The Mind of Power | Teen Ink

The Mind of Power

June 12, 2012
By imperfectlyperfect, Manchester, Connecticut
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imperfectlyperfect, Manchester, Connecticut
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Favorite Quote:
"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear."
-'Ambrose Hollington Redmoon' (James Neil Hollington)


I’ve always found Irish music to be intoxicating. I honestly couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it’s the way the melody seems to pick you up and move your feet. Perhaps it’s the way the fiddles or violins or whatever come together. There’s just something magical about it.

It was June 11, 2013, when my life changed forever.

I had just gotten out of the movie theater. My friend and I had just gone to see Sherlock Holmes 3 (it was quite good too!). The one thing I hate about the movie theater is how dark it is. Inside, it’s like you’ve walked into a cave. When you step out into the real world, the light is ridiculously blinding. That’s why I prefer to go to night showings whenever I can.

Later, I would wonder why I had to go the night showing of that movie. Why couldn’t we had seen the new Disney movie, like Bell had wanted? Why did drama practice have to run late, making us see the 8:00 showing instead of 6:30? Would any of it have made a difference?

Everyone I ask says no. I still would have seen what I saw, done what I had done. I prefer to disagree. If we had gone to a later showing, we could have avoided it. Maybe. At least, I’d like to believe so.

As much as I wonder, I know I cannot change what happened. Unless someone happens to have a time machine on them.
Anyone? No?
I thought so.
We were coming out of the theater. It was exactly 10:16 pm, as security footage would later tell me. Bell and I couldn’t stop talking about the movie. Way better than the Disney movie, we both decided.
Bell had to use the bathroom. She went in and braved the long line while I relaxed on a bench nearby, fighting off a desire to fall asleep right then and there. Our drama coach- I mean teacher- had kept us late to practice a huge song-and-dance number, even though the entire cast knew it by heart. I dimly surveyed the movie posters that smothered the walls, wishing for my cozy bed. That was when my neck tingled.
It was the smallest feeling, something I could have easily ignored.
And yet I didn’t.
I turned and saw a man staring at me intently. My heart sped us as I glanced away. Trying to look inconspicuous, I stood up and walked in what I hoped was a lazy stroll towards The Hunger Games poster. I stood looking at it with my arms slightly crossed, as if trying to locate the release date (November 23, by the way). From my position, I could see the reflection of the man. Seeing him clearer, I saw that he looked to be about a year or two older than me, maybe 20 or 21. He was wearing deep blue denim jeans with a solid black shirt. His hair was deep black and groomed nicely back, spiked just a tiny bit. He would have been completely normal had it not been for his gaze. Even from a reflection, I shivered at the intensity that burned from his bright blue eyes. No, this wasn’t just some guy checking me out (as if that ever happened. Bell would be the one to get that type of attention). I got the feeling that it was something more.
Don’t ask me how, or why. The simple answer is that I just did. I just did. I know that’s an absolutely ridiculous and aggravating answer, but it’s the best I’ve got.
I heard the familiar clunk of heels, and turned to see Bell come out of the bathroom, looking like a supermodel even though she never tried.
“Ready to go?” she asked, looking completely unperturbed. Oh yeah. Why would she?
I turned my head again, and then felt bewilderment eat at me.
He was gone.
Just like that. There one moment, gone the next.
I turned back to Bell, half expecting her to have disappeared as well. But she was in the same spot, now looking at me with concern.
“Hey, you okay? You look scared.”
I nodded, but she seemed unconvinced.
“Lily? Did something happen?”
I did my best to look surprised and annoyed, like I always do when someone ask me about my emotional stability.
“Yeah.” My voiced sounded a little hoarse.
Crap.
I cleared it and tried again.
“Yeah I’m fine.” Bell continued to look at me, unsure. “Stop looking at me like I have three heads. I have one.”
Bell rolled her eyes and smiled. I’d convinced her.
As we walked out of the theater towards the car, I glanced back once more, feeling mystified.
What the hell was that about? I thought. I hoped I wasn’t going crazy and imagining things.
That would seriously suck.

My eyes flick open.
My heart is pounding and I’m tangled up in my sheets. It takes me a moment to discern the dream from reality. I remember who I am, where I am.
I flop back down on the hard bed, huffing out a sigh. I curse as my head hits the metal bar that is just above my pillow. I always forget about that damn bar. I have more bruises on my head than I can count.
A feeble sunlight trickles through the window onto the hard cement floor. My eyes follow the trail of light up to the one small window in the corner. I slowly get up, careful to avoid any more injury, and lightly walk over to the window, careful not to make any noise. The sun has just started to come up, painting the sky with brilliant shades of reds, yellows, and purples. I subconsciously reach my hand towards the window, only to be stopped by the thick metal bars. I longingly look out at the sun, imagining that this sunset is in another place. Another time.
Anywhere but here.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I whip around as the unexpected voice pierces through the silence. My “roommate” sits straight up, watching me with her watchful eyes.
“How long have you been watching me?” I ask.
“Long enough.” She gets up and winces at the huge groan the bed emits.
“I’ve got to file a complaint about these stupid “beds” we sleep on,” she complains.
I laugh humorlessly.
“Like they’d listen.”
She laughs at the audacity of my comment.
“At least it’ll give me something to do. Some way to fight back, to show that I’m not giving up.”
I look at her in wonder as she gazes out the window. She points to a vine of green leaves growing on the huge stone wall, illuminated by the sun.
“It’s ivy. Like my name,” she says, with a small smile on her face.
I don’t know how she does it. Smile.
Ivy’s been at this place since she was 15. She’s now 17, a year younger than me, although she acts like she’s years older. She’s been tested, experimented on, and has faced all kinds of horrors, but she still holds on. They try to destroy her hope, but it still stays there, deep in her green eyes.
When I first came here, three days ago, it wasn’t by choice. They’d grabbed me, calling themselves social workers, with my parents watching sadly from behind. There was no trial, no jury, no lawyer to plead- no, prove- my innocence. No one had any sympathy for the teenager who tried to kill.
And succeeded.
Only I didn’t.
Something Ivy and I have in common? We’re both innocent.
She was set up, just like me.

I had been thrown in the cell, bruised and disheveled. I probably looked like I was crazy. Felt like it too. I tried to stand up and fell down, hitting my knee on the floor. I collapsed onto the ground, sobbing, trying to calm down, and then sobbing even harder. I would have stayed on that floor for the rest of my life, gladly allowing death to graciously claim me, had it not been for a gentle hand that laid on my shoulder.
“C’mon,” the gentle voice said. “Up you go.”
She helped me stand up and sit down on a bed in the corner of the room. I wiped my eyes while she stood, patiently waiting for me to calm down.
“I’m Ivy. What’s your name?”
I tried to take a deep breath to answer.
“Li-L-Lily.” My voice was shaky, and it took me three times to get the word out.
Ivy looked at me with her deep eyes, watching me closely. I tried to imagine what I must look like. My long brown hair was hanging lifelessly down my back. My golden eyes were wet and puffy, as was my face. I felt destroyed, with no desire to hang on at all.
“I didn’t do it.” Those were the words I realized I was saying. They came out of my mouth in a jumble that I had no control over. “What they threw me in for. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I know I’m not. I didn’t kill her. I mean, I don’t know how she died, I can’t remember anything, but I never-“
“I know,” Ivy said, interrupting my ramble. Her eyes told me all I needed to know.
“I know.”

I gaze at Ivy, my mind on the day I first came here.
When I thought it was just a mental hospital.



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