“They were here?” Everything that had happened afterward was lost in a fog.
“He wanted to stay, but it was better that he be the one to go home. He would be making everyone uncomfortable, not least of all me.”
A tall, dark-haired nurse who looked a few days short of retirement came in to check on me. It was clear from the expression on her face that she thought she had more important nursing responsibilities than attending to another teenager who had overdosed on some party drug. She checked my blood pressure and pulse, checked my temperature, and then muttered something about sending in some breakfast.
My mother was displeased with her indifferent behavior but thought it better not to complain. Apparently, one of Lily Putney’s more credible lackeys, Toby Morgan, had told the police she had seen me take a pill in the girls’ room. When they pressured her to tell them who had given it to me, she gave them the biggest lie possible, tell
ing them, “No one. She had it on her. In fact, she tried to give one to me.”
After my mother told me all this, I started to cry. Maybe it was a residual effect from the drugs, but I couldn’t help it. All my emotions still seemed heightened, and I hated it. I don’t think there was anything I hated more than not being in control of myself. That was why I would never take drugs, nor would I want to get drunk. I wouldn’t even take a puff on a joint. I often wondered why those in my school who did take drugs weren’t concerned about losing their self-control and being at the mercy of others.
I knew this was an even bigger reason the other girls thought I was so different from them. It wasn’t only my IQ. That they could stand. What they could not abide was being made to feel inferior because of what they wanted to do, what made them happy, what they thought was important. I had come to believe that no matter where I was or who was with me, I would always make others feel inferior. How’s that for a curse?
And my teachers and the school administrators were telling me I was blessed, exceptional, and full of potential.
Potential for what? Unhappiness?
“She’s lying, Mom. I never took any drugs. Where would I get them to give to someone else? How would I have money for such things?”
“I know, honey,” she said, but there was that small hesitation, that movement of her eyes to look away. She was my mother; she knew how depressed I was feeling lately. Depressed people often turned to drugs.
But I couldn’t imagine my mother would believe I had deliberately done this to myself. After all, I was the above-genius daughter, larger than life, who had never broken a rule, someone who not only knew right from wrong but also knew the consequences, the statistical risks of deliberately making such mistakes. How many times had she heard me explain to my brother and sister why things were the way they were and why they should never be tempted? So often she had turned to me to “help your brother and sister understand.” It was their nature to be constantly coming back with why this, why that. After a hard day’s work, my mother didn’t have the patience to defend her decisions.
In my mother’s mind, my super intelligence made me almost angelic. It was God who had touched me with this brilliance, wasn’t it? Okay, what some accused me of doing wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility, even if it wasn’t probable, but what also made her my mother was her faith in me to tell the truth, especially to her.
“Your daddy had an important meeting this morning,” my mother said. “He got Randall and Andrea off to school.”
“And you’ve got to go to work,” I said, now feeling more terrible for her than for myself. She was going to have to explain why she was late. She and my father were going to have to justify this to lots of people, people who would not believe that I was a victim of anyone but myself. Skepticism was almost the lifeblood of our community. It was difficult not to be cynical. Teenagers were mostly trouble. Why would my high grades be enough to grant me special treatment?
“It’ll be all right,” she said, standing. “You’ve got to stay here for a day or so to be sure you’re all right. I’ll get back as soon as I’m able. Your daddy will see to Andrea and Randall after school, but then he’s got to go to work.”
“Is he very mad?”
She leaned over to kiss me on the forehead and brush back my hair. She smiled. “You know your daddy, with that military police training. He never met a rule he didn’t like.”
We always used to joke about it and tease him, but right now, it didn’t seem very funny to me.
“Someone did this to me, Mom. He’s got to believe that.”
“He will. He’s just embarrassed right now. Don’t worry. Do what they tell you so you can get home quickly.” She patted my hand and started out, looking like the night had aged her years.
I began to cry but kept my tears from building and pressed my lips together. My chest ached with the tension, and then one of the nursing aides brought in some light breakfast for me. I ate what I could and fell asleep. Afterward, one of the doctors on duty, Dr. Broman, stopped in to see me. He looked like he was still in high school, but he spoke with confidence, assuring me that I would be fine.
“It was enough to give you a good hangover,” he said simply. He didn’t seem to care whether I had done it to myself.
“Was it methylenedioxymethamphetamine?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Exactly. Are you heading for a career in medicine? You’re a high school junior, right?”
“I’m a naive fool,” I said. “Maybe I’ll graduate to idiot.”
He laughed. “Okay. We’ll get you home tomorrow. Keep drinking liquids.”
“As long as it isn’t spiked.”
He smiled. He was giving me the benefit of the doubt and then told me why. “Something like this happened to me in med school. A few of my buddies decided to initiate me. Their weak excuse was that if I didn’t experience it, I wouldn’t appreciate what my patients were suffering. I tried to burn each of them with a cigarette lighter using the same rationale. A week later, we all joked about it over some beers. Don’t let this ruin your life. Chalk it up to an experience you won’t experience again.”
He winked and left me feeling a little less sorry for myself, though no less angry.