Free Normalish by Margaret Lesh Page A

strong one, started crying too.
    We were a tragic little group standing in the bedroom crying, but what else could we do?
    When Becca was all packed, we drove her to her new home. It’s just a couple blocks off Lankershim. I don’t remember ever really noticing it before because it’s one of those places that blends into the background. There’s nothing unusual about it. Brookside looks like a large modern house, like two large boxes, one square and one rectangular, set next to each other, with plants and trees and a little brick pathway that leads up to the double doors. There are a couple of wooden benches sitting out in front and flowers in pots. It doesn’t look all institutional like a prison, though. I pretended it was Becca’s mental health resort.
    When we got inside, the receptionist, a small woman with a kind face, welcomed us.
    “Hello there.” She took Mom’s hand. “I’m Marcy.”
    She focused on Becca.
    “You must be Becca. I’m so glad to meet you.”
    And she held her little hand out to Becca, and Becca kind of grabbed for Marcy’s hand like she was a little unsure about the whole shaking-hands custom.
    Marcy led us down the hall and gave us a quick tour, explaining the house rules, visiting hours, pointing out the common room for the residents and their guests—the place where we’ll be when we come for visits.
    She showed us Becca’s room, a tiny little cubicle about half the size of our bedroom. There was a bed, a bedside table with a lamp, an overhead light fixture, a simple desk and chair. And a small dresser—three drawers—for her clothes.
    “I’ll give you ladies a few minutes, then you’re going to have to leave so Becca and I can go over a few things.”
    Marcy left us, and there still wasn’t really enough room for us all in there, so we stood bunched up together.
    It still doesn’t seem real to me when I think about it. Just when it seems like you have things figured out, something like this—something so completely unexpected—comes along. I couldn’t get over it. The sister that I’d shared a bedroom with my whole life, that I’d fought with and laughed with, I was saying goodbye to her. And I was scared—really scared—that she might never be the same again.
    “Bye, Becca,” I said, giving her a hug, and she held on to me tight, and it felt like she was a little rag doll. It was impossible for me not to cry, so I just gave in and held her a few seconds.
    When it was Mom’s turn and Becca clung to her like she was her life raft and called her “Mommy”—something I’ve never heard her say—I felt the tears coming to the surface.
    “It’s okay, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Mom said as she stroked her hair. Jill put her hand over her mouth like it was all too much, and I left the room. I had to leave because it was hard to breathe. The walls were starting to close in.
    I found a seat in the visitors area. The kind woman Marcy put her hand on my shoulder, which made me cry even more.
    “Your sister’s gonna be just fine here. Okay?” She looked at me with her soft eyes that made me want to trust her. “This is what we do. We take care of people like Becca. Don’t worry.”
    So that’s it. We drove home, none of us saying anything. I mean, what else was there to say?

October 14 -
Refugees
     
    I just couldn’t go to school. I really couldn’t.
    I begged Mom not to make me go back. I didn’t want to face the stares, the wondering, the whispering. People thinking that my sister was insane. I didn’t want to explain to Bethany and Rose that my sister had schizophrenia. I definitely didn’t want to see Summer and her backstabbing face—I’d probably smack it, and then they’d send me to see the school counselor. And I just really didn’t feel like going to school.
    Surprisingly, Mom let me stay home. She let me go back to bed.
    When I got up at ten thirty, Jill took me to the mall. Apparently she couldn’t deal with school either.
    There