LUNCHTIME
I was actually busy all morning. First I had a shower. At about 6:30 a.m., a desk lady escorted me and the two other girls to the shower room. I had envisioned a big room with shower heads popping out of the walls and having to shower as fast as possible while armed guards marched back and forth. It wasn’t nearly
that bad; we at least had our own private shower stalls. We only got ten minutes from the time we stepped out of our bedrooms to the second we stepped back in. I had to wash my hair really fast, which almost makes me wish that my hair wasn’t so long. I got a quick glimpse of the other girls as I squished my clothes on. One was a grungy white girl with hair that looked like a bowl, and the other was a petite black girl who I thought looked nice until she flipped me the bird. Nobody said anything during the whole shower experience, but I couldn’t tell if that was because they didn’t want to waste any of their precious ten minutes on chatting or if we weren’t allowed to talk because of some rule. Or maybe they were just bitches. When I got back to my room there was a fresh hospital PJ ensemble waiting for me. It’s amazing how something can be blue and yet absolutely colorless. I wonder when I’ll get my clothes back.
After I changed (which didn’t even feel like changing, since I was just putting on pajamas again), I lay down on top of my bedspread. That’s what I always like to do at home. I reserve going under the sheets only for sleeping; that way, they stay cold and fresh. I hope that doesn’t sound crazy. I have this fear that people are reading my mail, looking for signs of lunacy.
Kind of strange, but I haven’t had a bad panic attack since the phantom poo incident two days ago. I feel more dazed than panicked, and no one’s really paying much attention to me. As long as I’m left alone in my room, there’s not much fear of pooping or farting. God, I sound gross. Of course those aren’t my only
fears, but if no one’s around to hear (or smell!) then it’s one thing less to worry about. Not going to school takes a mega worry away, but now I’m scared about having a freakout during “Community.” I wish I knew how long it will last. Sometimes that makes me feel better, knowing there’s an end in sight.
In other news, I finally ate a meal. They brought a tray with Cap’n Crunch and some orange juice to my room. I’ve never had Cap’n Crunch before. My mom won’t buy it because she thinks we should all start our day the healthy bran way. I may have started my day with bran, but the moment I got to school I headed straight to the vending machines and bought myself some Little Debbie Zebra Cakes. They do say you should eat a balanced breakfast, and I felt the creamy goodness of the Zebra Cakes balanced out the paperlike quality of the bran quite nicely. Cap’n Crunch isn’t exactly a Zebra Cake, but it is pretty good, despite the strange, pasty texture. And I can’t deny the sugar buzz. I topped it off with OJ in a little plastic cup with a peel-back foil lid. It was obviously not anywhere near fresh-squeezed, and it burnt my throat.
After breakfast they told me to get ready to go to Community. I still didn’t know what it was, but I knew I’d probably be seeing the other kids and wanted to look somewhat decent. I looked in the wavy plastic bathroom mirror and couldn’t believe how nasty I looked. My hair was kind of ratty because there was no time to condition it (and I can’t comb my curls or they frizz). My face looked all jaundice-y, and I had purple puffs underneath
my eyes. So much for my stunning debut. I took two deep breaths and followed one of the desk people down the hall.
Community turned out to be a group meeting of sorts. The grand ol’ Day Room had its fart chairs set up in a circle, and each chair had a kid perched on it. I sat down on a green chair, let it rip, and chuckled to myself as I looked around to see if anyone else thought it funny. No one did. I glanced up at a few people, but no one looked at me. I must have really looked like ass, especially because I was the only one wearing hospital pajamas. I wonder if they thought I was crazy.
There were about fifteen teenagers, mostly boys, and two adults leading the meeting: One was a greasy-looking guy with a mustache (the words “greasy” and “mustache” should always appear together in a sentence) named Eugene, and the other was a larger woman with a South Side accent named Bettina. Bettina started the meeting by announcing “Restrictions.” Two boys stuck their fingers out (two-finger style, out, not up). Bettina called, “Phil,” and this short guy, looking exactly like a miniature Shaggy from
Scooby-Doo
, stood up.
“I got a one-hour room restriction for telling Matt O. he’s a dickhead.” The adults nodded, as if this were standard stuff. I wanted to laugh, but, of course, no one else was smiling.
Bettina called out, “Troy,” and the hottie from the hallway stood up.
“I’m still on hall restriction for hitting Benny in the head with a chair.” Can you believe that? I was totally freaked out at the
prospect of him being violent, and yet I still found myself curiously attracted to him, twisty dreads and all.
“Confrontations,” Eugene announced. He spoke as if he had a bubble in his throat. The girl who gave me the finger in the shower (whoa—that sounds raunchy!) stuck out her hand. “Tanya.” When she stood up I got a better look at her than the showers allowed. Tanya was cute and petite—all perfectly fitting clothes and a teeny waist. I wondered if her obnoxiously bitchy air made her less attractive to guys, or if they even care about personalities at all.
Tanya turned to Bowlhead from the showers and said, “Jolene, I am mad that you kept me up all night snorin’ like my wrinkly ol’ bulldog, Dexter.” I noticed a couple of guys holding in smiles (so at least we know their faces hadn’t been tampered with to prevent smiling).
“Tanya,” Eugene said, shaking his head. “You do that same confrontation every day. Do you think I’m gonna give you points for that? You do that again, and I’m gonna give you a restriction.” Tanya flared her nostrils and sighed out of them like a bull.
“Apologies.” Jolene and a rather cute boy that I hadn’t noticed before stuck their fingers out. “Jolene.” Bettina called on her, and she stood, placing her hands stiffly against her sides. Jolene, sorry to say, was pretty homely. The bowl haircut was just the icing on her stylish-less cake. She was wearing leggings, which I guess are making a comeback (damn everyone to hell for that), but she had on a tight, generic Mickey Mouse T-shirt OVER a
pink, poofy-sleeved blouse. I don’t know if she looked worse than I did, but it made me feel a little better.
“Tanya, I just want to say that I’m really sorry for keeping you awake. But tomorrow’s my release day, so you can just suck it, bitch.” Jolene looked smugly at Tanya.
“That’s a one-hour room restriction, Jolene.” Eugene took notes as he said this. “And you can write an apology letter while you’re in there.”
“Like I give a shit. I’m out of here.” Then she flashed this faux-homey peace sign.
Eugene moved on to the newly discovered cutie. “Justin.” Justin stood up with his hands in his pockets, looking remarkably tall even with the standard cute-boy slouch. His hair was straight and brown, and the strands in front of his face were just long enough to settle on his eyelashes. His hair bounced each time he blinked. “Matt O., I want to apologize for losing your pencil.” And then he sat, head down, hair blocking my view of his sweet face. He lost a pencil. I’m sure whatever he was doing with that pencil must have been very important, or Matt O., whoever he is, would have his pencil back! Perhaps he was sketching a picture of a pet from long ago, or writing a poem about the loneliness of the waning moon. Or maybe he was trying to stab other patients with it … . Whatever it was for, I’m sure he had a good reason for losing it. It does kind of make me wonder, though, what kind of guy Matt O. is if he needed an apology for losing his pencil. Wow, Justin is quite lovely.
“Appreciation.” Eugene announced this, and five people stood up. I won’t bore you with the lame details, but the appreciations all went something like this: “(Insert crazy teenager’s name here), I appreciated (choose one) eating dinner with you/talking with you at lunch/that joke you told … .” They all seemed like pretty bland things to be appreciated for, so maybe that’s a good indication of things to come here.
When Appreciation was over, the staff selectively chose people to excuse from the meeting. It was like in first grade when the teacher would look around the room and let the people who were being good go out to recess first. I was the baddy because I didn’t get to go until everyone else had left. Actually, I think it was because I was the only person in the room with an escort. Nobody looked at me as they passed: Anna the Dog-faced Girl.