Light in the Shadows

he was nice enough, in that I-still-live-in-my-parents’-basement kind of way.
     
                    “Guys, it’s seven in the morning.  You know the rules about music.  I’d hate to confiscate your stereo.”  Tyler looked sheepish and switched the music off.  The Grayson Center was all about rules, birthday or not.
     
                    “Sorry, man,” my roommate mumbled, clearly embarrassed by the reprimand.  I got out of bed and stretched, scratching the back of my head.
     
                    Jonathan gave us a smile.  “Just don’t let it happen again.  I hate having to be the bad guy.”  The aide looked over at me and threw something in my direction.  I grabbed it before it fell to the floor.  It was one of those cheesy “I’m the Birthday Boy” buttons that you wear when you’re a kid.
     
                    “Happy Birthday, Clay,” Jonathan said, grinning as I stuck the pin into my shirt.  I grinned back, displaying my button proudly. 
     
                    “Thanks, Jon.  Just what I always wanted,” I joked as the aide left.  I went to my dresser and pulled out some clothes and then gathered my shower stuff.
     
                    “Hurry up, Clay.  The kitchen staff will make you whatever you want on your birthday.  So unless you want to choke down a shit tasting bagel with the rest of us, make it snappy.”  I snorted at Tyler.
     
                  “Yes sir, I’ll make it snappy, ” I replied sarcastically.  But Tyler was right.  I wasn’t missing out on a southwest omelet for nothin’.  I couldn’t get rid of the ridiculous smile on my face as I got ready for my day. 
     
                    This happy stuff was pretty awesome.
     
    ***
     
     
                    By around two in the afternoon I was officially in the birthday spirit.  Maria, Tyler and a few of our other friends made a big production of wheeling out a cake during lunch time.  Maria insisted I wear a pointed birthday hat made of cheap card board.  I played along, not being able to help but enjoy the whole thing.
     
                    The counselors had gotten me a new journal (oh joy) and some books about loving myself or whatever.  I didn’t get hung up on the cheesiness of it and just appreciated the fact that they thought to get me anything at all.  Louis the center’s administrator gave me some coupons redeemable for different privileges, like extra TV time and a few “get out of chores” tickets.  It may not seem like a lot, but to the patients at Grayson, those coupons were like gold. 
     
                    Everyone was going out of their way to make me feel special.  Which was definitely needed when by late afternoon it became apparent that I wouldn’t be getting a phone call from my parents.  I received the obligatory greeting card of course.  It looked cheap, like something from the dollar rack.  I was pretty sure it was something my dad’s secretary had picked up at Wal-Mart.  It had only been signed “Mom and Dad.”  And I was almost positive that it wasn’t even their handwriting. 
     
                  It wasn’t as though I was surprised by their lack of sentiment.  But I had to seriously tamp down the hurt and bitterness that threatened to swallow my good mood.  I really wished I could just turn off the juvenile expectation that my parents would for once act like…well, parents. Setting myself up for the disappointment was way past old.
     
                    I had met with Dr. Todd right before dinner.  He had wanted to touch base with me about my ongoing treatment.  He explained that he was legally bound to inform me of my rights now that I was of age.  I technically had three more weeks left at the center according to the treatment plan my parents and I had signed when I was admitted.  But now that I was eighteen, my treatment was my own.  Given that I had made significant progress and no longer posed a threat to myself, I could be cleared for discharge as early as the end of the week. 
     
                    I cleared my throat; taken aback by the information I was just given.  “What about my parents?  Couldn’t they fight that?” I asked.  I couldn’t imagine my parents sitting by and letting me discharge myself.  Not without some serious legal wrangling.  But