I've been a writing fool this week. I decided to do something crazy: At the same time as workshopping my full length play for the next six weeks, I thought I'd better go ahead and write 50,000 words for my novel in one month. AT. THE. SAME. TIME. Annnnd I thought I'd share with you what's been bumping along in this noggin of mine. (: This is the whole first chapter from my new novel. Let me know what you think!
Chapter One
I
hold my breath as I slip inside an empty elevator after checking in with the
hospital’s psych ward. Outpatient Pick Up:
4:15pm. Patient: Elaine Walters.
Parent/Guardian: Gabby Walters. The
doors glide shut and I let out a long, ragged sigh. Her second hospitalization
in six months. This time for twelve days. My freedom, gone.
No
more Bob Dylan. She hates Bob Dylan.
No
more Freaks and Geeks. She thinks it’ll
make me want to hang out with the wrong crowd at school.
No
more short shorts to bed. She wants me to be a “lady.”
No
more pretending I’m someone I’m not.
She always gets what she wants.
Anger rises in me as I rest my head on the cool glass. She’ll see you’re mad. Hide it. The cage descends to the main lobby
of the hospital. My stomach lurches. I drank a can of Pepsi before arriving—it
almost comes up, burning my throat. I swallow and cringe. The elevator’s bell
dings and the doors open. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall. I don’t
like what I see: A trapped animal, eyes glazed. Acceptance.
I
step out of the elevator and glance at the large clock across the lobby.
Fifteen minutes until Mama’s release. Enough time for a cigarette. I grab my
pack from my bag and feel the worn edges of the cardboard. I’ve almost rubbed a
hole in the bottom corner.
“You
can’t smoke in here.”
Startled,
I look up. A teenage girl sits on a bench under the clock, her eyebrows raised
and a sideways smile on her lips. Her ashy blonde hair is pulled up in a high
ponytail. She wears a cross country varsity jacket.
“Seriously.
Put that away before you get caught,” she points to the front desk and winks at
me.
“I
was gonna go outside,” I reply, confused.
She
nods her approval. “Be on your way, citizen.” I start for the front doors,
ready for the autumn chill on the other side, away from the Lysol infused lobby,
away from this strange girl, away from my crazy mother, but Ponytail yells out,
“Hold on! What’s your name?”
I
don’t know why I stop, but I do. I turn to her. “Gabby.”
“Gabby.
Hmm,” her eyes light up as she studies me. “You work at Dean’s. That little flower shop—you’re the cashier!”
“You’ve…seen
me before?” I ask.
“I
came in a while ago with my dad. He wanted help in picking out a bouquet for
his newest ‘catch.’ It didn’t end well. Not because of your flowers—He’s an
idiot—”
“Weren’t
you a brunette?”
She
laughs. “You have a fabulous memory! My hair changes all the time. Do you like
it? I’m thinking of switching it up soon…”
I
have no idea how to answer. “Yeah,” I say, but she doesn’t look convinced. “It
suits you.”
We’re
quiet for a moment and I take it as my cue to exit. She stops me again.
“I
see you around school, you know. Everyone does, it’s a small place,” she grins
at me. “You’d have fun if you tried.”
My anger flares. “I have fun.”
“If you think being a loner is fun,
sign me up. But I’m a skeptic.”
“…Whatever,”
I say before pulling out a cigarette and turning my face away. I focus on my
breathing and blink back tears. I don’t know where they come from. I rub my
eyes and glance back at her. She looks down at her lap, uncomfortable. What’s wrong with me? It’s then I notice
the crutches leaning next to her on the bench.
She
clears her throat. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Sometimes I’m a smartass
and let things slip out,” she pauses. “I’m sorry.”
Embarrassed
at her genuine apology, I hold up my hand, the cigarette pack like a shield. “You’re
good. It’s fine. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” I lie.
“People
can be jerks.”
She
waits for my reaction. I let out a sigh, “Yeah. They can be pretty stupid.” She
beams at me and I laugh. It sounds rusted but feels good. She laughs with me.
Hers’ sounds like water.
“I’m
Laura,” she says and holds out her hand. I hesitate before shaking it. Her
palm’s cool. “What’d I tell you about smoking in here?”
“Right!
Outside. I forgot,” I say before rubbing the pack and putting it back in my
bag. “I thought I could sneak one in before picking up my mom, but it looks
like I’ve gotta go.”
“She doesn’t know you smoke and
you’re with her 24/7?”
Is that an accomplishment?
I nod and blush. Why am I blushing? Can she see?
“You
keep getting more and more fascinating,” Laura leans forward and then whispers,
“Tell me your secrets.”
“Maybe some other time,” I laugh and
then wish I could take it back. Will I see her? Probably not, but here I am,
lying…again.
“You sticking to that?” she asks,
picking at her fingernails.
“I—I—”
I hate that I stutter.
She
points at me. “How about this: I give you my number and you give me yours and
we’ll hang out tomorrow. My brother’s got some idiot friends you might find
interesting. I think we’re headed out to the lake—”
“We’re
in the middle of October. It’ll be freezing by now,” I stammer.
“But
that’s half the fun, Gabs,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Besides, it’s
just gonna be a bonfire. What do you say?”
Don’t regret this later.
“Sure. Yeah. Sounds good.”
I
write down my number and hand it to her. She pockets it in her jacket. “Excellent.”
The intercom blares, “Gabby Walters
to the psychiatric ward. Gabby Walters. Thank you.”
With all I have in me, I don’t want
to be here. I close my eyes and see my small bedroom with the unmade bed and
open window above my mountain of pillows, the ashtray hidden underneath my
dresser, my bookcase of plays. The need is so visceral I can almost smell my
pumpkin candle burning. But then I open my eyes and see the front desk has a
pumpkin candle. Get going.
“Is that you?” Laura asks. I can’t
think of a reply as I stash my cigarettes and sprint for the elevator. My heart
beats loud and hard in my chest. “We’re cool for tomorrow? Meet up after
school?”
I don’t answer, just let the door
close. Once I’m alone, I find my voice.
“I
hate my life.”
