The Happy Treatment

“So,” Eva says, now that the three of us are back in her house, “you see now why I didn’t wanna go talk to the weird neighbors?”

“What was wrong with them?” I say, genuinely concerned.

Zophie walks to the fridge to get a lemonade while Eva and I take a seat on the stools at the kitchen island.

“They’re happy, that’s what’s wrong with them,” Zophie says.

“No, no,” Eva rejects quickly, “That’s not what the treatment does, believe me I’ve done my research.”

Zophie scoffs this time, sounding a lot like Eva. “Yeah? What research have you done, Eva?”

Eva sits up straight, “I’ve seen trustworthy news segments talk about the treatment and I’ve read tons of different articles. Whatever is wrong with Todd and Beatrice, it has nothing to do with them getting the treatment. Some people are just weird, Zophie.”

“Whatever,” Zophie responds, “What did you think, Cindy?”

“They were definitely weird,” I say, “but I don’t regret going over and talking to them. It was something I think I needed to see for myself.”

“What do you mean?” Eva asks, “What did you need to see for yourself?”

I pause, not really sure how to answer. “Uhh,” I hesitate, “not that the treatment is why they’re like the way they are, but I wanted to talk to get some insight on the life of a Happy person.”

“Well you’re going to need to talk to a lot more people who have the treatment because Beatrice and Todd are weird and make the treatment look like it kills brain cells.”

Zophie rolls her eyes, “Cindy, you’re 17 years old. You act like these are the first Happy people you’ve met.”

“Well,” I say, “I know this sounds strange, but it feels as if they are for some reason.”

“What do you mean?” Eva asks.

“I don’t know. Lately, I’ve just been paying more attention. I don’t know why. I’ve met Happy people before, but I’ve never really had long conversations with them like we did just now. It’s only been quick conversations like a server taking my order or doing quick group projects in school where we only talk over text and the only weird thing I’d notice is they overuse the exclamation point. Of course I met a lot of Happy people when I was younger when my mom and I would still talk to other family members and visit family reunions, but I was a child and you can’t really tell who is just using an excited all cheerful voice just for you since you’re a child or if that’s how they are all the time, you know?”

“Makes sense I guess,” Zophie says, sipping her lemonade.

“I see what you’re saying,” Eva says, “but I think you’re overthinking this. Getting the treatment doesn’t change your whole personality and make you a total happy zombie, it just cures you of your mental instability. The electrode just produces whatever hormones you need at the time - or chemicals or whatever you wanna call them - into your brain to make sure your mental disorders don’t ever overtake you again. It’s a permanent cure. Maybe that’s what’s scaring you since it’s something permanent and you’re not used to change.”

Zophie leans over the counter towards me, “That’s her trying to sound smart,” she whispers.

“Shut up!” Eva says and whacks her sister’s hand. Zophie smirks. She takes a last sip of her lemonade then puts it back in the fridge. “I’m going to take Lavvy for a you-know-the-thing,” Zophie says. If she says the word “walk” Lavvy starts barking her head off out of excitement, “Y’all wanna come? Cindy, you might could see more of how this neighborhood runs.”

“Ugh,” Eva says, “you guys are obsessed. Cindy, you can go if you want, but count me out. I’ve had enough interaction today.”

“Alright, if you’re good with it,” I say, “I’ll go, Zophie.” I feel a little bad for deciding to leave Eva behind. Afterall, I came over to hang out with her, not her sister, but if Eva says Todd and Beatrice aren’t good examples of what a Happy person really is, then I’d like to see someone who is, and I might get to see that on this walk, especially with Zophie, who I’ve learned doesn’t waste any time with small talk.

Zophie gets Lavvy’s leash and puts it behind her back out of Lavvy’s eyesight. We walk to the door and Zophie bends down facing Lavvy. “Walk?” Zophie says. Lavvy perks her ears up and stares at Zophie. She barks once, as if to say “Me?” Zophie pulls the leash out from behind her back and clips it on Lavvy’s light purple collar. Lavvy starts barking her high pitched, annoying little squeal of excitement and jumping up and down. “Let’s go!” Zophie says with a high pitched voice for Lavvy. We walk out the door and Lavvy tugs us along to the neighborhood sidewalk.

“Eva’s in denial,” Zophie says. Lavvy has calmed down now that we’re walking. I glance over at her, “You think so?” I ask.

“I know so,” she says, “She’s met other Happy people before, there’s Happy people in our family, and there’s tons more Happy weird neighbors around here.”

“I mean, she says she’s read up about what it really does to you, how it really just helps dispose of whatever mental disorders you may have.”

“Bullshit. That’s what every article and news source and everything online says, but those are kind of hard to believe whenever you see for yourself the treatment in action in real life.”

“Could it just be that you have weird people living in your neighborhood? I mean, similar people do tend to all live near each other, you know?”

“That’s not it. I’ve seen a few before and after the procedure. They’re not the same, and they’re not cured like every mindless believer in the treatment says they are.”

“Has Eva seen that too?”

“I don’t know. She probably has but pushes it to the back of her mind. Like I said she’s in denial. I bet she knows deep down that this is a fucked up kind of treatment, but I think she’s just looking for something to hope in. Believing something is out there that could help her feel better and feel actually genuinely happy again and not ever having to worry about feeling unstable again helps her I think, even if she never even got the treatment. I find myself wishing I believed that, ’cause that sounds amazing, but-” she pauses, “it doesn’t exist… as much as Eva and all these other people out there want it to, being happy isn’t going to be that easy.” Zophie gets distracted from the conversation when the 5 or 6 year old I saw earlier comes into view on the sidewalk, walking the opposite way of us still out walking with his eyes glued to his phone.

“Oh this kid,” Zophie says, “he’s another perfect example of the depressing Happy treatment,” she waves towards the kid as he’s about to pass us, oblivious to his surroundings, “Hey Owen!” she shouts. Owen looks up from his phone, and he walks up to us and stops. Once he sees Zophie, he smiles without his teeth and stays standing and smiling. Zophie doesn’t say anything else for a moment, until she whispers towards me, “He’ll stay like that as long as we stand here and look at him - until one of us says something.” I look at Owen, and he continues to stand and smile at Zophie, as if on pause, waiting for Zophie to continue an imaginary script. Lavvy looks up at Zophie with a confused and concerned look on her fluffy face. Finally, once Zophie feels she’s proved her prediction to be true, she messes up Owen’s hair as if he’s her annoying little brother and says, “Alright buddy, get outta here with that weird fuckin’ smile,” and pushes him along. Without missing a beat, Owen’s head falls back down to scrolling through his phone and continues walking.

“If you ever see Owen,” Zophie says, continuing the walk again, “you’ll probably always see him out walking or on some kind of screen or even both like we did just now.”

“That’s good at least,” I say, “the outside part.”

“I wouldn’t say good. Owen’s got the saddest story I’ve heard yet in this neighborhood.

“What, has his parents had the procedure or something?”

“Nope, but he has.”

My eyes widened in surprise, “Wow, and how old is he?”

“Too young. Probably 6.”

People with the Happy treatment were common, but children as young as Owen with the treatment were a bit more uncommon, since usually at that age parents try medication first and everything else possible before giving a 6 year old brain surgery that may not be necessary. Zophie continues, “But yeah, his parents haven’t gotten the procedure, he has, and I heard his parents think it’s the biggest mistake they’ve ever made. They get depressed just looking at him now and send him outside almost everyday to walk around and be away from them, or they just sit him down with his phone or little tablet and that’s what his day consists of from what it looks like.”

“That’s awful,” I glance behind my shoulder to see if I can still see Owen walking. He’s still walking at the same consistent pace with his phone in grasp.

“Do you know why his parents made him get the procedure in the first place?” I ask.

“They were scared,” Zophie answers simply, “Pretty sure they were the overprotective parents trying everything they could to keep little Owen safe and happy and in trying so hard they screwed up.”

We come up to a house with the grass a bit greener than the others and with a few flowers planted on either side of the front door. It’s not nearly as perfect as Zophie’s work on her and her family’s house, but it’s obvious there was a bit of effort and passion put into the yard unlike most of the other houses in the neighborhood. “Oh,” Zophie stops abruptly, “this is actually Owen’s house if you’re curious.” A woman sits in a chair looking out from what looks to be the kitchen window. She spots us, or more so spots Lavvy, and a slight smile forms on her face. She points directly towards Lavvy when another woman walks up to the window and smiles once she sees the fluffy little dog. Zophie waves and Owen’s parents wave back as the three of us, including Lavvy, turn around to walk back to Zophie’s house.

“That’s always nice to see,” Zophie says after a moment.

“What is?” I ask.

“Just seeing some real happiness, even if it’s as tiny as that. I don’t see much of that in this neighborhood as you could probably guess.”

I look down at Lavvy, watching her ears bounce up and down as her little legs walk swiftly and contently.

“You notice how many people and houses we passed?” Zophie says, “no one did that except Owen’s moms. No one made any sort of emotion as we passed by unless we waved at them or acknowledged them first - and even then we’d get that weird fake happy looking smile. - No one even smiled the slightest bit seeing this little angel wobble by,” she reached down and pat Lavvy’s head, “No one pointed her out to their husband or wife or kid or whatever. No one cared. You’re telling me there’s no dog people in this entire neighborhood except those two?” She pointed back towards Owen’s house, and I let a small laugh out, not knowing how else to respond to Zophie’s conspiracies. “Maybe they’re all cat people,” I laugh. Zophie gives me a slightly annoyed look. “I know this doesn’t sound like a big deal,” she continues, “I know most people wouldn’t even notice or care if no one else noticed their cute little dog walking with them, but this neighborhood, man,” she shakes her head, “it’s weird. They’re like this every second of their life. Doesn’t matter if they were dog people or cat people before all these procedures, ’cause now they’re not even people. They don’t care about anything!”

“Okay,” I say, “That’s kind of a stretch, Zophie, don’t you think? You don’t hang out with these people every second of their life. You don’t know one hundred percent that these neighbors you see for a few seconds a day don’t care about anything and that they’re not even people. Some of them may be a little weird and some maybe a lot weird, I’ll admit, but you can’t know for certain that the way all of them act is specifically because of the Happy treatment.”

“I do know for certain,” Zophie says confidently and sternly, “I’ve been here longer than you, Cindy. I know this neighborhood and like I said I’ve seen the effect of this so-called treatment. I don’t know what you’re not seeing that I am here but Cindy,” she stops walking and faces me, “You can’t tell me you don’t notice something off.”

We make it back to the house and walk inside. Zophie takes Lavvy’s leash off and Lavvy scurries off to drink from her water bowl. Zophie takes her lemonade back out of the fridge and I head upstairs to hang out with Eva again.

“Eva?” I knock on her door and enter. Eva’s sitting on her bed and looks up at me entering with eyes full of tears. One of her arms has little lines of blood up and down the wrist. She holds a small pocket knife in her other hand and wipes her tears quickly away with her clean wrist. I fully walk in and close the door, “One of those days, huh?” I say, walking to her closet. She sniffles and nods, looking down. I grabbed a wash rag from her closet and wet it under her bathroom sink connected to her room. “Here,” I say, handing her the rag. She accepts and presses it against her arm with a faint “thank you.” I take a seat on the floor near her, leaning my back against her bed. I grab the knife from her and wipe it against the rag on her arm, then drag the end swiftly across my own arm, forming a harmless line of blood, then another, and another, until it matches Eva’s arm. I lean my head back and take a deep breath in, closing my eyes, and letting the peaceful, numbing feeling kick in throughout my body and take control. Suddenly, my thoughts aren’t so loud.

“I take it the walk with Zophie and Lavvy wasn’t fun?” Eva asks. I open my eyes, and look up at Eva. “Nah,” I say sarcastically, “it was a blast.” Eva sighs, “Cindy, come on,” she says, “Can we try to be real for once?”

“Since when are we real?” I say, “We do this sort of stuff all the time and never talk.” I gesture towards our arms.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been trying, Cindy, I’ve been trying to change that at least a little. You’ve been thinking about a lot lately too. I can tell with all the strange, more in depth than usual interest in this Happy treatment and everything.”

I turn towards her and lean my arm on her bed, “Because you brought all this up in the first place. I haven’t stopped thinking about the treatment since you mentioned it at my house a few days ago. And why - since then - have you been acting differently? I thought the conversation was over and you decided not to get it.” My voice sounded a little more harsh than I had intended it to be. Eva was silent for a moment, then responded, “I just don’t know how much longer I can last, Cindy.” her voice was quiet and strained. I was silent, surprised to hear something so real from Eva. “We’ve known each other for years,” she says, “but it feels like we actually haven’t - like we haven’t really talked about much or -” her voice staggers, “just that we don’t really actually know each other. I’ve just been thinking lately. I wanna know you. Cindy Reeves. I don’t want us to be friends for years and never actually know each other, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, I don’t know what else to say, I don’t know what else to do. The air between us feels heavy and thick. I pull myself up to sit on the bed next to Eva and put my good arm around her. She collapses into me and rests her head on my shoulder, letting out a quiet cry. We stay like this for a while, the only sound in the room being Eva’s quiet sniffles and heavy sighs. With each sigh and sniffle she feels lighter. I look down, unable to see her face, yet I can see her clearer than I ever have before. She looks broken and vulnerable, and her cut arm wrapped around me drips blood onto my shirt. I rest my head into her long, blonde hair and I think we both feel relief, like we’ve been carrying weights on our backs for ages that we finally get to set down.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to cheer up?” Eva says quietly, her voice cracking and hoarse, “Tell me to stop crying or calm down or stop being so emotional? Anything?” She tilts her head up towards me and her light blue eyes are glossy and red. Her eyebrows scrunch together to display a concerned expression.

I barely shake my head. “No,” my voice feels raspy too, “Why would I tell you any of that?”

Eva shakes her head slightly, “I don’t know,” she whispers, “usually people aren’t good at cheering each other up so they think just saying ‘cheer up’ or ‘don’t cry, it’s okay’ is enough.” She laughs sadly to herself. Eva was right. For there being a world full of sad people today, people sure do suck at knowing what to do when someone else is crying.

“I don’t think you need cheering up right now, Eva,” I responded, “you need comfort.”

Eva buries her head in my shirt and closes her eyes, “Thank you,” she whispers, and neither of us say anything else. Having this broken - real - image of Eva filling my eyesight, I feel her deep emotional pain seeping into me and my vision becomes a bit blurry with tears I fight to keep from escaping. This is the closest I’ve ever felt to Eva. My best friend who I’ve known for years, I feel like now I’m just starting to actually know her.

We stay like this for what feels like ages, long enough for the blood on our arms to dry. I look out Eva’s window and it’s night. I grab the wash rag off of Eva’s bed and wet it under her bathroom sink again then hand it back to Eva while I wash my own arm at the sink.

“I have some cream I can put on your arm,” Eva says, breaking the silence with her quiet voice, “It’s the least I can do for you.”

“I don’t need it,” I say, drying my arm with a hand towel. Eva looks at me for a second too long before looking back down at her arm she continues to rub with the wash rag. “What?” I say, setting down the hand towel.

Eva smiles sadly, “That,” she says, “Just such a Cindy response.”

I roll my eyes slightly and quietly and shrug off her comment. I walk back over to her bed and sit down. The rest of my time spent at her house consisted of watching our favorite reality TV shows on Eva’s television in her room and making fun of the people’s stupid decisions together - something we always enjoy doing together - while sitting closer to each other than we normally do, enjoying each other’s warmth and comfort and the beautiful feeling of not feeling alone.

When it’s almost past my curfew, Eva walks me down to the front door of her house. She stops and pauses before opening the door, looking at me as if there’s something unsaid.

“Hey Cindy,” Eva’s dad says. We both turn to see him sitting on the couch in the living room with Zophie and Lavvy watching TV.

“Oh, hi Mr. Straus,” I say. Zophie turns her head and there’s a heaviness in her stare at me. I feel exposed, as if she knows something about Eva and I are broken. I turn my arm away, in a position where the new cuts are unable to be seen.

“I was just walking Cindy out,” Eva says, “She has to get her mom’s car home.”

Eva’s dad nods, “Alright,” he says, “See ya, Cindy,”

“Bye,” I say. I open the front door and to my surprise, Eva follows me outside. She closes the door behind her and for a moment, we stand at her porch with the only sound being the peaceful crickets in the background.

We hug each other goodbye, something we’ve never done before. It was a strangely long hug for friends, but the quiet night let a slight wind blow by and Eva was warm.

“Just so you know,” Eva says while we hug, “I think I’ve lasted this long because of you.”

I know she was talking about lasting without the Happy treatment, but there was something in her voice that hinted she may have meant just lasting in general.

Either way, when we parted and I faced her, I looked into her blue, glossy eyes and responded, “I hope you last longer.”

She heads inside and I walk to my car with the night sky hanging over me. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and turn my head to see Beatrice outside. She’s holding a trash bag and walking to the curb where the outside trash can sits, Pow Pow following close and desperate to sniff the trash bag in Beatrice’s hand. Pow Pow whimpers and jumps on Beatrice as she walks. Beatrice pushes Pow Pow away with her foot continuously until she spots me.

“Oh!” She says excitedly, “Hi Sydney! Pow Pow here is just being a silly goose!”

I roll my eyes and get in the car without acknowledging Beatrice. I see her throw the bag of trash into the almost full trash can and slam the lid on the lumpy, half poking out bag. I pull out of Eva’s driveway and head for home, seeing Pow Pow scratch at the trash can until Beatrice comes back to drag him back inside, and with that image I feel as if I’ve been whiplashed back into the cold reality, and I suddenly remember, for the first time, I forgot to grab my medicine before I left Eva’s.