“No.” Not the medicine. I’d finally almost come off it.
“Yes.”
“You can’t make me go.”
“We’re picking you up straight after college.”
I wasn’t going, I wasn’t going to go.
“Fine,” I said, to shut them up. And while they were all still reeling – Rose still crying, Dad still fuming, Mum still rocking on the floor…I saw my chance.
I ran out the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bathroom to shower.
Once the water hit me, I felt so much better.
Why I didn’t want to admit I was having a relapse
I really thought I’d got better. I really thought it had gone away. Coming off the meds was the last chapter of the book of nightmares I’d picked off the shelf three years ago. It was the epilogue to a one-off story, the one-night-only performance of When Evie Went Crazy.
If I was having a relapse now, that meant, in time, I’d have another one. And another…
If I was having a relapse, this meant it was “chronic”.
I was stuck like this.
I would always be like this.
This is who I was.
“Sick” was who I was.
“Crazy” was who I was.
And I just wanted to have one shower in the morning, like everybody else. And go to college without it feeling like the world’s biggest effort, like everybody else. And brush my teeth twice a day, like everybody else. And get the train, like everybody else. And not feel sick with fear all the time, like everybody else. And relax occasionally, like everybody else. And have fun with my friends, like everybody else. And get kissed, like everybody else. And go on holiday, like everybody else. And fall in love, like everybody else. And not cry every day, like everybody else. And not have stiff muscles and be in constant pain from stress, like everybody else. And eat hamburgers with my hands like everybody else. And to…
My phone went – buzzing dully on my bedside table.
It was him. Finally it was him.
I can’t stop thinking about last night.
I didn’t think I was capable of smiling that evening. But this made me smile and I was so grateful for the pitter-patter of light in the clunking mess of my life.
That’s when I decided it. If they were going to drag me back to Sarah, if they were going to label me with diagnoses you can find on NICE guidelines where “who you are” is defined as a list of symptoms, if they were going to confirm my worst suspicions…
…Evelyn, you’re not like everybody else. You are wrong. Who you are is wrong. It needs treatment.
Well then, I’d make the most out of pretending to be normal while I still could.
I wrote back – not even waiting the obligatory five hours you’re supposed to.
Me neither. What you doing tomorrow?
An instant reply.
My parents are out all evening. Come over?
Thirty-seven
I pulled back my bedroom curtains the next morning and squealed. The frost had come! The frost had finally come.
Good but unhelpful thought
It freezes all the dirt. It makes the air clean.
I loved winter – with its fresh cold air and its jewelled blades of grass and how everyone shut themselves away and left each other alone.
I also hated winter. Flu season and the yearly norovirus stories bombarding the pages of local newspapers, making me stop eating anything from the cafeteria, or touching doorknobs without covering my hand with my jumper first.
I wiggled out of my pyjamas and started the treacherous business of deciding what to wear to Guy’s house… Skirt? Too obvious? And tights would be a nightmare to get off. But then so are jeans…and would I be taking anything off anyway…? There was a soft knock on my door.
“Hang on,” I said, from inside a checked shirt I couldn’t decide was “girl-next-doory” or just plain “farmy”.
“It’s Mum.” She marched straight in without waiting and sat on the bed. “You’ll freeze to death in that shirt.”
“That’s why I’m taking it off.”
“Your dad and I are picking you up from college at ten past four. We’ll meet you in the car park and we can all drive to Sarah together.”
“Cool,” I said.
I won’t be there, I thought.
Mum picked up my pillow and stroked it absent-mindedly, which meant now I’d have to find some way to wash it.
“I’m really proud of you, Evie. I’ve noticed you’ve not had a shower this morning. That’s really brave.”
Most people would think that was really gross…
Plus, it wasn’t quite true. I’d set the alarm for 4.45 that morning, snuck into the family bathroom and thoroughly flannelled every bit of my skin while they slept. It hadn’t been easy – as I’d predicted, all the shampoo and soap had been confiscated, just like last time – but I’d searched right at the back of the cupboard under the sink, and found an unopened bottle of hand soap.
I now stunk of honey and oatmeal hand wash.
“Uh-hur.” I pulled on this cool see-throughish jumper I’d forgotten I had and it was actually perfect. Guy would love it, especially if I backcombed my hair to match…
“It would be great if you could talk to Rose. She was really upset about last night.”
I tried not to rise to the bait – focusing instead on combing my hair upside down.
“I was upset too.”
“I know…but you could’ve been more thoughtful.”
I bit my lip.
BAD THOUGHT
It’s been years, and your own mother still thinks it’s something you’re able to control.
BAD THOUGHT
She cares more about Rose than she does about you.
BAD THOUGHT
Because Rose isn’t broken…
“I’m sorry, Mum. I’ll try and control myself next time.”
My clipped delivery was lost on her.
“Thank you. We’re going to get through this, Evie, it’s just a blip. That’s all. Have a good day, see you at four ten.”
“No, you won’t,” I said to the door, when I was sure she wouldn’t hear me.
I couldn’t wait to get outside. I couldn’t wait to get to college. Guy was there! And I was going to his house. And my friends were there – and I could be normal all day. God, the frost was beautiful. I skidded on icy patches and watched my breath crystallize as it left my mouth.
And then Guy was literally there – waiting by a lamp post I had no desire to touch because I was so happy about the frost. I skidded to a stop.
“Guy?” I asked, even though it was definitely him.
He looked up and smiled in a way that’s illegal in several states of America.
“Morning, Eves.”
He kissed me right away with no grand introduction. His lips were cold, which made me even happier and even more desperate to keep kissing him. He pulled away and draped an arm around me, steering me past several lamp posts I didn’t even notice. “So you’re on for mine later?”
I nodded, my heart fluttering like mad.
“It’s going to be great.” He squeezed my hand which could’ve been romantic, or could’ve been aggressive, depending on what mood you were in.
I was in mood “both”. I gulped.
“Great,” I echoed.
I watched him as we walked to college, fancying him more with each step. He was a boy, and he had his arm around me. That was the sort of thing I saw happening to other girls. And he was a good-looking boy…with his weird – but fit – pinched nostrils and his weird – but fit – dark circles under his eyes.
He didn’t talk. Were we supposed to talk?
I tried, nervous about using my own voice. “So, how was Joel’s party?” I asked.
He grinned. “Epic.”