Impulse Read online

  she says, and I think I could

  drown in her husky drawl.

  “I—I’m Conner,” I sputter,

  but she’s already gone,

  something altogether new

  to me—a girl, walking away.

  I stare at my fried chicken,

  corn, mashed potatoes, not

  enough salt, wondering why

  Vanessa and Tony mourn

  for families, happily

  living without them.

  Mourning them means

  forgiving them, something I’ll

  never do.

  Tony

  Cardboard Chicken

  Lumpy potatoes, way

  too much salt. It all

  tastes like crap, and

  this most definitely

  is better than most

  meals in this freak parlor.

  Guess I bit the bullet.

  I pretty much expected

  a mad rush of orderlies,

  hell-bent on a takedown.

  Maybe they were busy

  giving each other head

  or maybe they just

  looked the other way.

  I bet more than one

  of them would like

  to stick a fist in fat

  boy’s megamouth.

  The mouth in question

  has wisely disappeared

  from the room. Everyone

  else has decided to steer

  wide of me—everyone,

  that is, except for Vanessa.

  She is an angel, and

  she’s looking at me

  now. Studying me, no

  doubt trying to figure

  out what makes the gay

  guy tick. I wish I knew

  the answer myself. But

  even if I did know, I

  wouldn’t tell her. For

  some left-field reason,

  I like the idea of her

  trying to figure me out.

  The New Dude

  Keeps checking me

  out too. Maybe he’s

  into guys after all, or

  maybe he’s trying to

  decide whether or not I am.

  All he’s gotta do is ask.

  He’s sitting with Todd,

  who keeps probing him

  with stupid questions.

  Hey, man, what’s up?

  Ya got a name or what?

  What are ya in for?

  The name is Conner,

  he says. Why do you

  think I’m here?

  I dunno. Maybe you ’re

  schizo? You don’t

  look like you use.

  Not meth, that’s for

  sure. He’s way too

  buff to be huffing

  that shit, and way

  too clear to be cleaning

  himself off downers.

  Conner grins. I might

  very well be schizo, but

  that’s not why I’m here.

  Then you musta tried to

  off yourself. That’s

  all I can think of.

  A very good guess,

  but it’s not something

  I’m ready to talk about.

  Looks like the new guy

  and I have something

  in common, after all.

  Funny How Much

  You can learn about

  someone, by opening

  your ears while they

  talk about themselves.

  What did I learn about

  Conner just now?

  That the guy is smart,

  maybe almost as smart

  as me. That he’s strong,

  in control, definitely

  more in control than

  I could ever be.

  Take, for example,

  my idiotic performance

  in front of my father

  today. I should have

  stayed cool. Instead

  I crumbled like a cracker.

  But that crap about

  forgiveness really blew

  me away. I’ve done

  no more or less than I

  needed to, to get by.

  Forgiveness? For what?

  And now suddenly

  he appears, like a ghost

  materializing from

  out of my forgettable

  past—a place I’d rather

  just leave behind.

  A place where faces

  wear death masks,

  where cold, white

  bodies walk the walk

  of zombies, where

  memories jump out,

  scream “Boo!”

  Vanessa

  It’s Good to Feel Bad

  For someone else, instead

  of myself for a change.

  Poor Tony looks like he’s seen

  a ghost. I guess that’s how

  his dad looked to him.

  Funny, Daddy would look

  the same way to me.

  He has only come home

  four times in the last six

  years, only stayed a week

  or two when he visited.

  Each time he’s older,

  grayer, with meaner eyes,

  from seeing all he’s seen.

  Yes, your father knows

  about your mother,

  Grandma said. How

  could I keep such

  a thing from him?

  But he doesn’t know about

  the role I played.

  Of course, Grandma

  doesn’t know either.

  She probably wouldn’t

  believe it if someone

  told on me—not that anyone

  else has a clue. Only me.

  Just another dirty little

  secret, a nasty,

  filthy secret that won’t

  quit nibbling at me.

  Mama’s better off

  where she is now,

  so why can’t I leave

  myself alone?

  Enough Introspection

  I’ll focus on something

  interesting—like Conner.

  In five minutes flat, he put

  Todd in his place,

  without even being mean.

  All he did was straighten

  real tall, look Todd

  in the eye, and basically

  tell him to mind his own business.

  You have to admire

  his tableside manner.

  Not to mention the vivid

  aquamarine of his eyes, the wave

  of his well-styled hair,

  the width of his shoulders.

  He catches me staring, smiles,

  and I feel like ice cream

  on an August sidewalk.

  Lori and Dahlia sit nearby,

  and they’re analyzing him too.

  He’s so cute! says Lori.

  How would you like to rub

  up against that?

  Just like a kitty cat,

  agrees Dahlia. In fact,

  my kitty’s purring. Meow!

  They are so incredibly gross,

  always talking about sex,

  as if it’s a commodity,

  something to be bartered.

  I know some people believe

  that, and I guess, thinking back

  to Trevor and me, I traded

  sex for a chance at love.

  Breakthrough Moment

  That’s what Dr. Starr would call

  that sudden bit of insight.

  Sex, for me, was only

  about feeling good

  when vines of mania

  snared me, pulled me into

  this space where my brain

  felt so great, my body

  didn’t want to get left behind.

  I can’t really blame Trevor

  for taking advantage

  of that, only for telling

 
; me he loved me. Liar.

  Conner gets up, goes over

  to Tony, extends a hand.

  I’m Conner. How long

  before we have to go

  back to our rooms?

  Tony looks into Conner’s

  eyes, as if trying to find

  some ulterior motive.

  He shrugs. You’ve got

  ten minutes to finish your pie.

  I watch them interact,

  and this odd shot

  of envy hits. The two

  of them are allowed to talk.

  But I, being a girl,

  am supposed to stay on

  “our” side of the room,

  when what I’d really like

  to do is plant myself between

  them. Soak up the warmth of them.

  Fall asleep listening to their voices,

  snowing down all around me.

  To sleep at all tonight,

  I’ll have to self-medicate.

  With a whole different kind

  of drug.

  Conner

  Ten Minutes to Finish

  I sit across from Tony,

  who’s picking at his meringue.

  Wonder why I feel like

  kicking it with him anyway.

  I mean, he’s really not

  the kind of guy I’d hook up

  with at school—not a jock, not

  refined, surely not moneyed.

  There’s just something about

  him, something attractive,

  but not in a physical way.

  On a whim, I tell him,

  “They just let me out of my

  room today, and I’ve only

  had shrinks to talk to. I feel

  like I’ve escaped from a tomb.”

  He gives me this strange look,

  like he needs to climb inside

  my head, walk around in there,

  see where that path leads.

  Finally he says, You know

  I’m gay, in a tone that

  adds, This is a test. You can

  leave if you want. It’s okay.

  Part of me gets a failing

  grade. If I stay, will the

  other guys think I want

  to get laid—by a dude?

  Most of me couldn’t care

  less about what a bunch

  of freaking losers think. Why

  try to impress the brain-dead?

  Still Another Part of Me

  Stresses over a simple fact,

  in a major way. I thought

  he was attractive. Can

  that possibly make me gay?

  I really don’t think so. I mean,

  from the time I was twelve

  I had an insatiable urge

  to climb into the sack

  with any girl who would

  let me. Then it was older

  girls, coeds, who would

  seduce a kid simply to get

  even with a boyfriend.

  Or to play teacher. Cool game.

  Finally, it came down

  to women, the perfect score.

  But men? No, the thought

  has never crossed my mind,

  except in a voyeuristic way.

  Like, does a gay guy ever

  want to be with a woman?

  Which I guess could translate

  the other way, which will

  continue to stress me a bit.

  The weird thing is, Tony

  says he’s gay and I’m guessing

  he really believes it, but he

  doesn’t seem that way to me.

  Anyway, gay or no, something

  about Tony has piqued

  my interest. So I’ll step

  out of my homophobic shoes.

  Homophobia Stashed

  I’ll probably have to lie

  to pass Tony’s litmus test.

  “No problem,” I tell him. “Some

  of my best friends are gay.”

  Tony arches an eyebrow.

  Really? And here I had you

  pegged for a total jock.

  But he smiles freely, and I

  realize he’s mostly kidding.

  I’m up for some fun. “You saying

  gay guys can’t be jocks? Ever

  heard of Dennis Rodman?”

  His laugh breaks whatever

  ice was left between us.

  Good point. But let me

  give you some advice—

  never wear a dress to group.

  The girls don’t even wear

  them. Stockings, heels, and

  pearls are also on the “don’t” list.

  Okay, I like him, can

  trust my instincts again.

  I notice Vanessa, taking

  mental notes, know I must

  cozy on up to her, too.

  Part of it is my old self,

  wanting nectar from a new

  flower, the beat of a new heart.

  Part of it is a simple need

  to connect with someone who

  might understand me,

  might reach out to imperfect

  Conner.

  Tony

  Amazing

  To find Conner the stud,

  sitting across from me,

  trading gay jokes.

  I don’t get a gay vibe

  from him at all. In fact,

  I notice a probable interest

  in Vanessa. Like she’s

  even close to his type!

  No, he looks more like

  the sorority/socialite

  type. Anyway, I’m

  most likely not his type.

  Not that I mind having

  him at my table, literally

  or tongue-in-cheek.

  (Where else does Conner

  put his tongue? I wonder.)

  Quit! Just go with his flow.

  “Did they let you out

  of isolation already?

  That was pretty quick.”

  Was it? Well, it seemed

  like a long damn time

  to me—eight days.

  “That’s not so bad.

  They kept me locked

  up for two weeks.”

  Two frigging weeks,

  pacing that room, I’d

  be a basket case by now.

  “You must have worked

  some kind of magic.

  Eight days is cake.”

  Conner grins. Magic,

  yeah, than it. I put Dr.

  Boston under my spell.

  I Don’t Doubt That at All

  The Black Widow

  believes she’s a player.

  But players are easily

  played by better players,

  someone, for instance,

  of Conner’s caliber.

  “Yeah, well, what about

  Dr. Starr? You’ll have to

  work voodoo on her.”

  She’s a special case, okay.

  Voodoo, huh? Have a

  couple strands of her hair?

  “Shee-it! I wouldn’t

  touch that greasy gray hair

  with Stanley’s fingers.”

  Good point. And speaking

  of Stanley, what’s his story?

  Can’t be meth, that’s for sure.

  “Definitely not crystal.

  Rumor has it he tried

  to kill his little brother.”

  Conner’s smile vanishes.

  No shit? They let total

  nutcases in here, huh?

  “Enough money can buy

  a total free ride. His parents

  were just a little short.”

  More likely they wanted

  him locked up somewhere.

  Just not behind real bars.

  An Excellent Observation

  One I consider as I give

  my plate to the girls working

  kitchen duty.
No, there aren’t

  always girls in there—this

  just happens to be their

  week to play Martha Stewart.

  One thing I’ll say,

  chauvinistic or not,

  the girls are much better

  cooks. As far as dish

  washing, I can’t see that

  gender makes a difference.

  The dining room buzzes

  with after-dinner activity.

  The goon squad stands

  by, making sure everyone

  heads in the right direction—

  rec room or bedroom,

  depending on what level

  they’ve achieved. Dr.

  Starr awarded me Level

  Two, so I get my choice.

  This is a favorite time

  for a little male-female

  interaction, and Conner

  takes total advantage,

  moving in on Vanessa

  before Kate or Paul

  can get the chance

  to move in on him.

  As they wander toward

  the door, he whispers

  something in her ear.

  I’m not close enough

  to hear, but I’m close

  enough to notice her

  blush.

  Vanessa

  Credit Where It’s Due

  I’ve got to hand it to Conner.

  He walked into a room

  that hovered on the brink

  of chaos, and the simple

  weight of his entrance

  seemed to put everything right.

  Tony didn’t hit Stanley,

  didn’t wind up in isolation.

  Stanley left the room

  in what would have been

  a state of shame for anyone

  who could feel ashamed.

  I think he mostly felt lucky