Secret for a Song Read Online Free PDF Page B

it was worth it.
    “I
think I got it.”
    Shelly
smiled. “Yeah, it’s not too complicated. The next meeting starts at 1:30 in 1A,
so you can go ahead and get everything ready for that if you want.”
    “Great.”
    She
stared at me for a moment as I began to gather up snacks. I saw her from the corner
of my eye, saw her studying my profile, but I didn’t turn. Finally, she said,
“Linda said I should stay with you. But she didn’t really say why, except that
you had a disorder of some kind? She didn’t seem to understand it very well
herself.” She laughed a little, maybe to lighten the mood.
    My
hands trembled a little as I scooped coffee grounds into the filter. Still not
meeting her eye, I said, “Um, yeah. It’s sort of stupid. My parents have me
seeing a shrink, and he doesn’t think I’m mature enough for my age or
something.” I looked at her then, rolling my eyes to show how annoying I
thought that was. Shelly didn’t look too much older than me. Maybe, just maybe,
I could have her on my side in this whole thing.
    “Oh.”
I saw the faint flush of her cheeks as embarrassment took hold. “I’ll just hang
out down here, make sure the rooms are in order,” she said, casually changing
the subject. “Come get me if you need me.”
    Once
the serving cart was set up, I walked back toward the bulletin board and
checked to see which group was meeting. Families and
Friends. I rolled the cart into room 1A and waited, a sentinel on duty.
    When
the people began to arrive, I wondered if I was in the wrong room. These didn’t
look like the families of sick people; they looked like the patients
themselves.
    First
to arrive were three women, their skin stretched too tight over their delicate bones.
Their hair was greasy and unwashed, pulled into hasty buns or ponytails. There
was also a man who stared off into space and didn’t say much of anything.
    One
of the women got a cup of coffee, smiling wanly at me, through me. I could tell
she registered by my shape that I was a person, but wasn’t aware enough to note
anything else about me. She shuffled back to the chair with her hands wrapped
around the Styrofoam cup as if it was her lifeline.
    The
leader of the group entered then, a woman in her forties who’d lost a sister
and a child to cystic fibrosis. I knew immediately that she wasn’t a
participant like the others. For one, she looked alive and took up space in the
room. She sat and smiled at everyone, a beaming, encouraging sort of smile that
was in stark contrast to the mood in the room. I wondered how long she’d been
doing this, how long she’d been smiling at everyone as if she didn’t have a
care in the world, and how long she would keep doing it until she broke.
    There
was a diabetes support group right after that one. It was an interesting
difference; these people laughed and joked with one another, complained mightily
about their lot in life, and consumed coffee and cookies like there might be a
shortage.  I was irritated by their nonchalance. Seriously? If I had a disease
that could be as dangerous as diabetes, I’d be much more respectful of its
powers. Hypocritical, perhaps, coming from someone like me, but the thing was,
I appreciated disease the way it was meant to be appreciated. I courted it
because I worshipped its awesome power.
    After
the group was done and I’d gathered up the cups and plates, I rolled the cart
out into the hallway. Shelly was there, her stance awkward as she smiled at me.
Had she been watching me the entire time?
    “All
done?” she asked, her voice a cheery falsetto.
    “Yep.”
I continued on to the kitchenette and she followed me. “Great first day.”
    “Awesome!
That’s fabulous.” She set a clipboard by me on the counter. “If you could just
sign out so we have a record of you leaving, that’d be great. That’s probably
what we’ll do every time you come here. Just sign in and out so we have that to
show your psychiatrist in case he asks, all