Happy Depression
My friend and neighbor
and secret crush
Levine spent the summer
in a psychiatric ward.
Levine’s red, long hair cascaded
to the small of her back,
and her freckles camouflaged
her face to hide the diamonds
of her deep, oval green eyes.
Levine’s parents sent her to a place
fenced with tall razors near Spokane.
That’s a three-hour drive from Yakima.
We were friends, not best friends.
But good friends.
Our sophomore year starts next week.
But I saw no sign of the girl with whom I fell
for even more than her absence grew-I grew fonder.
Levine, wrapped in a straight jacket, unsettled my stomach.
“Mrs. Davidson!” I said before she entered her car.
She paused and looked for the voice.
I waved. “Mrs. Davidson, how is Levine?”
Mrs. Davidson placed sunglasses over her eyes. “She’s getting help at a hospital.”
“She ok?” I said, more startled than I’d wanted to.
“Levine will be back at school.” She gave me a tight-lipped grin and closed her door. She started the engine, blasting country music that faded as she withdrew her presence with distance.
What did this wealthy girl have to be sad about?
I wondered that before I read up on depression.
Levine’s mother didn’t give a diagnosis, but it had to deal with depression.
I sat on the deck of my parent’s lakeside home.
Shadows replaced bright rays. I scrolled through my phone, looking at the characteristics of depression.
I saw these descriptions manifest in my daily life.
Self-diagnosing isn’t healthy. I should talk to Mom.
I choked back a lump in my throat. “I need help,” I said, loud enough for only me to hear. Not even the Washington breeze could dry my spilling tears. “Have for sometime.”
“You finally got it,” a voice said.
I twisted around. “Levine?” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“We knew you’d ask my mother about me.” She blushed.
“Hmmm…” I cleared my throat. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Being the teacher that your mother is, she wanted you to find the answers for yourself.”
“Well, there are too many kids being told they’re depressed when they aren’t.” I stroked my chin.
“I’ll go with you to counseling tomorrow,” Levine said. “And let the therapists take it from there.”
My eyes traveled the length of her body. “You look good, by the way.”
“Good?”
“For a girl.” I winked.
Levine folded her lips under her teeth.
“Is that so?” She closed the distance between us. Levine’s warm breath brushed against my cheek. “I’m better than good,” she joked.
“Close to perfect,” I said before I thought about how it’d come across.
“That’s more like it.” Levine dragged her lip across my cheek. She kissed me.
And then I kissed her.
Our mothers covered their mouths as we turned to see them; they ducked
like cops catching kids breaking into a church.
And a church was where we’d soon marry.
(My new poetry collection: Screaming At Anxiety)
Originally published at https://writeovercoffee.blog on March 19, 2024. (Previously Published at Poetry Catalog)
