Freak Me Out

I return to Natchaug on Monday a little more willingly. I make small talk with the kids I’d met last week, even Prozac boy. It turned out he sometimes had delusions. He’d apologized to me as I ladled him soup, and I forgave him.

“After you’re done serving lunch, can you sit with us?” he asks. I look around at the other workers, but no one had heard his question. I decide to play it safe.

“I’d better not push my luck today,” I tell him, and he looks disappointed. “Maybe next week, though.”

His face brightens a bit when I say this. “Cool! Alright. My name’s Dustin, by the way.” I smile.

“Have a good day, Dustin.”

“At this place?” he laughs, and starts walking away. “Yeah, right.”

Eventually the third lunch wave rolls around. My heart flutters when I see Frank walk in, his black sketchbook clutched tightly to his chest. The way he held it reminded me of the way a little kid held a teddy bear when they were scared.

Again, he’s last in line. He shuffles his feet self-consciously, edging up to me.

“Hey,” I say, wanting to make conversation with him. The corners of his mouth pull up into a halfhearted smile, but that’s all I get out of him.

He picks up his soup and walks away, leaving me feeling discontent. And I won’t lie and say my eyes didn’t keep flickering back to him every few seconds, watching him eat in silence and then pull out his sketchbook to draw.

The bell rings, and they all filter out. I pull off my gloves and hairnet—yes, they made me wear a hairnet and I felt like an old lady—and hop the counter. Just as I begin to sweep, something catches my eye: Frank’s sketchbook. He’d left it. I leave it while I clean, thinking he might come back to get it. He doesn’t.

At seven o clock, I head out of the cafeteria with it in my hand. I fight with a very strong urge to open it, see what kinds of things Frank drew. That was an invasion of privacy. It’d also make me feel like much more of a creeper.

Instead of walking out the main exit, I head back over to the residential area. “Frank, you can go home now,” Miss Emily, one of the counselors says. I smile and hold up the book.

“I found this in the cafeteria, I wanted to give it back. This belongs to Frank, right?” I add the question on at the last second so I don’t seem like too much of a stalker. Why was I paying so much attention to one kid, anyway?

Miss Emily smiles. “That’s nice of you.” I nod and continue on my way, remembering that his room number was 417. He was way too stuck in my head.

I knock on the doorframe before entering. To my surprise Frank’s on the floor, his knees to his chest. After a minute, I determine he’s crying.

“Frank?” I ask, hesitating uncertainly. “I have your sketchbook.” He looks up, and gives me a baleful glare. He wipes the tears from his eyes self-consciously, standing up and walking over to me.

“How did you know it was mine?” he asks, his voice small and unsure.

I flush. “Well, I saw you holding it.” I explain, trying not to give myself away too easily. My skin was bone white though, and turned red a lot easier than his.

“Well, thanks,” he says, and I have no choice but to go home.

Home, of course, is ugly. Mom screeches at me to do random chores she thought of off the top of her head, and my homework is just too much to consider. I go to bed at night exhausted. I’m almost waiting for tomorrow afternoon to come.

It does. I walk around the halls of Natchaug cheerfully, having gained the trust of most of the patients there. Dustin takes his meds gladly today, looking sheepish. I guess he’d remembered last time. I tell him not to worry about it, and he smiles.

Today doesn’t take nearly as long. My last round of the day happens to be room 417. I stroll in, finding Frank on the floor with his sketchbook. As usual, he slams it shut when I approach him.

I hand him his cup of pills, knowing not to get him water. “Hello,” I say pleasantly, standing there as he swallows and then opens his mouth wide. I check and nod.

“Hi,” he responds, actually smiling a little bit.

I check my watch. It’s only six thirty. “Holy shit,” I mutter to myself.

“What?” Frank asks. I shake my head.

“The time. Last week, I wasn’t done with this until after seven. It’s only six thirty today.”

He nods. “It gets easier, once the kids get to trust you. How much trouble did Dustin give you?” He grins, and I’m guessing that Dustin is well-known throughout this place. I just make a face, telling him it hadn’t been pleasant. He laughs, and my heart flip-flops in my chest.

“So what are you doing until you have to leave?” he asks, sitting down on his bed.

I shrug. “I leave at seven, but I don’t really have anything I’m supposed to be doing.”

I lean against the windowsill, kind of sitting on it. “Could you maybe stay here for a bit?” Frank asks, looking hopeful. His face changes, and then he’s explaining himself to me. “It’s just I don’t get a lot of visitors here. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Sure, I’ll stay,” I say, and I could swear he smiled just a little bit.

A silence ensues, and after a minute it becomes awkward. “So, you like the Smashing Pumpkins?” I ask, pointing to his shirt. He smiles shyly and nods.

“They’re one of my favorites.”

I decide to push my luck and take things in a more personal direction. “You take a lot of pills,” I say, feeling myself blush. Frank himself turns bright red, looking down at the baby blue comforter that was in every single room. The springs squeak when he shifts. “I just happened to notice,” I add hastily as I sense his discomfort. I try to backpedal, quickly. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”

His eyes meet mine, and I get the feeling he’s gauging my honesty. He must like what he sees there, because the pained expression in his face goes away. He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“What are they all for?” I ask, before I can stop myself. I’m immensely curious.

“Prozac to keep the depression away, Ativan to keep the monsters away, Benadryl to keep the allergies away, and Seraquel to knock me out at night.”

“Monsters?” I ask, smirking a bit. He smiles back abashedly.

“It’s an anti-anxiety medication. I take two a day.”

I stare at him, wondering if he’s joking. “You don’t look like you need all those meds,” I comment. He laughs.

“Yeah, that’s because of the meds. My doctors would faint with happiness if they’d heard you say that; none of them think I’m the slightest bit normal.”

“You look fine to me,” I say, wondering what could possibly be so wrong with him. I knew he was a bit antisocial, but that was hardly a crime, was it?

He pulls his knees into his chest again, his sneakers getting dirt on the bed. That’s when I notice the dark scars running across horizontal lines on his arms. I don’t say a word. “Why are you here?” I blurt out, and he snaps his head up to glare at me.

“I think you should leave,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I say, tripping over the words in my hurry to get them out. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s okay,” Frank interrupts, clearly looking not okay. “Just go.”

I don’t see Frank for two days.

Wednesday, of course, I spend with the little kids. I do my janitorial duties on Thursday with a hopeful attitude, wishing I would run into him somewhere. I clean the café, the halls, and the bathrooms without seeing him. I wasn’t supposed to clean individual rooms, of course, so it was out of the question to go into his room under the pretense of cleaning. I don’t want to go in there without a reason, however, and leave without seeing him.

Friday, my wish comes true. I’m the first one at group, and I grab a chair next to Miss Emily. Dustin soon comes in and takes the empty seat next to me, chattering away. I listen halfheartedly as I wait for Frank to come into the room. I watch the door carefully, seeing everyone but Frank. Finally, he arrives. He’s nearly the last one.

The chairs are arranged in a circle, and the only seat left is one directly opposite from me. It’s a big circle, though, and he takes it gladly, looking in any direction but mine. He was really mad at me, wasn’t he?

One by one, we go around the circle, sharing our thoughts and things that had happened to us over the week. When it’s Frank’s turn, Miss Sarah calls on him without much hope. “Frank?” Her voice is flat.

He says a single sentence. “I want to ask Gerard something.” Miss Sarah looks from me to him, floored. Evidently, this was the most he’d ever spoken during his time here.

“Go ahead,” Miss Sarah says, sounding astounded.

Frank looks at me, mild amusement lighting his eyes. He’s smirking. “Gerard, why are you here?” he asks, and I almost choke on the lifesaver in my mouth. I don’t know whether to laugh or not. Was this a joke?

“I… um…” I feel the familiar deer-in-headlights syndrome coming on. I speak quickly to avoid it. “Community service,” I say stupidly. Frank rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say another word. Miss Sarah looks at him, eager to keep this conversation flowing.

“I think what Frank means is, what are you doing community service for?” Normally, she’d say something like you don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable or something along those lines. Not today.

I swallow hard. “Well… I did something really dumb. Probably the dumbest thing you can get into trouble for… shoplifting. I stole a microwave from Wal-mart.” A couple of the kids snort. I ignore them, blushing furiously. Goddamn you, Frank.

“And why did you steal the microwave?” Miss Sarah asks. Apparently, it’d become my turn to share.

I shrug. “My mom’s always at work, and I have a little brother… when our microwave broke, I didn’t know how to feed him. I’m not the world’s greatest cook, and our oven is dead, so we live mainly off frozen food. I didn’t have the money for a new microwave, so I tried to take one.” I felt lamer and lamer by the second. Especially in front of Frank.

“It’s a tough job for someone your age, taking care of a sibling. It’s hard enough taking care of yourself.” Miss Sarah is using her empathetic voice now. I knew it well from last time, and it was not a good thing. It was the voice she used after someone told a sob story.

I shake my head. “I deal with it… um, can I be done now?” I ask, and Miss Sarah nods, moving to Dustin. I glare at Frank.

When group is over, he tries to approach me. “Hey, I’m really sorry for putting you in the spotlight out there,” he says, looking embarrassed. Like he was sorry for me, too. I blush more, his sympathy making me angry.

“Yeah, whatever,” I say, and walk away.