“I am,” I said. “I’m the problem.”
“And what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I’m just complicated.”
Sadie rolled her eyes at me. “Everyone thinks they’re complicated,” she said. “But actually there are only a couple of things you can have wrong with you. Which one did you get? Low self-esteem? Fear of failure? A martyr complex? Trust me, after three shrinks and a couple of visits to this place, I’m an expert on all of them.”
I was surprised to hear her say that. I didn’t know she’d been in the hospital before. “I thought this was your first time here,” I said.
“Second,” she said. “The first time it didn’t take, so they sent me back. But we’re not talking about me; we’re talking about you. So talk.”
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s watch some TV.”
I turned the set on and flipped around. Finally I settled on the Lifetime channel, which is always guaranteed to have on some completely idiotic movie about a girl with anorexia, or a woman who gets amnesia and forgets she has an evil twin, or maybe even a family who hires a really creepy babysitter who ends up stalking them. And sometimes you hit the jackpot and end up with a movie that has all of those things in it. And believe me, a movie about an anorexic twin with amnesia who hires a psychotic babysitter is not to be missed.
“Want to play the dialogue game?” I asked Sadie.
“You’re on,” she said, and I turned the sound off.
We sat and watched the movie for a few minutes until we had the main characters figured out. One was a teenage girl, and the other was an older woman who seemed to be the girl’s mother. They were in a diner, eating greasy burgers and arguing about something.
“I’ll take the mother,” Sadie said. “Alison, I know you’re keeping something from me,” she said in what was supposed to be a motherly voice.
Alison is Allie’s real name, and for a second I wondered if Sadie had picked it on purpose. But there’s no way she could know about her. It was just a freaky coincidence.
“What makes you think I’m hiding something?” I said, trying to sound like an annoyed teenage girl.
“I found your diary,” said Sadie. “And I read it.”
“How could you!” I said.
“I had to, Alison,” Sadie continued. “And I’m glad I did. How else would I have known about…”
“About what?” I demanded. “What do you know about?”
“About Chris,” said Sadie. “That’s right, I know about Chris.”
“I was going to tell you,” I said.
Sadie shook her head. “I’m so disappointed in you, Alison. How could you not tell me? I’m your mother. If you’re seeing a boy, you should talk to me about it.”
“Chris isn’t a boy,” I said, surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth.
Sadie turned and looked at me. “What?” she said.
“Chris isn’t a boy,” I repeated. “Chris is… a girl.”
Sadie cracked up. “I didn’t see that one coming,” she said in her real voice. “Good twist. I thought she was just going to be knocked up.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t go wrong with a teenage lesbian story line,” I said. “Had enough?”
Sadie nodded. “I think we’ve worn this one out. Besides, I’m kind of tired. I’m going to bed. What about you?”
“I’m going to stay up for a while,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After Sadie left I just sat there looking at the television screen. The sound was still off. In the movie, the girl and the woman had gotten into a car and were driving somewhere. They were still arguing. I watched their mouths moving without any sound coming out. And the more I watched them, the more I thought that that’s exactly how most people are. They move their mouths, but nothing important comes out. They just talk and talk and talk.
That’s what Cat Poop wants me to do: talk. But like I keep telling him, there’s nothing to say.
Day 11
Oh, man, was today weird—the freak show to end all freak shows. It started at breakfast. Today was pancake day, which we have once a week, and everyone was pretty stoked. It’s totally queer to get excited about pancakes, I know, but compared to oatmeal and dry scrambled eggs, pancakes are a big deal.
There was sausage, too. That’s what started it, the sausage. See, we were all eating, minding our own business and getting lost in the whole syrup sugar-rush thing, when all of a sudden Alice picked up a sausage and started waving it around. She looked like she was conducting an orchestra, moving that sausage up and down to some music only she could hear. The Sausage Symphony in Nut-job Flat, I guess.
Then she started talking. “This little piggy burned up,” she said. “This little piggy burned up. This little piggy went wee-wee-wee, all the way home.” Then she laughed, a weird little laugh that sounded like she was strangling.
Juliet was sitting next to her, and she tried to put her arm around Alice and calm her down. But Alice yelled, “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch the little piggy! I’ll burn you up!” Then she giggled some more.
I’m telling you, it was totally bizarre. By that point the nurses had come out, and they were trying to calm Alice down. But the more they touched her, the more she yelled. She just kept yelling, “This little piggy burned up! Wee-wee-wee! Wee-wee-wee!”
The rest of us just sat there and watched. I mean, what else are you going to do? She was totally losing it right in front of us. “Wee-wee-wee! Wee-wee-wee!” And she really did sound like a pig, like she was on fire and squealing in pain.
The nurses finally had to call one of the orderlies to come help them. He pinned Alice’s hands behind her back, but she kept right on screaming “Wee-wee-wee!” Only now she was sort of crying-laughing, like she’d completely lost her mind. They dragged her out of the room. Her hair was all wild because she kept shaking her head from side to side. “All the way home,” she was saying between squeals. “All the way home.”
The weirdest part was that after she was gone everyone else just went back to their pancakes, like nothing had happened. I guess maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal because they’re crazy too. Maybe this kind of thing happens all the time. But not to me.
“What was that?” I asked Sadie, who was sitting across from me.
She shrugged. “Who knows,” she said. “She just snapped.”
“Just like that?” I said.
“Sure,” Sadie said, like she knew all about it. “The last time I was here, a kid woke up one morning and thought he was Santa Claus. He came out with this pillowcase full of stuff he’d taken from his room, and started handing things out like it was Christmas morning.”
Next to her, Bone laughed. “That’s excellent,” he said.
“It’s weird,” I said, looking at Bone. It occurred to me today that I have no idea why he’s here. I’d ask him, but I really don’t care. Besides, there’s enough weird to go around as it is. He can keep his to himself.
“Whatever,” said Sadie. “Anyway, they’ll drug her up and she’ll forget all about it.” She picked up a sausage and waggled it at me. “Wee-wee-wee,” she said. “Wee-wee-wee.”
Bone cracked up. “Wee-wee-wee,” he said, joining in.
At first I thought it was kind of mean of them to make fun of Alice. But it wasn’t like she was there to hear them. And, anyway, maybe that’s how nutcases handle things like that. I wouldn’t know.
Only Juliet didn’t laugh. She just sat in her seat, picking at her pancakes. She had a blank expression on her face, like she was trying really hard not to think about anything at all.
Later on, in group, Cat Poop talked about what had happened.
“Is Alice all right?” Juliet asked him. It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t all right. She was nuts. But Cat Poop knew what Juliet wanted to hear, because he said, “She’ll be okay.”
Okay? How can she be okay? She set her mom’s boyfriend on fire after he did who knows what to her, she’s in a mental hospital, and she thinks she’s the piggy who went wee-wee-wee all the way home. That’s pretty much
