Normal Again: Thursday
by Alicia
I bounce through the hospital's morning routine in a haze of excitement. Not even Ellen can annoy me. "They're sending me home today too," she whispers. "I've had too much fun."

"Fun," is not a word I associate with a psychiatric hospital. I can't wait to be normal again.

I almost forget to get rid of my pills, and my apple juice is three quarters gone before Daryl taps me on the shoulder and tells me to take my medication. I wait until his back is turned, spit one pill in the apple juice container and two in the dregs of my orange juice, and get rid of the whole tray at lightning speed.

Dad doesn't come. It's the middle of his workday, and Mom says he said he'd make some time to spend with me once I'm home. I pretend not to hear the edge in Mom's voice. She and Dad don't know that Dawn and I know about their plans, but there will be time to fight about that later. Dawn and I fully agree on something. That feels weird!

Dawn bounces in holding an enormous blue stuffed bunny rabbit. I tell her to give it to Emma; I have plenty of stuffed animals and Mr. Gordo in my bag to get home safely. Okay, he's sitting on top of my bag. He has to breathe. Dawn will understand that. I'm not sure anyone else will. It feels good to have a normal secret, one not connected with the other world I'm trying to forget. I have to remember to tell it to Dawn sometime.

Dawn gives Emma the bunny, along with an enormous hug. "Thank you," I can see Emma mouth around blue fur and brown hair. I smile at them both. I hope Emma can find the strength for another day, and another.

And then it's done, and we're free to walk out the door, all of us. Mom, Dawn, and me: our family. They're all I need to keep fighting for. I mean, fighting for myself; I'm through with the other type. It barely crosses my mind; the sunlight is bright, and I think it is going to be possible—possible to turn from the Calling and just be me.


There's a song line—I can't remember where it's from, but it goes, "Let the speed and the freedom untangle the lies." That about sums up the way I feel right now. I'm in the same physical place I was two weeks ago, buckled in the back left seat of Mom's station wagon, but I wonder now why the car never seemed to go so fast, or the motion of the vehicle ever seemed to feel so good. I feel like I left crazy Buffy back in the laundry bin at the hospital. I even left Slayer Buffy behind me in that bed on Monday morning...the girl in my skin now is just Buffy-Buffy.

And when I wake up tomorrow, no one is going to take my blood pressure or give me the third degree about my dreams. That thought alone is exhilarating.

Dawn's in the same place she was two weeks ago, too, sitting next to me. She's not huddled into half a seat, though, but vibrating around the entire back of the car like she usually does, taking up every bit of possible room.

Dawn's saying something, too...sometimes it's hard to tell whether she's talking, or just singing and quoting and spouting random facts that even she's not listening to. But she's actually saying something. I draw my attention away from the window.

"Mom," she's saying, "Buffy's taking up more than her share of room! Get that into your own seat..."

Mom adjusts the rear view mirror so she can see us instead of the road. "Buffy, tell me you didn't buckle your stuffed pig in the middle seatbelt," she says.

I undo the belt and tuck Mr. Gordo under my left arm where he can see out the window. "Okay. I didn't."

Mom's trying not to laugh. I can see her face in the mirror.

"We need ice cream," I announce. I take my new, freshly dog-eared diary out of the backpack at my feet and flip it to the last page with writing. "See?" I hold it up for Dawn's benefit. "It's right on my list of priorities the moment I get free. One, eat ice cream. Two, get so jazzed up on caffeine I can't see straight. They haven't let me have any for two weeks now. Three, wear one of those great new outfits out dancing with boys. Four, movie other than G-rating and self-help-y title. Guess what's playing right now?"

Mom must know, because she casts a worried look at Dawn in the mirror and says, "I'll pull off as soon as I see a Dairy Queen."

"Can we go to TCBY instead?" asks Dawn. She says, I think; she might have shouted or whined it, but with Dawn I can never tell. "It's cooler and I can get pineapple yogurt and everything..."

"Okay with you, Buffy?" says Mom. "It's your day."

I roll my eyes at my sister. "TCBY's fine," I tell Mom.

"Good. Is there anything else you really, really want right now?"

“Real coffee,” I say. Frappacino, I think, but "coffee" sounds so much more dignified, and after finally ditching the too-short hospital gown and personally scrubbing the nurses' white board with a whole bottle of Windex, for the first and last time in my life, I want to sound dignified.

Mom looks worried. Good. She was wigging me out with all her cheeriness; I kept expecting her to drop another bombshell on me. I pray she doesn't still think I'm a crazy girl to be treated with kid gloves.

“Honey, don’t you think you’re a little young to drink that stuff?” Mom says.

Whew, normal Mom mode. I retort, “I’m old enough to sit in groups listening to rape survivors and not old enough to drink coffee?”

Mom ignores the group part—good; I didn't mean to bring it up, and I hope Mom's selective memory is finally kicking in. Mom says, “We’ll hit a Starbucks drive-thru on the way to TCBY, then. Coffee for you, hot chocolate or apple cider for Dawn."

“Please. I am totally old enough for coffee,” says Dawn

She looks like she thought the listening to other people's horror in group thing was cool, too. I dope-slap her. Gently.

“Mom!” Dawn yells in that shriek of hers that threatens to shatter the car windows. “Buffy hit me! Can we take her back and trade her in for that sweet girl I gave the teddy bear to?”

“I don’t know,” Mom says dryly. "It's a thought."

"Look! Sugar this exit!" I call. There's a huge sign on the edge of the road with both a Starbucks and a TCBY on the "Food" section. Maybe it's an omen.

Omen or coincidence, I'll take the treats and be happy about it. I feel the need for more sugar than the human body can handle.



WILLOW: You've carried the weight of the world on your shoulders since high school. And I, I know you didn't ask for this, but ... you do it every day. And so, you wanted out for one second. So what?
BUFFY: I got Dawn killed.
WILLOW: Hello! Your sister, not dead yet!
“The Weight of the World,” (5-21)
BUFFY: Things have really sucked lately, but it's all gonna change. And I wanna be there when it does. I want to see my friends happy again. And I want to see you grow up, [Dawn]. The woman you're gonna become. Because she's gonna be beautiful. And she’s gonna be powerful. I got it all wrong. I don’t want to protect you from the world. I want to show it to you.
“Grave,” (6-22)

Let the road wind tie our hair in knots
Let the speed and the freedom untangle the lies
Maybe fear can vanish before love
Oh, God, don't let this love be denied...
--Rich Mullins, The River



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