Dismantling Evan (11 page)

“Could I have stopped it?” I realize my question has left my mouth after the fact.

Dr. Larson looks at me oddly. “Stopped what, Evan?”

“Could I have stopped this from happening? The illness?” I ask weakly, desperate for a truth no one else has been able to give me.

Dr. Larson breathes in then out completely before she answers me. She shakes her head from side to side as she says, “It’s not your fault, Evan. You aren’t to blame... yet.”

“Yet?” I ask, not understanding what she means.

“If you don’t take care of yourself now, mend yourself, then anything that happens from this point on... will be on you. Do you understand?”

I agree, but only partially because I am still hung up on the who or what is at fault if it isn’t me...yet.

“Oh, and call me Felicia please. I insist,” she adds.

“Okay,” I say although I don’t feel comfortable calling her by her first name.

“Can I call in your mom now?” she asks.

I look up at the clock and realize Dr. Larson and I have been talking for an hour. “Oh, yes,” I say as she eaves the room to get Mom, who I’m sure by this point will be going stir crazy in the waiting room.

Mom comes in a short time later, worry written all over her face as she looks from me to Dr. Larson before sitting.

Dr. Larson recaps everything she told me with Mom. She explains that I told her how I felt about what was happening inside of me. Dr. Larson reaches behind her for the large manila file with my name on the tab. As she flips it open, she asks, “I’m sure you answered this somewhere on Dr. Middleton’s records, but do either your husband or you suffer from depression or any other mental illnesses?”

My mom breathes in deeply. “Well, there has never been a diagnosis, but I have experienced mild depression,” she says, keeping her eyes hidden from me.

She had? When?

Dr. Larson asks, “When was this?”

“When I was in high school, but I was never diagnosed with an illness,” Mom says looking from Dr. Larson to me.

I look from Mom to Dr. Larson, and fell I’ve been struck dumb by her revelation. She was depressed in high school too?

Dr. Larson nods, encouraging Mom to continue.

“So, um, do you have a diagnosis for Evan’s cond...illness?” she asks, stopping herself before making the mistake she made earlier.

“Yes, Evan has symptoms of depression aligned with symptoms of the onset of bipolar disorder.”

Mom studies her carefully. “So Dr. Middleton was right then,” Mom says.

“I think he was mostly accurate on the symptoms he was treating, but he jumped the gun by suggesting Evan has bipolar symptoms. The symptoms she has are easily diagnosable at depression.”

Mom explains how I have many symptoms of bipolar, but not all of them.

“Yes, she does have some of the symptoms shared by both depression and bipolar. But, it is entirely possible that the more severe symptoms of bipolar will never be triggered if we are able to get a handle on Evan’s depression.”

“You keep saying severe symptoms. Like what?” Mom asks.

I remember most of them from my Google searching but hearing Dr. Larson say them out loud make them real, applicable directly to me. “Symptoms of psychosis; a break from reality. Hallucinations, ideology of having superhuman strengths, hearing voices in their minds telling them to do things, or not to do things.”

I think of the little voice I hear in my head sometimes.
Could it be the voice telling me to think or do things? Have I already started experiencing the severe symptoms and I just haven’t noticed it?
A clammy heat runs the length of my arms as I wonder if it is already happening.

Carefully Dr. Larson looks at me and continues, “Like I told you, Evan, those symptoms may never surface if we start a regimented treatment plan for you.”

A wrinkle on Mom’s forehead becomes more pronounced as she stares off, thinking and worrying.

I’m sure it is something along the lines of, “How can this be happening?”

Mom’s abandons her concerned expression when she notices me looking at her. Instantly she puts on a happy smile and reaches her hand out for me to take. I do.

“We can do this, Evan,” Mom says as her warm hand squeezes mine tightly.

I know I should feel confidence, hope even, that things are going to get better now. But it’s like I physically can’t make myself envision that now.

Dr. Larson tells us she would like to see me every two weeks for counseling as well as start me on a different medication; Prozac, another anti-depressant. I will meet her every other Saturday morning so I won’t have to miss school. She does say there is a chance we may need to try something stronger if “things” develop or “intensify”. I know she is talking about the severe symptoms. Mom brings up Lithium and I feel a burning sensation of fear fill my stomach.

“Symbyax S is what I would recommend, but lets not put the cart before the horse Mrs. Phillips.”

After that, my actions are on autopilot as I focus on the worst symptoms that could develop in me. I shake Dr. Larson’s hand and nod when she says she will see me in two weeks and wishes me good luck on the first week of school. I walk ahead of Mom, who stays behind a few more minutes, talking with Dr. Larson.

On the way home, the clouds finally break, like literally. The heavy clouds over Austin are unleashed and we are in a downpour most of the drive back home.

“You had depression too. Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask Mom.

Focused on the road, she replies, “What? Oh, well...I try not to dwell on it, Evan.”

Dwell on it?
“It is part of you Mom. It is something you experienced. Something I am experiencing. Why didn’t you share with me?”

“Evan, what you are experiencing is different, honey. My sadness was so insignificant... I... I just didn’t want to talk about that time in my life because I didn’t want to undermine what you are feeling. I am focused on helping you now.”

I lean my head back and watch the windshield wipers wipe away the pelting rain.

I don’t expect to hear her speak again, but she does. “Evan, sometimes there are things we just don’t need to tell the world. Keeping things to yourself prevents others from passing judgment.”

Did she feel judged? Is that why she is telling me this?

“We are in a new town. You have a chance to have a fresh start at a new school. We have some challenges to work through, but no one needs to know what we are dealing with. Do you understand what I am saying?”

I think of my last few days at Paramount High School and how everyone knew I was the kid that freaked out and went psycho on Darren Crawford. I look over at Mom as she leans forward, trying to focus on the traffic through the deluge of rain and I get an inkling it is exactly what she had done. She hid her “insignificant sadness” making it appear as nothing and that is what she is suggesting I do.
What if she still suffers, but has tucked it away so well she thinks it is gone? What happened to her to make her feel sad? Did she have a Darren push her over the edge in college? High school?

Moments pass then Mom asks, “Hungry?”

I shake my head just before I close my eyes and let the sound of the rain drown out my racing thoughts: Mom’s insignificant sadness, my significant one, and starting school in a new place in less than four days. I send it all into the empty white noise of the rain.

August 2013

“Little by little, one travels far”

J.R.R. Tolkien

I thought I would start off with a quote. Helped fill the empty space in my mind.

She is a good mom even when she does things that make me mad.

A few days ago she made dinner after she got home from work; spaghetti with meatballs. She knows I like my spaghetti and meatballs separate. No sauce or meatballs touching the spaghetti. It has always been that way...forever. The next night was leftovers. With dad serving in Afghanistan, Mom hasn’t had time to make home cooked meals every night like she used to. She works as an office assistant at a doctor’s office. She says we need the extra money while dad is away. I can’t wait for Dad to come back. Everyone says what they think happened to him when he was out there fighting for the good of the people, but I will not believe what they say. He is a hero in my eyes always and he will come home someday.

Where was I...?

Oh, so Mom calls Brody and me down for dinner and when I see the plate of spaghetti and meatballs...it is wrong! The spaghetti, meatballs, and sauce is mixed together into one giant mess! I told her I wasn’t eating it. It wasn’t the way it should look. If it looks like that on my plate, then it will definitely not feel good on my stomach. She told me to just eat it and I told her if I ate that shit, I would throw up. She slapped me for saying “shit”. It just came out. I didn’t really realize I said it until she hit me and told me not to talk like that to her. I wanted to cry and fight back all at the same time. The feel of her hand stuck to my face and I tried to wipe off the stinging sticky feeling it left.

I took the table chair closest to me and tossed it aside against the wall, breaking one of the chair legs clear off. I remember yelling and running out into the front yard when Brody came to stop me.

Brody.

He makes all the crazy thoughts in my head all the bad feelings stop for a while, long enough for me to think... well, kind of. The medicines I take help with it too, but Mom said we might need to stop certain ones since insurance won’t cover them.

Anyway, Brody makes it easier for me to travel farther, like my quote says. Like dad used to.

School starts today. I’m afraid to go back, but I know I have to. Mom and Brody say if we don’t, then the constable will come. I don’t want Mom to get in trouble even if she screwed up the left over spaghetti and meatballs. I was worried the school wouldn’t want us there after what had happened last year, but I guess they changed their minds.

Dr. Singleton would really be proud of this entry. It is LOOOOOOOOONG. I kind of miss seeing him every week.

Brody says we have to go. Okay.

Bye.

-G.F

SUNLIGHT WARMING MY FACE WAKES me, but I don’t open my eyes. I listen to the songbird outside, its song rising above the sound of others chirping. It is Monday, the first day of school. My pulse quickens just a little as I open my eyes and sit up. I worry I will need to take a Xanax, but then my pulse slows on its own.

The sun’s rays are shining through my blind, casting a wistful look across everything it grazes. I lean off my bed, reaching for my camera and put the view finder to my right eye.

Click.

Captured... forever.

Nostalgia; that is what it looks like. That is what nostalgia would look to me anyway.

I shift the film advance lever as I watch the moment of nostalgia in my room slowly slip away as the sun shifts behind a cloud.

I started the new medication Dr. Larson prescribed four days ago. On the way home from the appointment was my first dose, actually. I was hoping I wouldn’t flip shit like I did with the other one; side effects I mean, not the other type of flipping shit. The second day I felt anxious; cold then hot, but I just took Xanax as needed and it helped.

I get up, place my camera on the desk and stretch. I roll my neck a little to loosen it and I take a peek out my side window. Looking up, the low clouds burn off quickly as the sun rises. I can’t avoid Brody’s drawn blinds. Truthfully, the reason I am looking out my window now, I haven’t seen him since the night I asked him about what happened with Gavin in the front yard. I overstepped the invisible boundary Brody had around him and his family; can’t blame him if he never wanted to speak to me again.

Startling me, my radio alarm goes off. The bold siren sound is the one and only Sia filling my room singing “Chandelier.”

Watching Brody’s window for only a second longer, I pull my hand away from the opening, turn off the alarm, and get into the shower.

Dad and Mom are talking down stairs, but then a third voice joins the conversation. I take a quick look at my simple grey t-shirt, jeans, and my black converse and I decide to take my grey and white flannel just in case the classrooms get cold.

I take the steps down the stairs a little quicker curious about who is talking with them.

“Evan was a part of her old school’s paper,” says Mom.

“Well, the Braxton paper has been an awesome edition to our community. We are the only high school in the area producing one,” says the familiar female voice.

“Evan will be thrilled,” comments Dad.

I step into the kitchen and notice the blonde urban-model-looking-girl from across the street and I’m a little taken by surprise as I say breathlessly, “Hey. Nikki, right?”

She is wearing something a little less bra-strap revealing this time; plain white tee with a long thin necklace, a pair of denim jeans and sandals.

“Hey Evan,” she says smiling at me. “I thought I would come by and offer you a ride to school.”

She pulls her phone from her lap and texts something quickly, then looks up at Mom and Dad. Nikki corrects herself, “It’s my boyfriend’s actually; he is a senior.”

Dad nods at her, smiling, and Mom looks excited that someone is here in our kitchen wanting to take me to school. Seriously, her eyes could pop out of her sockets at any minute.
So embarrassing.

I open the refrigerator and stare into the cluster of milk, Tupperware, produce, and condiments; nothing appeals as I look at all the objects without hunger.

Her chair scoots out suddenly. “So, do you want a ride?” asks Nikki.

Why not?

“Yeah, sure,” I say into the refrigerator.

I close the refrigerator and almost bump into Mom, standing next to me, looking at me, sleekly whispering, “Here is your medicine.” She stands at the counter, taking the pill out of the medicine bottle. Yeah, that is the approach she is taking now, sans the Dixie cup... It could be worse. I glance back at Nikki who is shaking my dad’s hand. He’s talking to her about the newspaper again, so I quickly scoot next to my mom, take the damn pill and pop it in my mouth before Nikki can see what we are doing. Mom hands me a protein bar too. “See you after school.”

I’m about ready to refuse it and walk away when she nudges it at me eagerly. I grab it and grit my teeth.

“Okay, I will see you after school. Love you,” I announce to Mom and Dad as I walk out of the kitchen and to the door with Nikki close behind me.

“Bye Mr. and Mrs. Phillips. It was nice to meet you,” Nikki calls out.

“Nice to meet you too,” Mom and Dad say in unison as I close the door behind Nikki and me. The black Jeep, I saw Nikki’s boyfriend in a few days ago, is pulled up to the curb in front of my house and Nikki walks ahead of me toward it. She angles back at me. “You coming?”

The Jeep’s engine revs a little as she opens the door to the car.

I get in and Nikki’s boyfriend introduces himself. “Hey, I’m Asher Vega.” He is wearing a tattered and worn Texas Rangers baseball cap down pretty far, but I can still see his big brown eyes and cheerful smile as he looks back at me and nods. He looks different from when I first met him, but then again, I only saw his profile.

“I’m Evan.”

He reaches for the volume nob, turning down the sound. “Did you say Evan?” he asks questioningly. Here we go. I can hear him asking me why I have a boy’s name in that conceited way others have.

“Yeah, it’s short for Evangeline.”

He sits there for a minute, like he is contemplating the root of my name or something. He pushes his lower lip out, looks at Nikki, then says, “That is a bad ass name.”

She smiles wildly. “I know, right?”

He looks back at me and smirks. “You ready to do this shit called high school, Evan?”

He turns up the music as he pulls away from the house.

I shake my head and smile at the idea of Asher calling high school shit because that is how I’m regarding it now. “Sure,” I say smirking.

On the short drive, Nikki knits a chain of questions asking me what year I am, where I moved from, how I liked California and why I was here in Braxton. Being the one-word-answer queen, I answer her loudly, directly and simply. Nikki and Asher are seniors also, which explains the casual comment of high school being shit - “Senioritis”.

As we turn onto the main street for the high school, the stadium light posts come into view and butterflies stir in my stomach.

Nikki reaches to turn down the radio. “So Evan, your mom said you were part of your old school’s paper. Being that I am your sole friend here in this high school establishment...”

Did she say friend? I can’t help but smile at her bold and spirited personality.

“I am telling you...NO demanding of you...”

Asher chimes in, “Imploring you!”

Nikki looks at Asher sideways and grins wider, then looks back at me, “YES! IMPLORING YOU to join the paper as our photographer and sometimes writer of an editorial or two.”

I look from Nikki to Asher. He is grinning at Nikki’s display and bobbing his head to the music as he pulls into the school parking lot. There are lots of open spaces. I pull out my phone and look at the time. It is 7:45 a.m. I didn’t realize it was so early. “School doesn’t start for another hour. Why are we here early?” I ask.

Nikki takes my cell from my hand and starts typing hurriedly. “It’s your first day, chica. Figured you would need to go in and talk to the counselor, get your schedule, all the madness with registration and crap. I’m putting my number into your phone too, just in case you were wondering why I snatched it from you.” She looks at me playfully as she calls her own phone with mine. “Now I have yours.”

Did they get here early for me? Nikki closes the visor as Asher pulls the car into a spot, then cuts the engine.

“Thanks...for the ride and everything,” I say, nervously.

Asher nods and Nikki looks back at me. “For what?” She smiles widely. “I’m going to watch out for you today Evan Phillips. You and I, we are stuck like glue, got it?”

I don’t answer right away, feeling uneasy that this beautiful, most likely popular, girl who probably has a ton of friends equally as gorgeous as her, is calling me friend, again, and plans on sticking with me.

How could I say no?

Asher and Nikki walk hand and hand as I trail behind them a little. Asher is a good foot taller than Nikki and his girth makes me wonder if he is a jock. I mean, he looks like he lifts weights for sure. I haven’t really asked anything about them. Nikki was getting the 111 on me in the car, and I feel kind of bad I didn’t try when I had the chance; haven’t had practice is my go-to excuse though. There are a few other students milling around in the parking lot. A cluster of guys leaning on a car call out after Asher and he nods in their direction. Nikki looks back at me. “I’ll show you where the counselor’s office is, then grab something to eat.”

She turns back to Asher and leans into him, kissing him tenderly before he jogs over to the group of guys.

The front office is busy with teachers and administrators walking in and out. I sit in the square cushioned office chair waiting to be called back by the counselor. My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I pull it out and see Nikki’s name and grin.

Nikki:
Txt me when u r done.

Me:
K

“Ms. Phillips?”

I look up from my phone and notice a young woman standing in the doorway, a lanyard around her neck, and coffee in hand. “I’m Ms. Warren. Come on back.”

I follow behind her into the office, the smell of coffee pulling me along. She walks around her desk. “Have a seat Evangeline.”

I quickly correct her, “Evan. I go by Evan.”

She smiles and sets her coffee down on a coaster. “Okay.”

She sits and begins sifting through a stack of papers, then mumbles to herself, “No, not in that stack.”

She looks up at me. “Senior, right?”

I nod. “Yes.”

She moves to another stack of papers. “Sorry, I have been given multiple grades this year. The school district had to make some cut-backs on staffing.” She says this with a sense of resentment in her voice, but quickly changes her tune, “Ah! Evangeline Phillips.”

She pulls out the paper and hands it to me. “This is your schedule, but there is one thing missing. We don’t know what elective you want to add to your schedule. You have two actually, but we saw you were taking Spanish at your old school through your transcript and placed you in Spanish 3. The other elective is your choice.” She smiles at me.

“Is the newspaper an elective?” I ask.

“Yes, It is! Do you want that?”

I nod my head quickly. “Yes.”

She punches a few keys into the computer then her printer kicks on. She reaches behind her and pulls a fresh schedule off the printer and hands it to me. “Here is your new schedule.”

I hand her back the old one.

She starts flipping through a manila folder, which I assume are my records from Paramount.

“I thought I saw you had experience in your old school’s paper.” She looks up from the file. “Photographer, right?”

She stops on a page of the file and reads. This is it. She is reading the big blow up. The silence in the room and me just sitting there, waiting for her to look up and give me the look of “oh, you are that kid”.

My breath comes short and fast anticipating her reaction.

Mrs. Stewart closes the file and looks up at me. “Tell me Evan. Are you nervous about being here?”

Yep, she read it, but I had to hand it to her she was being more tactful than I expected.

“A little,” I admit.

“It is completely normal,” she breaks in. “You don’t know anyone here and you are a senior, but it is okay. You can make new friends, build new relationships,” she adds, all preachy like.

Okay, I already have one shrink, I don’t need another. I cut her short, “I do know people here.”

She seems shocked. “Oh, I thought you were new to town.”

“I am, but I have met a few people since moving here. Nikki Bell, Asher Vega, and Brody and Gavin Ferguson.”

“Oh” she says, her smile fades slightly and she starts straightening the multiple stacks of documents on her desk. “The Fergusons.”