Someone new arrived today, so apparently our nuthouse is still the hottest club in town after all. He says his name is Squirrel. I can’t imagine anyone would name a kid that, but it’s what he wants to be called. And it sort of fits him. He’s really skinny, and he darts his eyes all over the place when he’s talking, like he’s afraid that if he looks right at you, you’ll explode.
We met him in group today. As the rest of us introduced ourselves, I couldn’t help thinking about my first day. Did I look as freaked out as Squirrel did? Probably. Then again, I had Bone, Alice, and Sadie in my group. That would freak anyone out. Squirrel just has me, Juliet, and Martha. I don’t think any of us are all that scary. Well, maybe Juliet is, but only once you get to know her. Even then, she’s not so bad.
I don’t know what Squirrel’s problem is. He didn’t say. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say he’s probably got a couple of things going on. Maybe drugs. Maybe depression. Maybe both. You kind of start to catch on to this stuff when you’ve been here a while. It’s almost like every problem has a different smell. Squirrel smells like a combination of cigarette ashes and cotton candy. It’s not pretty.
I wonder if everyone knew right off that I’d tried to kill myself. I mean, I did have bandages on my wrists, so it wasn’t like it was a total mystery. They didn’t know about the gay thing, though. They couldn’t see that.
Except maybe Rankin. Maybe he knew. Why else would he have done what he did? Sure, I was the only other guy here. But would he have done that with Bone? Did he do that with Bone? I think he probably would have if he’d had the chance. It’s not like he was in love with me or anything. It was just something he did. I didn’t mean anything to him. Then again, he didn’t really mean anything to me either, so I guess that makes us even.
Funny, I’ve fooled around with a guy I didn’t care about, and the one guy I have cared about would never even think about touching me. Sometimes I wonder if Burke does ever think about me. I mean, he and Allie must have talked about what happened. I wonder if he ever imagines what it would be like if we did do anything. I mean, I’ve wondered about what it would be like with Allie even though she’s a girl. And since Burke knows I like him, wouldn’t he have to think about it? Or is the idea of it so disgusting that he can’t even imagine it?
I wonder if Allie thinks about what it would be like to have sex with me. That’s a little harder to imagine. But I know Allie. She dwells on stuff. Forever. “Letting go” is a foreign concept to her. Three years ago, Meg Crenshaw made a comment about how a sweater Allie wore made her look like a Sunday School teacher. Allie still hasn’t forgotten it.
I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do about that. Not about the sweater. About how Allie feels. Not that it’s totally up to me. Allie has a say in it, too. So does Burke, I guess. It sounds weird, but I really don’t think I care what he thinks of me anymore. Allie is more important to me than he is. But am I more important to her than Burke? I guess I wouldn’t blame her if she picked her boyfriend over me. I’d be really pissed off, though.
Anyway, back to Squirrel. I talked to him a little bit this afternoon. He’s still on the Wonder Drug, so I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet that he’s in a psych ward. Part of me wanted to tell him. Then I remembered how cool it was to fly around in space smelling clean air, and I decided not to.
Instead, we played Monopoly. I know, it’s the most boring game in existence. But it’s good for killing time, and you don’t have to think too much about it. Juliet and Martha played, too. Juliet was the top hat, Martha was the little dog, I was the shoe, and Squirrel was the race car.
Martha won. She bought up all the red properties and set up hotels there, and that wiped the rest of us out. For someone who barely says anything, that girl is one tough landlord. When I couldn’t pay the rent on Indiana Avenue, she made me give her Marvin Gardens and the Reading Railroad. She’s like a little Donald Trump, only with better hair.
Afterward, the four of us sat there watching the snow fall outside. For some reason, I counted, and I realized that I’m getting out of here on Valentine’s Day. That’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? I mean, I ended up here because I was all heartbroken over Burke. Now I’m getting out on the most romantic day of the year.
Maybe I should make Burke a valentine. Just kidding. I’m so over him. Sure, he’s cute. And nice. And funny. Okay, so maybe I’m not totally over him. But there’s that whole being straight thing. That’s kind of a problem as far as he and I being boyfriends go.
Besides, I don’t think it was really him I wanted. It was the idea of him. I saw how happy he made Allie. Makes Allie. Present tense. At least, I assume they’re still together.
Maybe someday I’ll have a boyfriend to give a valentine to. Thinking about that kind of makes me sick, actually. I’m not exactly romantic, you know? And did you know that Valentine’s Day originally started when this emperor like a million years ago made marriage illegal because he thought it made soldiers weak? This priest—Valentine—married people in secret anyway, and he ended up having his head cut off because of it. So the first Valentine was some guy’s head. There’s some history for you.
It’s sort of perfect, when you think about it. Isn’t falling in love a lot like losing your head?