Impulse Page 8
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