Freedom of Sketch

The day after Thanksgiving breaks through with a morning as gray and wet as our Thanksgiving banquet. The sky is a soupy, off-white mess of tall clouds that are piled thickly in the sky and look so heavy I wonder how they're able to stay there. Sheets of rain envelop the hospital. No one, including me, feels like doing anything. Most of the girls lay beached on the floor of The Lounge, waiting for the next group, snack, or therapy session. I slouch in a chair by the pay phones between the ferns. Even arts and crafts therapy seems like a chore to me. Jenny twirls around in her office chair behind the nurse's station, a sci-fi bestselling paperback hidden within the spine of a patient folder. I pretend not to notice.

Buzz. The unit doorbell rings. Jenny leaves her chair with a sigh, tucks the folder/paperback book out of sight, and squeaks in her silver and pink tennis shoes on her way to the smooth wooden doors. "Oh hi! Come on in!" she greets excitedly. It's much too early for Dr. Fox to return from his outpatient clinic adventures, so I assume it's a pair of distraught hover parents here to console their kid with a care package. I curl up in the fetal position and face the wall. Heavy, irregular footsteps follow Jenny's down the hall. I hear whispering, then feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn around.

"Daniel!" I gasp, sitting up. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

He stands unsteadily, grinning down at me with a tired smile.

"How are you!? How was your Thanksgiving?"

He continues to grin, but his smile is pained. "My stepdad officially kicked me out of the house," he responds hoarsely. "I ignored the idiot and tried to return, but he called the cops on me and reported me as an 'intruder'."

I'm lost for words. I stare at Daniel for a short while before I finally manage a very pathetic "I'm sorry".

He pulls at a thread from a rip in the knee of his jeans. "It was bound to happen eventually," he explains. "I'm staying full-time at Brady's, on the mattress in the basement."

"And they're okay with that?"

"Well, yeah. I'm on my best behavior. Just looking for a job, is all."

I nod and stare at his fingers as he works with the fabric, damaging it further. "I wish there was something I could do," I say, my voice choked and shaky. I want to cry for him, but I restrain myself because it isn't my usual approach to things. "But I can't. I can't even leave this stupid place." I feel guilty for troubling him with this, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Just take care of yourself, take care of Lizzie," he says. "How is she, by the way?" He cranes his neck around me to stare at the expanse of empty hallway.

"She had a difficult Thanksgiving. We all kind of suffered - it was culinary terrorism. Everything came from either a can or a frozen box, and of course we missed whatever celebrations went on at home. Other than that, she's doing better."

"Good, good...." He runs a hand through his brown hair, then lets out a long sigh. I catch a whiff of alcohol lingering on his breath.

"Daniel," I murmur, leaning in so Jenny can't hear me, "have you been drinking?"

"I just had one beer," he snaps defensively. "What's the big freaking deal?" The fluorescent lights dramatize the bags beneath his red, watery eyes.

My stomach leaps into my chest. If he's caught, we're both going to be in very deep trouble. I suck in a deep breath and count the squares on his faded flannel shirt. He's dressing like his stepfather now. "Be careful," I warn him.

He tosses his head and scoffs, "what are you so worried about? Mom," he adds sarcastically.

I give Jenny a deliberate look. "If she finds out you've been drinking, we're both going to be in some serious shit."