Free Spin by Catherine McKenzie

look for TGND, but despite the “all
patients must attend all meals” rule, she’s nowhere to be seen.
    The food is good, simple fare (spicy penne
arrabbiata, a tart Caesar salad), and after dinner we follow the crowd to the
common room to watch a cookie-cutter romantic comedy on the widescreen TV. When
the couple that’s meant-to-be finally gets together, there doesn’t seem to be
anything left to do but go to sleep, and so I do.
    I ’m
dreaming a wonderful dream. I’m writing a cover profile about Feist, and I’m
meeting her backstage at the Grammys before she performs. A rainbow of musical
celebrities surrounds us. Paul McCartney is playing “Blackbird” for Adam Duritz.
Madonna is warming up for her duet with Fergie. Kurt Cobain’s daughter is about
to make her musical debut, singing backup for Lisa Marie Presley. None of it
makes any sense, of course, but I feel extremely happy nonetheless.
    That is, until I’m awoken by the most ungodly
scream.
    “AAAHHHHH!”
    My eyes fly open, my heart pounding. By the
moonlight seeping through the window, I can see Amy tossing back and forth on
her bed, her mouth open.
    I jump to the cold floor and put a tentative hand
on her shoulder. “Amy.”
    “AAHH, AAHH!”
    “Amy!”
    “Get off me!”
    I pull my hand away. “You were screaming.”
    “Who are you?”
    “It’s me, Katie. Your roommate.”
    I turn on the light that sits on the night table
between our beds.
    She blinks slowly. “Sorry. I was disoriented.”
    “It’s OK. I think you were having a nightmare.”
    “I wish. I was in a K-hole.”
    “A what?”
    “I was dreaming I was using.”
    Oh. So “K” must be a drug. But what drug? Vitamin
K? Special K cereal with cocaine sprinkled on it?
    I’m going to be unmasked soon, soon, soon.
    “Right, of course . . . I hate those
kinds of dreams.”
    I totally paused for too long between those two
phrases.
    Amy sits up and runs her hands through her tightly
curled hair. Her eyes look unfocused. “That’s the understatement of the
year.”
    Phew. She doesn’t seem to have noticed.
    “Do you want some water? I could get it for
you.”
    “No, thanks. I’m all right.” She pounds her fist
into the mattress. “Fuck! I’m so goddamn tired of this. Why doesn’t it get any
easier?”
    “I’m sure it does.”
    She looks at me bleakly.
    “Sorry, what do I know? I just got here.”
    “Right. I’m the one who’s supposed to be teaching
you how to cope.”
    “You don’t have to.”
    “I know. But I should know something by now,
especially since I’ve been here before.”
    “This isn’t your first time in rehab?”
    “This is take three. Three strikes and you’re out,”
she mutters.
    “How come it didn’t work before?”
    She shrugs. “Choices I made. People I should’ve
stayed away from. Take your pick.”
    “Why not try something else?”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know. I’m just talking smack.”
    She almost smiles. “Interesting choice of
words.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for waking me
up.”
    She reaches out her hand and after a moment’s
hesitation, I take it. She quietly begins to cry, and the tears well up in my
own eyes.
    Jesus. Four days in rehab, and I’m already crying
with strangers.
    T he
next morning at breakfast I don’t have much of an appetite, so I sip my coffee
while Amy digs into an omelet.
    “Don’t worry, your appetite will come back in a
couple of days,” she says.
    “Oh, I never eat much breakfast.”
    “Have you had any tremors yet? Those are the
worst.”
    I’m not quite sure how to play this. Should I admit
to tremors, or counter with something worse, like seeing imaginary bugs?
    She’s not testing you, idiot,
she’s just making rehab conversation.
    Right. Less paranoia would be good.
    “Not yet. Anyway, I should get to my therapy
appointment.”
    “Sure enough. See you later.”
    I get a to-go cup for my coffee and ask for
directions to Saundra’s office.
    Her