The water poured over the edge of the porcelain sink. The cold water kept spilling down and I let it fall. The cold water flowed over me, covered me completely, covering my burning face and body.

I fell asleep in my man-made lake. Maybe I fainted or maybe I passed out or maybe I just hit the skids. Who cares.

The tuxedo man cared. He came barging in. What is going on? he said. He stepped over me and turned off the tap. There’s a flood, he screamed in this high-pitched squeal. Do you hear me? My God, we can’t have a flood!

I told him I was just having a nap, and I kept my eyes closed. I liked the floating feeling. There must have been seventy inches of water washing over me.

I tried to convince him, to will him away, but he kept saying I didn’t look well at all.

You don’t look well, he kept saying, and I fainted when he tried to hold me in his arms.

I’m sure he was trying to help when he called the Street Out-reach worker, some gangly guy with Bible breath. At the time, I thought I must have had a high temperature. Drenched from head to toe, I was still burning; I must have hit 110. But later, I’d find out it’s the smallest things that can get you put in White Oaks.

It’s letting the water overflow on the opening night of a fancy place called Le Gardin. It’s the toothbrush in the pocket, the pink barrette. The smell of rain and smoke. It’s the runaway clues. It’s when you won’t give them your father’s whereabouts. It’s when they ask you where your mother is and you say somewhere in California and you start to cry.

THE RED ROOM AT WHITE OAKS

AT White Oaks, they gave me quizzes. How do you feel about yourself? How would you describe your physical appearance? I’m fragile and pale, I wrote, my eyes are clear blue. Really: I’m strong, my eyes are green. All the quizzes they give girls. Amber, my roommate, brought me faded issues of Seventeen. Their little quizzes: “Ten Flaws and How to Fix Them.” How to make your narrow eyes wide and your wide eyes narrow. How to slim your hips and hip your slims. Fuck that, I threw the magazines at Amber and told her to go away.

My first night at White Oaks, I slept like an old man on his way to death. I dreamt a whole opera. Though I’ve never seen an opera, in my dream I knew exactly how it would be. A Viking woman; a hunted man. Blood of the lamb; a white-haired child washing himself with the green sea.