It's Kind of a Funny Story

I see her through the big window in the dining room, looking like she’s been crying or she’s about to cry, or both. She comes slinking timidly down the hall and I walk away from Armelio without a word to go up to her.

thirty-nine

“What are you doing here?” I ask, then pause. That’s really a question other people should be asking me.

“What do you think?” She has on light makeup that makes her lips sparkle and her cheeks a slight Asian red; her hair is drawn back to accent the curved proportions of her face. “I’m here to see you.

“Why?”

She turns away. “I’m having a really hard time right now, okay Craig?”

“All right,” I get in step with her. “Come on, the best place to talk is over here.”

I lead her through the hall with a familiarity and confidence that she seems surprised by. I guess I’m a veteran here now. Sort of an alpha male. Which reminds me: still no Humble.

“Here.” I sit her in the chairs where I sat with my parents and Noelle. “What’s going on?”

She puts her hands on her knees. She has on a little beige combat outfit with black boots; she looks like a Soviet soldier recruit. The light comes in behind her and makes her skin sparkle. I’ve seen her in this get-up before; it’s one of her particularly hottest ones: when you bind up little breasts in guy-type clothing they’re just that much more intriguing.

“Aaron and I broke up,” she says.

“No.” I open my eyes wide.

“Yes, Craig.” She wipes her face. “After that night when he called here? And you told him I was on Prozac?”

“What? Are you saying that it’s my fault?”

“I’m not saying it’s anybody’s fault!” She chops her arms against her thighs and takes a deep breath.

The Professor peers out of her room.

“Who are you?” Nia turns.

“I’m Amanda,” she says. “I’m Craig’s friend.”

“Well, we’re trying to have a conversation; I’m really sorry.” Nia wipes her hair.

“It’s okay. But you shouldn’t yell. Solomon will come out.”

“Who’s Solomon?” Nia turns to me. “Is he dangerous?”

“Nobody here is dangerous,” I say, and as I say it I put my hand over Nia’s, on her thigh. I’m not sure why I do it—to reassure her? I guess it’s just an instinct, a reaction. Subconsciously I suppose I’m thinking that it’s a really hot thigh and that I would love to have my hand there without her hand serving as a buffer. I haven’t really gotten the chance to touch any girl’s thigh, and Nia’s beige ones seem just about as alluring as thighs get. I even think it’s a sexy word: thigh.

“Craig, hello?”

“Sorry, I was spacing out.”

She looks down at my hand and gives a little smirk. She doesn’t move it away. “You’re funny. I was asking you if you like it here.”

“It’s not bad. It’s better than school.”

“I believe that.” Now her hand—her other hand—is on top of my hand on top of her thigh. I think of the dancing sandwich I was in before in the activity lounge. I feel how warm she is and remember how I noticed that at the party, eons ago. “I’ve been thinking about going to a place like this.”

“What?” I pull my body away but keep my hand under hers. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking of, you know, checking myself in, spending some time here, or somewhere like it, re-centering, like you.”

“Nia.” I shake my head. “You can’t just come in here because you want to.”

“Isn’t that what you did?”

“No!”

“What did you do, then?” She tilts her head.

“I . . . I had like a medical emergency,” I explain. “I called up the Suicide Hotline and they sent me here.”

Nia leans back. “You called the Suicide Hotline?” She holds my hand up, clutches it. “Oh, Craig!”

I look at my crotch. I’m springing up. I can’t help it. She’s so close. This face is so close to mine and it’s the same face I’ve jerked off to so many times. I’ve conditioned myself to want this face. I want her. I feel her on me and I want her right now in her little Russian army outfit. I want to see what she looks like with it off. I want to see what she looks like with it half off.

“I didn’t realize . . .” she continues. “I knew you wanted to kill yourself; I never knew you wanted to kill yourself. I never would have told Aaron that you called me from that weird number if I’d known it was so serious.”

“Well, what do you think people come here for?” My hand twitches around hers.

“To get better?” she asks.

“Yeah, exactly. But you have to be really bad before they make you get better here.”

Nia swishes her head and her hair slides around her dark eyes. “I thought that you got bad because of me. And I thought I could make you better.”

She’s so cute. The way she holds her face, it’s like she always knows the best angles. We hold each other’s eyes. I see myself in hers. I look expectant, ready, eager, stupid, willing to do anything.

I don’t like how I look. Humble wouldn’t like it either; it doesn’t have any strength or will. But I don’t have any strength or will when I’m with her. I don’t have any choice. We’re going to do whatever she wants.

“What about Aaron?” I ask.