Broken Glass Page 11

  “Well I don’t want to be bored,” I said. She sniggered.

  “What a stupid remark,” she replied. “Who does wake up in the morning and say to themselves, ‘Gee, I hope I’m bored today.’”

  She raised a valid point. Maybe I was whining a little bit too much still.

  “Where are you from, Aurelia?” I asked her abruptly, opening my eyes and sitting up on the bed to face her. She grinned.

  “New York,” she answered. “Why?”

  “I just figured if you’re going to be bugging me all the time, I might as well get to know a little bit about you,” I replied. She rolled over on her back on the floor and cackled loudly.

  “You want me to leave you alone?” she asked.

  “No,” I shrugged. “Nothing else better to do, anyway.”

  “Gee, stop with all the flattery!” she gushed, sitting back up. “I wouldn’t want my head to get big.”

  “You mean, bigger than it already is?” I asked, smirking. A wide smile spread across her lips.

  “I was a hooker before I came here, you know,” Aurelia told me. “A damned good one, too.”

  I wasn’t prepared for that.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked her.

  “Two years, one month, and five days,” she told me, something in her voice changing.

  “That’s a long time,” I murmured.

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “You wanna know why I’m here, Ava?” I didn’t reply.

  “I tried to slash my wrists, like everybody else in this hell hole,” she went on, in a disturbingly casual tone. “The life of a hooker just isn’t one that makes ends meet, you know? Especially if drugs are involved.”

  I suddenly didn’t want to know anything else about Aurelia.

  “But I’m a harlot at heart, I guess,” she kept on, laughing shrilly. “I’ve screwed the brains out of every guy here, in fact.” I looked up at her quickly.

  “That’s not true,” I argued.

  “Oh, yes it is,” she scoffed. “I don’t get paid in cash, like I used to. It’s more of a bartering deal now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know, alcohol, cigarettes, and plenty of other valuable necessities not provided to us here at Craneville,” she explained, yawning.

  “You can’t have done that with every guy here,” I pointed out. “Henry’s gay.” Aurelia burst into loud cackling again, causing me to jump.

  “I’ve got a back end, don’t I?” she said.

  “That’s disgusting,” I replied and lay back down on my bed.

  “Why?” she asked. “Are you a homophobe or something?”

  “No,” I sighed. “But I have no desire to hear about your sexual exploits, Aurelia. Will you leave, please?”

  “Shakespeare was the best, though,” she continued, ignoring me. “He’s beautiful as it is, which I’m sure you’ve noticed. And he’s definitely packing-”

  “Shut up!” I shouted, sitting up quickly and glaring at her. “Get out of my room! I won’t tell you again!”

  She just stared at me for a moment with a surprised look in her dark eyes. Then, without another word, she got up and left, slamming the door behind her.

  I got up and changed into some pajamas and then got into bed. I turned off my lamp and lay there in the dark, staring into nothingness. The first day was over.

  I began to cry softly.

  11.

  Mom came to visit me two days later, on Wednesday. After a group therapy session, I walked out into the patient lobby area to see her sitting on the edge of one of the couches, clutching a red tote bag, and looking around as if she didn’t belong. She was right in feeling that way…after all, she didn’t belong.

  “Mom,” I spoke up, walking over to her. She looked up, a smile of relief emerging on her face.

  “Hey, honey,” she said, getting up and giving me a hug.

  “Wanna go to my room?” I asked her, pulling away. She nodded.

  “Sure,” she replied. I glanced over at the entrance doors to the Ward 4 corridor and noticed that Nurse Josephine was out of her nurse’s station, manning the doors.

  “Hey,” I greeted to her.

  “Why, hello, Miss Ava,” she said, pleasantly, with a smile. “This has got to be yo’ mama!”

  “I’m Karen,” my mom introduced herself.

  “She just came for a visit and we’re going to go hang out in my room,” I told Josephine. Josephine punched the code on the doors and they slid open.

  “Have a good time, y’all,” she smiled widely at us.

  “See you later, Josephine,” I said as we walked past her into the hall.

  “She’s very nice,” Mom said, as we went into my room. I shut the door and sat down on my bed.

  “I brought you some things,” she told me, her eyes darting around the room, edgily. She sat down next to me on the bed and opened her tote bag. She pulled out two journals, a sketchpad, a pack of colored pencils, and my Tyson box.

  “They’ve all been approved by Julianne,” she said, with a small smile.

  “Thank God,” I breathed, taking them. “I’ll actually have something to do! It’s so boring here!”

  She didn’t look at me or reply. I leaned a little bit forward so that I could see her face. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Mom!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong?” She just shook her head.

  “I just still can’t believe you’re here,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly.

  “I’m sorry if I’m an embarrassment to you, Mom,” I said, quietly. She looked up at me and put her hand on mine.

  “Oh, no, Ava, it’s not that!” she cried. “You could never embarrass me!”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “It just makes me sad to see you here, in your condition,” she explained.

  “Well, you didn’t do a whole lot to keep me out of this place,” I told her, coldly. “So you have no room to complain about it.”

  Her hand went across my face then, and it was so sudden, so quick, that I almost questioned if it had actually just happened.

  We both stared at each other for a moment.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she said finally, getting up from the bed. “Are you all right?” She was shaking.

  I put my hand to my right cheek, which was still hot from the hard contact of her hand.

  “You just slapped me,” I said, dumbfounded. “You’ve never slapped me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But you can’t talk to me like that. Not after all you’ve put me through.”

  I continued to look at her for a second, not saying a word. Then, I turned my head away.

  “Just leave,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to see you.”

  “If it had been me that died, instead of Tyson,” she spoke up. “Would you have turned out this way? Would you be here?”

  I didn’t answer her. The truth ashamed me.

  “I didn’t think so,” she went on. She paused for a second. “Why?”

  I was silent.

  “Maybe when you figure out how to give me an answer to that question, I’ll try harder to get you out of this place,” she said and then she was gone.

  I didn’t leave my room until dinnertime that evening.

  “Well, good morning, sunshine!” Henry said to me, after I’d gotten my potato soup and sat down at his table. “Where have you been all day?’

  “Just lying in my bed,” I grumbled, taking a big gulp of my water.

  “What’s up, Ava?” Henry asked. “Depression got the best of you?”

  “No,” I replied. “I’m just moody today. Sorry.”

  “Hey guys!”

  We both looked up as Shakespeare sat down next to me.

  “Hey, Ava, I saw your mom here today,” Shakespeare said. “Did you guys have a nice visit?”

  “Not exactly,” I replied with a sigh.

  “What happened?” Henry asked.

  “I dunno,” I shrugged. “I don’t re
ally want to talk about it.”

  “That’s cool,” Shakespeare said. “Hey, Henry, where were you for, like, the last two hours, man? I was bored out of my mind without your irreplaceable companionship.”

  Henry chuckled.

  “I was helping Aurelia figure out what color to dye her hair, among other things,” he replied. Shakespeare just looked at him.

  “Are you serious?” he asked. “Henry, come on! Why do you tolerate her?”

  “Aw, she’s not so bad,” Henry replied. “She’s just a little crazy, like everybody else here.” He gave me a wink. Shakespeare shook his head and took a slurp of his soup.

  “She told me she slept with every guy here,” I piped up. Henry laughed. Shakespeare snorted.

  “Let me guess,” Shakespeare said. “She also told you she was a prime hooker in New York City?”

  “Yeah, actually,” I replied. “Is that not true?”

  “No way,” Shakespeare laughed, rolling his eyes.

  “She was actually a waitress,” Henry informed me.

  “The only thing she ever has been successful at is being a liar,” Shakespeare said. Henry gave him a strange look. Shakespeare didn’t catch it and went on.

  “Anyway, Ava, you should do all you can to stay as far away from her as possible,” he warned. I didn’t reply, instead nibbling on my dinner. The conversation then shifted to other topics, but I was only half-listening. My mind wandered back to my mother and what she had said earlier that day. “If it had been me that died, instead of Tyson, would you have turned out this way? Would you be here?”

  “I think I’m gonna go to bed,” I announced, standing up abruptly.

  “Oh, c’mon, Ava,” Shakespeare grinned. “We haven’t hung out with you all day!”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” I replied. “I’m just really tired and kind of want to be alone. I promise I’ll be more sociable tomorrow.” In all actuality, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be sociable again.

  I left them and headed back to my room, half-expecting Aurelia to show up and give me a hard time. But I managed to get to my room in peace. I closed my bedroom door, peeked out the little square window to make sure no one was lingering around to watch me, and went immediately to the Tyson box that my mother had delivered earlier.

  It was just an old shoebox, really, with Tyson’s name scribbled across the front in black, permanent marker. But it was like my own little treasure box. I was almost giddy, knowing I had it in my possession. I took off the lid to the box and looked inside.

  He was everywhere in that one, little space. Songs, letters, pictures, everything. I was surprised that Julianne had let me have this. I knew having the Tyson box in my possession wouldn’t help me get over him. But I also knew that if I just played my cards right, Julianne would never know this and I wouldn’t have to give up the box.

  I went through the love letters in the box and ended up crying myself to sleep. I awoke suddenly when there was loud knocking on my door. A nurse cracked open my door and told me it was lights out time. I just nodded and got up, putting down the Tyson box and turning off the light. I fell into bed with my clothes on and pulled the blankets up to my chin, beginning to cry again.

  I was never going to be okay.

  12.

  A week passed by and I couldn’t tell one day from the next. Even on Saturday night, when we were all shuffled into the activities room to watch Oceans 11, it felt routine. When Wednesday rolled back around, I was surprised to see my mother standing in the patient lobby after I’d finished eating breakfast.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked her, frowning.

  “It’s my day to visit you,” she said, forcing a small laugh. She took a step forward and put her arms awkwardly around me. I patted her on the back.

  “You want to sit in the lobby?” I suggested. She nodded.

  “Sure, let’s sit.”

  We sat down. It was silent for a moment. I gazed out the window, desperate for something to focus on besides her.

  “Sorry I didn’t come on Sunday,” she spoke up then. I looked at her.

  “Oh, were you supposed to?” I asked.

  “Well, it is a visiting day,” she replied. “I had to work all day.”

  “It’s ok,” I told her. “I slept the day away anyway.”

  “You look really tired, Ava,” she commented. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “It’s just the medication I’m on,” I said. “It has some side effects. Fatigue. Nausea. Headaches.”

  “Maybe we should talk to Julianne about that,” my mother told me.

  “She knows,” I sighed. “All major psychotherapy medicines have side effects, Mom. It won’t be so bad in another week.”

  “Oh. Ok.”

  It was quiet again.

  “So, have you met any, um, interesting people here?” Mom asked, abruptly. I almost chuckled.

  “Yeah, sure,” I leaned back on couch we were sitting on. “There are these two really nice guys that I sit with when I eat every day. Sometimes we hang out and play cards and stuff.”

  “Oh, well that’s nice!” Mom brightened up a little bit. “Are they busy right now? Could I meet them?”

  “I don’t know where they are right now,” I said simply. “I think Shakespeare is in his one-on-one therapy session with Julianne. I guess Henry might be taking a nap.”

  “Shakespeare?” she asked. “What an interesting name.”

  “Quit saying that,” I blurted out.

  “Quit saying what?” Mom asked, puzzled.

  “Interesting,” I snapped. “You keep referring to everything as interesting.”

  “Are things not interesting?” she asked.

  “No, Mom, things are not interesting,” I sighed heavily. “This place is anything but interesting. It’s boring. It’s mundane. It’s a joke.”

  “You had movie night on Saturday night, didn’t you?” she went on, ignoring my outburst. “What did you watch?”

  I just looked at her.

  “You’re unbelievable,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Why?” I repeated. “Why? Because you’re trying to make a normal conversation with me like I’m just in school or something.”

  “What’s wrong with normal conversation, Ava?”

  “I’m not in a normal place, Mom!” I screeched, standing up. “I’m in the nuthouse! I’m in a psycho ward! I am not normal anymore!”

  She stared at me, her eyes wide.

  “I don’t want to do this dance with you,” I told her, my voice quivering under the weight of tears. “I’m not normal. This is not normal. Nothing is ever going to be normal with me again. Why can’t you just get that?”

  “Because I want you to get better,” she said, standing up as well.

  “Then quit walking on eggshells around me!” I said. “It’s not helping—”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do, Ava?” she interrupted, staring hard into my eyes. “When you yell at me every time I see you? When you tried to kill yourself three times and you still don’t regret it? I don’t want this life for you! I don’t want this to go on forever! But how can I still be your mother when you keep pushing me away and blaming me for your mistakes?!”

  Tears began to cascade down my cheeks but I didn’t break my eye contact with her.

  “Don’t come here anymore,” I said, trying the very best I could to keep my voice steady. “Not for a while anyway. Seeing you isn’t going to make things better. I can’t see you when I’m like this. Not for a long time, Mom.”

  Luckily, the tears had blurred my vision and I couldn’t really see her as she left, without another word.

  It was for the best. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and kept telling myself I’d done something good. Without her around to judge me, maybe I could get better.

  “Hey,” I heard behind me then. I turned around and saw Channing, Aurelia’s friend, standing there.

  “Hey,” I said back.

  “I hav
e some rice crispy treats in my room,” she said. “You want some?”

  There was this sincere look in her bright hazel eyes. So sincere that I could not reject the invitation, no matter how random and ridiculous it was. I nodded and followed her to the doors leading into the ward.

  “Where’s your best buddy?” I asked, once we were in Channing’s room. We both were sitting in the floor, nibbling on our rice crispy treats.

  “Hmm?” she asked me.

  “Aurelia,” I said.

  “Oh,” Channing replied, wrinkling her nose. “I think today is one of her mopey days.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Two or three days out of the week, Aurelia acts all depressed,” Channing explained. “I don’t know if it’s because of her meds, or if she just wants attention…or maybe if she’s just trying to convince herself that she really does belong here and just can’t get better.”

  “What’s her story, anyway?” I inquired. “She told me she used to be a hooker in New York, but Henry and Shakespeare say she’s lying and that she was really a waitress.”

  “Yeah, she tells everyone she was a hooker,” Channing said. “I would think by now she would realize how old that story is and how everyone knows it’s untrue. But I don’t think she cares. She was a waitress, with these really big dreams of being a Broadway star.”

  “I can see that,” I nodded. “She is pretty dramatic.”

  “Yes, she is,” Channing said, smiling slightly. “But in her defense, she has been through some pretty tough stuff in her life. I might be kind of crazy if I’d gone through what she has.”

  After she’d said this, we both burst into laughter.