nauchaug

hopstials are not poetic.

the cafeteria meals were the worst part.

tables of only two, opposing seats

and a sullen baby-faced brunette

kept mumbling

"i can't wait to be back to 3 almonds a day"

almost gloating to the

observing med student who took cautious notes on all of us.

then jack would scoff

dead eyes slit hands shaking

even when white-knuckling his cold cut sandwich

"your fat ass needs less than that"

and she'd look down at her thighs

and her sparingly doled out chick peas over

limp iceberg lettuce and a nurse would then spoon feed

softness in her ear with

jack leaning back in his chair

dead eyes softly closed

against the window with the

supposedly bullet-proof glass.

bullet-proof became a relative term

once he punched through the glass a couple days later

and grinned when his hands were thrust behind his back

sentenced to the White Room in that White Jacket.

a large boy who i sat in front of during one of the perfectly scheduled meals

only got up from his bed for dinner some days,

and only once did he ever say a word.

his voice was low and garbled and very unused as he said

"wall-e is my favorite movie."

i never learned his name.

but i think, even if i did, i don’t think he’d want me to remember it.

an art therapist would stop by every other day and

when asked to draw what part of a circus would you see yourself being

i drew a pathetic clown while kyle drew a transformer.

(he said he was in here for trying to kill his younger brother
but with a wicked smile like that I almost believed him.)

kayla sat with me most days during recreation when she could,

and had eyes so sad that you could never draw them right.

that’s what veronica said and as a doctor

she knew.

kayla was secretive but i am not sure if she intended to be.

she left the door of her room open once

you could see

tally marks dutifully chalked on her board:

twelves days with a frowny face.

she always ate one bowl of Frosted Flakes for breakfast and

had the slowest laugh if you ever got to hear it.

i think i heard it three times.

there was also little thirteen year old callie

who was the cutest girl i had ever seen

even if the scars on every inch of visible skin

screamed she thought otherwise.

she was so pale i think her veins screamed at her

and pink lines may have helped her quiet them.

like callie but not like callie

my legs would be checked twice a day
for burns and scars and dried blood

and clucks of

ohsweetie!you'retooprettytobedoingthistoyourself!

made my mind grow dull.

felicia was always angry:

mostly at the world, mostly her place in it.

her tongue played around with her lip ring

and her poorly dyed black hair clashed with her olive skin.

she was held down time and time again.

one day

fists clenched, mouth snarling

her eyes locked on me.

"you don't ever look sad

your life isn't even that bad

why the hell did you ever try to die?"

i wish i could've seen my face in that moment.

never had i cried instinctually before

at the anger that made both our bodies shake.

everyone gasped because that was The Question.

these institiutions were put into place to cushion us from thinking too hard about why we were here.

but there i learned.

i learned that having shampoo with you was a privilege,

pencils could be deadly and erasers could be games,

silverware checks spoon-fork-knife in-that-order could become full body scans,

and the real reason why you couldn't go to the bathroom until at least forty-five minutes after a meal.

restrictions were put into place if you brushed up against another

but what did they expect to happen when young eyes travel across such bare skin?

openness draws gentle tounches and all we wanted was for someone to see and carress our scared, shaking beings.

you leave once you confront The Question

and you develop a plan lined up a lot like these stanzas

summed up to

be safe be safe be safe.

and yet

going back there a second time a few months later

still didn't stop breathy sobs to fall past my lips.

the EMTs talked about how we both had cats and i could almost touch their pity from my spot on the gurney.

i evoked motherly sighs from the woman who handled medication

and Rose mused "weren't you

just

here?"

i felt safe again sitting on chairs nailed down to brown carpeting.

i would count the tiles on the ceiling as they went over The Rules for newcomers

and Jose and i would meet eyes and almost smile because we were the self-proclaimed "veterans"

in no other place did i learn to pass notes so secretly

and over a sunbleached picnic table carved with candid profanities

we traded our life statistics like baseball cards --

how many times where have you been what are you on who did what to you what did you do to you

levels of how bad you really were were made clear

as everyone opened their mouths and doors to their rooms.

all our lives had been unraveled and made easy when the only question really being asked was
are you
safe?

and yet still some refused to comply.

nauchaug is a place of stability.

and you are there to
learn
how to stop shaking for bouts of time and
how to get out of bed in the morning.

you are there to
learn
the anthem of coping to recite every spare moment

to show your dedication to wellness.

your go-to reacting acronyms will become engraved in your bones and

even though things will be taken from you:
like your ability to shave in peace,

the blessing of being alone --
 

you will leave this place still utterly broken

yet contained by your shaking outline.

nothing will be the same again when you are allowed to walk in shoes with laces and

strum your fingers against belt buckles

especially when you see little callie in the middle of Forever 21.

she askes how am i doing? with a nervous smile

as she pulls her bulky sweater over her small fist

(in the middle of the summer)

and i return the favor and we don’t say much about anything that really matters because

it’s enough that we are there.

we are breathing

and we are going places

we are moving past those dark months in those dark rooms

we are more than our biweekly appointments

and those stupid meals in that bullet-proof cafeteria

we are breathing and

we

are

    alive.