But Inside I'm Screaming

numbness. Melanie surveys the room to make sure everyone else finds Ben as amusing as she does and then decides to proceed. “I was just wondering. I mean, we all talk about why we’re here and all Ben ever talks about is a bed at Strawbridge. We never have talked about why Ben is here.”

The room is silent as everyone looks from Ben to Larry and back again after this daring faux pas. It is as if Melanie has thrown a gauntlet down.

“That would be up to Ben, Melanie. It’s up to all of you to decide what to share with the group.”

“Yeah, but you always push us. The other day Isabel didn’t want to talk about herself and you made her. And you’ve done that with me before, too.”

“You’re right, Melanie, but keep in mind—I am a professional. I am trained to know when to push someone and when to let them be. It is entirely up to Ben to share what brought him here. Ben? Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

Ben looks surprised and pleased to find himself the subject of debate. “Um. Well, I don’t have a problem talking about it, Larry. If Melanie wants to know that’s fine with me.” He straightens his thick, square glasses and shifts in his seat.

Melanie, too, looks a little surprised that it has been this easy to get Ben to talk.

“I guess it started with the arrest. You may have heard about it…I’m the guy who got arrested because they said I was making terrorist threats to blow up my school.” Ben says this with veiled pride.

“Why were you making threats to blow up your school?” Larry ventures, knowing the answer.

“I wasn’t making threats to my school!” Ben yells. So quickly has he gone from childlike enthusiasm over a breakfast item to adult rage over life’s inequities that everyone in the room looks startled. Larry does not check his volume. He calmly looks at Ben.

“Sorry, Larry. I wasn’t making threats to my school,” Ben repeats, “I was making threats to my teacher.” No one looks relieved at the clarification.

“Mr. Rickson. He was my ninth-grade teacher. He turned the letters in to the police. He’s the one that smeared my name and told them I was a terrorist. I just, like, wrote to him. I wrote him a few times.”

“How many times did you write to him, Ben?” Again, Larry seems to know the answer to his question.

“I don’t know. A lot of times, I guess. Maybe twenty. Thirty, maybe. I don’t know. But the point is—”

“And why did you write to him, Ben?”

“Why? Why did I write to him, Larry?”

“Yes.” Larry is stroking his beard.

“I wrote to him because he humiliated me. He humiliated me in front of the whole class. He said I was stupid, Larry. You shouldn’t do that to a kid, you know? He said I was an idiot. He called me ‘idiot’ when he called on me in class. He made me stand in front of the room and repeat after him ‘I am an idiot’ in front of the whole class.” Ben cannot look Larry in the eye.

“So when you wrote to him, did you tell him that? That he shouldn’t have humiliated you?”

“Yeah. I told him that. I told him how mad it made me. I told him how it made me want to kill him or something. I don’t know. I said a lot of things in those letters. I know it wasn’t good to send them.” Ben adds this last sentence halfheartedly, parroting back what he has, perhaps, learned at Three Breezes.

“What happened then? You sent the letters and what happened?”

“I sent the letters. I wrote him at least once a day. I guess he saved them. He let them build up or something, I don’t know. The next thing I knew he wrote me back denying that he had humiliated me! He had his lawyer write me saying he had no knowledge of the incidents I was describing and that I better stop writing.”

“And?”

“Well, I guess I went a little berserk, Larry,” Ben sheepishly admits.

“What did you do?”

“I, um…” Ben looks miserable. His medication has kicked in enough for him to discern between right and wrong and he knows that his behavior had been seriously dangerous. “I, ah…”

“It’s okay, Ben. It’s safe here,” Larry says softly.

“I got all my camouflage on and went to his classroom. I went to my school and went to his classroom.”

“Now, this wasn’t when you were currently in school, right?”

“No! I told you, Larry! He was my ninth-grade teacher! Sorry. Sorry, Larry. No. He had been my teacher eight years ago.”

“So then what happened?” Larry looks as if he has not heard this part of the story before.

“I had an old—used—grenade and I held it out like I was going to throw it on him. At him. Like I was going to throw it at him. I wasn’t, though! I mean, it was used. Anyone with a brain could’ve seen that! Who’s stupid now, Mr. Rickson? Huh? Who’s the idiot now? That’s what I said to him. You should’ve seen him…” Ben smiles with the memory.

“You should’ve seen that son of a bitch when I walked in. He practically jumped under his desk. I guess I surprised him, too, because I wasn’t this size when I was in his class. I’ve grown since then,” Ben says proudly. “Anyway, he was so fucking scared. Oh. Sorry. Sorry for cursing, Larry. He was shaking like a little baby. ‘Who’s stupid, Mr. Rickson? Huh? Who’s stupid?’ I asked him and he just stood there. Practically peed in his pants.”

“Did Mr. Rickson call the police then, Ben?”

“No. I don’t know who did, actually. After I scared the shit out of Mr. Rickson I went down the hall to the principal’s office. I had all my clips on so I looked fuckin’ amazing. Oh. Sorry. Sorry for swearing again, Larry. I had all my ammo clips on so I think they were a little nervous there. I think that’s why they might’ve called the police. I wasn’t gonna do anything, though. I just wanted them to see that they couldn’t push me around anymore. I just wanted them to know that I’m not stupid. I wanted them to know that you shouldn’t do that to a little kid. You shouldn’t tell a little kid that he’s an idiot, Larry. You shouldn’t do that.”

Larry walks over to Ben’s chair and gently places his hand on Ben’s slumped shoulder. “No, Ben. You’re right. You shouldn’t do that. You’re not stupid, Ben. You have a mental illness called schizophrenia. You realize that now, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Yes, Larry. I know. I’m schizophrenic,” he tells the group. “And Wellbutrin! Wellbutrin has saved my life, Larry. You know that? I just felt like saying that. It’s amazing this drug…”

“Ben, I’m proud of you.” Larry speaks quickly to block Ben from rambling on about his medication, as he is known to do. “This is the most you’ve talked about the letters in some time. I think we’ve done some real work here.”

Isabel is amazed that Ben, the disgusting yet strangely compelling giant, is the boy she’d remembered reading about.

“Larry, can I just say one more thing?” Ben asks innocently.

“Sure, Ben.” Larry looks as curious as the rest of the group—minus Sukanya.

“It’s just that…” Ben looks lost for a moment. “It’s just that…well…if it weren’t for Wellbutrin I think I’d be dead. I know I’d be dead. I’d be dead, Larry.”

Melanie groans out loud and then smiles as she reaches for her bottled water.

“I know, Ben,” Larry sighs. “I know.”

Just then the door to the living room bursts open and Connie the night nurse appears.

“Larry? Sorry for interrupting but we need your help on something.” She gives him an urgent look that says it cannot wait.

“Get away from me!” The high-pitched scream can be heard in the living room now that the double doors are open. Larry has ended the session abruptly and disappears around the corner into the unit bedroom area.

“Leave me alone!”

Isabel does not think twice about disobeying orders to remain in the living room. She wants to go back to her room. At the edge of the doorway she hears a familiar voice.

“Larry? Larry, please tell them to leave me alone. Please?”

Isabel looks around the corner and sees Connie standing in Lark’s doorway with an orderly. The orderly is Nick, Connie’s burly son, who is trying to earn money for school by working at Three Breezes during his summer break. He hardly speaks to the patients—as if their insanity is contagious. Isabel is uncomfortable around him—his collegiate air seems incongruous to this place. She senses he is filing away stories about all of them to be retold over beers at the frat house.