Freedom of Sketch

Respect, Refusal, Reality

I wake up with my eyes closed. I gently probe around under the covers with my foot, exploring the creases in the fabric for the warm mass of my cats curled up at the end of my bed. As soon as my toes leave the safety of the blankets and touch the cold air, I'm wide awake.

I open my eyes to the darkness and remain immobile as the highlights from yesterday's events creep into my head and assemble into a logical account of how this is all possible. As my thoughts sharpen into focus, so does my anger. It isn't even daybreak and already my blood is simmering. I am paralyzed inside my skull. The what-ifs take over. Then, their buddies, the should-haves, join in. They throw a party inside my head, thundering with self-doubt and regret. This is an entirely new level of helplessness.

I stay this way for a while, until the negative head chatter dies down to a whisper. Like always, I don't have a choice. It's almost time for breakfast.

***

The clouds yawn open to expose the distant winter sun. In the courtyard, the naked trees cradle fat chickadees in their skinny branches. The brightness and purity of the weather suggests a gentle warmth, but the air is so raw and thin that it cuts you when you step outside.

I order a cup of hot chocolate with my breakfast. Even though it's barely eight o'clock in the morning, the cafeteria buzzes with layers of conversations covering a wide spectrum of emotions and topics. I have no interest in any of it, so I take my tray and head over to an isolated table in a back corner.

My prepackaged plasticware includes a fork, spoon, salt, and pepper. No knife. A quick sweep of the room reveals that no one has a knife. In fact, some girls don't have plasticware at all. They eat their pancakes and scrambled eggs with sticky fingers. I prod the pale, runny lump on my Styrofoam plate with my fork. It wiggles. Disgusted, I drop my napkin on top of the mess. Yellow spots of grease appear, blooming bigger and bigger until they swallow the entire napkin. I take small sips of my lukewarm hot chocolate. A powdery bubble of chocolate mix bursts on my tongue. I stare out the big floor-to-ceiling windows at the yard all aglow in the frosty morning light. It's cold enough to snow again, but the sun has burned away the remaining clouds.

I wonder what's happening at school right now. Lizzie and Daniel don't know that I'm here. But their slightly off-kilter friend disappearing right after a shrink appointment? It won't be that difficult to figure out.

One of the techs wandering the perimeter of the cafeteria breaks away from his path to talk to me. "Hey there," he says, leaning over the table. His staff badge dangles from a Boston Red Sox lanyard. It says his name is Evan. He eyes the greasy napkin forming a skin over my soggy breakfast. "You're not gonna eat?"

"No." I frown. "It's gross."

"That's all you guys get until lunchtime," Evan cautions.

I shrug. "Whatever." Maybe I should go on a hunger strike, protest until Dr. Fox lets me out. I can filter feed, gorge myself on the frustration and sadness floating around this place. I'll root myself next to the windows and drink the sunlight in through my pores, convert it to energy I'll use to formulate an escape plan.

I observe the other girls for a while, then join the motions of dumping my remaining food and sliding my empty tray into a slot on a large metal rack that reminds me of the drying racks we use for our paintings in art class. I want to go back to my room and sleep, but everyone returns to the cleared tables, reassembling into their little cliques, pairs, buddy-buddy, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Mutual imprisonment helps develop lasting relationships. Hey, a new slogan for the hospital. I make a mental note to tell Dr. Fox.

Evan navigates to the front of the room. His biceps are the size of grapefruits. His mouth is a serious line, the corners of his lips tucked down, but his large eyes are friendly and warm. He silently counts us. When he's satisfied that no one's AWOL, he claps his hands together. "Okay, listen up!" he says. His voice is loud and pushy like a drill sergeant's. "I'm going to give a quick review of the community rules and expectations. First, who here can tell us what our number one priority is?"