Up in the Sky

I’m 15, but I’ll be 16 in two months.

Old enough to have some say in whether I want to see another stupid doctor. Not that they ever give me a choice. I'm sick and tired of my parents dragging me from place to place like this. 

My mother says, “We’re seeking someone to help us solve your problem.”

What problem? I don’t have a problem. I like to be left alone to do my shit, but that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me. Well, there was that suicide attempt, but that’s in the past. I’m okay now. But my parents don’t get it. If they would listen, they could’ve saved all the money they spend on shrinks.

  Tommy sat beside his parents, arms crossed in front of his chest, lips tight. His deep brown eyes smouldered with fury. His narrow shoulders trembled in a contained rage. His father, a cardiologist, mirrored Tommy’s posture, crossing his arms over his bulging abdomen.

             His mother, a psychologist, sat beside her husband. Her right leg bounced up and down with nervous intensity.

Tommy sneered and thought; my father looks after hearts and my mother takes care of lost souls. Too bad they haven't been as successful with me. Not like, Pam, she’s the normal one, the perfect child.

Despite his bitterness, Tommy liked his sister.

She was pretty cool, as far as sisters went. She was fun to be around and she called things how she saw them. He always knew where he stood with Pam. 

"You're a good guy," she often said to him, “but kind of weird. Look at all the stupid stuff you read. Dostoevsky, Nietzsche, Hess. Could you be any more boring?”

He grimaced and said, “I don’t care what you think, I like those books.” A second later he asked, “But you like me, don’t you?”

Pam smiled and ruffled his hair. “Sure, but only in my spare time.”

His sister always made his heart feel lighter.

  Tommy’s reverie was interrupted by the receptionist. ”You may go in now.”

Behind the imposing mahogany desk, Dr. Wilson leaned back in his comfortable 

leather chair, waiting.

“Tommy, Joanna, Alfred, please take a seat,'' he said with an affable smile.

The boy had to force himself not to stare as the small mustache perched above Dr. Wilson’s largemouth twitched up and down with his words. "So, Tommy, tell me how are you doing?” 

He rolled his eyes and looked around the room, fidgeting. "I'm fine,

and you?''

Alfred shifted in his seat. Joanna pleaded, sounding upset, "Tommy, try to be polite."

"Both of you, please, take it easy,”  intervened Dr. Wilson. “Well, young man, you and I have known each other for a long time, right? I’m sure you realize your parents and I want the best for you.” He cleared his throat.

Dr. Wilson seems nervous. This must be bad news, the boy thought. 

The doctor continued, confirming Tommy’s suspicions. "That’s why we think you should spend some time in our facility.” 

 An invisible weight pressed upon the boy’s chest, rendering him momentarily paralyzed. He squeaked out the words

“You what?” Wariness tightened his features. He understood “our facility” was a euphemism used to hide the nature of the place, as he saw it;  a madhouse, an asylum, a psychiatric hospital. A place for crazy people. 

They decide everything in my life like I'm a puppet and they pull the strings. I hate it. He dug his nails in his palms.

“You knew about this, Mother?’’ A knot twisted his stomach, and pain stabbed his heart. His mother had betrayed him. 

"It’s going to be only for a short time, love,” his mother said.

“Don’t call me love,” he replied.

The boy’s tears came to the edge of his eyelids. He glanced out the window and tried to clear his mind. He concentrated on the flowers of a magnolia tree, which petals fluttered in the gentle breeze.

“I think you’ll benefit from this, Tommy. We have a good program for young people like yourself,’’ said the doctor, his voice calm. As if that would somehow convince the boy what they were suggesting was a good thing.      

He realized

they’d already made up their mind. Eyes tightening, he dropped his shoulders.

 Whatever, he muttered.   

“Once you see our facility and experience the program, you’ll be convinced it was a good decision,'' said Dr. Wilson. 

His mother tried to hold his hand, but Tommy refused. The doctor rose from his seat, ending the meeting.

 On the way home, the boy sat in the back seat, immersed in his thoughts, as his father drove back to their place.

Tommy sensed something wasn’t right with himself. What’s wrong with me? Why am I always sad? I hate going to school and the stupid jerks in my class. I’d like to go to sleep and never wake up. That would be cool.

***  

 When they got home, Tommy went straight to his bedroom, slammed the door, and threw himself on the bed. Downstairs, his parents decided his fate. He needed to overhear their conversation. He got up, took the stairs, and tiptoed towards his parent’s office. Staring at the partly open door ahead of him, he listened. His heart hammered in his chest. 

           "I just want to have a clear diagnosis,” his father’s voice sounded concerned.

"Honey, you must realize staying at the clinic is the best for him,” said his mother.

“I’m not so sure.”

"You know he’s been seen by the best specialists in Toronto, and all have said the same. Why are you not convinced?”

Looking through the half-open door, he saw his father sitting on his desk chair, holding his head with both hands, defeated. His mother stood by his side, she squeezed his father’s shoulder and cried.

 Tommy made his way back to his room. He slumped on a chair, rested his head on the back of it and closed his eyes. 

Why do my parents think I’d be okay at the clinic? The truth is they don’t want me around because I’m a pain in the neck. They want to get rid of me and send me away. I know they do.

He stood and walked toward the open window. The evening brought a warm, gentle breeze filtering through his bedroom. From there he could see the pool, the tennis court, and the beautiful garden full of rose bushes, manicured shrubs, and trees.

 Sure, I could have anything I want, but I’m not happy. Not here. But there is 

a place where I’d feel content; in the clouds. Yeah, up in the sky. I’d like to be a bird to fly off, I don’t know where, but far away from here.

  When he travelled with his parents by plane, he loved to watch the clouds, which were like sculptures made of cotton wool. He imagined them as anything he wanted them to be. At times he glimpsed at a wild horse running freely, or a majestic raven flying high above a mountain peak, or a giant butterfly. 

His thoughts drifted away. 

Well, maybe spending some time with other nuts like me won’t be so bad, he said to himself. He packed a bag with some clothing, ready for the next day, and went to his sister's room.

"What’s up?” she asked, painting her toenails.

His sad demeanor touched his sister’s heart. "Getting my shit ready to go to the madhouse,” he said. 

"Yeah, Mom told me about it. And don’t be silly, it is not a madhouse. It’s just a place to rest and get your head around stuff. That’s all. And remember what I always said, Tommy, if you don’t open your mouth, you might pass for normal.” She laughed at her own joke.                             

  “Now who’s the silly one?” he asked, half smiling.

The first days at the clinic were difficult for Tommy. He couldn’t get used to the routines, endless group sessions, and useless talks with Dr. Wilson. But after the first week, things got better. As part of the program, the boys were offered weekly outings to the city center. 

He first saw her in a window while he was walking through a busy street.  She was staring into space, her blue eyes enormous, her long dark hair framing the oval of her young face. She smiled slightly, her parted lips painted the soft pink of an early morning sky.

 "She is so beautiful,” he whispered, almost breathless. That night he couldn't sleep, thinking about the mysterious girl in the window.

I have to see her again or I’ll die. I need to make sure it wasn’t a dream, he told himself.

Tommy kept going on weekly outings with his group. Every time he saw the girl in the window, he was sure his heart would escape from his chest as a feeling of overwhelming happiness came over him. He didn’t notice the girl was always at the same window, her expression unchanged, she didn’t move and she never smiled. But he didn’t care. He fell in love with all the impetus of his tender years and began to fantasize about how life would be with her.

He was certain she’d be good for him, that he could be happy with her in his life. 

He may even feel normal.

One day, as the group walked back to the clinic, he whispered to himself,

I have to do something.”

Then, as determination rose, he thought,

I must do it.”

That night, Tommy began to plan his strategy.

I'm going to run away with her, take her to a safe place, and I’ll see what to do then.

On the next outing, Tommy gathered all the courage he could muster in his feeble mind. He left the group and ran to the window where the girl was. He had hidden in his jacket, a hammer he took from the janitor closet the night before at the clinic. With both hands, he grabbed the hammer and with the force of a cyclone broke the glass to pieces.

He took the girl in his arms and ran to the street.

           In his desperate attempt to get away, he didn’t notice a truck coming in the opposite direction. As the truck slammed into Tommy, the girl leaped from his hands, her plastic arms, and legs flying away from her trunk. The boy landed on his back, staring at the sky. He wasn’t in any pain but felt a dense, warm fluid running down the back of his neck.

Tommy looked at the clouds with eyes half-closed. An incomparable sense of calmness flooded his body; he felt light, almost ethereal, as he finally closed his eyes.

          A police officer arrived at the scene of the accident. He found a boy lying on his back with a peaceful expression painted on his face. A pool of blood escaped from his head. Tommy had no pulse.

Despite his many years in the police force, a feeling of sympathy and sorrow came over him at the waste of such a young life.

The police officer shouted: “Get that mannequin off the road!”