Camp Nano – Short Story #3

Joy

*For Camp Nanowrimo this April, I plan on writing 10 short stories that fall into different genres & elicit different emotions. Because I’m planning on editing them as I go, I’ll be posting a whole short story every ~3 days.*

My consciousness drifted back into being and the tea party I’d been dreaming about disappeared; I could still remember the bitter, fragrant taste of English breakfast tea on my tongue as the tinny music box melody that had played was replaced with the quiet sobbing of my roommate, Alice. Breathing deeply so she wouldn’t realize I was awake, I remained relatively still between my lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets. After what felt like hours, the knock came to the door and Alice ceased her crying instantly. A well-choreographed morning ritual.

“Good morning, Adrina,” she called to the door in her childish, high voice. There was no trace of the sorrow from seconds before.

When the door opened and Adrina stepped inside, I opened my eyes and yawned. “Mmm, ’ Morning,” I murmured, sitting up in my bed and smiling at the eldest child in the group home.

Stepping along the cold floor in her bare feet, she passed Alice her anxiety pills and a cup of water. When I first arrived here, they gave us our medicines in the kitchen, but the people who ran the home found this easier on everyone, apparently, and there was no point arguing. She watched and waited carefully as the small girl took her medication before whispering, “Good job, Al. We’ve got waffles for breakfast this morning so why don’t you hop up quick like a bunny and get ready for the day?” Adi was kind, in general, and definitely tried to make it easier on those of us who’d only ever known this makeshift pseudo family; she probably had a reason for her gentle, motherly nature, but those kinds of questions weren’t asked.

As Alice started to get dressed, Adrina walked to my bed and stood above me with an unreadable expression. Handing me my drugs and some water, she glanced over at Alice as she noisily made her bed, struggling like only a child could. I took the opportunity to slide the pills under my pillow and sipped the water as Adi looked back at me. “Thanks,” I croaked, blinking as I cleared my throat and handed the cup back.

“Your tutor is coming this morning, Joy, so better hop to it,” Adi suggested as she left the room, shutting the door softly behind her and moving quickly down the hall.

I grabbed the pills from my pillow and tucked them into the plastic bag in my toiletry box. I’d stolen the bag from a boardgame specifically for the task of covert capsule disposal. “Why aren’t you taking your medicine anymore?” Alice asked, her lip pouting a little as she sat on the edge of her bed swinging her legs.

Buttoning my blouse over my nightshirt, I replied, “Because I don’t really need them. They’re just making me miserable.”

“Are mine making me miserable, too?” she asked, her eyes somehow wider than usual.

“Oh,” I muttered, “No, no. I mean, yours are helping you to, to do things and be a kid. It’s different. I’m different.” Crossing the room, I gave her a hug and whispered, “I need you to please not tell anyone about the pills, okay?” When I pulled away, I stared into her watery eyes until she nodded. “Great. Let’s go brush our teeth so we can get breakfast, shall we?” I suggested, offering my hand to Alice and leading her across the hall to the much-shared bathroom.

When we arrived in the kitchen, Adrina was just starting on the second round of toaster waffles as one of the society’s staff members cut up some bruised exotic fruits. Smiling at us, Adi nodded to the pile of plates on the corner of the counter, and I took two; I passed one back to Alice as she followed me to the food. With our plates made up with a waffle, some fruit, and syrup, we headed into the dining room and scarfed down the food before anyone else made it down to the kitchen. Sometimes we were allowed a second plate of food, but waffles were already a treat, so Alice and I just sat quietly at the table until everyone had their breakfast.

“Alright, everyone. We’ve got a couple of tutors coming in and the schedule is up in the learning room so if it isn’t your turn and you’re going to stay there, please either do your work quietly or find somewhere else to be until they’re finished lessons,” Adi announced between mouthfuls of strawberries and overripe kiwi. The other eighteen kids finished their meals in quick order and scattered to play outside or do chores around the house, leaving me alone with Adrina. “Joy, are you alright? You’ve been quiet lately,” she asked, chewing the last little morsels off a small strawberry.

To be fair to the group home, they did have some very good, skilled staff members, but none of them were had time to be involved in our day-to-day lives; only Adrina would have noticed something was off. Nodding, I replied, “Oh, yeah, I’m just tired lately.”

She knew it was more than that, but left it alone. When you had well over a dozen other kids to look after, one being a little off couldn’t be afforded much more than a cursory examination. One, maybe two questions, tops. Nodding at me sadly, she got up and brought her plate to the kitchen. Through the wall, I could hear her joking with the kids cleaning the dishes and water sloshed somewhere. She laughed.

---

As I was just finishing up a practice quiz my tutor gave me, the numbers I’d been putting in began to shift and change; some formed new symbols while others inched around the page like uneven worms. Glaring at them, I blinked to see if they’d go back to normal and announced, “I’m finished with the test, Zak.” He stood beside the desk nodding at the page as I took deep, calming breaths; a panic attack seemed in the offing and I was determined to not allow it to come.

“Great job. Do you wabnt do nothina es?” he asked in gibberish, looking at me expectantly.

For a few seconds, I tried to figure out what was happening before gasping, “What did you say?” in clear English.

Taken aback, he repeated slowly, “Great job. Do you want to do another test?”

I swallowed a pit growing in my throat and shook my head. Though there were several other kids in the room working on their homework, none of them seemed to have heard the nonsensical words Zak had spoken.

“Yulre od igct,” he murmured as he packed up my math work, not realizing he’d gone back to gibberish, and put it into my folder. Turning, he smiled at Saje and exclaimed, “Id ya und uf wi.”

Standing up from my chair, I ducked my head and left as swiftly as I could; I didn’t want to hear any more broken sentences. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I had a decision to make. Either I would go upstairs to my room and avoid anyone else until at least lunch, or I could try to find a corner somewhere to think. I took a breath and took the stairs two at a time.

Halfway up, the worn wooden steps started to wabble under my bare feet, and I gripped the railing with both hands to keep upright. I stopped and wiggled my toes as the wood reverted to its stationary form. Shaking my head, I continued up to my room and shut the door behind me. It thundered and shook the whole house like an earthquake as it thudded into the frame; I had to cover my ears because it was so loud. Pushing through the noise, I switched the light on to illuminate the beds and simple dressers. When I sat down, the blankets puffed up around me and changed colour like it was woven out of hundreds of chameleons.

I peered around the room slowly and everything went back to its dull, sad normal state. Sighing, I leaned back on the bed with my hands behind my head and shut my eyes. On the inside of my eyelids danced flowers and beetles and other multi-limbed creatures of phenomenal colour. Whispered singing enveloped me in nausea so strong that it caused my head to spin.

Opening my eyes, I looked up at the brilliant ball of light hovering in the middle of the ceiling; it was so warm and comforting, beating down on me. I looked around at the bedroom and realized I was sitting in a field of wildflowers and heather. When I breathed in, it smelled like warm plants instead of like bleach. Chuckling to myself, I got up, brushing my fingers through the grass, and tentatively stepped to where I knew the door was. As I pulled it open, the grass continued down the hall, swaying in a light breeze as a short figure danced towards me. Eyes widening, I smiled at the creature. It was about the size of a child, but it had white fur, a pair of long satiny ears that stood up from its head, and a distinctly rabbit-like head.

“Haf un waja, Joy?” asked a high, childish voice coming from the creature.

Tilting my head, I smiled at the rabbit and replied, “I’m fine, bunny rabbit.” It felt like my mind was taking a vacation or something; I felt more relaxed and just happy than I had in a long time.

When the rabbit glanced nervously behind it, it asked, “What bunny rabbit?” and I finally recognized the voice and the cute, second-hand dress it was wearing.

“Oh, nothing, Alice,” I replied quickly, sidestepping her and heading downstairs. As I reached the top and looked down at the first floor, I couldn’t help but giggle; in the entryway was a small conglomerate of fanciful animals in human clothing chatting idly in gibberish. There were a couple of cats and dogs, rabbits, geese, and one skunk. Shaking my head, I carefully picked my way down the steps, unable to see the solid surface beneath the grassy coating.

As I swung around the corner, not hazarding to guess what any of the animals were saying, I found myself in the dining room. Set along the entire surface of the table were mismatched teacups and pots, piles of biscuits and trays of decorated cookies, and mice sitting at their own little tables amidst the crumbs. For a while, I watched them squeaking at one another before a tall goat entered from the kitchen wearing an apron and a concerned look. I straightened and smiled at her sheepishly.

“Joy, hantav nes fing?” asked the goat, who sounded suspiciously like Adrina.

Shaking my head, I croaked, “Uh, I didn’t catch that?” While the animals in clothing and awesome smells filling my world were certainly upgrades to my current, unhappy life, I could have done with continuous English.

“How’re you doing?” she repeated, taking a few steps forward with her hooves thudding heavily in the dense grass underfoot.

I smiled and replied, “Oh, yeah. Just a little tired; I think I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air.” Perhaps she recognized the deception, but I was banking on her not wanting to put any unnecessary effort into making me feel better as she was obviously busy. I felt more joyous than I had in ages, anyway. Slipping past her, I headed out into the backyard and was astounded by what the world outside had become.

Around the edge of the property was a tall, weathered cinderblock wall that towered above the apple trees and dwarfed the playhouse in the corner. As for the cheap, handmade playhouse, it looked far larger than usual and had taken on the façade of a fancy gingerbread house. Laughing as a group of humanoid animals played soccer with an oversized orange, squealing excitedly and shouting nonsensical words at one another, I shuddered as a loud, guttural cry tore through the peaceful day. None of the others noticed as a massive, winged beast flew overhead, shrieking at the sky. It was a leathery dragon with massive, clawed feet and piercing yellow eyes.

I waved as it crossed the yard again and again as though it was searching for something. When, finally, it seemed to spot its prey, it dove down and out of my sight. Sad to see the creature go, I wandered under the apple trees and scoured their branches for signs of supernatural life. As I shifted a branch out of my way, a glowing apple fell into my hand. Its smooth surface shimmered and wavered as I turned it in my palm.

“Hey, you aren’t supposed to pick the apples yet!” a shrill voice called from behind me. Turning, I grinned at the short rabbit with her arms crossed. It was hard to connect the cute appearance of the bunny with being annoyed.

As the dragon made another pass, this time silently, I offered the apple to the rabbit and murmured, “It fell when I came over here to look around, little rabbit.” Though she looked hungrily at the sweet, barely ripe fruit, she shook her head. “Suit yourself,” I added, taking a big, crunchy bite. Juice dribbled down my chin as the sweet apple gave up its sugars. It was like no apple I’d ever eaten before; this one had notes of tart grapefruit, with some blueberry and peach mixed in. “Amazing,” I sighed as I took another bite. Everything was better than before.

“Come here,” Alice whispered urgently, opening the sticky, icing-covered door of the gingerbread house and beckoning to me.

When I ducked in, the room opened up like an illusion until it was the size of the house. Ignoring this fact, I turned to the rabbit and smiled as I finished off the apple, core and all. I Swallowed and cleared my throat before asking, “What did you want to talk about?”

She peered out into the yard and replied gravely, “Hafla og beelns jawam opt.”

Again, I shook my head and requested, “Could you repeat that?” Outside, I heard the yowling of a large cat, perhaps a lion, and was momentarily concerned for my housemates before reminding myself that everything was fine.

“Adrina is worried about you and how you’re acting all weird today,” Alice reiterated, crossing her arms again and setting me with a stare I couldn’t imagine on Alice’s cute, human face, let alone the rabbit’s soft features.

Touching her shoulder, I sighed, “It’s okay; she has too much on her plate and I am fine. Better than fine, even. I’m happy, Alice, happy.” With that, I grinned and left the house to stretch in the warm, bright sunshine. I glanced over at the makeshift soccer field and spotted the tail of a lion disappearing over the massive wall; all the animals had been clustered around it and were now moping back toward the game, clearly unhappy that they’d driven the creature away.

I decided to go back inside and found myself in the library. Books were floating and flying above my head as I sat in one of the ancient, comfortable, plush chairs when Adrina walked in and shut the door behind her. Watching a particularly frisky book fluttering against the window, I tried to ignore the goat as she sat down in the chair opposite me. After a few seconds, I looked over and commented, “Beautiful day outside.”

This time, unlike most of the other conversations I’d had today, she asked in unbroken English, “Did you take the medication I gave you this morning?” She sat back in the chair, her wide eyes staring into my soul.

“No, I didn’t,” I admitted simply. Sighing, I continued, “I was miserable taking it and today, Adi, today has been so joyful.” When she didn’t immediately scold me, I continued, “I haven’t felt this free and happy and just, alive, since I got here.” I sighed again and looked back up at the books in the air. If the rest of my life was this full of wonder and joy and excitement, I would be happy forever.

Adrina was silent for a very long time. So long, in fact, that I looked over to make sure she was alright. “Joy,” she finally began quietly, considering every word very carefully, “the pills that I give you in the morning are just vitamins. Whatever has brought you joy today, is just you making it happen.”

Natalie

            “I re’mber this one time I was sayin’ we should go steal one of those crap old cars in that used lot at the edge o’ town ‘cause they never lock ‘em an’ I figur’d it’d be easy, righ’? Well, she goes on ‘bout ‘ow I’d ruin my ol’ life jus’ fer a minute o’ fun,” Tracy murmured, her legs spread on her chair and he head bowed. Of everyone, I would say Tracy had it the hardest with Natalie gone; I wasn’t allowed to say it in group therapy, though.

            Nodding with a sad smile, I replied, “She was always trying to protect the people in her circle.” I looked around at the others, searching for someone who needed to let out their emotions. “David, would you like to say a few words about Natalie?” I suggested, trying not to push too hard.

            With his arms crossed and eyes closed, someone unfamiliar with David might have mistaken his regular manner for sleep. “She was a real killjoy,” he growled, opening one eye so he could glare at me.

            “David, we don’t speak ill of the dead,” I replied, maintaining the calm demeanour I always did. With a sigh, I looked around again and smiled at Kim.

            She shook her head and cried, “I can’t. I can’t!” Since Nat had died, Kim had been having a rollercoaster of emotions even with her medications at the right dose. Rocking in her chair and weeping, she calmed herself down as everyone else tried not to make eye contact with me. When I was about to move on Kim tried again, “I miss her so much that it hurts and I can’t, I can’t really, I can’t think straight with her not here.” When Kim first arrived in the group home, she’d been a catatonic mess who couldn’t speak or look at anyone; no one was entirely certain what she’d gone through before that. In the five years I’d worked with her, she had made a lot of progress, but Natalie had helped her make great strides.

            “Natalie made us all better people. She saw each of us as the amazing people we really are and wanted to help us become those people,” I commented after a short silence. Glancing at my watch, I cleared my throat and announced, “Group session is over for this afternoon. I’ll see you all at dinner and prep?” There was a murmur of agreement.

Normally, I would try to ensure everyone had a moment to speak in the session, but I had an outside party utilizing my services in a few minutes. As everyone filed out, Kim remained in her chair clutching her knees. Experience told me that she just needed time, so I left and headed to my office to make sure everything was ready.

In the tall study, I placed the file box I’d been storing there for the last week on the table by the door and checked my files in the top drawer. I’d been preparing for this moment, so everything was readily available. Sitting in the comfortable desk chair, I shut my eyes and I thought about the whole, disastrous week. Everything had been going fine until Natalie requested day passes for half the girls in the house; if I’d known what would happen, I would have denied the request and that would have been the end of it.

When the doorbell rang, I hurried to the front hall and let a tall, lanky woman in. Her hair was perfectly straight, and she was draped in two layers of black. Though her eyes were meticulously made-up, I could just about see the red blotches; I’d been taught to see through the flawless façade.

“Come on in, Darcy,” I murmured, guiding the woman into the office, and shutting the door behind us. Everyone knew not to disturb me if the door was closed. Sitting behind my desk, I balanced at the edge of the chair and asked, “How are you holding up?” I couldn’t begin to imagine the number of times Darcy must have heard that question in the last week, but it was more pointed in my case.

Nodding as she slumped into the armchair across from me, she sighed, “Oh, I suppose alright, given the circumstances.”

This was only my second meeting with Natalie’s twin sister, but I could tell she had the same strength as her sister. “I wanted to express my condolences. I don’t often say this honestly, but Natalie will be really missed in our home; she was a light to a lot of my other patients,” I assured her, smiling.

“And I really want to say thank you,” Darcy replied, sitting up a bit in the comfortable chair. She sniffled and continued, “I know she didn’t look like an addict on the outside, but she’d been going through such a hard time when she found you. I think you, and the other patients, really helped her break out of that behaviour and become herself again.”

Smiling, I added, “Nat used all that energy she was putting toward getting high into keeping everyone here safe and happy; she was like a mother to everyone.” For a moment I fought with myself on whether to say what David had, but decided to go for it. “She was the killjoy of my group, which is probably the highest compliment they could give her,” I chuckled. Fearing there would be tears, I changed the subject, “I’ve boxed up her things for you. You don’t have to take them if you don’t want to. I could also hold them for you.”

Darcy looked down like she was preparing herself for something big and asked, “How did my sister die? They won’t tell me what happened and I just, I need to know.”

That was a subject I didn’t want to go near. “I uh, I can’t speak to an ongoing investigation,” I muttered as I touched Natalie’s file on my desk. Sighing, I added, “Look, Darcy, whatever the outcome is, it isn’t going to be easier than not knowing. I know it feels like you’re never going to get past it now, but you will. You’re really strong.”

I blinked. That was the exact same thing I told Natalie before she died.

Psychological War Zone

            When I finally managed to open my eyes, peering around with every intention of shutting my eyes once again, I breathed a sigh of relief; I was on a battlefield. After all the horror stories I’d heard of psychological torture, a simple war zone would be a walk in the park. Straightening and looking down at myself, I saw and very nearly felt the weight of the rifle in my hands. Everyone had been working on various methods to create these dream-like states, but none were entirely at the level of physical touch working right. This one was no different.

            I took a tentative step forward, expecting something to hit me at any second, but it was just hard-packed dirt on the road I paced down. For what felt like forever, I didn’t even meet any living people. Desert stretched as far as I could see in every direction with war debris scattered and half-buried.

            Raising the weapon to my shoulder, I eyed an empty flagpole sticking out from a pile of loose boulders and pulled the trigger. In my real life, I would have been able to hit it easily, but there was a pop, a flash of smoke, and nothing else to indicate I’d fired. I grumbled about shitty torture, dropped the gun to swing idly at my side, and continued along the road.

            Again, the path stretched on as I walked, now beginning to whistle to myself in the quiet. Normally, no one would even consider making this much noise, but it was all a fever dream.

            When I reached a sudden walled property, I walked up to the broken gate and gave it a little shove. As it swung, it screeched and clattered; that was pretty realistic. I wandered through and stopped at a pile of soda cans stacked in the center of the courtyard. Glaring at them, I glanced around and took one.

            I was about to toss it away, to see if it would explode or anything, when two people appeared in front of the simple, concrete house. Standing in her wedding dress was my wife, her makeup running down her face and her hair caked with dried blood. Behind her, a man was pointing a gun at her head. They hadn’t made a sound when they came into view. No dirt had swirled up around them. Nothing. They were just there.

            My heart tensed and my breathing became laboured; I suspected a panic attack, though I couldn’t imagine why. This was all a dream. Standing up straight, I took a step forward and the man’s finger tightened on the trigger.

            “Don’t move! I’ll kill her!” he shouted.

            Slowly raising my rifle to my shoulder, I aimed for his head and took a breath. I was certain, with my aim, that I could hit him without hurting my wife. When I pulled the trigger, there was a moment of nothingness that dragged on forever before the shot hit.

            Blood seeped from my wife’s abdomen and she gasped, holding herself. I wanted to go to her but couldn’t. She gasped and reached for me as she slumped to the ground. Behind her, the man laughed.

            Shutting my eyes tightly, I kept reminding myself it wasn’t real. When I opened my eyes, I was where I’d started; in the middle of the desert. This time, I started off in the other direction. I arrived at the same gate and readied myself. Dropping the gun before I entered, I took a soda can to throw at the man.

            When they appeared, I threw it and he shot her. This time, she slumped as blood dripped down her head. I shut my eyes again and was back in the desert once more.

            Perhaps remaining sane wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

Description of a Voice

           “Can you describe the voice?” he asked, leaning back in a straight-backed chair, his emotions entirely unreadable. His pen had been poised against the notebook for the better part of ten minutes without considering movement and it was putting me on edge.

           Glancing around, I sighed and retorted softly, “Which one?”

           The fact that I was hearing more than one voice seemed to have never crossed his mind; I saw the flicker of shock and amazement behind his eyes before a placid look returned. As his fingers drew the pen across the page, I stretched my neck up to peer across the paper. From across the room, it all looked like wavy lines, which it very well could have been. “Well, let’s start with the one you’ve been hearing the longest,” he finally suggested, the pen back in its starting position.

           I cleared my throat and sat up, looking to the window. With the small voice of a child, the woman I’d known since childhood answered suspiciously, “Are you sure he won’t make me go away?” Shaking my head, I took a breath as she stepped closer to the doctor and frowned. “Can you make them go away?” I asked. This got her attention; she turned her bright eyes on me and looked about to cry.

           “That’s the hope,” he murmured as he studied my gaze.

           Trying to clear my mind, I spat at the woman, “If you don’t want to hear it, go somewhere else!” In all the years I’d been hearing the voices and seeing the figures, I’d only gotten angry a few times.

           She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with her torn sleeve as she walked to the door, glanced back longingly, and stepped through it. Just like that, she was gone, though I could still hear her deafening bawling. At least she wasn’t looking at me like I was about to murder her.

           “Okay, I’ll tell you,” I sighed as the sobs got louder and louder. Blinking, I began, “When I was little, she was the first I heard; later on, I could also see some of them. I don’t even know what her name is, but she started out as a soft, assuring voice that helped me through struggles.” The man gave away no sign of whether that was good or bad. “Her voice is like a bird singing. That’s how I realized she wasn’t just an imaginary friend; I have a tin ear, but she sings beautifully,” I admitted. Looking at the ceiling, I realized I was crying and chuckled. I sniffled and added, “She cries a lot. And sometimes she makes me cry.”

           The next pause was physically excruciating; just sitting there as he made little notes and stared at me was raising my blood pressure. Finally, he posed another question, “What were you feeling, coming in to see me?”

           “Uh, I was uh,” I stammered, feeling the ache of truth in my chest but not wanting it to be the thing I said, “I was sad.”

           Surprisingly, he smiled. It wasn’t a joking grin or a cruel smirk, it was a kind, empathetic smile. “I suspected,” he murmured and set the notebook aside. Sitting up, he put his hands together and continued, “When hallucinations happen for this length of time, patients tend to become attached to them; they’re comforting and a part of their lives. It’s perfectly natural to want to hold on to them.” When he continued, it was on a darker note, though his expression didn’t change, “Sometimes, when patients are feeling an emotion they can’t explain or don’t like or are having a big struggle in their lives, they project. This woman may be a projection of sadness you had as a child.”

           I couldn’t explain why, but I felt anger boiling up inside me; it was as though a flame had been lit in my heart. “No. That isn’t what the issue is,” I stated, struggling to hold the rage in as one of the other voices joined us. Towering above the doctor, the giant of a man I’d been too scared to name, growled, “He’s just a stupid person! He doesn’t know what you’ve gone through! He has no right to tell you what you’re feeling!” With the anger came a fresh wave of tears.

           “Is she back?” the doctor inquired, suddenly holding the notebook once again. Now, his left eyebrow was raised.

           Shaking my head, I was about to reply when the man bellowed, “You can’t tell him I’m here! He’ll banish me! Let him take the others, but not me!” I shut my eyes, but he stamped around the room, vibrating my chair and groaning. “No, the angry one is here,” I muttered under my breath as he stood in front of me, breathing on my hair.

           “Alright, I need you to take three deep breaths for me. Okay?” the doctor advised.

           With my eyes still shut, I nodded and sucked in a breath of air. Then another one. Before the third, I opened my eyes and found the man still standing above me, but he wasn’t growling anymore. Inhaling, I made eye contact with the man, and breathed, “Get out while I figure this out.” When he just tilted his head, I bit my lip. “If you’re real, there’s nothing he can do to get rid of you,” I explained rationally.

           Huffing, he stormed out through the same closed door as the woman. For a few minutes, I could still hear his massive footsteps.

           “What’s his story?” the doctor asked, sensing my ease.

           I chuckled and replied, “He popped up after I started getting bullied; he was made fun of a lot and that we should stick together. He’s a giant with this gravelly, dull voice that makes me think of the taste of pennies.” As he wrote his notes, I asked, “Could they be ghosts or something? I just can’t think that I’ve been hallucinating all my life.”

           Looking up from his work, he dodged the question and posed his own query, “How many more of them are there?”

           “Twenty-three more,” I murmured, feeling exhausted and defeated. Staring at the ceiling, I tried again, “Can you fix me?” Tears were streaming from my eyes uncontrollably and I blinked at them.

           The doctor cleared his throat and ignored me once again. “Are there any more here with us?” he asked as though he was asking about the weather.

           “No,” I whispered with a sniff. Looking at him again, I wiped the water from my face in time to watch him put the notebook aside.

           “I can fix you,” he declared, his face back to the unreadable mask. Tearing a sheet of paper from his book and passing it over, he added, “My fees are listed. I’ll see you next Thursday.”