I swear, adult coloring books are for the criminally stupid. Jennifer is across from me, making another mandala. She’s been working on this one for like three days. There are so many colored pencils between us, I could build a wall out of them and block her fat face from my view.
“Pretty sure the sky isn’t supposed to be that color,” she says.
“Well gee, Jennifer, who knew the sky was the problem here?” I snap.
“What are you, fifty?” New Girl asks. “Who the fuck is named Jennifer?” I laugh. That was funny. New Girl doesn’t know the torment Jen-Jen suffers because of her name.
“I’m fourteen, just like you,” Jenny snaps as she turns toward me. “Why does everyone think you’re nice?”
I grin at her with all my teeth and continue coloring my yellow sky with pink puffy clouds. I am nice. I’m compliant. I rarely talk unless I’m in group. I help put away chairs, and I’m up and pleasant as soon as the lights come on.
Maybe I’ll draw some little flowers on the indigo hill. I’ll make them blue and see if Jennifer believes flowers can be blue. Maybe I’ll get in trouble for coloring outside the lines, being creative, or not expressing myself in an appropriate manner.
Allison looks over my shoulder, “You’re so imaginative, Charlotte. What does this vibrant landscape represent to you?” I smile at her too. I am very cooperative. Very happy. Very bored. And very over it.
“I think the world can be—” I say, but there’s a commotion at the other table when a girl screams and mashes a handful of pastels into her book. Apparently, she’s over it, too.
Jennifer keeps coloring, but I’m watching the show, grateful Allison is busy elsewhere. Alison isn’t as bad as some of the others. I question why anyone would choose this as a career. I mean, I’m forced to be here, but they come here voluntarily day in and day out. She’s worked here for six years. I can’t imagine being here that long.
Humming—again. Jennifer is always humming. Jennifer is my ‘Buddy’. Jennifer is my roommate. Jennifer and I are always together. They know we don’t match. That’s the point. If we liked each other, we could collude and do terrible things, like steal extra crackers or sneak into the adult male center, like those three girls did a year ago. That ended badly for everyone.
Not me. I am perfect. In fact, I’m too perfect. Well, until I’m not perfect. Not perfect gets you a vacation at Dojo Loco, or what my father calls finishing school. Whatever that is.
I can never get away from Jennifer and her humming. I’d like to bash her face in with a fist full of pastels. Instead, I hold up my cheery little landscape and whisper, “This is what the world looks like right after the bomb hits. A flash then ash.”
I chuckle when her eyes shine. That stopped the humming. For someone with a scar running from wrist to elbow, she certainly fears death. “Afraid to live. Afraid to die,” I sing.
“You’re sick,” she whispers.
“That’s why I’m here. That’s why you’re here. That’s why we’re all here.” A tear falls to her cheek, and I wish I had someone to high-five. Although that’d be dumb. Maybe I’m fifty. Who the hell high-fives?
“That’s not why I’m here,” New Girl says.
“Yeah,“ I snort. “We all think that in the beginning,”
“Don’t listen to her,” Jenny warns. “Is this your first time?” Oh no, Jenny’s taking in another stray. Soon, New Girl is going to be crying in my room at all hours.
She nods.
“Cutting your face gets you finger food,” I say. That’s actual, good advice, not the horse shit they sell here. New Girl touches her cheek. By the looks of her, she’s not getting out anytime soon.
Allison has moved the problematic girl to ‘Whisper Corner’ to talk about her feelings, or more likely, how to properly express her feelings. No one gives a shit about how we feel. Just what we do when we can feel. Can’t make anyone uncomfortable with inappropriate feelings.
Me, I like pills. Any pills. All pills. They give me pills, and I take them. I’ve taken them all…several times. That’s why they think they’re never letting me out.
But I am getting out. I say everything right. I express my feelings so good. I cry big tears when they think I should be sad, and smile with my entire face when they think I should be happy.
Allison pulls up a chair beside me. “Why is the sky yellow, Charlotte?”
I want to say, ‘Because I knew Jen’s OCD would flip out over it,’ but I know the game. So instead, I say. “Yellow is my favorite color, and the sky was the biggest part of the picture.” That’s actually true.
I love yellow and orange; bright, happy colors. I wanted to paint my bedroom yellow, but that’s not a happy place. And my mom said no. She thinks walls should be crisp, clean, and white.
“If you could color anything yellow, what would you choose?” No way in hell I’m answering this question in front of New Girl and Jenny. I shrug. Allison waits. I really hate this shit.
Bedroom, no. Clothes, no. Mom’s clothes, definitely no. What in my life deserves this happy color? The answer is…nothing.
Shit, I’m falling for her bull. I sigh and smile. “There are so many possibilities, it’s hard to pick just one, so I would paint everything yellow.”
“Why?”
Fuuuuck! I want to say, ‘Because it will shut you up, because the world would be a happy place, because I would be happy looking at it’. Instead, I say, “I just want everyone to be happy.”
Jen grunts, and Allison says, “You always have the right answers.” My smile broadens. I am so winning at this shit.
