Day 24
Ignore the link that says Day 23. I don't know why I couldn't just rename it but it decided that it wouldn't let me do that.
The auditorium begins filling up and I try to stay as unnoticeable as possible. A lot of fellow dancer’s families will be here I’m sure and I really am not in the mood for answering questions about my ankle. I mean, it’s obvious enough that it’s broken so just leave it, and me, alone.
I pull my hood over my head and sit there silently until the lights start to dim. Immediately everyone around me quiets down and if they weren’t already, they turn to face the stage. Claire walks out and everyone starts clapping for absolutely no reason. It’s not as though she’s about to perform.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she starts. I roll my eyes. Claire has a way of making these things seem more like a circus than a recital full of classically trained dancers. I personally have never actually seen her do anything more complicated than an arabesque. “I am pleased to present to you all of our elite dancers. They have practiced very hard for the past few months and I am so proud of their work. So, without any further a due I’d like to start the show.”
She walks off stage then and the curtains are pulled to the side. Onstage is the first trio. They perform with only a few minor mistakes. I doubt anyone else in the audience would have picked up on them but I have a well trained eye as well as a trained body. I spend the next four dances critiquing them in my mind and wishing that I were the one up there dancing, knowing that I could perform the routines flawlessly.
Then Claire walks back onstage. “We’re sorry to announce that the next piece in your program has been removed from tonight’s show. Unfortunately Bethany Langley has suffered a broken ankle and will be unable to perform. She’s sitting somewhere out in the audience thought supporting all of our other dancers. Bethany, why don’t you stand up and we’ll all give you a round of applause?”
I want to die. All she had to say was that it wouldn’t be performed. I don’t deserve applause. I didn’t give a performance. Everyone starts clapping and looking around for the girl on crutches. I don’t stand up.
“Bethany?” Claire calls out. “Where are you? Stand up! We want to show our support.”
Then someone sitting right behind me must notice the crutches because they poke me. “Are you Bethany? Do you need help standing up?”
This is ridiculous! “No,” I mumble. I’m not going to get out of this though so I hoist myself up using the arm rests. Everyone claps loudly, including Claire up on stage. I stand for a few seconds before sinking back into my seat. Everyone better stop clapping and sit down so the performances can continue or I’m going to hurt someone.
People slowly stop clapping and Claire walks off the stage. The curtain slides apart once again and the performances continue. But now I’m so livid I can barely focus on them. I am not about to endure the additional humiliation of hobbling across the stage with crutches to accept a stupid certificate. So when the lights flicker back on in the seating area of the auditorium for the intermission I get up and leave.
March 14th, -0- total days till graduation, -0- days left of school
“So what do we tell people that participate in the experiment?” Christopher asks looking expectantly at Alex. She’s kind of become the leader of this experiment since she had the brilliant idea in the first place. Besides, she seems to really enjoy being the authority figure.
“Well we tell them it’s a memory experiment but we don’t specify that we’re testing for falsified memories,” she explains. “That way they’ll be looking carefully at the pictures but they won’t spend too much time considering their answers before telling us what they remember. And we should ask them about semi-obscure things. Like, what color were the shutters on the house; when maybe there weren’t shutters on the house.”
“But doesn’t that end up testing to see if people will conform to the question or not? Some people who might not remember shutters might think they’re supposed to and so answer anyway,” Justin says.
And here we go again. This is going to start a whole new debate about what we’re testing and how to test it. Instead of joining in on the argument I just shake my head and close my eyes. I don’t have the energy to fight one way or the other. I’m physically exhausted and I haven’t eaten anything more than celery, coffee and baby leaf spinach for the past five days. I’m so dizzy…
I wake up a moment later when my head hits the floor. It feels like there’s a film over my eyes. I can’t see anything clearly. I can hear people calling my name but their voices seem very far away. I close my eyes and try to make the dizziness go away. I feel hands on my face. Why are people touching me? I’ll be fine, I just need sleep. God, I’m so dizzy even though I’m lying down.
I feel like I might get sick. But that makes no sense. There’s nothing in my stomach to throw up. But my body starts retching like it’s trying to anyway. From far away I hear someone yell that I’m going to be sick. Stop yelling! My head hurts. I try to tell them this but I can’t remember words. All I know is that my head has never hurt like this.
Someone grabs hold of my face. “Bethany, wake up,” they shout.
Their hands are warm, uncomfortably so. Please, just leave me alone. I hurt and I just need sleep. I’m so, so dizzy. I shut my eyes and try to shove whoever’s touching me away.
“She’s awake,” they announce.
Yes, I’m awake but I just want sleep. Please, go away. Just leave me here. I’ll sleep this off. I’ll feel better when I wake up. I open my eyes almost involuntarily and kneeling in front of me is Mrs. Lavene. She’s not facing me. Instead she’s pushing other people away from me. Good, she understands that I just need sleep.
She turns back and sees my eyes open. “Bethany, oh my God, you scared us.”
I shake my head. That makes no sense; I just laid down to fall asleep.
“You passed out just sitting in your seat.” She turns away from me again. “Did someone call the front office?”
“Yes,” I recognize Ethan’s voice even though I can’t see him. “They called 911 and Mrs. Boswell is on her way down to talk to her.”
Everyone in the room is so quiet; they just stand around watching me. I try to push myself up with my elbows but Mrs. Lavene holds me down.
“Bethany, that’s probably not the best idea right now. Just lay still okay? We need to make sure you’re not hurt.”
I shut my eyes because it would hurt too much to roll them. Not hurt? Of course I’m hurt. My ankle is throbbing and my head hurts from the fall and my stomach feels like it’s digesting itself. But I’m fine. Or, I’ll be fine. I try to tell her this but my words come out in more of a gurgle than anything else.
Then Mrs. Boswell is kneeling next to Mrs. Lavene. “Bethany, hi, how are you feeling?”
I shake my head but that just makes the dizziness worse. I clamp my eyes shut but now I feel like I’m going to get sick again. I curl myself slightly and start dry heaving.
Mrs. Boswell watches me closely. “Bethany, when’s the last time you ate?”
When I’m finally able to still my body I quietly answer, “last night.”
Mrs. Boswell closes her eyes. I’m not sure whether she expected that answer or not but she doesn’t seem happy about it either way. “There’s an ambulance on the way?” she asks Mrs. Lavene.
“One of my students called it in,” she responds. “She needs to go to the hospital? She just fell because she’s hungry.”
“Everyone back to their seats,” Mrs. Boswell orders. Everyone starts moving slowly hoping that they can continue to hear the conversation. “Her mother called me earlier today. She hasn’t eaten dinner with the family for nearly a week. She wanted me to speak to her. I was planning on calling her down to my office during class today. Could you please call her mother and ask her to meet us at the hospital?”
Mrs. Lavene stands then and walks to her desk to find my phone number.
“Bethany, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to ride in the ambulance with you and ask a few questions along the way.”
I don’t have the energy to argue so I just shrug my shoulders. Soon two EMT’s show up with a stretcher. They pull the chair that I was sitting in away from my legs. Then lay the stretcher on the floor and then lift me onto it. They wheel me out of the school and into the ambulance. Mrs. Boswell follows the whole way. She asks at one point I’d like her to hold my hand but I cringe at the thought so she doesn’t push.
In the ambulance one of the EMT’s gives me an IV to try to raise my blood sugar. She informs me that this should help with some of the dizziness. Mrs. Boswell keeps asking questions to which I give no answer. I don’t want her here. Why didn’t I tell her that she couldn’t come in the ambulance with me?
The IV seems to have started working by the time we’ve reached the hospital. I’m not as dizzy and I don’t feel nauseous anymore. I even feel like I could sit up if they would just let me. Once the nurses in the emergency room move me to a room my mom is ushered in. This time she has both Audrie and Caty with her and the two are chattering back and forth about something I don’t quite understand.
“Mrs. Langley, perhaps it would be best if we didn’t overwhelm Bethany right now,” Mrs. Boswell says.
My mom shoots Mrs. Boswell a dirty look. “I know you’re not suggesting I send these two to sit in the waiting room by themselves,” she purses her lips and waits for Mrs. Boswell to take back what she was saying originally.
“No, it’s just that I’d like to talk to Bethany alone.”
Mom walks over to me, Caty bouncing on her hip. “You alright, Beth?
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom.”
“I’m gonna wait just outside the door. If you want me just call and I’ll come running okay?”
“I’ll be okay Mom,” I smile weakly.
Mom glares at Mrs. Boswell again before grabbing Audrie’s hand, “c’mon honey. We’ll get to visit with Bethany in just a little bit.”
Audrie starts protesting but Mom pulls her out of the room.
Mrs. Boswell turns to me. “Bethany, we need to have a very serious conversation.”
“Whatever,” I answer sighing.
“You said the last time you ate was last night.”
“Yeah.”
“Well what did you eat last night?”
I shrug. “I don’t remember.”
“I think you do, Bethany.”
I glare at her. “A spinach salad.”
“Just a spinach salad?”
“Just spinach.”
She nods slowly, “and what did you eat before that?”
“What do you mean?” I ask feigning innocence.
“When did you stop eating Bethany?”
“I didn’t stop eating,” I argue.
“Your mom said that you’re upset about something going on with Juliard.”
“Well if you already know all of the answers why are you asking such stupid questions?”
“Bethany, we’re all just concerned.”
I’m starting to get pissed off now. “You’re not concerned about me.”
Mrs. Boswell ignores that comment. “You think your family isn’t concerned?”
Now I ignore her. I turn my head so that I’m no longer looking at her.
“Bethany, you can either speak to me or you can talk to a psychiatrist at the hospital?”
“Well I’m here aren’t I?” I shoot back.
“I meant a psychiatric hospital. There’s one very near here that has a program for individuals with eating disorders.”
“I don’t have an eating disorder.”
“Bethany, all the signs are present. You’re not eating and you’re using your non-eating as a way to control something in your life.”
“That’s not true. I need to make sure that I don’t gain any weight so that as soon as my ankle heals I’ll be able to dance again,” I argue.
“I know you’re not so stupid that you actually think that.”
“I’m not stupid!”
“Then you’ll sign yourself into the hospital.”
“Look,” I argue, struggling to maintain my composure, “I don’t need to go to a psych hospital. I’m fine.”
“Maybe we should speak to your mother?” she suggests. “Your sisters aren’t old enough to understand any of this.”
I turn back and glare at her. “I don’t need to go to a psych hospital,” I say gritting my teeth. I try sitting up but I don’t quite have the energy to do that just yet. Instead I struggle and manage to prop myself up a few inches with my elbows. If I had the energy I’d start throwing punches she’s pissed me off so much.
Mrs. Boswell walks to the door, “Mrs. Langley,” she calls.
Mom reenters pulling Audrie behind her.
“Mrs. Langley, from what you and Bethany have told me there is reason to believe that Bethany has an eating disorder.
Mom turns to look at me just as I start protesting,
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