A Bitter Pill to Swallow

Chapter 2: Quiet Storm

Chapter 2: Quiet StormTHIS IS MY VERY own book and I’m gonna write anything I want to in here, just like I did in my other journals. All the crazy thoughts that run through my mind will fall into place on these pages. That’s right, I’m crazy and I know it, so nobody has to tell me that. And I kinda like living in this mental institution, even though Dr. Lutkin hates it when I call it that. But that‘s what it is.

Sure, we go on field trips, and I have to go to classes every day, but then there’s all the therapy I have after class and on weekends. I mean, there’s group therapy, d**g therapy, drama therapy, pet therapy, recreational therapy, occupational therapy, dance therapy, and music therapy. But my favorite is still art therapy.

Even writing in this journal is therapy. That’s why my parents give me a new one for my birthday every year. But Dr. Lutkin says that I’ve reached a plateau. He says I need to interact more with the other kids. And I would, except other than being crazy, we really don’t have that much in common. Alejandra hates me most of the time, especially when she’s manic. They switched her to a different psychiatrist last year and she blames me for it. She says I stole Dr. Lutkin from her. Ed avoids me because he thinks my thrift store clothes may have once belonged to dead people. I do talk to Marcia, though I’m not sure how much she understands since she believes The Brady Bunch is her real family. Joey and Kathleen don’t talk much to anyone.

All of them have been here the longest. Then there are the kids who don’t have to stay that long, the sojourners. It’s cool to meet new people, but then they’re gone as soon as you get to know them.

It would be nice to have a good friend. Or a boyfriend. I’m not sure when I’ll get to go home, but honestly, I’m kinda scared to leave. People out there don’t like me. But things weren’t so bad at the thrift store the other day. Meredith took some of us there on a field trip. Marcia just has to have her 70s clothes. She can’t live in 1994 with the rest of us. While I was there, I found a really fly red kimono. It’s short, but it has long, long sleeves that will just get in the way, so I’m gonna trim them the next time we can do some sewing with Libby in occupational therapy. I want to wear it with jeans. After we left the thrift store, I got some boots at the army surplus store. They’re not Doc Martens, but I really like them. The people at the thrift store and the army surplus store were all really nice to us. They treated us like normal customers. Then again, everyone else shopping there had rainbow-colored hair and piercings in their faces, so maybe we looked pretty normal compared to them.

Keep a secret for me: While we were on our way back, Zack told me the shadows under the ‘L’ tracks reveal a secret message in a special code only he can understand. He made me promise not to tell anyone else about it. Weird, right? Just another day in the life of a crazy girl.

Anyway, besides this journal, I got two other birthday presents from my parents: a new Cross Colours outfit and a dress that’s beautiful beyond the speed of light. Of course it’s still too cold to wear it yet. I can’t wait for it to warm up so I can finally put it on. Maybe with my new combat boots. I’m so happy I don’t have to wear a uniform anymore like I did before I came here. Who would have thought that a mental hospital—excuse me, a special school for crazy kids—would be less strict than a regular private school? I actually feel more free in here than I ever did out there.

Janina stopped writing in her journal and closed it so she could admire its cover. It was decorated with a smiling yellow sun and bright daisies. It was the kind of retro thing Marcia would love. The bright colors, she knew, were a kind of therapy in themselves. They were supposed to brighten her mood and lift her out of her depression. That was the basic idea the school was designed around, it seemed. And sometimes that worked for her. Other times, it seemed like all that brightness just created deeper shadows. Because despite all the cheerful colors, the sadness of her fellow students felt almost contagious at times.

She could hear the winter wind wail and moan as it whipped around her little corner room. It reminded her of someone crying, like Alejandra when she got really depressed. But now, except for the wind, things were quiet. It was probably almost time for bed, but maybe there was enough time to work on her graphic novel.

She got her sketchbook from the top of the pile of books beside her bed. She was always reading something. There were so many different subjects she was interested in, and Dr. Lutkin sometimes loaned her psychology books he said would help her understand herself better. Reading helped her understand the other kids better, too. When she was eleven, she saw her classmate Courtney have a seizure after taking her medication. After that, Janina refused to take her pills for fear that it might happen to her. Though everyone told her that she had nothing to worry about because what she’d seen was caused by Courtney‘s medical condition, Janina wasn’t convinced until her teacher had her write a report on epilepsy. And that had led to her learning about the nervous system and the parts of the brain.

Still, she often imagined what it would be like if the pills they took had strange side effects. Or what if the medication made them turn into mutants like the X-Men or the Ninja Turtles, and gave them superpowers? What if it was all part of some weird experiment? Eventually she started writing down her ideas and drawing pictures of her characters. Combining her love of words and pictures led to her graphic novel. Her main character was Steffanie, a brave and beautiful girl whose depression medication made her have seizures. But she discovered that when she had seizures, she had out-of-body experiences and could go anywhere she wanted to. The other kids in the mental hospital with her also had psychic powers because of their medication. And because they had different illnesses, they had different powers. At first Janina was going to call her story “Crazy Pill Syndrome”, but after reading a book about people with psychic powers, she changed the title to “Psindrome”.

The “psi” was for the special psychic powers the kids had in her story. She grabbed a pen and started drawing and writing about Steffanie’s latest predicament.

Why am I here? Why are they rolling me into this elevator? Why am I in the basement now? Where are they taking me? Who are they? Steffanie asked herself these questions through every step of her strange journey. And with each question, she felt more and more awake. Her mounting fear and uncertainty would not allow her weary eyes to close.

At last they reached a familiar corridor. The masked doctors took her into a room across the hall from the lab where Sparky used to live.

“You can get up now.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Steffanie demanded.

One of the doctors approached her. “Don’t worry, Steffanie. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just going to do a few tests.”

“What kinds of tests?”

“It’s really quite simple. We’re going to study your brain.”

That was when Steffanie remembered the dream she had once told Dr. Weaver about. Was he trying to make it real?

“No! I won’t let you!”

Janina wondered what she should write next. Sometimes in her room, when no one was looking, she would use the Barbies and Kens she still had to act out scenes from her story. It was like making a miniature movie. She kept them in a plastic Caboodles box under her bed. The Skipper doll playing the part of Steffanie laid in a bed in Janina’s hospital play set.

She held a Ken doll in a white coat menacingly over Steffanie. “All we’re going to do is use the equipment we have. We’ll study your brain waves and later we’ll use the MRI machine to scan images of your brain.”

She picked up her pen to sketch the scene she’d just set up. And then there was a soft knock at the door. She saw Meredith, one of the counselors, peeking in through the window at the top.

“Lights out,” Meredith stuck her head in the door and said.

“Okay.” Janina sighed, putting down her sketchbook and pen.

As usual she had lost track of time while she was working on her story. She wished she could stay up a little bit later, but she had to follow the rules.

“Good night.” Meredith smiled before turning out the light and closing the door.

Janina would have to figure out Steffanie’s daring escape from the evil psychiatrists tomorrow. It might even come to her in a dream. It was a good thing she had at least remembered to change into her pajamas before she started writing in her new journal. Maybe she wasn’t a complete space cadet after all. All she had to do now was wrap her hair for the night in the colorful silk scarf her mother gave her. She took her two long braids and wound them around her head, folded the big square scarf into a triangle, and tied it up. She wanted to make it look like one of the headwraps the African women in one of her favorite old picture books wore, but she could never get it just right, and could never get the scarf to stay on her head while she slept.

She picked up her Snuggle bear. He was just as soft and cuddly as the one that came to life on the fabric softener commercials, though worn from years of squeezing. When she found out she’d be going to the Harrison School when she was ten years old, Snuggle was the first thing she packed in her suitcase. She’d moved to her single room from the one she had shared with three other girls when she was twelve, and Snuggle had been sitting in front of her pillow all this time.

She took him into her arms and held him, but imagined what it would be like if he were a boy and not a teddy bear. She closed her eyes and kissed his mouth. Then she reached inside an undone seam in Snuggle’s stitching and pulled out her headphones. She wasn’t supposed to have headphones. She had bought a cheap pair at Woolworth’s when the counselors who’d brought them there on a field trip weren’t looking. Dr. Lutkin didn’t allow headphones because he said they were too isolating, and had explained to her the difference between privacy and isolation. But that was one rule she didn’t see the point of following. She plugged her headphones into the radio on the nightstand beside her bed. She had it tuned to her favorite R&B station, something her parents wouldn’t like since their church didn’t want its members listening to anything but Gospel music. The station was playing slow jams now.

“Up next on Quiet Storm, it’s ‘Alone With You’ by Tevin Campbell,” crooned an announcer with a deep voice as smooth as velvet. Janina let the music envelop her and drifted off to sleep.