Always Watching

street kids, though.…” He paused, with his eyebrows raised as he waited for her response. I knew what he was getting at.
    When Lisa first started using drugs, I’d done some research and was familiar with GHB, or gamma hydroxybutyrate, which is a central nervous system depressant, popular with people frequenting nightclubs and raves. Also called liquid ecstasy, or liquid x, in small doses it was a stimulant and aphrodisiac, known to create euphoria. In high doses it could cause dizziness, agitation, visual disturbances, depressed breathing, amnesia, unconsciousness, and death. It was also nearly impossible to detect in a urine sample, so we’d never know for sure.
    Lisa also knew what the doctor was insinuating. Her face was flushed and angry-looking as she said, “I’m clean.” She glanced at me, her expression saying, I know you told him.
    The doctor made a note, his own face expressionless. “Do you remember anyone handing you a drink?”
    I didn’t understand why he’d asked that, until I remembered that GHB was also known as a date rape drug. Had Lisa been raped ?
    While I was putting it together, so was Lisa. Warring emotions crossed her face. First confusion, then fear, and soon anger. Her eyes filled with tears as she said, “No, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
    I said, “Lisa, if someone hurt you—”
    The doctor interjected. “There was no sign of sexual trauma.”
    Lisa said, “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”
    It was clear she was hiding something, probably remembering meeting with her dealer or a friend, but I didn’t want to press. There was no point.
    The doctor finished his exam, during which Lisa remained mostly mute, then explained that they’d like to keep her in overnight for observation.
    She nodded her assent, then turned to stare at the wall.
    I said, “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, okay, Lisa?”
    She didn’t answer.
    When I came back into the room, Lisa had fallen asleep. I sat beside the bed, taking her hand in mine again, knowing that as soon as she woke, these little affections would be refused. I studied the small half-moon scar on her pinkie finger that she’d gotten as a child when she’d caught her finger in the door of our camper. She’d screamed and cried, and never slammed that door again. Maybe this time she’d finally hit rock bottom, a terrifying close call, which might just give her that final push to seek proper treatment. I wanted her to come home with me and focus on getting better, but I couldn’t push her into that decision. I smoothed her hair back, noticing it was soft and silky, so she’d been taking care of that as well. I gazed down at her, my eyes filling with tears.
    What happened to you?
    I sat beside her for a while, then asked one of the nurses to inform the psychiatric unit that I wouldn’t be able to come in the next day. The head nurse brought me a blanket, and I nodded off in the chair. Hours later I heard a movement in the bed and startled awake. Lisa was watching me.
    I said, “Hi, baby. How you feeling?”
    Her voice still raspy, she said, “My throat’s sore.”
    “I’ll get you some water and ice chips.”
    As I handed her the cup, she said, “When can I get out of here?”
    I waited while she swallowed some of the water and rested her head back on the pillow, then I said, “You’ll probably be released tomorrow.” I glanced at my watch. It was already three in the morning. “Just a few more hours.”
    I approached the next part carefully. I didn’t want to ask her what happened—it would put her on the defensive. I also couldn’t demand she come home with me. I longed for the days when I could just scoop her up and carry her in my arms. But I had to allow her to come to the decision on her own. I said, “Would you like to stay with me for a little while?”
    She looked like she was considering it, her eyes thoughtful, but there was something else in there. Fear? I resisted the urge to alternately insist, cajole, force, argue, and beg.
    She whispered, “Okay.”
    My body flooded with relief. Before I could get too optimistic about our progress, she said, “But you can’t ask me a bunch of questions.”
    I nodded, accepting her terms, then asked if she needed anything. She wanted to go to the bathroom, so I helped her out of bed, then we watched TV until she fell back asleep. Though it was an awful situation, I was happy to be with my daughter. Even this