Freedom of Sketch

Gone Wild

I fill out the application.

I get various day and night staff to sign my application.

My mother signs my application during visiting hours.

Jenny fastens a green Level Three bracelet around my wrist after cutting off the yellow one.

"Go on, get out of here. And have fun!" says Dr. Fox after signing my paper.

I wonder if he's been digging around in the hospital pharmacy or has been prescribed something good like Vicodin for his migraines, but I don't openly question him. Instead, I call my mom and tell her to pick me up immediately.

***

Because I'm too blinded by my impending freedom to think of anything else, I forget to sign my cell phone out of Circle Valley's safe. Once home, I dig between couch cushions and paw through a basket of dirty laundry in search of the cordless house phone. I finally find it on an obscure end table in the basement. Despite Dr. Fox's attempts to transform me into an Ideal Adolescent, my original identity comes creeping back, growing stronger and stronger as it feeds on the determination and rebellion surging through my veins. I punch in Daniel's number and pace back and forth on the hardwood as the line rings.

"Hello?"

"Daniel!" I chirp excitedly, "I'm home!"

"Shiloh? Wow, so they finally let you out of your cage?"

"It's just for a few hours," I warn him. "Dr. Fox let me out on a day pass, I guess to see how I function in the 'Real World'. I have a curfew, but I wanna see you. Are you free?"

"Hell yes! This is the perfect night for you to be out... Brady just happens to be having a party tonight. Can I pick you up right now?"

Don't betray Dr. Fox's trust. You agreed to be back at the hospital by eight, my logical side whispers in my ear. I fiercely hush Good Shiloh, and tell Daniel to come kidnap me. He says he'll be out front in fifteen minutes.

"Hey Mom!" I pound my way up the stairs. "Mom?"

Dead silence.

"Mom!" I shout again. Still no response. I sigh and pad into the kitchen, where my mother strikes her laptop keys with her talons, a predatory look glimmering in her eyes. I study her, mentally following the curve of her eyebrows, the line of her nose, the graceful slope of her chin. I realize I look more like her than I thought. She's lost in the glow of the screen. Numbers, charts, statistics - work crap - steadily feed into her eyeballs through the blue light.

"Mom!"

"Hmm."

That's the best I'm going to get. I silently remind myself to never EVER grow up to be a blank-minded government drone. "I'm going out with Daniel tonight," I announce.

She narrows her eyes and mutters something about a colleague's incompetence.

I clear my throat. "We're going to get shitfaced drunk and rob a bank," I say, "and then we're going to spend the stolen money on drugs. It'll practically be snowing cocaine. When we get hungry, we'll murder and eat a couple of Swedish children for dinner. Is that okay?"

My mother waves me away. "Sure, Shiloh. I just need some quiet."

"Oh, don't worry," I whisper. Nothing quieter than a daughter who isn't home. I turn around and slip out the door just as Daniel pulls up in his battered red sedan. He leans over and transfers a pile of dirty laundry, crumpled sheet music, and a few empty Coke cans from the passenger seat to the backseat. I climb in, laughing. We share an awkward hug, his seat belt yanking him back.