Music in the Night

  She folded her arms over her breasts and walked out.

  "Megan is not a very happy person," Mary Beth said. "So she's not satisfied until everyone around her is unhappy, too."

  "I can see that," I said. My stomach rumbled. "I think I'll have some tea. Would you like some?"

  "No," Mary Beth said quickly. "I never eat between meals."

  "Tea isn't really eating," I said.

  "I've got to go to my room and get something," she said with a voice of panic. "I'll see you at dinner." She rose and left quickly as I got up to go to the stove and pour hot water into a cup with a tea bag. I took one of the cookies and looked at Lulu. She was so sweet, so dainty. How could her parents let her be here and not with them? I wondered. When I returned to the sofa, she looked up from her notepad.

  "How do you spell acquaintance?" she asked me and I told her. "I'm describing you as a new acquaintance," she explained and wrote on. "Is that all right?"

  "Of course," I said.

  "I like making new friends and my daddy likes to hear about them. He told me to write him a letter every day. Sometimes, I write two a day. And I have piles and piles of letters from him," she said. Then she paused, put the notepad down and looked at me. "I think I'll have a cookie, too."

  When she got up, I leaned over and looked at her pad. I went from surprise to shock and confusion.

  There wasn't a word written on it, just lines scrawled in every direction.

  At Mrs. Kleckner's directive, Miss Cranshaw took me out to the gardens and walkways to get some fresh air.

  "We like you to stay on the pathways," she said. "You can sit on the benches, even on the grass or under a tree, as long as you remain in this area," she added, gesturing at the boundaries.

  The grounds were beautiful, with beds of flowers, birdbaths, some stone and marble statuary, and tall, thick oak and maple trees. The hedges, the grass, and the gardens were all well maintained. A groundsperson was weeding in one of the gardens as we walked through. None of the other patients at the clinic were outside, as far as I could see.

  "I'd like to just sit here for a while," I said, moving to a wooden bench halfway down the long, center path. The sight of the soft clouds, the scent of the grass and the flowers, and the touch of the breeze on my face was deliciously familiar. I liked being outdoors; I liked nature. What else did I like? It was strange, discovering such basic and simple things about yourself.

  "You have about an hour before dinner," Miss Cranshaw said. "I have to look after a few patients and then I'll come get you when it's time to come in," she said.

  I thanked her and sat back, watching two songbirds flit from the birdbath to a statue of a cherub. They paraded on the small angel's shoulder and then gazed at rue before lifting off to fly toward the oak trees.

  It's so quiet, so beautiful and fresh here, I thought. It was a perfect place for recuperation. The only problem was I didn't know from what I was recuperating and now a part of me was afraid to know, afraid to go back. If it was something so terrifying that it would cause me to forget the most basic things about myself, it must be horrendous, I thought, too horrendous for the doctors or nurses to want to tell me.

  A movement near one of the sprawling oak trees caught my eye and I turned to see Lawrence Taylor emerge from the shadows and step onto a path. He walked slowly with his head down. When he drew closer, he looked up and saw me and he stopped quickly.

  "Hi," I said. "It's so pretty out, I wonder why there aren't more people outside."

  For a second he looked like he might run off. Then he took a deep breath and replied.

  "No one comes out here this time of the day. It's too close to dinner," he said. "Everyone usually follows a strict routine here," he added. He looked to his right and then glanced at me as if he had to steal each and every look.

  "How come you're outside then?"

  "I like being alone now," he said. "Out here."

  "Why do you like being alone?"

  He shrugged.

  "I always have," he said. "Well, not always. I used to be afraid to be alone," he confessed. "That's why they think I'm improving."

  "Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked.

  "No." He smiled and looked away.

  "What's so funny?" I asked. He didn't reply. "Well?"

  "I was going to ask you if you did and then I remembered you don't remember anything," he said.

  "That's funny?"

  He looked down. I was angry at first and then, I suddenly laughed. He looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

  "Maybe it is funny," I said. "I do feel

  ridiculous." He held his gaze on me for the longest time yet and then he drew closer.

  "Doctor Thomas told me sometimes it's better to laugh than cry," he said. "If you have more of a sense of humor about yourself[you don't take things as seriously and you don't worry as much," he explained. "I try to follow his advice, but I still don't laugh all that much."

  "Sounds like good advice though," I said. "How long have you been here?"

  "Two years," he replied. "It seems like forever."

  "Two years! You didn't go home and come back?" He shook his head. "Why can't you go home? You seem fine to me," I said. I wanted to add, "unless shyness is now considered an illness."

  "I have these spells. I get chest pain, dizziness, and I start to shake uncontrollably."

  "Why?"

  "It's what Megan told you. I have a panic disorder," he admitted. "I have very low self-esteem, but as I told you, I'm getting better," he added quickly, as if he were afraid I would be frightened away. "At least now I can take walks by myself. It used to be, I never left the building. However," he continued, "every time I think about leaving the clinic, I break out in a cold sweat and feel faint."

  "You want to leave though, don't you?"

  "Yes. I'm trying. I really am now. I wasn't trying so much in the beginning. I didn't care as much."

  "Did you always have this . . . panic disorder?" "No," he said.

  The whole time he spoke to me, he kept squeezing his right hand with his left and nibbling on his cheek.

  "Why don't you sit here for a while," I suggested. "Relax. Tell me what it's like here. I've only been here one night," I explained.

  He looked at the space beside me on the bench as if it were a high hurdle he could never reach.

  "I don't bite," I said. "Or, at least I don't think I do. I don't remember biting people, but maybe I did," I added, tilting my head and pretending to think about it. "Since I can't remember, I can't swear I didn't. I might even be a killer." He smiled. "See, I have a sense of humor," I told him.

  He widened his smile and then, with a sudden, abrupt, and definite move, like someone charging into a fire, he sat beside me.

  "You really can't remember anything? Nothing?" he asked. When he spoke, he avoided looking directly at me for more than a fleeting second.

  When he did look at me, I could see the sensitivity in his dark eyes. His pupils looked like two shiny black pearls. They made me think of another face, but I saw only the eyes in my memory, and then, when I saw the mouth, the eyes faded.

  "I have these flashes, pictures, sounds, but as soon as I try to understand them, to trace them back to something, they disappear," I complained.

  "What's an example? What do you see, hear?" he asked with interest.

  "Water, the beach, boats, but little boats, toy boats."

  "You mean like model boats?"

  "Yes, yes, model boats, but it makes me shiver, even now, even in the sunlight, to think about boats," I said and lull led myself. My teeth actually chattered.

  Very tentatively, inches at a time, he reached out to touch my hand.

  "You are cold," he said, impressed.

  I nodded and he wrapped his hand around mine.

  "That feels good," I said, smiling. He smiled and held on to my hand. The longer he held on to it, the more confident he became.

  "Well, what do we have going on here?" we
heard, and Lawrence let go as if my hand had shocked him.

  We turned to see Megan coming toward us. She marched stiffly with her hands clenched at her sides and her arms unbending.

  "Hi, Megan," I said.

  "I wondered where you were when I came back. Lulu said you had asked to go outside. Isn't this cozy?" she added, looking from Lawrence to me and back to Lawrence. "You don't know each other five minutes and you rendezvous in the garden and 1 find you holding hands."

  Lawrence moved away from me quickly.

  "We just bumped into each other out here," I said. "I didn't know Lawrence was outside."

  "Really?" she said, her eyes narrow with suspicion. "How'd he get you to let him hold your hand?"

  "He didn't get me to let him, Megan. I told him I was cold and he was just trying to warm me up," I said.

  "Sure. That's how it starts," she said. "I'm surprised at you, Lawrence Taylor. You haven't touched another person here since I've known you. You must be someone special," she said to me.

  Lawrence's face was crimson, but his lips were white with fear. He shook his head.

  "I just--"

  "The male in you has woken," Megan declared like a doctor diagnosing a terminal illness. "I'll warn the girls and the female attendants and the rest of the world. Everyone should know to be on guard. Lawrence Taylor's lusts have been miraculously resurrected. His hormones are raging. Beware!"

  "No . . . I--"

  "Oh, stop it," she snapped and then looked around. When she turned back to us, her expression was completely different. "I have a private, secret place I'll show you later," she told me, "if you're good. However, I hope you're not like Lydia and forget everything every day. I really don't like wasting my time on people."

  "I don't think that's my problem, forgetting things I learn," I said.

  "You don't know what your problem is. That's your problem," she replied. "Look at him," she continued, nodding at Lawrence. "Pathetic."

  I turned and saw he was trembling and that sweat had broken out on his brow.

  "Lawrence," I said, reaching out to touch him.

  "I'm okay. I'm okay. I think it's time to go in for dinner." He stood up. "I didn't mean anything. I just . ."

  "It's all right, Lawrence. Really," I said. "Please stay with us."

  He looked at Megan.

  "Yeah, Lawrence. We're hungry for your wonderful company," she said.

  "I'll see you inside." He glanced at me and turned away. "I've got to do something before dinner," he added and walked toward the building.

  "I wonder what that could be, Lawrence," Megan called after him. "What could you do alone in your room? I hope it's not what I think it is. I hope it's not what other boys your age do with themselves."

  Her words and laughter made him walk faster.

  "Why do you pick on him like that?" I demanded. "He was doing so well."

  She looked at me as if I spoke another language.

  "I don't pick on him. I don't pick on anybody." She paused, making her eyes smaller. "Are you siding with them already? You just got here and you're siding with them?" she accused.

  "With whom?"

  "With whom?" she mimicked. "You'd better be careful," she warned. "You just better be careful. First they win your trust and then . . . then . . ." Her lips trembled and her chin quivered. She had her hands clenched into fists and her arms extended and against her sides again. She looked like a soldier frozen in place.

  "Megan? Are you all right?"

  Her eyelids fluttered. Then she looked at me and relaxed.

  "Of course I'm all right. I have to be all right. I have to be sharp, aware. I'm . . . going back inside. I've got to get Lulu. She doesn't know enough to get herself to dinner. She keeps waiting for her daddy. Her daddy. Daddies," she spit, as if it were a profanity. "She should be happy he never comes around."

  She turned and walked after Lawrence. Why did she hate daddies?

  12

  Shadows of My Mind

  .

  Everyone seemed more subdued at dinner.

  Their voices were low and there was very little laughter. Those who were unable to feed themselves were seated together and served by the attendants. The rest of us moved through the cafeteria line. There were two choices for an entree, turkey or halibut. Everything smelled and looked good. Mrs. Anderson supervised with pride. If I closed my eyes and listened, I couldn't tell I was in a clinic.

  "Does this cafeteria remind you of your school?" Lawrence whispered from behind me.

  "It's familiar," I said, "but I can't recall anything specific."

  "I went to a private school," he said. "I always did. The food was pretty good there, too, and it didn't have many more students than there are patients here," he added, but he sounded like it wasn't a happy experience.

  "Some of us back here are hungry," Megan said to prompt us to stop talking, take our food, and move down the line.

  I hurried along, noticing how Mary Beth skipped taking bread or dessert and then pushed her food apart, as if to let anything touch would contaminate everything.

  This time Megan, Mary Beth, Lulu, Lawrence, and I all sat at the same table. No one else seemed to want to join us.

  "What are you waiting for?" Megan asked me. "Eat before it gets cold."

  I hadn't realized I was sitting there, not touching any silverware, while everyone else, even Mary Beth, had begun.

  "I don't know," I said, sensing a blank that wanted to be filled in desperately, "but you're right. I feel like I am waiting for something before we eat, something that should happen first . . ."

  "My daddy used to tell us all about his day at work at dinner," Lulu said. "And then he would tell us stories about when he and my mother were young."

  "He was probably never there for dinner. Didn't your parents get divorced when you were a baby?" Megan reminded her.

  "I still remember," Lulu said and glanced at me to see if I believed her. I smiled at her and she smiled back.

  "Maybe you said a prayer first," Lawrence suggested. "Al my private school, the headmaster led us in saying Grace before every dinner."

  "Yes," I said. "Maybe . . ." I nodded. "I think that's it," I added excitedly.

  "Okay. I'll say it. Everyone wait. Hold your fork, Lulu." Megan stared ahead and raised her arms slowly toward the ceiling. "Grace," she declared, clapping her hands. Then she dug into her potatoes, laughing.

  "Yes," I said, nodding. "Yes, that's it. You're right, Lawrence. I can remember that. I think I can remember . . . the Bible. We read from the Bible," I continued. Lawrence smiled, his eyes happy for me as he nodded softly.

  "This is good," he said. "If everything comes back to you this fast, you can leave before you know it."

  "Goody, goody for her," Megan said. She started to eat again and then paused to consider me. "Do you really remember something?"

  "Just vaguely, someone reading. . . it's like I'm remembering myself reading." I shook my head. "It doesn't make any sense. I hear a different voice, but I see a face so similar to my own, it's like. . I'm looking at myself."

  "That doesn't sound like anything," Megan said after a moment of thought.

  "Sure it does," Lawrence said, suddenly assertive. Megan widened her eyes and he turned back to me. "You better have something to eat," he suggested softly. "You'd be surprised at how much strength all this mental work takes."

  "Yes," I said and started. Even that tiny bit of memory returning filled me with encouragement and stimulated my appetite. I really am going to get better, I thought.

  Halfway through the meal, I glanced at Mary Beth and saw she was eating, but after every bite, she wiped her mouth with her napkin and put the napkin on her lap. I caught sight of it after she took another mouthful of fish and saw that the napkin was filled with the food she had spit back into it. Actually, she was barely eating anything.

  The attendant named Billy, who had greeted Clara and me at the door when I first arrived, had been standing on the side wit
h another attendant watching our table. Suddenly, he rushed over and pounced.

  "Mary Beth, you're spitting out your food," he accused, his hands on his hips. He nodded at her plate. "No, I'm not!"

  "Let me see your napkin," he demanded. "Come on. We've got strict orders from Doctor Thomas about you."

  "I'm eating!" she cried, on the verge of tears.

  "Leave her alone," Megan said. He turned to her. "Mind your own business, Megan. There's plenty to mind there," he said. He turned back to Mary Beth.

  Mary Beth's panic had flushed her neck and face. She looked like she was trembling in her seat. I felt sorry for her. Her eyes were darting about, searching for some avenue of escape.

  "You're scaring the hell out of her!" Megan cried. Billy ignored her and continued to hover over Mary Beth.

  "The doctor said if we see you spitting out your food, we've got to tell him and then they'll put you upstairs and force-feed you," Billy reminded her.

  "The Tower!" Megan declared. "Don't even think of trying it," she told Billy. She even poked him in the rear with her fork. He spun on her again.

  "Look," he said, "if you interfere with our work with other patients, you'll end up there, too. And don't you ever poke me with anything. That's an exhibition of violence," he chastised with a smile that revealed his row of glitteringly white teeth. "And you know what that means," he threatened.

  While he glared with fury at Megan, I reached under the table, took Mary Beth's full napkin off her lap and dropped mine in its place. She glanced at me gratefully. Billy turned back to her.

  "Well? Hand up that napkin. Come on," he said, gesturing with both hands.

  She reached into her lap and gave it to him slowly. He seized it. The disappointment registered on his face when he opened it and nothing fell out. Megan roared and then clapped.

  "Billy Screwball screws up again!" she cried, clapping her hands over her head. Conversations throughout the cafeteria stopped and everyone looked our way.

  "Cut that out," he told her.

  Megan continued to clap, which caused one of the boys I had seen playing chess earlier to start clapping, too. His friend followed and then the whole table joined in. Soon, everyone in the cafeteria who could clap was clapping.