Between Here and Forever - Elizabeth Scott [43]
twenty-nine
We end up talking on the stairs until it’s dark outside. Eli first started showing signs of obsessive-compulsive disorder when he started school, and found out he could only do his work in a certain way.
“And if I didn’t,” he says, “I’d get—I don’t even know how to describe it. It was like I was going to die—I mean, I actually felt like I was—and all because I didn’t do things like I was supposed to.”
It got worse as he got older, and his parents sent him to doctors, put him on medication, and told him he just had to tell himself to stop.
“They made it sound like it was so easy,” he says. “Like if I just thought about it enough, I’d realize ‘Hey, walking through a doorway forty times to stop myself from dying if I cross through it on my right foot is stupid!’ Like I didn’t already know that. I did. I do. I just—I can’t help it.”
I think about how he walks a little behind me, like he has to, and how I’m always catching him moving his fingers like he’s restless.
Or counting out something.
I think about how he reacted when I punched in the unit door code with my left hand instead of my right. How weird I thought he was being afterward.
How upset he must have been.
“I—I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know.”
He looks at me. “You didn’t?”
I shake my head.
“Wow. I figure it’s—I figure it’s all anyone can see,” he says. “After Harvey was put to sleep, I got even worse. It used to take me two hours to get ready to leave the house every morning. My parents were—they weren’t happy. I went to see more doctors, had my medicine adjusted, everything. But nothing—I couldn’t get better. Even now, I still have to—” He points at his hands.
“So you came here to see another doctor or something?” I say.
He laughs, but it’s a sad, bitter sound. “No. I mean, I do see a doctor. But my parents—I was embarrassing them. All their friends have kids who can, as my father says, control themselves. But the madder they got, the worse I got, and … well, like I said, I was embarrassing them. So they sent me to live with Clement. I spent years listening to my dad complain about this place—we never came to visit, you know, not ever—and they still sent me here.”
“That’s—your parents suck,” I say.
He stares at me.
“I’m sorry, but they do. You’re amazing and—” I break off, aware of what I’ve just said. Out loud. “Anyway, they do suck.”
“They’re not that—okay, yeah, they do,” he says. “I hate it here. Well, not everything. Clement’s okay. And you …”
I hold my breath, waiting in spite of myself, hoping in spite of myself, but he doesn’t finish his sentence, just trails off and taps his fingers against his legs.
“I really hate this,” he finally says, looking at his fingers. “I hate my brain. If it worked right my parents would—I don’t know. Not act like I was something they need to hide.” He looks at me. “What’s it like having parents that actually like you?”
“Ask Tess,” I say, and realize how bitter I must sound because he tilts his head a little to one side, like I’ve surprised him. I immediately feel guilty, not just because my parents are amazing compared to his, but also because it’s not my parents’ fault I’m not Tess. That’s nobody’s fault.
“I don’t mean it like it sounds,” I say. “My parents are okay. It’s just that since she got hurt, it’s … I’m not Tess, and it’s become this huge, obvious thing that—it’s all I can think about. I can’t draw everyone to me like she does. I don’t know how to shine like she does. She would know what to do now, if I was where she is. She always knows what to do and I … don’t.”
“You seem to be doing okay to me.”
“But I’m not. If Tess doesn’t wake up in the next few days, she’s getting moved to a home. And my parents … it’s breaking their hearts, you know? They’re not happy and Tess