Part 20 (1/2)

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He laughed, ”You know what? You're right.”

He reached into his notebook and, without looking at what he was selecting, ripped out a single sheet of paper. He slid it across the desk to me.

I cleared my throat and began to read aloud. The poem did not have a t.i.tle, nor did it have many lines. However, the emotion that it made me feel almost crushed me. I felt everything in those few lines that he wrote.

I began, ”Disappointment is like grinding your teeth ten times and then ten thousand times over.”

John stopped me by calling out to me. I looked up from the paper, and saw that he was reaching his hand out to me.

”I gave you the wrong one,” he said. ”Don't read that one.”

”Now who's scared?” I got up from the table and continued reading while pacing around the room.

”I swear that I try to make you proud. I try to make you agree. Why is it that everyone else gets it, but you just cannot see? You said, 'Fly that kite, son! Fly it, and you will see how high you can get it!' It was almost like that kite was my life, and if I didn't make it fly, you would be disappointed in me. Am I flying now? Is it enough? Or do you need more from me? Tell me how it should fly. Tell me which direction to get it into flight. Tell me how high. I don't want to disappoint you, Dad, because I want to fly this kite. For you.”

I looked over at John. He was silently staring at me. The look on his face was unreadable.

I asked, ”When did you write this?”

”It's old. It's from middle school or something. I don't know. Can I have it back now?” He seemed annoyed and anxious.

Before handing him the paper, I sat down in the empty chair next to him.

”If no one else sees how beautiful and great you are, I believe that he does. John, you are incredible. You know that, right?”

John's eyes stayed fixed upon me. His lips were s.h.i.+vering. He bit down on his bottom lip to control it. Of course, he couldn't let me see him so emotional, but I had already felt the emotion in his poem.

”John,” I called out to him.

John nodded his head, and I watched his beautiful eyes as tears fell out of each one.

”You know,” he whispered to me, ”I wrote that after we had tried to fly a kite together. I had made Honor Roll for the first time, and Mom suggested that we celebrate at the park. My dad had this whole speech for me. He said that life was only going to move up from there. Since I made Honor Roll, he said that I could join the basketball team, and that I should keep making Honor Roll. He told me to keep doing exceptionally well so that I could have everything that I wanted in life when I got out of school. We got ready to fly the kite after the talk he gave me. It seemed like he wanted perfection from that moment on. It was as if he immediately expected it! But he wasn't going to get it on that day, because I screwed it up.”

”What happened?”

”He hit me.”

”What?” I almost laughed because of how he sounded. So what? His father hit him. We got a lot worse at home. What was one hit? I couldn't laugh, though, because he looked up at me with hurt in his face. I could see how much it had upset him to recall that painful memory.

”He hit me because I couldn't get the kite to fly on my first try. He was there, giving me orders and dictating to me, as I tried to follow everything he said on my own. He got so frustrated with me. I don't know, I guess I wasn't moving fast enough or doing it exactly how he wanted me to. So he took the hard, wooden handle that held the end of the kite, and he whacked me right across the face with it.”

The metal ball in my chest felt like it was going to turn. I swallowed to make it stop.

I asked, ”What did your mom do?”

”My mom only saw me fall to the ground. She didn't see him hit me. I lied to her and told her that I accidentally hit myself. I didn't want her to be upset. But I told Dad that if he ever hit me like that again, I would tell her, without hesitation,” he said.

”Did he ever hit you like that again?”

”No,” John said. ”I think he was sorry for doing that. It was as if it wasn't even my dad out there. He became someone else. I don't know, but he hasn't been like that again. Temporary insanity or something. Anyways, that's what made me write that. Everything is fine now.”

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his paper out of my hand and put the paper containing my poem in my empty hand. I almost wanted to tell John that I knew how he felt. I wanted to tell him about when my Dad had become the monster, but I didn't. Besides, John wouldn't have really understood because his dad did not seem to be anything like Jack. It would have been nice to tell someone, though. I was too scared to say anything, so I stayed silent about it.

John started packing up his notebook and putting his jacket on. I a.s.sumed that he was ready to leave, so I put on my jacket and put my notebook in my backpack. As we were preparing to leave, I asked, ”So, can you a fly kite now?”

He looked at me strangely. ”What made you ask me that?”

”Curiosity? To break the awkward silence? I don't know.”

”The truth is, I haven't tried to fly a kite since then,” he admitted. ”It's in a box under my bed.”

”You should take your kite out and fly it,” I said.

”What would that accomplish?”

”I get it,” I said. ”So you're scared.” I threw my backpack over my shoulder and left John in the room, alone.

CHAPTER 23.

There were only two good things about being locked up in the Behavioral Control Room. One was that I was not expected to go to any group meetings that seemed to take forever, followed by the doctor saying, ”Time's up!” The other was that I was able to catch up on much needed sleep without Ms. Mosley bursting into the room, screaming for me to ”Get up! Get up! Up! Up! Up!”

The bad definitely outweighed the good, though. When they came in to wake me up, I felt like I was going to be taken to judgment and then sent to the gallows. Three counselors, a nurse, and a doctor, whom I hadn't met before then, came into the room. It was overwhelming to see those many people around me as I was just waking up.

Before anyone released me from the restraints, the doctor had to poke me. He pushed back my eyelids and flashed light from a penlight into my eyes. He lifted my s.h.i.+rt and tickled my stomach. I tried not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. When he heard me laugh, a smile appeared on his face. He pressed the hard and cold stethoscope to my chest and listened to my heart. The nurse checked my blood pressure and my temperature after the doctor asked her to check my vitals. Then he wrote everything down in my chart and nodded at the counselors.

One counselor held my arms down, another held my feet, and then the other hovered over me and began to unlock the restraints with his key. I watched as the nurse held the needle full of the medicine that made me fall asleep. She looked ready. I kept my eyes on her as the counselor set me free. I didn't like the nurses too much at Bent Creek. It was hard to trust them when they held needles in their hands.

I closed my eyes as the doctor unwrapped the bandages around my wrists. I did not expect him to examine my wrists. It seemed like he was taking a long time. I had to keep my eyes closed because I did not want to see the damage that I had caused. It had to have looked worse than the little cuts on my arms and legs from Mr. Sharp. I felt the nurse wrapping the bandages around my wrists. I opened my eyes. The doctor was writing.

When I thought that my arms and legs were mine again, two of the counselors grabbed my arms. I felt bombarded. I didn't understand why they had to hold me until my feet touched the floor. My legs were like rubber. They wouldn't go straight.

”Easy there, Kristen,” a counselor kindly said. ”Let us help you get back to the unit.”

My voice was hoa.r.s.e. I said, ”Thank you.”

”Don't worry about it,” he said. ”Just try to move one foot in front of the other like you normally do. We will hold you up.”

The nurse and the doctor led the way as two of the counselors held on to me and aided me to the unit. The other counselor followed behind us. Once we were on the unit, the doctor took my chart to the counselor's desk and started talking with Dr. Pelchat, who was sitting there with Ms. Mosley and Geoffrey. I turned away when Geoffrey made eye contact with me. I felt sorry for hitting him earlier.

The kind counselor walked me over to the empty couch on the main unit. He asked me if I was all right and if I needed anything. I told him that my throat was dry, and I asked if I could get a drink of water. He smiled and went to get some water for me.