Calm down. Calm down.
Isabel repeats the mantra in the shower. Calm down.
Back in her room she towel-dries her hair and sifts through her clothes for something that does not smell, something that will cover her unshaven legs.
Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Guess what? I’m undergoing electroshock therapy! Aren’t you proud of your baby girl?
Isabel stands in front of her metal mirror. Glass mirrors are not provided at Three Breezes. Waves of acid gnaw at her stomach lining.
Work’s tough these days, Dad? Aw. Poor thing. Sometimes? When the nurse applies the suction cups to the sides of my forehead? They don’t quite stick and she has to apply more cold jelly. I hate it when that happens, don’t you?
Nearly two hours before her parents are supposed to arrive, Isabel has already washed and dried her hair and cleaned her neat room.
I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is the doctors think my treatment is working beautifully. The bad news is the treatment is…drum roll, please…electroshock therapy. How ‘bout them apples?
“Isabel?” Someone is knocking on her door.
“Come in.”
Lark appears in the doorway.
For a moment, Isabel sees her as her parents will see her: a strung-out mental patient in tacky polyester clothes.
“What’s up?”
“Want to smoke?” Lark asks sheepishly.
“Sure.” Isabel is relieved to have a distraction. She has been so anxious about her parents’ visit she had barely slept the night before. Now time seems to be dragging.
It does not occur to Isabel until they are pulling their plastic deck chairs together that Lark is anxious, too.
“How’s it going?” Isabel asks.
“Fine,” Lark grunts, preoccupied with getting some secondhand smoke into her system.
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Lark leans in for Isabel’s exhale.
Wouldn’t it be funny if Mom and Dad turned the corner right now and saw me practically making out with Lark?
“My parents are coming in a couple of hours.”
“You glad about that?”
“I guess,” Isabel admits.
“You can be happy about seeing your parents, you know,” Lark says, cracking what for her amounted to a smile. “You don’t have to hide it on my account.”
“It’s weird how nervous I am. I feel like I’ve been in a cave or something.”
“Yeah. I know the feeling.”
Isabel signs herself out so that she can await her parents’ arrival. Around the corner, at the edge of the small parking lot, she positions herself on the low rock wall so that she can see both points of entry. She checks her watch every thirty seconds.
I bet they’re turning into the hospital grounds right…about…now.
Isabel stands as the black Range Rover turns into the lot.
“Mom.” Isabel nervously and woodenly hugs her mother. Over her shoulder she looks for her father.
“Oh, honey.”
“Where’s Dad?” Isabel knows the answer before it is spoken.