Lost in July

XL

Margo
~
Collin was supposed to be here five days ago. It's day six of my hospitalization, and he's not here.

I know it's not by choice. It can't be. I know something must have happened, but what? What could've stopped him from getting here when everything was already set? And why won't he answer my calls?

It's day six of me standing at the pay phones, using yet another quarter, and listening to the line ring. It rings... and rings... and there's no answer. Only the generic voicemail message that says voice mailbox full.

I'm drained. I'm sick with worry for Collin, and whatever it is that's keeping him from talking to me. I'm terrified that something is wrong. Really wrong. I'm so anxious about it, it's hard to breathe.

I reluctantly pull away from the pay phone and head back to the common area. Bell is somehow here at the same time as me yet again, so I take a seat next to her at the chess table. I'm starting to grow suspicious of her, honestly.

"Hey," I mutter. I pay the chess board no mind as Bell continues her game with herself. "Who's winning?" I joke.

Bell ignores me. Her hands continue to move at an alarmingly quick pace, making my head spin.

"Can we talk?" I ask.

Bell sighs, leaning back. "About what?"

"How come you're always here when I'm here. Every time I'm admitted you're here, without fail. Do you ever leave?" I blurt, letting my emotions drive my words. I probably shouldn't have said so much, but it is a bit strange.

Bell's face pales, and my stomach fills with knots. She goes back to her chess game, ignoring my question and whispering to herself. Then, "Check, mate." She smacks the device on the side of the table, though I have no idea why.

She looks at me now. "I don't leave," she admits, her usual squirrelly, shy voice now flat and monotone. "I was put here instead of juvie."

Juvie. As in jail for kids? What could sweet little Bell do to end up in juvenile detention?

I look at her warily, leaning back. "What did you do?"

Bell blinks. "No," she says blankly. "No, Margo."

"Okay," I don't push her any further. "Do you want to flip this board and play a game I actually can play?" I offer. The game is checkers— probably the easiest board game in the world. Bell nods, and we flip the board, setting up the pieces.

—
"So, Margo," my therapist's low, calming voice starts at she flips open her journal. "how are you doing today? It's almost been a full week. How does that make you feel?"

I sigh. How does that make me feel? I hardly feel anything anymore. It might be from the new medication or the rapid amounts of change I've been exposed to in the past week. I don't know.

"Tired. I feel tired," I say. Short and sweet.

Carol, or rather Dr. Goodwin, is used to my clipped, unbothered responses. I don't offer much during these sessions, though I promised myself and Collin that I'd give this a true shot.

"What do you think is exhausting you?" She asks, crossing one leg over the other, patiently awaiting my response.

I pick at my fingernails. "Thinking. All these thoughts in my head just takes up so much space. Then you add normal life on top, normal people problems, and somehow I'm just supposed to manage it all. 8 hours of sleep is not enough for this kind of exhaustion, Carol. And there's no pill to prescribe to cure it, either."