Patricia McCormick: Cut

“Is that why he wasn’t here for visiting day?”

A muscle in my leg is twitching, my heart is hammering against my ribs. All I want to do is jump off the couch and run. I cross my legs again, winding one around the other to keep them still. “I don’t feel like talking about this anymore.”

I draw my mouth into a straight line and bite my lip. Somehow some of the good warm feeling from yesterday is gone.

“Callie?”

I chew on my lip, a little harder now.

“Callie, you’re biting your lip.”

I meet your eyes for a second, then look out the window at the bare branch of the tree.

“Do you know the expression ‘bite your lip’?”

“I guess so.”

“Tell me what you think it means.”

“Y’know,” I say my eyes locked on the branch. “To shut up. To not say something.”

“To not say something.” You recite my words.

I go back to biting my lip.

Your dead-cow chair groans as you lean forward. “Callie, I feel like there’s something you’re not saying.”

Now everything good from yesterday is gone.

We’re in the middle of Group and Tiffany is telling us about some guy she had sex with behind the dumpster at her school. She’s saying something about how it’s his fault she’s at Sick Minds, because he told his friends, who told some of her friends, who told the health teacher, who Tiffany then had to beat up.

The door opens. We all turn to see who it is. It’s Becca Becca being pushed in a wheelchair by an actual nurse, someone in a white uniform.

Tiffany stops in mid-sentence.

Claire nods. “Welcome back, Becca,” she says.

Becca wiggles her fingers hello. “Hi, everybody,” she says.

No one says anything.

“Becca’s going to continue working with our group,” Claire says carefully. “And eventually we hope she’ll be back with us full time, but for the time being she’s staying on another ward.”

We all know what this means: Humdinger

Becca giggles; everyone else squirms. The nurse wheels Becca’s chair into a space next to Amanda Amanda nudges her chair aside a little, then folds her arms across her chest and looks sideways at Becca. The nurse locks the brakes on the wheelchair and leaves.

Dead quiet.

“You look good,” someone says finally. It’s Sydney. Her voice is shaky, her eyes dart nervously around the circle.

Becca makes a gagging gesture, sticking her tongue out and pointing a finger down her throat. “They tubefed me.” She grins sheepishly.

There’s another long silence.

“You don’t think I look fat?” Becca giggles again.

Debbie jumps out of her chair and heads for the door.

“No, Debbie,” says Claire. “You need to stay here.”

Debbie turns around. Her jaw is clenched; a vein is pulsing in her neck.

Claire is pointing to Debbie’s empty chair. Debbie harrumphs across the room and flops into her seat.

No one moves.

Becca flips her hair over her shoulder. “So, what?” she says. “Are you guys mad at me or something?”

Sydney coughs. Then nothing.

“Yes,” comes a tiny voice from across the circle. It’s Tara. She’s looking out at Becca from under her baseball cap.

Becca grins, like she can’t believe it, like it’s a big joke. “Why?” she says. “I’m OK. See?” She clamps her teeth together and smiles hard.

No one says anything.

“Besides, I don’t see what the big deal is,” Becca says. She looks at Claire, then back at the group. “It’s not like I did anything to you guys.”

Debbie snorts.

“Yes,” says Tara “Yes, you did.” She looks down at her lap, cracks her knuckles. “What you did affected all of us. Me. Debbie. Callie. All of us.”

Us. This is the first time I’ve been included in us. My cheeks flush.

Becca’s gaze travels around the circle; she looks hopeful and doubtful at the same time.

“We…” Tara can’t finish.

“We were scared,” says Sydney, all in a rush. “We…you know, we want you to get better. That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it? To get better?”

I check to see how people are responding to this question. Tara nods. Debbie nods. Tiffany shrugs. Amanda checks her watch.

Becca looks stunned.

Claire finally says something. “Becca? How are you doing?”

Becca doesn’t answer.

“You look upset.”

Becca nods, then says to Claire, “Is it OK if I go back to the infirmary for a while?”

Claire says that’s fine, that maybe this is a lot to take in on her first day back; then she goes to the door and signals an attendant. Marie comes, releases the brake on Becca’s chair, and wheels her away.

When Becca’s gone, we all sit there looking at Debbie. Mascara is running down her cheeks and a muscle is working in her jaw, but she’s staring off into space.

“You OK?” says Sydney at last.

Debbie nods vacantly.

People look around, not sure what to do.

“Are you sure?” says Tara

“Yeah,” Debbie says, finally breaking off her stare. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m fine.”

Then she turns to me.

“What about you?” she says, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Are you OK?”

I can feel heads turning around the circle to look at me. “Sure,” I say. “Yeah.”

Debbie smiles, then claps a hand over her mouth. “I did it again!” she says. “Taking care of everybody else. What do you call it, Amanda?”

Amanda’s face is a mixture of surprise and mischief. “Co-dependent,” she says. “You’re being co-dependent again.”

Debbie laughs. It’s a nervous laugh, but everyone laughs too, out of relief. All of us.

Now that I’ve been upgraded to a Level Two, I can escort myself places. Tonight I’m on my way to the game room, even though I don’t really feel like playing Connect Four, and even though everyone else is in the dayroom. I really feel like watching TV because I haven’t seen a single show since I got here, but I’m not sure I can just walk in and sit down with everybody after all this time. I walk past the door and notice Tara’s baseball cap turning as I go by.

“Callie?” I turn around and see her running down the hall behind me. She scuffs along in her slippers, then slides to a stop when she gets to me, like one of Sam’s hockey players.

“Hey!” She’s panting. The thought crosses my mind that Tara could have a heart attack if she doesn’t get better. I stop and wait for her to catch her breath.

“Whew!” She smiles. “We were wondering if you wanted to watch TV.” She tips her head toward the dayroom. “You know, with the group. Unless you don’t want to. It’s OK if you want to be alone.”

She’s still breathing hard.

“Sure,” I say, looking at her hopeful, embarrassed face. “Sure.”

Sydney and Debbie are on the couch. Tiffany’s on the floor, flipping through a magazine and watching TV at the same time. Sydney looks up when I come in, slides down the couch, and pats the seat next to her. “S.T.,” she says. “Sit here.”

The couch is a big bumpy overstuffed thing and when I sit back my feet don’t touch the floor. Tara sits down next to me and I notice that her feet don’t touch, either. They’re watching Jeopardy; it’s time for the daily double. A contestant named Tim has chosen Silent Film Stars for $500. The host asks the big question: “This actress, dubbed America’s Sweetheart, starred in the original film version of Heidi.”

“C’mon, Tim,” Sydney chants.

“Shirley Temple?” suggests Debbie.

“No,” says Tiffany. “It’s a silent film star.”

I know this one. I know the answer. I know it from watching TV with Sam on Saturday afternoons when our mom is resting. “Mary Pickford,” I whisper. Then louder, “Mary Pickford.”