CHAPTER 10
I usually dread my sessions with Shrink, but today I can hardly wait. It’s been an awful twenty-four hours. Elz has totally avoided me. She sat by herself at breakfast and refused to lead a chant with me during morning meditation. She didn’t even wish me sweet dreams last night. It’s as if I don’t exist.
Lying in the chaise, I grow impatient. Shrink is usually late, but not this late. After fifteen minutes or so, I decide to split. I’m furious with Shrink for not showing up. Of all days!
Rising, I notice Shrink’s bug-eyed spectacles peeking out from under the chaise. That’s strange. I bend over and pick them up. The rims are dented. Maybe, she crashed into something. Seriously, with all that fairy dust, it’s easy to be blindsided.
Perhaps, she’s somewhere under the chaise. Stooping down to my knees, I run my hand beneath it. Uh oh! Something warm and fleshy. My heart skips a beat. A dead body? To my relief, it’s only a mouse. It scuttles away.
Taking a deep breath, I stand up. And there she is. Behind the chaise, sprawled out on her back. Her eyes are shut, and her little wings are outstretched. Her blond hair has fallen loose and cradles her shoulders. She looks like a fallen butterfly.
“Shrink, wake up,” I say, crouching over her.
She doesn’t move.
“Shrink, wake up!” I shout. “Wake up!” I fold her wings up and down like an accordion, but she still doesn’t budge.
Oh no! Maybe she’s dead. A fat tear rolls down my cheek onto her teeny weeny body.
“Is it raining in here? How many times do I have to tell them to fix that damn leak in the roof?”
Shrink! She’s alive! Feistier than ever.
“So, Jane, where were we?” she asks as she spirals into the air.
With a sigh of relief, I sink back into the chaise and talk about what happened yesterday with Hook. The words flow out of my mouth like a raging rapid.
“Why are you upset that Elzmerelda is not talking to you?”
“It’s not fair. I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s not really why you’re upset.”
“Okay, I feel rejected.”
“Yes, you feel rejected. But if Hook rejected you, you wouldn’t feel bad, would you?
“Hardly.” I’d do a happy dance.
“Do you understand why you feel bad about Elzmerelda’s behavior?”
I shake my head “no.”
“Jane, you feel bad because Elzmerelda is your friend.”
Silence.
“Have you ever had a friend before?”
Another flashback. This one to a little girl who’s seen me at the window. She’s motioning with her hand for me to come outside and play with her. My mother isn’t home. An opportunity. I toss my dust rag, dash out the front door, and slam into her on the landing. My mother, her lips clamped as tightly as her fists. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Jane?” Before I can utter a word, she shoves me back into the house, with such force I tumble, scraping my knees on the cold stone floor. A warm river of blood seeps through my torn muslin skirt.
Tears burn my eyes as I shake my head. I never saw that little girl again.
Shrink adjusts her lopsided, dented glasses.
“Jane, let me tell you something about friends. Friends care about each other. You care about Elzmerelda. That’s why you’re upset she’s mad at you.”
I take in what she’s just said. I miss Elz terribly. “Will she ever talk to me again?” I ask tentatively.
“Yes, because she cares about you. Tell her the truth and give her a little time.”
The chime sounds.
“Time’s up for today, Jane. I’ll see you here tomorrow.”
As I step out of her office, feeling much better, she calls out to me.
“By the way, Jane, thank you for finding my spectacles. No more triple air flips for me.”
For the rest of the day, Elz continues to give me the cold shoulder. She won’t sit next to me at lunch and avoids me in group. When I join her in Arts and Crafts, she switches to sewing. Finally, we’re forced together for dinner prep.
In the kitchen, we hang out at different ends. I prepare the salad while she handles the main course. She’s still not talking to me. I sing a few refrains of “lalala,” hoping that’ll break the ice, but it’s as if she’s deaf. She completely ignores me.
Fine! Let her be an ice queen; two can play at this game, and I can play it better. I’ll just pretend she’s not here.
Singing louder (okay, so I’m deliberately being annoying; she deserves it), I tear up greens and slice tomatoes. A sudden sharp pain makes me yelp. Shit! I’ve sliced my finger. The cut is deep; blood is gushing out all over my hand. A rush of nausea passes through me. I can’t stand the sight of blood. It sickens me. That’s why I never had the courage to plunge a knife into Snow White’s heart myself and had to send that worthless Huntsman to do it for me.
My finger won’t stop bleeding. To tell the truth, I haven’t seen this much blood in my entire life. Except for the time I lost my child. A bed full of blood, my body soaked red. The painful memory stays with me as I gaze down at the scarlet puddle that’s spreading by my feet. I’m getting woozy.
Elz rushes over to me. “Oh my God! You’re bleeding to death!”
She’s right. I’m seeing stars. My life is almost over!
Elz grabs a dishtowel and presses it firmly against my wound.
“Jane, hold this tightly against your finger!”
Wincing, I do exactly what she tells me. The cut’s so deep that blood seeps through the thick cloth. I turn my head away.
My finger throbs. I’m getting woozier and woozier. I don’t think I can hang on much longer. “Am I really going to die?” I ask Elz, knowing full well it’s only a matter of time.
Elz is too busy to answer me. She’s feverishly tearing her white petticoat into long, ragged strips. Removing the blood-soaked towel, she begins to wrap them around my finger until it’s mummified. I take a deep breath as she ties the ends of the last strip together into a neat little bow at the base.
“I think we’ve got it under control,” she says, grinning proudly at her handiwork.
“Elz, you saved my life!”
“You weren’t really going to die,” she singsongs.
What! She tricked me into thinking I was going to die! What a mean way to get back at me! And for something I didn’t even do.
I glance down at my big-bandaged finger with its silly little bow. My rage melts into relief.
“Elz, thanks for being there for me.”
“It’s okay. You’d do the same.”
Would I? I wonder as she finishes making the salad for me.
I need to know. “Elz, why are you so nice to me?”
“Because you have a big heart.” She smiles.
No one has ever told me that. In fact, during my trial, the tabloids called me cruel and heartless. I’m on the verge of tears.
“About yesterday—”
She doesn’t let me finish. “Forget it.”
Does she know what really happened? Right now, it doesn’t matter.
“Friends?” I say.
“Best friends!” she beams as tears trickle down her cheeks.
“Why are you crying?”
“The same reason you are.”
I do something I’ve never done before. Not to anyone. I hug her.