The Red Door

Part One: Summer 1929, Chapter 6

Chapter Six

By lunchtime on Monday there wasn’t a student in my class that didn’t know about my trip to Weston. They didn’t know why I was there, or that the doctor said I was perfectly fine, all they knew was that only strange people got sent to Weston, and that I was one of them. Rodger Kettering, Mrs. Kettering’s son, made sure everyone knew. He was the type of person who teased everyone for something, and my trip to Weston was endless ammunition.

He started the second Howard and I made our way through the classroom door.

“Where are your friends, Mollie?” he said as I sat at my desk right behind his. My two best friends were Howard and Helena, and they were both sitting on either side of me.

“Not them, stupid,” he said, glancing at Howard and Helena, “I mean your other friends. Or did you leave them at Weston?”

His best friend Gil sat to his right and turned around immediately.

“Mollie has friends at Weston?” he said, loudly.

Howard looked at me, puzzled, along with everyone else who heard. I looked down at the book on my desk and ignored them all, unable to face Howard or Helena and just hoping that Rodger would shut up.

But he didn’t, and for the rest of the day he was relentless. His friend Gil stuck by his side, feeding off everything he said. It was one of the first times I couldn’t wait to leave school, and as soon as we were dismissed from class I ran out of the doors as fast as I could. I didn’t want anyone else to talk to me, not even Howard or Helena, I just wanted to be alone. What I really wanted was for the dreams to be real, and to live a life where my family was good to me, where I didn’t need to be taken to a psychiatric hospital, and I didn’t need dreams to be happy. The thought of knowing that would never be possible was crushing. I stopped right there on the side of the gravel road and cried, and eventually Howard caught up to me.

“Mollie! What are you doing?” he shouted as he ran up behind me.

I didn’t answer, I couldn’t answer. Between running and crying, I barely had breath left to speak.

“Mollie, what’s wrong? What was Rodger talking about Weston for?”

He knelt down next to me and waited.

“Because it’s true,” I finally said.

“My mother thinks something is wrong with me. She tried to take me there.”

“Why?!”

“I don’t know. Can you just go away?”

I didn’t even have these answers for myself, so I couldn’t answer them for him.

“I’m not going to make fun of you, I promise,” he said, “I’m not like Rodger.”

I stood up and brushed the dirt off my dress. “I know. I just want to be alone.” And I started off towards the lonely tree, happy to see Howard didn’t follow. When I got there I pulled out my leather backpack and my journal and wrote down the dream from the night before. It wasn’t an extraordinary dream, but it was better than anything in my real life at that moment, and it calmed me down.

October 1, 1929

Ma, Pa, me and baby Charlie spent the day at the lake. It was sunny and warm, even the fish were jumping out of the water to feel it. Ma made sandwiches for us to eat when we got hungry. After we swam for a while, Pa climbed a tree next to the lake, as high as he could go, and tied a rope around the branch. It was so long it touched the water! When he was done we took turns swinging on the rope and splashing into the lake, but not baby Charlie. He’s too little. It was the best day.