The next morning, I woke up to Jem shaking me. I sat up, quickly. "What?" I asked, forcing my eyes open.
She smiled, "Its time for group therapy."
I exaggerated a loud sigh and fell back into my bed. "It's seven in the morning. I'm not going." I pulled the blanket over my face, proving a point. I was too tired to remember that you don't say no to Jemma. She pulled me by my arm, onto the floor. "96 pounds! How are you so strong?"
"96 pounds." She looked accomplished. "We're having an art session, they're the best!" I couldn't hear her over my concerns for her health. It's only day two and I'm feeling attached to her. I need to figure out how to help her. "We all wear our pajamas in the morning! It's like a little pajama party! Come on!"
"Do we get to glue pieces of macaroni on paper, like little kids?" I laughed. "We could make ourselves some jewelry."
She pulled me off the floor. "Oh Violet, you're not good at making jokes when you're half asleep. Plus, if we wanted to, we really could make macaroni necklaces."
We made it to the dining room, where there were bins of papers, markers, and paint on every table. Some people were already working on their artwork. The man with the cowboy hat was still drawing horses. I could see Everett sitting across the room with Marissa. He was drawing aliens. Marissa had a stuffed panda sitting on the table in front of her, using it as a model for her painting. Jemma and I sat at a table together when the therapist came to greet us. "Draw a picture of something that matters to you, right now." She explained. We nodded. The room was peaceful. There was another patient I hadn't seen before. She was older, probably in her forties. She wasn't drawing or painting, she was playing the piano for all of us to listen to. She was talented.
Half an hour had gone by before September tried his best to sneak into the room without disrupting anyone. He sat down at my table and set down his bottle of soy sauce. I got butterflies instantly. Jemma gave him instructions. He grabbed a ballpoint pen and a piece of paper and started sketching with speed and force. I dropped my pencil and watched him. It was like reading a perfectly constructed poem. Ever line he created had a purpose and a meaning. The drawing was scratchy and inconsistent, yet it was turning into a masterpiece. "Did you know he could draw?" Jem whispered into my ear. I shook my head. Within five minutes, the full sketch was complete.
"Okay, everybody!" The therapist called to every patient. "We're going to go around and hold up our pictures and explain what it is!" My eyes widened. I didn't know we had to share. I can't do that. It's too obvious what it's about. I kept my paper flipped upside down on the table.
Jemma bounced out of her chair and cleared her throat. "I'd like to go first." She was prepared for a whole presentation. She held up the paper. It wasn't a very good painting. It was stick figures, all painted with different water colors. Pink, line green, red, aqua, and violet. "Well," She began. "Obviously, the violet person is Violet." She placed her hand on my shoulder. I looked around the room and everyone's attention was pointed at me and Jem. "There's four more people in this picture. It's me and all my friends here. I painted this because these people are what matter to me. I hope Violet and Marissa can become friends and once we get out of here, we'll all continue to be friends. Marissa and I grasped eye contact. If I want to help Jemma recover, I need to be friends with Marissa.
"How about you, Violet?" The therapist said.
"Oh no," I keep me head low. "I thought it was a private thing."
"It's okay if it's a mess, Violet. We aren't artists." She tried her best to comfort me, but I wasn't buying it.
I took a deep breath and stood up with my drawing. "I know it's really bad." I gripped the paper tight.
"What is it?" She questioned.
"It's a skeleton surrounded by flowers." I wrinkled my face. This felt like torture. I peaked at Jem, who thankfully, didn't seem to be picking up on what this picture was about.
"Is that someone that matters to you?" The therapist nodded her head as if she had received my message and was giving me no choice but to say it out loud. I knew exactly what she wanted me to do.
Fear and panic took control of my face. "Nobody, it was just a drawing."
"Everybody here is very accepting, Ms. Varella. They won't be angry."
"It's just somebody, who's very sick." I tried my best to shake it off.
I felt someone grab my hand and squeeze it. It was Jemma. I guess she does know. "It's okay, Violet." She didn't have to explain. "I know."
Now I felt more panicked. "Yeah, it's Jemma Rowland." She rubbed my hand. "I didn't mean it in an insulting way. We're all sick. She's sick too and I think everybody ignored her illness because she's always happy." I was beginning to babble. "She's always surrounded by beautiful flowers, metaphorically speaking. Jem, I really hope I didn't offend you today. I want to see you get better. I don't want you to introduce yourself to people, using your weight. You're so sweet, Jemma. You have your moments," I giggled. "but you try your best to be friends with everyone. I wish I could be as excited about things as you. I hope you recover." I fell back into my seat.
"That was very nice! A good start for you!" The therapist reassured me.
Everett stood up and spoke as if he was hosting a television series. "Hello, my name is Everett Villacorta," he held his picture up as high as he could. "and today, I'm going to talk to all of you about aliens." I became very concentrated. I wanted to hear everything he had to say. "I'm sure most people in this world don't believe in aliens, but I can guarantee you that aliens, are in fact, with us. There may be an alien in this room right now." Everybody in the room started inspecting each other.
The therapist remained realistic. "Do you believe that you have seen an alien, Everett?"
"I haven't seen one with my own eyes, but I know they're here. They watch me. They touch me." He placed his hand on his chest. "They communicate with me. I'm sure that most people in this room have had an experience with aliens. They just don't know because they don't know what to look for." The mood darkened. "One day, the aliens will take over this planet." He sat back down. I never imagined the world being taken over by something stronger than us and now I'm cringing at the thought. Is it possible that these people are going to make me crazy? Is it contagious?
A few more patients stood up the share their art. Some talented, some not so much. It was nice listening to their stories. The cowboy grew up on his parent's farm down south. His parents always fought so he spent most of his time with the horses, they were his best friends.
One woman painted a picture of flowers, too, but it was an actual garden that she had a home.
"September," The therapist called, "that is a true masterpiece."
He stood up slowly. "Yes," he talked in almost a whisper. "this is my brother. He died from cancer ten years ago. I was eleven years old and he was only eight." His eyes filled with tears and he sat back down.
After the last of the patients, the therapist freed us. "Breakfast in ten minutes!" She said.
"Everybody shared besides Marissa." I stated, confused.
"Yeah," Jemma explained. "every art session, she paints the exact same picture of her panda."
"That's strange, right?" I responded.
"Aren't we all?" She laughed. I didn't laugh. I didn't think I was strange. "Coming to breakfast today?"
"No, I'm still trying to get settled. I gotta call my dad too."
"Well, you're not missing out on much!" She patted me on the back.
"I'll be there for lunch."
Before I called my dad. I sat in my bed and thought about why I belong in this mental hospital. I couldn't come up with a good answer. I walked out of my room and through the hallway, I could hear everyone enjoying their breakfast. On the wall, was a line of four phones that didn't look like they'd been sanitized in months.
"Hello?" He asked.
"Dad, it's me!" I couldn't contain my excitement. "I miss you very much!"
"I miss you too, V!" I could hear his grin. "Are they treating you well there?"
"Yes, but I want to come home. I don't think I belong here."
"I'm assuming you haven't made friends?" He's said, concerned.
"I'm trying to, but most of the patients are very crazy, dad." He laughed. "I'm serious, I don't want to feel like I'm one of them."
"Then don't." His words smacked me. "Suck it up, Violet. You aren't crazy, you're sad. You should be thankful you aren't one of the crazy ones."
"Sometime's it's actually scary in here," I said. "If you were here, you'd be able to physically hear my skin crawling."
We both laughed. "Clever, darling. Listen, I have to let you go. I have stacks of paperwork to finish up. I love you."
"I love you too, dad." I sighed. "You should take a day off work soon." We hung up.
I kept to myself until lunch time. I stepped into the dining room, and I thought I entered a whole new building. It was louder than usual. Everybody was talking. I believe everyone had their own cliques too. September waved to me. He was sitting with Jem, Everett, and Marissa. I was out of options, I had to befriend her. I came and sat down with my sandwich. Marissa's panda was sitting on the table. "I love your panda, does it have a name?" I spoke with soft, kindness.
"Tuberculosis." She stated boldly.
"I'm sorry, what?" I was in shock. This is a joke right.
"The panda's name is Tuberculosis." Everett said. I was sitting next to September, who for once, had a big smile across his face.
"Marissa," I said, with a mouth full of food. "would you allow Tuberculosis to be our group mascot?"
Her face lit up. "I'd be honored!" "I agree, Tuberculosis would make a wonderful mascot for our group." Jemma encouraged.
September choked on his milk, laughing. "I think we've come to a decision." He said.
"Welcome, our new official mascot, Tuberculosis!" Everett squealed.
We all laughed for most of lunch. I got to talk to September and I think he may become more social. I learned that Jemma can make origami out of straw wrappers. It's how she stays occupied while the rest of us eat. I asked them all how long they'd been in the hospital. Jemma, two weeks. Everett, three weeks and four days. Marissa, six weeks. September, one day longer than me. I couldn't imagine being trapped here for six weeks, even four. The thought made me want to break down and cry.
The day flew by. Dinner felt like a repeat of lunch. The same conversations and the same laughs. The same soy sauce bottle sitting on the table, with no use. The only exciting part was being with September and he doesn't seem that interested in me. He's so shy. His heads always down and you can look into his eyes and see all his thoughts passing by at fifty miles per hour. Occasionally, we get to hear his voice. mostly, he just lightly smiles. I worry about him. I always felt that I was the outcast, now I think it's him.
Before bed, they ordered the whole unit to the courtyard for some fresh air. I sat on the ground, Indian style, and smoked my cigarette, observing everybody. A lot of the patients were playing soccer, but Jemma was far too bony and fragile to play. She was entirely exhausted within two minutes. her lungs were giving out and her bones were screaming. I wondered if she still felt it was worth it. September sat with Everett, chatting and supporting his alien conspiracy theories. I didn't know if I agreed with that. I watched every movement from every patient. I don't belong here, I'm just sad. Look at these people. Don't take this the wrong way. They are all quite likable. I guess it's just my ego. I feel like I'm being compared to them. I tried to be negative, but I continuously got distracted by September's smile.
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and then Add to home screen.