sent to die.
I ask my mom —A m I going to be buried here ?—
— No, sweetheart — she says. — You’re here to get better .—
* * *
— Hello, Sabrina. —
I blink my eyes a few times, staring at my reflection in the window. My eyelashes flutter—my eyes are blue butterflies with black wings.
The size of everything gets confused in the glass.
My face appears as large as Dr. Richards when she enters the room. When she sits down, she appears to be sitting in the dark jungle of my hair. The doll in my hands is invisible because I hold it below the level of the window.
I turn around and everything returns to its normal size.
— How are you feeling today? — she asks.
I feel much better. I haven’t taken my medicine in two days.
— More like myself — I tell her.
— That’s good to hear — she says, leaning back a little in her chair.
I know everything she is going to do before she does it. I know she is going to lean forward and place her right hand on her left knee. I know she’s going to raise her eyebrows and smile at me with her eyes. We have spent forty hours and sixteen minutes in this room together since I first came here. That’s plenty of time to memorize every one of her habits. And I’m just as sure she has memorized mine. She knows when something is different and I have to be careful about how I answer things.
This is the same room where my parents and I first met with her. My mom’s makeup had run and given her raccoon eyes. My dad was tired from driving and kept grinding his teeth. He paced. My mom and I sat in the kind of overstuffed chairs found in the waiting rooms of every doctor’s office—comfortable-looking yet nobody is ever too comfortable in them. They did all of the talking then. Dr. Richards asked them how I was feeling. — Okay — my mom answered uncertainly. — The car ride was difficult. It’s a long drive. —
She placed her hand on my knee, trying to get a response or to reassure me, or both maybe. I ignored her. My mom didn’t seem to notice, but Dr. Richards saw. She watched me the entire time she spoke. — I realize we’re pretty far from Burbank, but I think it’s for the best that you brought her here. I truly think she’ll respond in an environment like ours — she said. I remember thinking it was some sort of trick.
It’s strange. I haven’t thought about any of this in weeks.
Dr. Richards opens her notebook and looks over our previous conversations. I watch her now with newly suspicious eyes. When she looks up at me, she has the smile of a reptile.
— The other day you were telling me that you didn’t like the way the prescriptions made you feel — she says. — Has that passed? —
— Sort of — I lie.
— Good. That’s good — she says. — I can tell you, it’s made a huge difference. —
— How so? I mean, how can you tell? —
Dr. Richards closes the notebook in her lap and puts it aside. She only does this when she wants it to feel like we’re chatting. The way friends would, instead of a doctor and a patient.
I put the doll back in its place with the others and sit in the chair opposite her. This always pleases her the same way people are pleased when a puppy gives them a paw and behaves.
— Can you tell me what day it is today? —
— Sure — I answer. — It’s Tuesday. —
— Do you think you would’ve been able to answer that question when you first arrived here? — she asks.
She knows the answer so there is no need for me to say it. I just shake my head because she knows time moved differently for me outside of the Wellness Center. The world is too fast there. I couldn’t keep track of things like days. My parents told her all about that.
— You see, the lapses in time you experienced have improved —she explains. — Don’t you feel like it has improved? —
— I guess so — I say. — But that doesn’t prove anything. It’s harder to keep track out there. It’s so busy
I ask my mom —A m I going to be buried here ?—
— No, sweetheart — she says. — You’re here to get better .—
* * *
— Hello, Sabrina. —
I blink my eyes a few times, staring at my reflection in the window. My eyelashes flutter—my eyes are blue butterflies with black wings.
The size of everything gets confused in the glass.
My face appears as large as Dr. Richards when she enters the room. When she sits down, she appears to be sitting in the dark jungle of my hair. The doll in my hands is invisible because I hold it below the level of the window.
I turn around and everything returns to its normal size.
— How are you feeling today? — she asks.
I feel much better. I haven’t taken my medicine in two days.
— More like myself — I tell her.
— That’s good to hear — she says, leaning back a little in her chair.
I know everything she is going to do before she does it. I know she is going to lean forward and place her right hand on her left knee. I know she’s going to raise her eyebrows and smile at me with her eyes. We have spent forty hours and sixteen minutes in this room together since I first came here. That’s plenty of time to memorize every one of her habits. And I’m just as sure she has memorized mine. She knows when something is different and I have to be careful about how I answer things.
This is the same room where my parents and I first met with her. My mom’s makeup had run and given her raccoon eyes. My dad was tired from driving and kept grinding his teeth. He paced. My mom and I sat in the kind of overstuffed chairs found in the waiting rooms of every doctor’s office—comfortable-looking yet nobody is ever too comfortable in them. They did all of the talking then. Dr. Richards asked them how I was feeling. — Okay — my mom answered uncertainly. — The car ride was difficult. It’s a long drive. —
She placed her hand on my knee, trying to get a response or to reassure me, or both maybe. I ignored her. My mom didn’t seem to notice, but Dr. Richards saw. She watched me the entire time she spoke. — I realize we’re pretty far from Burbank, but I think it’s for the best that you brought her here. I truly think she’ll respond in an environment like ours — she said. I remember thinking it was some sort of trick.
It’s strange. I haven’t thought about any of this in weeks.
Dr. Richards opens her notebook and looks over our previous conversations. I watch her now with newly suspicious eyes. When she looks up at me, she has the smile of a reptile.
— The other day you were telling me that you didn’t like the way the prescriptions made you feel — she says. — Has that passed? —
— Sort of — I lie.
— Good. That’s good — she says. — I can tell you, it’s made a huge difference. —
— How so? I mean, how can you tell? —
Dr. Richards closes the notebook in her lap and puts it aside. She only does this when she wants it to feel like we’re chatting. The way friends would, instead of a doctor and a patient.
I put the doll back in its place with the others and sit in the chair opposite her. This always pleases her the same way people are pleased when a puppy gives them a paw and behaves.
— Can you tell me what day it is today? —
— Sure — I answer. — It’s Tuesday. —
— Do you think you would’ve been able to answer that question when you first arrived here? — she asks.
She knows the answer so there is no need for me to say it. I just shake my head because she knows time moved differently for me outside of the Wellness Center. The world is too fast there. I couldn’t keep track of things like days. My parents told her all about that.
— You see, the lapses in time you experienced have improved —she explains. — Don’t you feel like it has improved? —
— I guess so — I say. — But that doesn’t prove anything. It’s harder to keep track out there. It’s so busy
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