"Maybe the whole world should use sign language, Laura," he told me one afternoon. "When you have to draw a visual idea of your thoughts, you think about it more and don't say as many stupid or cruel things to the people you supposedly love and care for," he said.
I guessed from the way he lowered his eyes and then looked away so I couldn't see the hurt on his face that he was really talking about his parents. Only his mother had visited him this last time and when I asked about it, he said his father had to go off on a business trip.
"It's harder to lie to people through sign language," he continued. "It's a greater commitment because it involves more of yourself. Afterward, it's more difficult to tell people, didn't say that,' or 'That's not what I meant.' "
He turned to me and sighed deeply, smiling through his fog of depression.
"Maybe you're lucky not having anyone visit you," he said. "That way no one close to you can lie to you."
I started to shake my head.
"We've always lied to each other in my family," he continued bitterly. "My mother always says it's better to tell little white lies and avoid unpleasantness. The thing of it is, everyone knows everyone else is not telling the truth, but we all make believe we don't. It's like . . . like we tiptoe over thin ice and it will just take a little nudge of the truth to crack the world under us and drop us into oblivion.
"All I had to do this last time is say, 'I know you're lying, Mom. Dad's not away on any trip. He just wouldn't come this time.' He can't stand coming here. Every time he comes, he wears this sour face, gazes around disgustedly. I know what he's thinking. He's thinking, What's he doing here? What's a son of his doing here?
"I don't want to be here either," Lawrence protested. "I don't. I. . . I don't like being thought of this way. I lost all my friends on the outside. How am I ever going to go back out there? What am I supposed to say when people ask me where I've been and what I've been doing all this time? Most of them know anyway and will just treat me like some sort of leper."
He dropped his head and didn't raise it until I reached out to touch his cheek. Then he smiled again.
"Now that you're here, I guess I don't mind it as much," he said. "At least you listen to me and I'm not afraid to talk to you."
"That's because I don't talk; I just sign, so you can get your words in faster," I signed and he laughed. Then he stopped abruptly.
"I don't laugh with anyone else," he told me. "Really, not even with my parents. Especially not with my parents," he added. "You're a special person, Laura. I know you are. That's why I made myself concentrate and learn as much as I could about sign language. If that's the way you're going to
communicate for the rest of your life, I'll be here to understand and talk to you for the rest of mine," he pledged.
The softness in his eyes reminded me of someone else's eyes. Even the sound of his voice was more than vaguely familiar. If I closed my eyes and listened to him talk, I almost almost fell back through the darkness toward the light.
I told Doctor Southerby about Lawrence, about our little talks, when he asked me if I had made any friends. I asked him about Megan and Mary Beth and Lulu. He didn't go into detail, but just said they all had serious problems, too. He assured me that everyone would get better in time, if they truly made the effort.
"You've got to want to help yourself. That's the key," he lectured. I knew he meant it as much for me as anyone else in the clinic.
I told Lawrence that and he nodded.
"I admit I don't want to help myself as much as I should yet," he said. "Not yet. But," he added quickly, "the day you walk out of here, work hard at following you."
Is that a promise? I inquired.
He nodded, and I was so happy for him that I leaned forward on the bench and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. His eyes nearly exploded. He raised his hands slowly and touched the place where my lips touched him, as if to confirm they had indeed been there.
From that day forward, Lawrence looked at me differently. His eyes would linger on my face longer. He wasn't afraid to be caught staring at me, and if I did catch him, he simply smiled. Most important, he stopped shaking whenever he was with me. I saw he was growing stronger in small ways, eating better, participating more in the recreational activities, talking more to the others.
One visitors' day, he appeared abruptly in the art studio. Megan, Lulu, and I were the only ones there. Once again, Megan's mother hadn't appeared and Lulu's mother had written to say she had an important legal obligation. Megan told her it probably had to do with her finding another lover.
"She'd rather be with him than with you here in the nuthouse," Megan said.
I wished she hadn't said such a thing. Whenever Lulu had trouble with her family, she acted even younger, behaving like a baby, crying and sulking until she had to be taken to her room.
The moment I saw Lawrence in the doorway, I knew something dramatic and serious had happened. His face was flushed, but he stood firm, his eyes full of excitement. He hurried across the studio to me. I looked up from my needlepoint, a small, quizzical smile on my face.
"I did it," he bragged and strutted to the window. He looked out at the gardens, at the other patients and their families and then turned back to me. "I burst the bubble today. I risked falling through the ice."
He turned. I held my smile.
"She came without him again. This time it was supposedly because of some major company problem. It's Sunday!" he cried, raising his voice and his arms. "How can there be a major company problem? I told her she was lying for him and she couldn't deny it!"
The commotion caught Megan's attention. She left her mound of clay and approached, her tools still in hand. "What's going on?" she demanded.
Lawrence turned and looked at her and then at me. "Nothing," he said quickly.
She stared at him and then at me and then looked at him again.
"O00000h, I see," she said, "secrets. You two have secrets now," she said, smirking. Then her face filled with fury, her eyes blazing madly, her lips thinning. "So, keep your stupid secrets. See if I care. See if anyone cares."
"That's right," Lawrence said suddenly, surprising me by not backing down as usual. "We do have secrets. So mind your own business, okay?"
Megan's mouth dropped and she turned to look at me. I tried smiling at her, but she narrowed her eyes and shook her head. There was no retreat in her. A strange smile twisted her lips.
"You two have done it, haven't you?" she asked, stepping toward him.
"What?" He shifted his eyes to me and then to her, stepping back as she stepped forward.
"You've done it, haven't you, Lawrence?" she asked disdainfully, her smile sharper. "You and Miss Laura Perfect have joined at the waist."
"What? No," Lawrence said, shaking his head more vigorously.
"Sure you have," she pounced. "Where did you do it? In your room? In hers? In the grass? Where?" Megan screamed.
"What's going on over there?" Miss Dungan said, looking up from across the room. She had been helping another patient with his fingerpainting so intensely, she hadn't noticed what was happening in my corner of the room. She hadn't even seen Lawrence enter the studio.
He looked her way anxiously, his eyes full of panic.
"Well, go ahead, Lawrence. Tell Miss Dungan what's going on. Tell her where you two did it," Megan challenged.
Lawrence grew more terrified. He seemed unable to move. It was as if his feet had been nailed to the floor.
I started to sign to him, but he was beginning to tremble harder, faster. Megan laughed. Miss Dungan rose and started toward us. Lawrence looked at me helplessly.
"I'll tell her myself then," Megan said. "I'll tell her what you two have been doing. I'll tell everyone," she taunted and started to turn toward Miss Dungan.
Lawrence rushed at Megan. I raised my arms and managed a guttural noise, but it was too late. He grabbed Megan around the neck. Miss Dungan screamed as he pulled Megan back. Her face turned crimson and
she stuck her carving tool into
Lawrence's wrist, but he didn't relinquish his grip until Miss Dungan grabbed his arm and I rose to push him away from Megan. Then he charged out of the art studio.
"He's bleeding," I signed at Miss Dungan.
"I know. Megan, are you all right?"
She was leaning against the table, gasping for breath, coughing and rubbing her neck.
"Yes, I'm all right," she managed. Then she blinked hard, as if she were trying to get something out of her eyes before turning back to Miss Dungan. "You saw it," she said. "He tried to rape me,"
"What?"
I shook my head when Miss Dungan looked to me.
"He tried to rape me. All of a sudden, he was at me and if I didn't fight him off--" She looked at me. "He raped you, too, didn't he? Tell her! He came into your room one night," she continued, her eyes widening with the elaboration, "and put his hand over your mouth and--"
I shook my head more vigorously.
"No, no," I signed.
Megan stopped, the tears rolling down her cheeks. She took a deep, painful breath.
"Why don't you people believe me?" she asked tearfully.
"Maybe you should go to the infirmary, Megan," Miss Dungan said softly. She stepped up to her and put her arm around Megan's waist. "Come along. Let Mrs. Cohen check you over?'
"I'm all right," Megan insisted, pulling away abruptly. "I fought him off-lie didn't do anything. But he could have," she added quickly. She fixed her wild, angry eyes on me. "You weren't much help," she told me. Then she spun around and returned to her clay, as if nothing had happened.
Miss Dungan and I watched her for a moment. She was humming and working more vigorously on her clay.
"I have to see about Lawrence," Miss Dungan said. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," I signed, "but I'm worried about Lawrence." "I'll see about him," she said and went to her intercom.
Lawrence frightened himself more than anyone else. The attendants found him down by the ocean, sitting on a rock. He had walked through the water, soaking his shoes, socks, and pants, and was hugging his knees, his head down, when they located him. He was shaking so badly from his panic and the chill of the ocean water, he had to be taken to the infirmary. Later, I found out his hands were clenched into fists so tightly, he nearly stopped the blood circulation to his fingers and he dug his fingernails into his skin until his palms bled. He had to be put on tranquilizers. They called his parents, but neither his mother nor his father visited. I was worried so much about him, I didn't think much about myself for days and my session with Doctor Southerby didn't go as well as usual.
A week later, Lawrence was released from the infirmary. In the meantime, Megan had behaved as if nothing at all had happened. She hadn't told a soul about the incident and had never brought it up with me. She often abruptly went from being as mute as me to talking incessantly about everything and everyone, mainly at the dinner table. Lulu and Mary Beth inquired after Lawrence and were simply told he wasn't feeling well. In this place, everyone accepted that as enough and didn't follow up with more persistent inquiries.
As if she felt she had to direct her slings and arrows at someone new, Megan zeroed in on different patients in the cafeteria and complained about the way they ate, talked, or moped about. She seemed to know everyone else's problems and always laid the blame on his or her father. She was so cruel to Lulu at times when it came to Lulu's father, I had to intervene, pulling Lulu's attention away and teaching her sign language.
"Why don't you just stop this already," Megan fired at me. "You were talking when you came here. It's just an act, an act to get them all to feel sorry for you. Oh," she said suddenly, her eyes shifting away from me, "look who's better."
Everyone turned to see Lawrence enter the cafeteria. He looked like his old self; unfortunately, that meant that once again he was unsure, timid, eyes downcast. He avoided looking our way and walked directly to the food line, stepping back when another patient went to reach for a second dessert. He didn't come to our table after he had gotten his food either. Instead, he sat at the first table available, one at which two younger boys ate, neither showing any interest in him, nor anyone else for that matter.
"Why doesn't Lawrence sit with us?" Mary Beth asked.
"He's probably too ashamed of himself," Megan said. "He peed in his pants," she whispered to Lulu. "Just like you do sometimes. Did you know that Lulu here has to wear diapers every once in a while?"
"Stop it!" I shouted emphatically with my hands as I stood up.
"What's the matter with you, Laura Perfect?" Megan teased. "You never wore diapers?"
I marched away from the table and joined Lawrence. He looked up with surprise as I sat beside him. I smiled and asked him how he was.
"I'm okay," he said softly, dropping his eyes. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."
I forced him to look at me and told him I wasn't embarrassed. Megan was the one who should have been embarrassed. Now she was pretending it never happened.
He shot a quick look her way. She was glaring at us.
"You don't have to worry about her," I continued. "She doesn't want anyone to talk about it. It's almost as if she suddenly came down with a case of amnesia."
He looked a little relieved, but I noticed how peaked and tired he was. Later, I learned that was probably an effect of the medication he had been given. It took the better part of another full day before he regained some of his newfound courage and outgoingness. He joined us in the rec room after lunch the next day and watched me play a game of checkers with Mary Beth.
Megan was in one of her mute moods again that day. She had barely uttered a word, and when Lawrence sat down beside me, she looked away and then started singing under her breath. After a while, we all turned to her. She was staring out the window and we heard, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky.
She turned when she realized we were all staring at her.
"My daddy . . . used to come into my room and sing that to me and tell me to look up at the ceiling and the stars would appear. So, I looked while he . ."
Tears rolled out of her eyes.
"I hate secrets," she said, staring at Lawrence. "I hate having to keep secrets!"
She got up and walked out quickly.
"What's with her?" Mary Beth said.
I shook my head and looked at Lawrence, who gazed after her and then back at me, his face full of sadness and pity. I smiled at him. He didn't hate her for what she had done to him. He truly felt sorry for her.
Megan didn't appear for the rest of that afternoon. At dinner, we all got our food and sat, but she didn't come into the cafeteria. Billy, the attendant, approached our table suspiciously.
"Where's Queen Megan?" he demanded. "She knows what it means if you don't show up for dinner," he said pointedly, directing himself at Mary Beth, who quickly looked down at her lap.
"She said she would be right along," Lawrence told him firmly. Billy raised his eyebrows.
"What are you, her lawyer?"
Lawrence turned crimson. Billy laughed and returned to his position, but he kept looking at our table and at the door.
"I'm going to go get her," I signed to Lawrence and rose as inconspicuously as I could. I left the cafeteria and hurried up the corridor to the residential wing.
Megan's door was closed. I knocked and waited and then knocked again. We weren't able to lock our doors from the inside, so I knew I could enter her room, but she wasn't exactly the type of person who would forgive you for barging in. But I wanted to warn her about Billy and what he would do if she didn't show up soon, so I opened the door slightly and peeked in.
At first I thought she was gone. She wasn't sitting in a chair or lying on the bed, but I heard what sounded like water running in the sink so I entered the room and knocked again on the door to get her attention. She didn't appear. I walked slowly to the bathroom and gazed in.
&nbs
p; There she was, sitting on the closed toilet cover, her arms over the edge of the sink. I stepped forward and looked. Her wrists were under a sinkful of ruby red water, so dark it looked like she had cut off her hands. She gazed up at me, her eyes wet with tears, her cheeks streaked, and she smiled.
"Hi, Daddy," she said. And then she began to sing, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star . . ."
I felt my throat close and then open, as the shock of what I saw hit me. I ran to the door, gasping for breath as I tried to summon up my long-lost voice.
"He . . hel . . . help!" I screamed, finding my voice. "HELP, HELP! HELP!"
Two male attendants and Mrs. Kleckner came running down the hall.
"What is it? Why are you shouting?"
"Megan!" I cried and pointed. "She's trying to kill herself!" -
They sped past me and I fell back against the wall, sliding down slowly until I was crouched along the baseboard. The commotion drew some of the staff from the cafeteria and Lawrence and Mary Beth came out, too. Lawrence saw me sitting on the corridor floor and came hurrying over.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Megan tried to commit suicide," I said gravely. He looked down the hall at the staff gathering around her room and then looked back down at me.
"You've got your voice back," he said.
I nodded. Sometimes miracles happened at the strangest times.
Thankfully, I had found Megan in time. She needed only a day in the infirmary. However, they took her upstairs afterward, instead of permitting her to return to her room and to us. We all felt just terrible for her.
"She's probably heavily sedated," Lawrence said at dinner that night.
"When she comes out of it and realizes she's in the Tower, she'll get even more depressed," Mary Beth said. "You know how she is about the Tower," she reminded Lawrence and Lulu. They nodded.
"Maybe she won't be up there long," Lulu said hopefully. Despite the way Megan had often treated her, Lulu really liked and needed Megan.
"You know, when someone goes up there, they usually don't come down," Mary Beth reminded her. Lulu started to cry and rock in her chair.