The Art of Losing Touch

Chapter Four

 Robert didn't speak to anyone the rest of the day. He stayed curled up in the corner, playing with his fingers and chewing on his hair, glaring at anyone who came too close. Eventually even the techs stopped trying to talk to him. I was sitting in my usual chair, sketching little animals, sometimes glancing over in his direction. He never looked directly at me.

I jumped at the soft touch on my shoulder and whirled around, but it was just Berke.

"Don't let him make you feel guilty about leaving," he said. "You're not supposed to stay here for any longer than you need to. The goal of coming in is getting out." He smiled at me. My smile back was small and weak. "You've come a long way, Cal. You've done a good job."

"Thank you," I whispered. But my eyes wouldn't stop wandering over in Robert's direction.

He didn't come out of his room the next morning and I didn't see him at breakfast. He wasn't in our morning goals group. Near the end, I raised my hand and asked, "What happened to Robert?"

"He's been transferred to a different hospital," Chloe said.

"Why?"

"I can't tell you, Cal, you know that. It's a violation of patient privacy."

I nodded and looked back down at my feet, hoping that, wherever he was now, there was somebody there who'd understood him like I did. He needed that as much as I needed quiet and a stable schedule, and without it, he would fall apart.

None of the other lads had ever talked to me much outside of groups, and they didn't start after Robert left. He had been the only one to talk to me regularly, and I knew it was my own fault because I was so quiet, but it was still lonely. I'd known he wasn't really my friend, but we'd understood each other, and sometimes that's just as important.

But the days passed as they always did, with meals and groups and free time in the day room and quiet time in our own rooms, and the sun set and rose and set and rose again, and then four days had passed, and they released me. It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week, so my parents had to take off work and my brothers were at school. Mam brought me a jacket.

"It's very cold outside," she said.

The hospital gave back my shoes and the few other things they'd taken when I'd been admitted, but it wasn't much because I'd sent most of it home with my parents.

A cold, light breeze hit me in the face when we left the building, chilling my nose and lips. I pulled the neckline of my jacket up to cover my mouth. It was scarf weather.

The air was fresh and the trees were white and the whole parking lot smelled of wind and sun, cold and bright. I followed my parents back to our little black car and got into the backseat.

"We were thinking of going out for lunch," Mam said. She turned to face me from the passenger's seat. "Your choice."

I bit my lip. I hadn't been able to choose anything in weeks.

"Sandwiches?" I asked.

"Cal, we can do that at –"

"Connor."

Dad paused. "We'll go to the café down the street from the school. How about that?"

"We don't have to," I murmured. "If you'd rather go home." I didn't want to be any trouble, especially when I'd barely been out of the hospital for five minutes.

"No, Cal, it's fine," Mam said.

"Okay."

The drive was quiet. Nobody said anything. Nobody knew what to say. Was lunch going to be like this, too?