The Burn Journals (30 page)

I say, “Thanks, Mom and Dad,” and give them each a hug.

“Merry Christmas, bud.”

“Merry Christmas.”

After everyone is done opening their presents, Dad pulls a big box out from behind the curtains. What is that? It's a CD player. I can't believe it. I never thought we were going to be the kind of people with a CD player. I always thought we were more of an eight-track family.

Everything sounds so much better on CD. There's no tape hiss or background noise, it's like listening in a doctor's office.

We each got a CD too. I got
Aerosmith's Greatest Hits
. I used to listen to Aerosmith all the time, before everything, but now, I don't know, it's too noisy. I like the Beatles
better.

I've been the only patient here at Dominion for five weeks. The only one. Two doctors, a nurse, a teacher, and me. All for me. That makes me laugh. They have all these people here just looking after me. Every time I cough, somebody puts it into the record. It's insane.

Mom and Dad and I have a meeting today with Michael Mager in his office. This is where Mom and I sat the first time we met him. Dad's dressed in his suit, and he smells like his pipe. I guess he's been smoking again. Both Mom and Dad have yellow legal pads on their knees and pens in their hands.

Michael starts, “So, thanks for coming in, Runyons.”

Dad says, “No problem.”

“Well, I just wanted to say before we begin that I think Brent has made an enormous amount of progress while
he's been here. From my point of view, and from the rest of the staff's, we really feel that Brent has made some very
significant strides. He's gotten more comfortable with us. He's expressed himself. He's gotten more confident with himself. So, having said that, it's about time to decide what to do next.”

Dad looks very serious, jots something down, and asks, “Well, what are our options?”

“Good question. We've got two main options. Brent has been in our program for eight weeks now. He's been here about four times as long as any other patient we've ever had. And I think, we all think, that he's ready to get out of here. The only question is, where does he go from here? On the one hand, as we discussed when Brent came here, we could send him off to a residential hospital. Someplace like Woodburn, where they do a good job with severely depressed and suicidal teens, but I'm not convinced that's an appropriate place for him anymore.”

I love it when people talk about me in the third person.

He pauses. “Or we could take a chance and start mainstreaming him.”

Mom and Dad both move a little in their seats. Does that mean what I think it means?

Michael keeps talking, but now he's looking at me. “That would mean going back to school. Taking classes. Doing homework. Studying. And, I think most importantly, interacting with your peers.” He nods at me like he wants me to say something.

I say, “Am I supposed to say something?”

He says, “Well, what do you think about that?”

“I think, well, I think I don't know.” I don't know. I wasn't ready for him to say that. “I think that it could be good.”

It could be terrible. What if it's terrible?

Michael smiles. “I think it could be good too.”

I say, “I think, I don't know, I think that it seems a little scary, actually.”

Michael smiles even bigger and nods. “I think it seems a little scary too.”

“Could I do it, like, a little at a time?”

Mom says, “If we start to mainstream Brent, and we decide that it's not the right thing at that moment, would there be a way to change it?”

Michael nods. “Well, your contact in the school system seems to be very supportive of your choices. And I think that with a little elbow grease, you could get them to design a program around Brent's needs.”

He turns back to me. “But, Brent, we need to be clear. This means that you will be going back to school. You will be in with the other students. You will be forced to interact with them. No one will be able to control what they say to you. You'll be on your own. Do you think you're ready?”

There's this big heavy bowling ball in my stomach, rolling up into my throat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What am I going to say? What am I going to say? They're all looking at me.

“Yes.”

It's official, I'm going back to school in two weeks. Marshall High School. I'm going to start part-time, going to a few classes every day, and then I'll ramp up into being a full-time student.

I'm ready. I think I'm ready, but what does that mean, that I'm better? Does it mean that I'm all okay now? Jesus, I don't know. I can't tell. I don't know if I'm going to be okay or not.

I mean, I don't think I'm going to do anything crazy, but I really can't tell. What if something happens? What if somebody says something, or I get mixed up in something that gets me all screwed up and I start to think about death and all that stuff I used to think about all the time? I just don't know what's going to happen when I go back to school. I really don't. I really don't.

I really don't.

The thing about going back to school that I'm most worried about is the plastic mask I have to wear on my face. I mean, okay, I've got to wear the Jobst garments all over my body, from my toes to my neck, but they're skin colored, so they're not as noticeable.

But the mask is a little more apparent. Because it's on my face. Technically I'm supposed to wear the plastic mask all the time, except at night while I'm sleeping. But when I go to school, that will make me look even weirder than I actually am.

Mom says I don't have to wear it if I don't want to, but the truth is I've gotten kind of used to how it feels on my face. I like how it's always cold when I put it on in the morning and the way it smooshes down the scars and makes them flatter and change from red to white. It somehow makes me feel a little better about having scars on my face.

But I guess I'm not going to wear it if I don't have to. I mean, God, I don't always have to look like a total freak.

Chris invited me for a sleepover at his house tonight. I think it'll be fun. Anyway, he's got a lot of video games. He's wearing this big brace on his knee. He just had surgery the other day, and he's not going to be able to play soccer for months.

We sit down at the computer and play this cool new
Star Trek
computer game he has. Chris's whole family are
Star Trek
freaks. They've got every single episode of the TV shows and all the movies too.

Chris is playing first. He's fighting a Klingon warship somewhere in the neutral zone. I've been thinking about this whole high school thing.

I say, “So what period lunch do you have?”

“Sixth. What about you?”

“Sixth.”

“That's cool. So you'll have lunch with me and my friends.”

“Who are your friends?”

“A bunch of girls from Kilmer that you know and Steve from our soccer team.”

“Cool. So, when you go in the front doors at Marshall, where's the cafeteria?”

“Oh, just take a right at the mural, go all the way down to the end of the hall, and turn left, and the cafeteria is right there. I'll meet you out front.”

“Okay, so just turn right at the mural?”

“Yeah, and make sure you don't step on the school seal.”

“What do you mean?”

“The school seal is like this tile thing on the floor right when you come in. Don't step on it or the seniors will beat you up.”

“Okay, so don't step on the school seal.” Wasn't there something like that in
Rebel Without a Cause
?

“Yeah, and if anyone tries to sell you an elevator key, don't do it because there's no elevator.”

“Okay. No elevator.”

“Yeah, and there's no pool either, so don't buy a pool pass from anyone.”

“Okay. Right at the mural. Don't step on the seal. No elevator. No pool. Is that it?”

“Yeah, and if anyone messes with you, just tell me and I'll get the soccer team to take care of it.”

I laugh, but I'm actually glad he said that. “Okay. Thanks.”

He shoots the Klingon warship with a photon torpedo and it explodes across the whole screen.

There's this new kid at Dominion. His name is Joe and he's fat and wears glasses. He's wearing a Beatles shirt, with that famous picture of all four of them walking across the street.

Michael is going to do group with us. “Brent, have you met Joe?”

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Michael says, “So, Joe. Would you like to talk about why you're here?”

Joe says, “Sure. Well, I'm here, basically, because I'm severely depressed. I've been suicidal. I almost killed myself four times. And I'm thinking about doing it again.” He says that shit like he's proud of it. Give me a fucking break.

I can't help it, I'm going to say something. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I'm serious.”

“Why are you going to do that? Why are you thinking about doing that?”

“Because I'm depressed.”

“So?”

“It's very depressing. I don't want to live like this.”

“So? Get used to it.”

“I don't want to. I want to die.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know about it, okay? I know about it.”

“You don't know shit.”

“Fuck you. You're a fucking asshole.”

Michael interrupts, “Guys. Guys. Take it easy. We've all got our own problems. We all go at our own speed, okay?”

That shit really pisses me off. Jesus Christ. Don't fucking talk to me about that shit.

Michael gets up and turns the light off. “Guys, let's calm down a little, okay? Let's do a little breathing exercise. Close your eyes. Breathe in through your nose. Slowly. Slowly. Hold it. And push it out through your mouth.”

I push the air out through my mouth, and it does make me feel better. I just felt my whole chest relax. We breathe in again. In through the nose. One. Two. Three. Out through the mouth. One. Two. Three. In through the nose. One. Two. Three. Out through the mouth. One. Two. Three.

I feel better. I always feel better doing that breathing exercise. I shouldn't have gotten so upset. I just have to remember. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

Craig is home for the weekend. He's hanging out in his room. I stand outside and listen for a second. I can't hear anything. I knock.

“Come in.” He's sitting at his desk holding a notebook, writing or something.

I say, “What are you doing?”

“Drawing.” I didn't know he drew.

“What are you drawing?”

“Stuff. Want to see?” I walk over to him, I wonder if he's going to punch me. No. He doesn't do that anymore.

I look over his shoulder at his drawing. It's just a few straight lines and a stick figure, but it looks like a guy jumping off the top of a really big building.

He says, “Can you tell what it is?”

“A guy jumping off a building? Or is he falling?”

“I don't know. I don't know if he's falling or jumping.” He turns the page.

It's a picture of a man hunched over, holding his knees to his chest. All around him are bricks, everywhere, like he's built himself inside a wall. You can't see his face or anything, but there's something really sad about it.

I say, “What's that supposed to be?”

“A guy.”

“I know, but what is it supposed to mean?”

“It's not supposed to mean anything. It's just a guy I drew.”

“Cool. Why is he inside a brick wall?”

“I don't know. It's just how I feel sometimes. Sometimes I feel like there's a brick wall all around me.”

“Cool.” There is something so sad about that. I didn't know he felt that way. I used to feel that way. I walk back out of the room.

He says, “Hey.”

“What?”

“You going to school tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

I go back upstairs to my room.

I sit down at the desk and pull out some paper.

I click the pen and draw a circle. That's good, that's the head. Then I draw the body. The arms look like he's holding them behind his back. He's facing away from me.

I draw a rectangle around him because it looks like there should be one. He looks like he's standing in a doorway.

January 26, 1992
Falls Church, Virginia

I'm awake. Today's the big day. I go to Dominion for a half day, and then I go over to the high school for two periods. Lunch and home economics. It should be pretty easy. I'm going to meet Chris outside the cafeteria doors. I just have to find him when I go to lunch.

I get up and go into my parents' room and turn on the shower. I take off my boxer shorts that I wear over my Jobst. I guess I don't really need to wear boxers, but it just makes me feel more normal. I unzip the jacket and the pants and throw them outside the door so Mom can wash them. I feel like I'm taking off my skin when I do that.

I get into the shower. I turn the shower nozzle to pulse and let it bang off the back of my neck. I'm tired, but I'm so nervous my hands are shaking. I make my hands into fists and pretend there's somebody in front of me. I hit him with a right and a left and another right and a right and a right. Come on. Come on. Come on. Fuck.

I wash my hair with the Pert Plus and get out as fast as I can. I take the towel and wipe a space clear on the mirror. There I am. I lean close to the mirror and stare right into my own eyeballs. See that? That's me. Not the rest of it. Not the rest of it. But right in there, right in my eye, the green and the little fleck of gold. That's me in there. That's me.

It doesn't matter if the rest of me looks different. None of that matters. I can still recognize myself. I'm still that person in there. Inside my eyes.

I walk out and go lie on my parents' bed. Mom comes in and spreads the cream quickly over my legs. Even if she's not that good at this, at least she's gotten faster. I get my own Jobst garments on and grab a pair of blue jeans and my favorite blue-and-white shirt from the hamper. I don't care if it's a little dirty.

I go downstairs and pour myself a bowl of raisin bran. Dad's reading the newspaper. He looks up. “Hey, sonner.”

“Hey.”

He looks over at the calendar. Mom's written in red pen, Brent to High School, on today's date. He looks back at me to see if I know what day it is. He says, “Big day today, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Big day.” Dad always repeats what he says. I keep eating, and when I look up again, Dad's still looking at me. He looks like he wants to say something else. “Brent,” he says, “it's a big day today for all of us. We've all worked real hard to get where we are right now. Real hard. And we're real proud of you and all the work you've done. Real proud.”

He reaches over and puts his big hand on top of mine. His eyes are filling up with tears. “And we're your family, and we love you, sonner. And we want you to know that we're here for you whenever you need us. And we just love you and think you're a great kid. And whatever happens, we're with you. Okay, son? We're with you.”

“Okay, Dad. Okay.”

I give him a little hug. I can't stay around and talk about this right now. My bus is here. I grab my book bag and head toward the door. Mom gives me a brown bag with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in it and a dollar for something to drink. She hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. I look into her eyes. She's about to cry. Her eyes get extra green when she's about to cry.

“We love you, sweetie.”

“I love you too.”

Dad gives me another hug and pats me on the back as I go out the door.

Michael Mager's called a special meeting because today is my last day. Suzanne is here. And the fat kid, Joe.

Michael does the talking.

“Well, Brent, I don't usually do this, but because you've been here for so long, we decided to get together to see you off.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. I'm sure you'll do well going back into the world, but there are a few things that I'd like you to take with you. The first is that there's always help. There's always someone out there who knows how to listen. The second is that if you ever feel like there's something you can't deal with, if you feel like you're panicked and trapped and there's nothing you can do to get out, just remember to breathe. Remember your breathing exercises. Remember to stay calm. Remember you're a smart kid and you can get through anything. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I'll remember.”

“Is there anything you want to say to us before you go?”

“Um, I don't know, I really appreciate all the help you guys have given me over the last couple of months. I know that it's almost a year since I've been in school, and I know that it's going to be weird, and hard, but I think I can do it. I mean, I do think I can do it. So I guess I just want to say thanks. So, thanks.”

Suzanne gets up and gives me a hug. Michael Mager shakes my hand and pats my shoulder.

I walk out of the meeting and head toward the door. The receptionist buzzes me out and I walk outside to wait for the little bus. Okay, here I go. Going back to school. I know it's only for two periods and one of them is lunch, but still. It's a big deal. It's a big fucking deal. It's a gigantic fucking mess of a giant fucking deal.

Because when you think about it, I mean, I really haven't been to school in, well, almost a year. And it's high school, and I don't know if I'm okay. I don't really know if I'm going to be okay.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

The bus is here. Jesus. This is it. This is it. The bus is going to take me to school and the whole thing is going to change. I'm going to walk into school and I'm going to be a different person and they're all going to see that I'm a different person.

I'm getting on the bus. Okay, get your cameras out. Thank God there's nobody else on the bus. Thank God. It's just me on a little short bus that retards ride on. I used to make fun of people that rode these buses, but now I'm one of them.

Jesus. I hope I can find Chris. I hope I can find the cafeteria. I hope no one picks on me or says anything to me. I hope no one notices me and the way I look. I hope no one who used to know me wants to talk to me about anything. I hope school's not too hard.

I'm just going to lay my head against the window. I'm just going to put my forehead against the window and lean against it. That feels good. That feels so good. I'm going to be okay. I'm going to be okay.

I breathe in through my nose. One. Two. Three. Hold it. Out through the mouth. One. Two. Three. In through the nose. One. Two. Three. Out through the mouth. One. Two. Three.

Okay. Okay. I'm going to be okay. That sounds like a song. Maybe I should sing to myself. Maybe that'll make me feel a little better.

Okay, okay, you're going to be okay.

Okay, okay, you're going to be okay.

It's going to be all right.

It's going to be all right.

Okay, I feel a little better. I feel, at least, a little better.

Oh God, there's the school. They plant those bushes in a big M on the side of the hill like that every year. The sign says Marshall High School. Congrats, JV Field Hockey.

Jesus. The bus is stopped. I've got to get off the bus. I'm getting off. I'm walking up the steps. I'm opening the door.

I'm standing in the doorway.

Okay.

I'm here.