Cracked (20 page)

Lisa calmly says, “Well, William, why don’t you tell us about you? Like I told Victor, that’s what group is for.”

“I’m great. I love my life. There, I’m done,” he says.

“Ha!” Kell says from across the room. The dark horse has spoken. This really takes Bull by surprise, and he looks shaken and nervous. Oh, what a glorious sight. Bull squirming like a slug in the sun.

“Kell, do you have something you’d like to say?” Lisa asks.

She shakes her head no and goes back to looking angry. She’s clutching her notebook to her chest.

Apparently her lack of response ticks Bull off.

“What’s the matter with you?!” he yells across the circle at her. This is, hands down, the most explosive group we’ve had. It makes Andrew’s raging meltdowns seem like a tiny speck of nothing.

Kell puts her notebook on her lap, sticks her arms straight out toward Bull, and then slowly raises both of her middle fingers. Huh, interesting.

“Whatever,” Bull says. He reaches up and rubs his baldish head with his good hand, then blows air through his nose. And he rolls his eyes.

Apparently this ticks Kell off.

“Whatever? That’s your comeback?” she mocks. Then she whispers, “I thought you were different.”

“You are the one who ignored me this morning and flipped me off in the caf. That was all you,” Bull retorts.

She tells him she was trying to protect him. Then she calls him an idiot.

“Protect me from what? I don’t get it.”

“From me. I was trying to protect you from
me
,” she cries out.

Lisa has a very pleased look on her face right now, like she’s happy all of her loverlies are dumping their feelings on the floor today. Then it gets quiet, and Lisa lets it stay quiet. Everyone seems to have a real interest in the blue carpeting, because no one is looking anywhere else, except me. I’m stealing looks around the circle.

Bull stares at the floor and clears his throat. We all turn to him, expecting him to say something. But he doesn’t. Lisa does.

“Kell, why would William need to be protected from you?”

“Because I
am
crazy. I know my diagnosis. I’ve read all about it online. Borderline personalities are nuts. And I’m nuts. He’s too nice of a guy to get mixed up with me and my life.”

The “Ha!” escapes my mouth involuntarily. Lisa looks at
me with raised eyebrows. I drop my eyes. I don’t want to get into it again with Bull, but him being called a nice guy was just too much.

“Well, what if
you
don’t get to make that decision?” Bull barks across the circle. Grant jumps. Apparently Grant is alive. “No matter how
borderline
you are?”

“It’s
my
life, and I make my own decisions. And my life fucking rots. It always has!” she shouts.

“Join the club, Kell,” Bull says.

Yeah, join the club.

“Guess what? I thought
you
were different,” Bull says.

Uh, she
is
different.

“Oh, I’m cray-zee different, William,
cray-zee
different,” she says wildly, with her hands shaking out in front her like she’s doing a dance routine.

“I like you. And I like you just the way you are.” I watch Bull swallow hard. I think he just blew his own mind.

Whoa. That took balls.

“I like
you
, just the way
you
are,” she says.

Again, whoa. That took balls too.

Bull says, “And you are a really good writer. Like what’s in that notebook should be a real book.”

She stares at him and he stares back. Kell uncrosses her arms and sits on her hands. Bull does another head rub.

Kell looks back at Bull. “I left it in your room on purpose.”

“I know,” he says. “It was the best book I ever read. Better than anything, Kell. You’re better than anything.”

Now I feel like I’m eavesdropping on their private conversation. I seriously wonder if they remember they’re sitting in a therapy circle with other people. I look at Grant, and he’s back to looking comatose. So’s Andrew—he might actually be sleeping.

And Lisa—she looks dreamy, sort of like she’s taken a happy pill or something. It looks like I am the only one who wants the love train to crash, so I can move on and get out of here. I’d like to call my nana. God, isn’t group over already anyway? It feels like we’ve been going and going and going. I look at my watch; we’ve gone over our hour. I feel compelled to announce this.

“Uh, Lisa, we’re ten minutes over.”

“Well, we certainly are. Did we get the party started today or what?” she asks.

I’m already out the door when I remember that I’m supposed to be pushing Bull around. I do an about-face. Jimmy the guard is shaking Andrew awake, and Kell is kneeling down next to Bull. Based on the way he’s smiling, I’m thinking he’ll be in a decent mood and might forget about retaliating for my punch. And it looks like I’m off the hook. Kell can wheel him around now. Hallelujah.

I LIKE HEARING HER SAY MY NAME—MY REAL NAME.
She likes me. She said so in front of everyone. I can’t believe
I
said I liked
her
in front of everyone. But you know what? It felt good to say it. It made it real.

Kell wheels me to the nurses’ station. I want to see if my mom called. She’s allowed to call today, and she’s probably freaking out that I haven’t been home to give her money. She wasn’t around when the gun went off and everything, so she’ll want to hear the whole messy story. Kell stops my wheelchair and starts rubbing my head. I can hear Agnes and Ellie behind the counter, shuffling papers, clicking on their keyboards.

Kell bends down and whispers in my ear, “You should let your hair grow out. You’d look so hot with longer hair.”

I’m thinking she has no idea that her touching me, anywhere, produces blood flow to my lap. My arms go from resting on the armrests to covering up my growing crotch. I don’t need her or Ellie seeing me like that. It’s freakin’ embarrassing.

Ellie appears from behind the counter. “William, Kell, how may I help you today?”

I’m sandwiched between the two hottest females, with a boner—isn’t that great? I’ve got to clear my head. Clear. Head. Out.

“Has my mom called?” I ask.

“Let me check.” She goes behind the counter, and I hear more rustling papers. “I don’t see any messages for you, William.”

I take a wild chance. “My pop call?”

“Nope, doesn’t look like it.”

I don’t know why I thought either one of them would call. I feel stupid that I had Kell wheel me down here. I can’t believe I thought they would’ve called. My face feels red, and I’m embarrassed. I bob my head quickly in an attempt to nod. Like I knew they wouldn’t call. Ellie must realize I’m uncomfortable, because she smiles and tells me that I have a visitor who’s been waiting in my room for five minutes.

A visitor? In
my
room? I didn’t even know we were allowed to
have
visitors in here.

I take a wild chance, again. “My pop?”

“No, not your grandfather. It’s your friend, Frank.”

The old guy from the cemetery. Who leaves me bags of food with notes.

And a poem.

“NANA? HI, IT’S VICTOR,” I SAY INTO THE PHONE AT
the nurses’ desk. They actually have a private desk in the corner just behind their counter. It’s not in a room or anything, but it faces the wall, so it’s almost private.

“Oh, Victor. I’ve been a ball of worry waiting to hear your voice.”

My nana is always a ball of worry. “I’m okay, Nana.”

Wait, am I okay? I think I am. This is a big shock to me—like, colossal. I think I really am okay. I feel different.

“Are they feeding you well in there? Do you have clean clothes? Are you sleeping all right?”

“Nana, really, I’m okay. We eat pretty well, and we all have to wear sweatsuits, and they’re clean, I promise.”

“Ohhhh, Victor,” she says softly, “when I found you. . . .” She’s quietly crying into the phone. This makes me really upset. I’m not a big fan of people crying, but it really stinks when your nana is crying over something you did.

“Nana, I’m sorry. I
am
sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight then. I’m sorry I didn’t think of how you would feel. I . . . I . . .”
I exhale into the phone. “I was in a lot of pain, Nana. And Jazzer died. And Mom and Dad left me behind because they are selfish people.”

She huffs into my ear. I guess she is really mad at me.
I don’t know what else to say to her. I wish I could tell her how appreciative I am that she saved me. And how her voice in my head sounds more like home to me than any sound I’ve heard in my life.

“Your
parents
! Ha! I know your mother is my daughter, but she has done you wrong, Victor. I’ve never had the courage or the opportunity to tell you how I feel about how you’ve been raised. It all makes me so upset.” My grandmother is fired up, all the whimpering gone from her voice. She is speaking with a fierceness I’ve never heard before. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been a ball of worry over you up here, so far away from me, never getting to see you. . . .”

This makes me feel relief. And pride. I stare at the wall and let it sink in. The ward carries on behind me—people talk, other phones ring—but in this corner, I am beaming.

She has more to say. “I’ll tell you what I’ve done, Victor. I’ve done quite a bit since your—oh, I hate to even say it—since your
suicide
attempt. What you’ve been through, the pain you must’ve been in. It’s just so . . . well, you’ve got me now, sweetheart. I’m having my things sent up here. I’m taking the spare bedroom across the hall from you. I’m moving in. Oh, yes I am. I called your mother and told her you need me. I told her she should be ashamed of herself for not coming home to be with her boy. I told her you were a good boy, and she should be ashamed for not noticing what a good boy you are. That’s what I told her. Oh, she tried arguing with me, even hung up on me once, but I just called her right back. Got your father on the phone then, gave him the business too. Yes I did. So you listen here, Victor. I will be here when you get home. I
will
be here.”

I’m crying. I’m crying because she fought for me. She stood up for me.

My nana said she’ll be there. For
me
.

FRANK IS SITTING IN THE CHAIR OVER BY THE WINDOW,
and he gets up when we come in. Kell kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “I’ll miss you.” Then she leaves us alone.

It takes me a second to clear my head from Kell, her kiss, and her private message.

“So, you’ve been eating my snacks, have you?” He grins.

“Yes, sir,” I say. I’ve never called anyone “sir” in my entire life. Seriously. But he looks like he deserves to be called sir—like he could be on the poster for “Grandfather of the Year.” Today he’s got his gray hair combed and is wearing a button-up brown V-neck sweater.

We stare at each other. I have no idea what to say to the
guy. I
want
to ask him why he’s here and why he keeps leaving me food and why he put that damn poem in the bag. But I’m nervous and I don’t want to sound like a dumbass. Luckily, he starts talking.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve taken up such an interest in you, especially since we’ve never actually met,” he says with a smile.

Whoa, he’s a mind reader. Wild. I nod.

He keeps going. “I’ve noticed you at the graveyard for a long time. Never wanted to disrupt you there, though. I could see that the time you spent there was special to you. I could tell you needed that time.”

Frank’s good, because he never looked like he noticed me there, ever. He always looked like he was oblivious.

“Yes, sir.” Is that all I can say to this guy? He’s going to think I’m slow or something. In an effort to say anything, I blurt out, “How’d you get those brown bags in here?” Not,
Nice to meet you, thanks for visiting me.
I go right for the inquisition. Smooth.

“I knew you’d wonder about that. My son is the president of the hospital here. It pays to have connections at the top,” he says with a wink.

“Oh, that’s cool,” I tell him. His son must be a really smart guy. I ask him how he knew I was in the hospital in the first place. Frank tells me he found out by accident. He was driving a different way to work because of a closed road, and the detour took him down my street. He saw the police cars and the ambulance. He saw my bike leaned up against the bush, and he recognized it from the graveyard. He said he got a bad feeling in his stomach, so he parked and started talking to the other people standing around watching. He got the whole story, even my name and where they were taking me.

“Wow,” I say.

“Everything happens for a reason. I’m a big believer in destiny. I mean, what are the chances of detouring everyone to
your
street? And that
I’d
pass by and recognize your bike?”

This is all real nice and everything, but I’m starting to get weirded out. He’s too nice. I’m not used to nice. I really don’t know why he cares about me and my bike and my life. What’s up with this guy? What’s his deal?

“Sir, I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but why are you doing all this? The brown bags, the visit, that poem?”

Frank nods his head at me for a few seconds without saying anything. I must’ve stumped him.

“Well, you have asked a mighty big question there, young man. I have given that a great deal of thought lately. For a while, I didn’t have an answer.”

Whoa, he’s already thought about it. Second time he’s read my mind. Freaky shit.

“Why did I care about a young man I had never even met? Well, my wife died about five years back—love of my life, that woman. I live alone now. When you live alone, you have a lot of quiet time to get your thoughts straightened out, to clear your head. When Gloria was alive, I always used my time bumping around on that mower to think through a conversation or a squabble we’d had. Gave me time to work it all out in my head. I knew that’s what you were doing there too. A man knows these things about another man. That’s why I never intruded. I always liked seeing you there, doing your thinking and your reading.”