More Than You Can Chew Read online

  Lily is burrowed under her quilt, curled in a little ball. I can’t help thinking of her as a little Lily bulb in a flower bed. A lily that will never push its nose up and see the sun if it doesn’t get something to eat. This Lily is more likely to be pushing up daisies. Bulbs can still be alive, even if they look dead. Brown and shriveled, waiting for someone to give them a chance to grow up.

  “Come on out, Lily,” I say, more to myself than to the bulb.

  No answer from the bed.

  “Lily, it’s Marty.” Like she doesn’t know who it is.

  “Hi.” A crack, somewhere to start.

  “Are you okay?” I hate the word “okay” because compared to somebody in the world, everyone is “okay.”

  “Yes,” says Lily.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you earlier. I’m sorry.” See Dad, it’s not so hard to say you’re sorry when you screw up.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Lily, I said I’m sorry. Now come out from under there and talk to me!” My pitch rises like a wave. I catch both of us by surprise. “I’m sorry.” I pull back the quilt.

  “You said that.” Lily blinks back.

  “No. Now I’m sorry for raising my voice.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not, Lily. I hate when my father does to me what I just did to you. And you shouldn’t take it.”

  “Look who’s talking.” Lily sits up and smiles. A little kid smile.

  I take her face in my hands and kiss her forehead. But, I find that I can’t let go. I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone, or someone hugged me. I think Lily has the same problem. After a few awkward attempts, I put her arms around my waist; she drops her head into my shoulder and I pull the quilt around both of us. It is the warmest I have been. Ever.

  I look up to see Dennis standing where I had started. He is wiping spilled coffee from his Rolling Stones T-shirt. Dennis is usually the face and flashlight I yell BOO at, at three o’clock in the morning. I call him Dennis the menace. Someone has to speak or Dennis’s eyeballs are going to dry out.

  “Dennis, can I help you?” Second stunner in a row. Usually my greeting to Dennis consists of “piss off.”

  Dennis finally blinks and clucks, “Lunch, girls.”

  Lily unwraps her tendrils from around their stake.

  “Come on, Lilybud, time for some fertilizer.”

  “I don’t think it tastes that bad.”

  I laugh, and Lily, the little girl, smiles.

  DAY 32

  JULY 15

  “After group, you need to go right to your rooms and get ready for an outing. We’ll meet by the south doors at 2:20. A new nurse will be accompanying us. His name is Carrey. Anybody have anything else?”

  I raise my hand. Stretch it up high. I can see Rhonda visibly flinch.

  “Yes, Marty,” Rhonda sighs.

  “I really wanted to tell the group what’s been bothering me. Really try and work through all that pent-up anger with the support of my peers. But I guess we have to go on this field trip, so maybe next time.” I give Rhonda my most understanding smile.

  “Yes. Next time I will call on you first. Yes, Lily,” Rhonda says, dismissing me and looking hopefully at Lily.

  “Are…are the others going too?” Lily asks, while trying to shred her cuticles with her teeth. Normally she is a vegetarian except when the subject of the others comes up.

  “Yes, Lily, they are, but I’ve worked here seven years and nothing has ever happened.”

  “Okay,” Lily replies and becomes a cannibal.

  “Any more questions? Answers? Alright, girls, go get ready,” Rhonda says, and gives one sharp clap like she’d just called a play and is breaking up the huddle.

  We pile on the bus in our sweatshirts and jeans. The others are already on, sweating in their shorts and T-shirts. I herd Lily into the seat between me and the window. Make her sit on her hands. Tell her there is actually a lot of calories and a fair amount of cholesterol in human skin. She stops her finger feast.

  The loonies are up front in case someone freaks out. The druggies in the back so they won’t try to escape. And us in the middle.

  The druggies are kicking the backs of seats. Picking lint off their cushions. Tapping the metal around the tinted glass of the windows–windows that won’t open. They try to open their windows. They look trapped behind the bright whites of their eyes. The loonies are sitting cross-legged like they’re on someone’s sofa. Just visiting. Enjoying the atmosphere, their eyes glazed over like they got lost in the middle of a conversation. It’s not right. The loonies should be losing it, but they can’t ’cause they’re on drugs. And the druggies should be out of it, but they’re not because their drugs have been taken away….I wonder if they ever look at each other and say to themselves, “I remember what it was like to be you.”

  I call this place Surreal Village. A Camelot where tourists and their gold cards can safely float around in their vacation bubbles and pretend that the real world doesn’t exist. No mess. I have been here before with my mother. This is one of her favorite places.

  It’s perfect for the others. No clowns or homeless people to scare the loonies or to give the druggies flashbacks. Only coffee mugs with stupid cartoons and I HEART THIS and I HEART THAT.

  After they unload the others, we remain.

  For the first time I notice the new nurse. He’s sitting at the front of the bus. I had thought he was one of the mental patients.

  “What color car are you going to take?” Lily asks me.

  “I don’t know, Lil, black I guess.”

  “I want a pink one,” Lily says.

  I take one ride around the track and then get waved to the shoulder by Rhonda. I had tried to run Carrey-the-new-nurse off the track and up into the tires. I gave him a you’re welcome finger as I passed his red car. I guessed from Rhonda’s urgent need to see me that I was busted.

  “What are you trying to do, Marty?”

  “Uh…I’ll give you a hint. Run him off the road.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Why?”

  “Look at him. Driving around like he’s King Shit!”

  “That’s it? The way he’s driving?”

  “No. Look at his jeans. I bet they don’t come in sizes; they come in spray cans. And I’m pretty sure that there aren’t many left of what died to make those boots. He’s disgusting.”

  “Oh, Marty,” Rhonda says, her shoulders caving.

  We both watch the rest of the girls for a while. Most have removed their sweatshirts. Sitting in those cars when they are coming right at you, you can only see their helmets and their hands. And their smiles. They look normal for just a couple of seconds. Until they turn the corner and you see them from the side. T-shirt sleeves flapping like checkered flags. Then you notice their impossibly thin arms. Little pipe cleaners bent in a V, driving a car.

  “I’m going to wave them in. You wait here,” Rhonda says, getting off the hood of my car.

  “Wait. Just let them go round one more time…please.”

  Next stop, ice cream. Carrey’s walking ahead like he’s leading us to water. Rhonda’s in the rear, herding us like a Border collie.

  “Shee awww. Shee awww.” I do my best donkey imitation and Rhonda looks at me. Raises the left eyebrow. The eyebrow that says don’t be an ass. I obey and moo back at her.

  It catches on.

  “Oink, oink!” pigs Rose.

  “Baa, baaa!” sheeps Nancy.

  “Honk, honk!” gooses Katherine.

  “Mhaa, mhaa!” goats Jamie.

  “Baaawcck, bock, bock, BAAAWCK!” chickens not-Vicky and Elizabeth–queens of the coop.

  Bonnie makes the sound of an animal that no one can figure out. But it is obvious the poor thing is in the middle of being slaughtered.

  Catwoman does nothing but pad silently along.

  Lily tugs at my sweatshirt. I look down. She is concentrating very hard on twitching he
r nose.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m being a bunny,” Lily replies.

  Of course. Something that has to chew, or it will die. A voiceless, defenseless creature.

  “That’s enough!” barks Rhonda.

  Definition of ridiculous. Ten eating disorder inmates at a public snack bar. The real reason. The whole reason for this expedition into the outside world. To get us to eat on the outside. And you would think we would appreciate the change of menu. Anything has got to be better than the mystery-meat lasagna and ralphabet soup they make us shove down our throats.

  “Okay, girls, who’s first?” Carrey says, a little too loud.

  Silence.

  “Why don’t you go? You’re at the front of the line. Or are you watching your figure?” I inquire.

  “No. I’m just not hungry,” he answers.

  We all wheel around to check Rhonda’s browometer. The left one is on the rise and pointing in Carrey’s direction. He doesn’t notice. He scans his little harem. Carrey’s eyes rest on Lily.

  “I’ll go!” I say, and place Lily behind Nancy. I walk to the order window. “I’ll have a medium soft chocolate ice cream, with chocolate syrup on top and Reese’s Pieces layered in a cup. No cone. Please.” Carrey smiles. Solved all my problems with an edible oil product. Snack bar Sally (that’s what it says on her name tag) hands me my prize for going first.

  “Now here’s an example of someone who is trying,” Carrey announces. I have the first spoonful halfway to my mouth. Beyond the spoon, I see a little boy at the end of the line. Either he’s overexcited about getting a treat, or he really has to go pee. Or both. I decide to solve one of his problems.

  “Here you go, kid. Enjoy all five hundred and twelve calories,” I say, squatting down so I can smile in his eyes and hand him the cup. His bodyquaking stops. He accepts my offering in silence.

  I march back to Carrey. “I believe that is an example of someone who is trying,” I tell him. Katherine giggles.

  “You are very naughty, Marty,” he scolds.

  “Naughty? Oh, of course. I’ve been a bad girl, very bad. You’re right. Oh, pleeease, Carrey. Straighten me out. With your boots. Kick me, beat me, make me eat Hagan Daaz!” I fall to my knees and beg. Hands together, eyes closed. A soft tap at my shoulder. I open my eyes. Carrey is looking down at me, arms folded. Then he directs his gaze to my side. I turn my head. It’s my little Lancelot. He speaks.

  “My mom says I can’t take stuff from strangers. Even ice cream.”

  “Carrey wants to see you in the psych office,” Nancy says, walking past my door in the opposite direction of the little hole we have to meet our shrinks in. When they come.

  The door is closed when I get there. I have to knock for permission to enter somewhere I don’t want to go.

  “Come in. Yes, Marty, sit down,” Carrey says, offering me the chair in front of the desk.

  I sit. The room is closet sized, but feels even smaller today.

  “Oh, could you close the door?” he asks. Commands.

  I stand. Close the door.

  Please, sit down, he gestures.

  I sit. Again.

  “Well,” he says.

  “Well, what?”

  “Do you know why you are here?” he says, putting his elbows on the desk and rubbing his hands together.

  More stupid questions. “Only the gods know that,” I say, looking up at the ceiling.

  “Okay. Do you have an idea why I’m here?”

  “You are the nephew of someone on the board of directors. You couldn’t get a job on your own. They felt sorry for you and put you here?”

  “Very clever, Marty. I assure you I have a degree and am no relation to anyone on the board.”

  “Then you must be sleeping with one of them.”

  “Actually, it’s these types of statements you make that prompted me to speak to you alone.”

  “Then what can I do for you, Carrey?”

  “You see, that’s just it,” he says, polishing the toe of his boot with his thumb. “Your interest in doing for, or perhaps with, me.”

  “Excuse me?” What the hell is he talking about?

  Carrey gets up and sits on the corner of the desk in front of me. Leans down into my face. “Marty, I’m concerned that you have a desire for a relationship with me that, although it is natural, is inappropriate at this time and probably unlikely in the future.”

  Oh, my God. Think think think. “You must have gotten high marks in school,” I say.

  “I was fourth in my class.” He smiles.

  “I’m surprised you weren’t first. Your ability to see right through me like that. I do have a special thing for you. Even though we’ve only been together one afternoon, I’ll admit, I would like to do inappropriate and probably unnatural things to you. And you know what? I really don’t feel as if I’m in control of myself, being in the same room with you. So I think I should leave.”

  “That’s fine for now, Marty, but I think we should talk about this again as soon as possible. They are giving me my own office tomorrow. You can come and see me privately any time you like. I would like to help. You don’t have to talk to anyone about this. I’ll be on rotation here for six weeks.”

  “I really should go now. I don’t trust myself. You understand.”

  “I do, Marty, and I’ll see you soon I hope.”

  “Good-bye, Richard.”

  “It’s Carrey,” he says, looking at me and sort of laughing.

  “You still don’t get it, do you…SAY GOOD NIGHT, DICK!”

  I want to run, but not away. Run to Dennis. I make myself walk to the nurses’ station. I can see Dennis on duty now, but he doesn’t see me until I walk behind the big desk, past him, and into the meds room. I know he has to follow me. No patients allowed in the meds room. He comes in. I shut the door. He waits while I massage my hands. Try to breathe my heart rate into something less than a gerbil’s.

  “What’s up?” Dennis finally asks.

  “You have to get rid of the new guy!” Now I’ve done it. Opened my mouth. Now I’ll have to tell them. And they’ll think I’m crazy.

  “Rhonda told me about this afternoon, but we can’t get rid of somebody just ’cause you don’t like him.” Dennis smiles and leans back against the counter.

  That burns me. “It’s not that. Just trust me and lose him!”

  “Trust works both ways. You’re going to have to trust me and tell me why,” Dennis says with a straight face.

  I take a big breath and let it out. “He wants to dip his pen in company ink.” There, I said it. It’s done. Please let him, believe me.

  “What? I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “For Christ’s sakes, Dennis, he made a pass at me!” I can taste angry bile in my throat.

  Dennis looks stunned. “Are you okay?”

  The word “okay” lights my fuse. “Okay? Sure, I’m fine. It’s not me I’m worried about. Ask Victoria about her story. If he hits on her or Lily…I’ll kill him.”

  “Okay, Marty…”

  “But first I would shoot him in the –”

  “Marty!”

  “Kneecaps and then I would cut his –”

  “OKAY.”

  “And feed them to starving dogs –”

  “I get the POINT!”

  “AND MAKE HIM WATCH!” I say, just in case he doesn’t.

  Dennis looks like he’s in pain.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me how I really feel about this?”

  “No.”

  Dennis believes me…believes me.

  DAY 45

  JULY 28

  “He’s here, Marty,” Jackie says, as she glides across the room and settles on my bed like a big manta ray. Usually she bulldozes and bounces. She isn’t my Jackie today; she is someone else’s. She also isn’t saying anything else.

  “Okay, Jackie, I give up. Who’s he?” I say, looking at the floor.

  “Your father.”

>   A pause. “Like I said, who’s he?” My hands start to shake. I watch as the ray rests, quietly waiting for the wave to crash on its head. “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me!” A tremor creeps into my voice.

  “I didn’t know he was coming. He was in LA and decided to fly down.”

  “How convenient.” I rip a hangnail off my thumb.

  “It wasn’t, actually. He canceled meetings to come here.”

  “Now you’re defending him? But why not, huh, Jackie? He’s the one paying you.”

  Jackie just looks at me, armor shining–the daggers bounce off her.

  “Well, we better go see him, Jack. Time is money and I’ll bet the meter is running.”

  On the way down in the elevator, I count while I breathe. In for ten. Out for ten. I fight the urge to gulp the stale recycled air. My hands and the shaking. I hate the shaking. We stop at the basement and the doors scrape their metal and open wide.

  As we approach the office, Jackie just reaches out and opens the door. No key this time, just a side step like in a dance, a practiced look, and an open palm to make me go first.

  I march two paces, front and center, to my father. I must look like a nutcracker–jaw clenched, arms at my side. My father rises, places a hand on the side of my arm, and mechanically kisses my hair. He misses my forehead because he is looking at Jackie. I move a quarter step right so he can take both of her hands in his. A warm shake and Jackie asks us to sit down. Then nothing.

  The silence becomes heavy, sweating, and tight. I put my feet on my chair and my knees to my chest. My position doesn’t prompt any comment, though I’m waiting for a “sit properly,” or something. Question–Why are we putting ourselves through this? Answer–Dad is here because he is paying for it. I’m here because Jackie said I had to be. And Jackie is here because it is her job. Her job is to deliver us.

  “Thank you for coming, Martin. I’m sure it took a lot of juggling to get here,” Jackie says.