleep issue.”
I tell Joyce that I will see my family doctor.
She says, “Okay, please do. It was fortunate that you were out tonight though.” She smiles at me and then at Max. Joyce thanks Max for sharing. She asks me if I have anything more to add. I shake my head. Joyce excuses herself and promises to come back shortly with the psychiatrist. As soon as she leaves the room, Max leans her head on my shoulder. I think that this has been a horrible night. But I also feel a little guilty, because I’m kind of feeling happy right now. I know that none of my problems have gone anywhere. And they’re really nothing in comparison to Max’s problems. But at this moment, none of that matters.
A few minutes later, Joyce comes back with a man who introduces himself as Dr. Singh. Joyce retells Max’s story, frequently stopping to ask if she’s getting it right and asking Max to correct her if she hasn’t. Dr. Singh asks Max how she feels right now and if she has any plans for the next day or two. She shrugs and shakes her head. He tells her that there is a bed available for her at this hospital and that he thinks it would be a good idea for her to stay for a couple of days. After about three long seconds, Max nods. Dr. Singh and Joyce leave, telling Max that a nurse will come and get her in a few minutes. Max looks at me and I search my brain for something to say. “I’m glad that they’re not just sending you home.” It’s all I can come up with.
Then Max kisses me. Her lips press firmly against mine. She closes her eyes and leans her head on my shoulder again. I just sit there, surprised at what just happened. I don’t feel the least bit tired anymore, and it feels okay not to say anything.