by Tom Lally
“Where am I?” I asked through my cotton mouth.
“Oh, thank God,” Riley said.
I coughed, but the dryness coating my throat made me feel like I was suffocating.
“Water,” I said.
“Grace, can you grab some water please and get the doctor?” Riley asked.
I couldn’t hear Grace, but I saw her quickly walk out of the room. I tried to sit up only to fall back into the pillows. I raised my hands slowly and saw that they were heavily wrapped in medical tape and mesh casting.
Goddamn it, I thought, I couldn’t even kill myself.
“I thought you’d never wake up,” Riley said and cupped her mouth.
Shortly afterward, Grace came back in with the doctor and a plastic cup full of water. Riley grabbed it and bent the straw into my mouth. I sucked until the cup was dry.
“More please,” I finally said.
“Okay,” Riley smiled.
I saw a tall man standing behind Riley. He politely smiled to get by her and reached the side of my bed. His hair was gray and his glasses made him look professional. He was skinny and well dressed, wearing a light blue button down and a pink tie under his lab coat.
“Hello, Drew. My name is Dr. Yates,” he said.
“Hi,” I mumbled.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Um, I’m not sure,” I said.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.
I stuttered and looked around at the hospital room.
“Drew?” he waited a few seconds, “Drew, you tried to kill yourself,” he said.
Riley covered her face when she heard his words. I just looked at my hands.
“We were able to stop the bleeding, but you lost quite a lot of blood,” he said.
“So, how long is he gonna be here?” Riley interjected.
“Well, he’s going to see our psychiatrist, Dr. Phillips,” he said, turning his head towards her which revealed a quarter-sized birthmark on his cheek. “Until then, Natalie here,” he pointed to the thirty-something woman who stood in front of the transparent sliding door, “She’s been posted to your room for your stay.”
The woman smiled shyly. I sat stone-faced. Grace stood at the foot of the bed playing with her cross.
“Is she gonna be posted at the door the whole time?” Grace asked.
The doctor turned his whole body this time, “She is there to make sure Drew isn’t a danger to himself or anybody else in the hospital,” he politely said.
Grace nodded. I don’t think she knew what to say. I didn’t blame her. Mental breakdowns and suicide attempts usually didn’t occur in most people’s lives. Dr. Yates turned back to me.
“Now, Drew, I need you to wiggle your fingers for me. Can you do that?” he asked.
I did. I couldn’t feel them but I was able to see my fingers moving back and forth.
“Okay, good,” he said. “There are stitches in each wrist,” he ran his finger through the air above my wrist to my forearm. “We are going to leave on the bandages until your wounds have healed in a few weeks or less. Okay? Then we’ll remove the stitches.”
I nodded and said, “Okay.”
Dr. Yates turned his attention to the whole room, “I’ll let you guys be. Let me or Natalie know if you need anything,” he said and rose to his feet.
Natalie slid the door open for him and he exited the room.
“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” she said and slid the door closed behind her.
The rest of the room turned their attention back to me.
“Who else is here?” I asked.
“Brock just ran out to get some food. He should be back soon. Pierce is at work. He said he was coming afterward with Emma. And Dad is somewhere. Grace, do you know where he is?” Riley asked.
“Weston is at the house. He told me he was getting Drew some things,” she said.
I nodded and I could feel my mood sinking like a ship. I wasn’t made for this world, and somehow I was still stuck in it. My head hurt and my body ached. The blood loss had affected my entire being, but my heart still managed to spare a pulse.
“Why’d you do it, Drew?” Riley asked.
I just laid in the bed quietly. I didn’t want to look at her face. I’d hurt everyone in my family, even the one person who I thought I never could.
“Drew,” she said again.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. I remained quiet. Riley gently put her hand on my bandaged wrist.
“Please, talk to us,” she pleaded, unable to hold her tears.
“I’m just tired right now,” I said and closed my eyes.
I could hear the shuffling of Grace and Riley in the room. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to actually sleep. I wanted my head to stop pounding. I wanted my sister to stop crying. Then darkness fell over me like a blanket. I may not have been dying, but I was at least going to get the slightest bit of restful sleep.
I woke up later that night. My head felt better, but I still felt like I was too weak to move the lower half of my body. I saw Riley asleep in the chair next to my bed. Brock slept in the chair next to hers. The hospital was deathly noiseless.
I started to move to an upright position. Everything was stiff and it took me a few seconds to gain enough strength so I could sit with my back against the pillows. My shuffling woke the sleeping couple. Riley snapped awake quicker than Brock.
“Drew,” she said and sprang over to the side of the bed.
The dryness had returned to my mouth. My lips stuck to my gums. Riley noticed and grabbed a plastic cup of water from the window ledge behind the chair she’d been sitting in. She bent the straw into my mouth and I finished it quickly thereafter.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You just missed Pierce and Emma. Grace just left to get something to eat,” she said.
A moment of silence lingered and it became obvious that my visitors were not the desired subject to talk about.
“Oh, Drew, what did you do to yourself?” she asked.
“How did I end up here?” I asked.
“Red Hollings and his wife found you. They were walking down from their house to sit on the beach. They saw you and called an ambulance,” she said.
I nodded in understanding, though trying to hide my bafflement. Red Hollings and his wife nearly divorced two months ago. Apparently, Red had been sleeping with his secretary as well as the past two. He was living in his Montauk house since his wife kicked him out, at least that was the last I’d heard about him. I guessed he was back then.
How, on that special day, did they decide for a romantic night on the beach? I thought to myself.
“Why Drew? Why’d you do this?” she asked.
I paused momentarily. Brock stood up and walked to the foot of the bed.
“I, uh, I don’t know,” I said.
“Why did you do this to yourself?” she asked again.
I stayed silent.
“Drew, please talk to me,” she pleaded.
“What do you want me to say?” I asked, “You want to hear about this shit?” I sniffled, “Why doesn’t anyone just leave me alone?”
“Drew, we want to help you,” she said and gestured to Brock, who nodded his head at me.
Her tears grew larger in the corners of her eyes. She looked helpless. Brock looked like a soldier returning from war, ghostly pale and worried.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
I couldn’t make eye contact with her.
“Look at me. Please, Drew,” she said.
As Riley begged me to open myself up to her and Brock, the door slid open. My father walked in and Grace followed behind him.
“Dad? Where have you been?” Riley asked angrily.
“I had some stuff to take care of,” my father said.
“Are you kidding me?” Riley asked.
“Not here,” Brock said, “do it outside, but not in here. Let Drew rest.”
I looked at him and nodded in appreciation. The
comment quieted them, but I could see my father moving closer to me.
“What the hell you’d this for?” he asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Answer me, son,” he said.
Nervousness was an understatement. I felt like larva crawled through my veins and clogged the airways in my throat. I wished fear could’ve killed me. Then I’d be dead ten times over.
“Look at yourself. What the hell am I gonna tell everybody?” my father said.
“What are you gonna tell everybody? Are you fucking serious, Dad?” my sister shouted.
“You should be asking him that question. Look at his fucking wrists,” he said.
The yelling returned and while Brock tried to make peace between the bickering, his attempt proved to be useless as I watched my family continue to banter back and forth undeterred.
Look at what you’ve caused, I thought.
“Alright, alright. Cut this out right now,” I heard a woman’s voice say amongst all of the rest. The room went quiet.
“Now, my name is Dr. Phillips. I am the psychiatrist here. If you want to scream at each other, may I suggest you go to the parking lot, but right now a young man is recovering,” the voice said.
“Are you gonna be the one to solve all the problems, huh? Fucking shrinks. Fuck off, why don’t you?” my dad said to her.
A tall black woman in a white lab coat and a purple sweater stood nearest the door. Her black pants were long and spotless.
“I’m gonna make this simple for each and every one of you. Leave this room right now while I have a word with Drew,” she said.
Her presence was menacing. She knew how to instill fear. Her serious, brown eyes told me that she didn’t want to hear any bullshit. Her brown hair with lighter highlights was left in a bob that covered her ears but didn’t extend to her shoulders. It surrounded her head like a cave, only her bangs were flipped stylishly to one side.
“Ah, fuck it,” my father said and stormed out.
Grace ran after him.
Riley shyly said, “Sorry,” as she walked past Dr. Phillips.
The second my father spoke to Dr. Phillips; I knew she hadn’t directed her anger at anyone but him. She nodded at Brock and Grace as they left the room. When the door fully closed, Dr. Phillips turned back to me. Her threatening demeanor relinquished and her face softened, revealing two healthy rows of white teeth. Her red lipstick glowed as she walked over to my bedside.
“Hello, Drew. I’m Dr. Phillips in case you didn’t hear me,” she said.
“I’m sorry about that. It was my fault,” I said.
“The yelling?” she asked. “Please, I deal with that every day.”
I smiled at her and she chuckled back.
“You’re a smoker, right?” she asked.
“How’d you know?” I asked.
“Your pointer and middle finger,” she pointed at them. “Skin discolorations don’t look like that unless you smoke,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” I said.
“Come on, Drew. Let’s take a walk,” she said.
She unfolded a wheelchair that had been sitting in the corner of the room and set it next to the bed.
“Where to?” I asked.
“I need a smoke,” she said.
Dr. Phillips wheeled me out into the hallway. Nurses walked past and smiled while doctors filled out charts attached to clipboards.
“Where is my family?” I asked.
“I told Natalie to take them down to the cafeteria. I didn’t want them to disturb any of the patients,” she said.
We reached the elevator doors and she pressed the up arrow. I saw a digital clock hanging from the wall. It read 9:30 p.m.
“Where’re we going?” I asked.
“To the roof,” she said.
“Do you take all suicidal patients to the roof?” I asked.
“If you find a way over the fence with those hands, I’ll change my routine,” she said.
I laughed and I heard her do the same. She made me feel comfortable and I couldn’t help but feel like I was sitting in Dr. Merriweather’s office. The aura around her was interesting. One moment could show a woman whose rigor and strength lied in the grit of her teeth and the glare of those dark eyes. The next, she was simply talking without judgment.
“And no, I don’t take patients to the roof, but when their family is yelling in front of them and I’m jonesing, I’ll take my chances,” she said.
The up arrow blinked and a loud beep followed. The doors opened and she wheeled me in. I felt the elevator climb after Dr. Phillips pressed the highest floor number before it halted suddenly. The doors opened and we were on the top floor. She pushed me passed a few rooms and nurses who didn’t seem to care where we were going.
She opened a door with a sign titled, ‘Roof Access’.
Upon entering, a staircase stood in front of us. The taupe walls and cracked, brown stairs led up to a red door.
“Stretch your legs,” she said.
She grabbed me by my armpits and then gently pushed my back forward so I could gain enough momentum. I stood up and felt very wobbly. My legs felt weak and stiff. She held me by the arm as we walked up the steps.
“You okay?” she asked me.
“I think so. My legs feel like jelly,” I said.
“That’s what happens when you lose that much blood and then sleep for a day and a half,” she said.
We slowly migrated our way up the stairwell and reached the door. She helped me with one hand and pushed the door open with her other. I followed her onto the black roof. My feet were cold, but it didn’t bother me. I was glad I wasn’t in that hospital bed anymore. We walked just outside and I propped myself up against the small, square-shaped hut where the door was situated. Dr. Phillips slid a brick it in front of the door with her foot so it couldn’t close and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket.
“You mind Camels?” she asked.
“At this point, no, not all,” I said.
Dr. Phillips held the cigarette up to my face. I grabbed it with the two fingers she’d noticed before and put it in my mouth. Then she held the lighter up to my mouth and lit the end of the cigarette.
“Thank you,” I said after my first exhale.
The poisonous after burn felt so nice as it rushed down to my lungs.
“Careful none of the embers fall onto your bandages,” she said.
“Okay,” I said.
I flicked the cigarette, sending ash to the ground while she looked off into the dark, starless sky.
“So what happens after this?” I asked.
“What? After tonight?” she asked to which I nodded.
“I evaluate you. We see if you need psychiatric care. I’ve already talked to Dr. Merriweather,” she said, “me and him go way back. We went to school together, believe it or not.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t know,” I said curiously. “So far what’s your analysis?” I asked.
Dr. Phillips took a long, sweet drag from her cigarette.
“Well,” she blew smoke out of the side of her mouth, “I don’t think you’re a danger to anyone else, but you are to yourself,” she said. “I have to explore your family history, but according to Dr. Merriweather’s reports, you might spend some time here with us.”
I sighed and drew another pull from my cigarette.
“There’s nothing worth saving here,” I said.
“You know, I’ve heard that before, but I read one of your short stories, Drew. Dr. Merriweather sent it over to me when he heard about you. He has some pretty good things to say. I also know that your kind. I know that you, fortunately, have a pulse and a lot of years left; therefore, I came to the conclusion that there is everything worth saving, despite what you might think,” she said.
She flicked her cigarette onto the ground and I did the same. We went down the same way we came up. She gently helped me make it back down the stairs and into the wheelchair. We went back down the hall, into the elevator
, and back to my room. I didn’t speak the whole time. I just thought about what she’d said.
What the hell did she see? I thought to myself.
We reached my room and once again, she guided me to a standing position and then onto the mattress. The sheets and pillows were nice and cold.
“Good night, Drew. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Dr. Phillips said.
“What’s happening tomorrow?” I asked.
“We’ll be moving you to the psychiatric wing,” she said.
“How long am I gonna stay there?” I asked.
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know tomorrow. Goodnight,” she said and left the room.
Chapter 5
I woke up to the sound of birds chirping as they flew past the window. Natalie sat in my room the entire night, watching me sleep. Though she was friendly, I found her presence to be bizarre as we barely spoke to one another.
My family had gone home. Riley felt terrible when she said goodbye. She felt even worse when I told her I was being moved to the psychiatric wing. She apologized profusely, but I understood her dilemma. She needed to go to meetings with her agent and smooth over her last-minute withdrawal from a major magazine photo shoot. I told her I would talk, but not then. I didn’t want to lie, but she needed to hear something good come out of my mouth.
“Can I grab some food please?” I asked Natalie.
“Sure, I’ll get someone to run in a tray,” she said.
A few minutes passed before a male nurse delivered a tray of food to the room. I quickly devoured everything that sat in front me. My stomach growled with each bite and I was glad to gain back some strength.
“Oh, Drew, your dad stopped by Dr. Phillips’s office earlier this morning. She updated him on your situation,” she said.
“How’d that go?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” she said. “Only Dr. Phillips talked to him. She wants to see you in her office.”
After I finished eating, Natalie wheeled me down the hall and into Dr. Phillips’s office. The room looked barren like a former patient’s quarters that had been converted into an office. A few paintings hung on the wall, holding images of nature and a terrified horse running through an open barn door. The bookshelf on the other side of the room contained volumes of psychiatric textbooks. Dr. Phillips sat at her desk, reading through pages that were piled in a beige folder.