The Finer Points of Becoming Machine Read Free Page A

pretty Asian girl who accosted me when I first arrived here with her idiocy and her fingers. Apparently ‘Lucy’ is her name, and she goes back to talking about how she lives a life of luxury and her parents don’t pay attention to her, or something else retarded like that. Everyone nods and mutters words of encouragement. I roll my eyes.
    It finally gets to be my turn to talk. ‘I don’t have anything to say,’ I state flatly.
    Everyone stares at me again. I ignore their zombie eyes by concentrating on my fingernails. Dr X is staring at me too; I know it. I am frustrated. I really
don’t
know what to say.
    Dr X speaks. ‘OK Emma, let’s talk about anything you want. Anything at all.’
    I start to cry, I am so damned frustrated, and my showing of emotion upsets me more. I bite the inside of my mouth until I taste blood.
    ‘I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. I’m frustrated because I don’t know what to say.’
    As if God somehow hears my thoughts, a bell sounds and Dr X sighs. Therapy is over. I say a silent prayer of gratitude.
    Pills. Food. Colouring. I am irritated, and it’s swelling inside my chest and I can’t control it. The same rotten nurse who spoke to me like I was an idiot when I asked her what medication she was giving me, curtly tells me to clean up the crayons as I am putting them away in the plastic baby wipe box they are contained in.
    ‘I
am
putting them away.’ I respond angrily to her demand.
    ‘
What
was that?’ she snaps at me.
    I don’t back down, not to this wretched, hateful woman. ‘I SAID, I AM PUTTING THEM AWAY.’ I cross my arms.
    ‘Put the damned crayons away, you psycho little bitch.’
    I lose it. I pick up the fake plastic Christmas tree that has long since seen better days and throw it at her. ‘Shove it!’ I yell.
    Her face turns beet red and the room goes silent. She walks out of the door quickly and about three seconds later I hear a code being called.
    ‘God
damn
it’ I say and drop the box of crayons on the table when I see four male orderlies who look like they double as linebackers for a football team head towards me. I put my hands up slightly and out to my sides as the nurse stands behind them, smirking.
    They grab my arms and legs even though I am not resisting and they carryme towards a room. I remember Ricky once telling me that this is the isolation room. This idea does not appeal to me and I begin trying to wiggle my way out of these ungentle hands that are holding me. It’s no use though, and I am put face down on this table while hands quickly begin to strap me down.
    One of the orderlies is trying to rip off the hemp bracelet that I have on my right wrist. It was Donnie’s. ‘No. NO! I will take it off, don’t rip it!’
    For some reason he listens and I take it off and hand it to him right before they grab my hands and strap those down too. A shot goes into my ass, and off to dreamland I go.
    I am young here; I don’t know how old, maybe four. I am in the first house I remember living in, the one that was painted yellow on the outside and I swore there were ghosts in there. I see my father’s tan brown recliner
facing the old television we used to have, the one that still had knobs on it and rabbit ears. There is a lace tablecloth, yellowed with age on the scuffed dining table. I am in my room that does not have a door, because it got broken by my father’s fists during one of my parents’ fights. A sheet with faded cartoon characters is nailed to the top of the door jam, but it does not block the sound of my parents fighting. I hear the sharp slap of what I already know is the sound of an open palm striking someone’s face; my mother’s face, and she wails. I clutch Tabitha, my little blonde cabbage patch doll tightly. I start to cry. Nobody hears me, and I hear glass break. I am afraid.
    ‘Goddamit Teresa
…
’ I hear my father say and then stop. I hear my mother sniffling. ‘See what you did?’ he yells and I hear him