by Tom Lally
“What happened here?” I asked, pointing to them.
“Last patient here got a little frustrated. He took it out on the wall,” Dougie said.
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“He got better. His parents picked him up this morning,” Dougie said.
The holes were deep and the walls were decently thick. I immediately felt my nerves start to tremble. I wanted to break down and cry on the mattress, but Dougie couldn’t leave until someone else showed up.
I took out a plain blue T-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. I pulled out my sneakers. The tongues were lying on the heels. The lack of shoelaces made them useless.
“Is there a pair of shoes I can wear for a while?” I asked.
“You know; I think I have a pair of moccasins that’ve been sitting in my office for a while and no one’s claimed them. They might be a little snug, but they should work,” Dougie said.
“Thank you,” I said and threw my sneakers onto the floor.
I could hear footsteps approaching. The squeaking of tennis shoes that I’d followed on the way here grew more pronounced as Natalie got closer.
“Hey, Natalie,” Dougie said. He was leaning against the door and looked out into the hallway. Natalie appeared and walked into the room, smiling back at Dougie as she passed him.
“Natalie, can I take that shower now, please?” I asked.
“Yes, I brought you a towel,” she said, raising her arm which held a blue towel folded over her elbow. “Toiletries are in here.”
She opened the armoire and reached for the top shelf. A toothbrush laid with the bristles facing upwards. It was practically rubber; I guess so I couldn’t hurt myself with it. Next to it was a small tube of toothpaste. A bar of soap rested in a plastic container next to a small bottle of shampoo. I noticed there wasn’t a razor. I felt the stubble on my face and noticed it’d grown much sharper. I was fortunate that I liked it. I knew they weren’t going to let me shave in here.
“Follow me, Drew,” she said.
I grabbed my clothes and awkwardly fumbled all of my bathroom items.
“I’ll grab those moccasins, Drew. They’ll be in your room when you get back and, Natalie, should I bring the bag so you can change his bandages?” he asked.
“Yes, please, that’d be great, Dougie,” she said.
“Thank you, mister,” I said, not knowing his last name.
“Please, call me Dougie,” he said and walked back down the way we’d just come.
I followed Natalie to the end of the hallway where two brown doors, marked ‘Men’ and ‘Women’ in white paint, stood. I could hear snickering from the common room and I could feel heads turning whose eyes stared at the back of my hospital gown. We walked into the bathroom and I hurriedly brushed past Natalie who was slightly surprised. One man stood at the urinal. He was wearing corduroy pants and green suede shoes. His long, blonde hair covered his neck and ended just below the collar of his black T-shirt. The shirt was one size too small and tightly fitted around his arms. He flushed just as Natalie walked in behind me.
“Oh, Harlan,” she said, “I would like you to meet Drew.”
Harlan turned. He had an intense face. Craters from yanked pimples and a light facial scar lined his cheeks. It looked as if he had waged a life-war and the scars were merely a reminder of what battles he lost.
“Hi, Drew. I’m Harlan,” he said shyly.
He stuck his hand out. It trembled as if he didn’t know what my reaction might be.
“Hi, Harlan. Nice to meet you,” I said.
Harlan’s grasp was slight. His palms were sweaty. I could tell he didn’t know what to say next and I could see his eyes looking at my bandages.
“Well, Drew, let me show you the shower stalls,” Natalie said. “Let’s let Harlan get back to his room.”
“Nice to meet you,” I heard him say as Natalie led me past him.
“You too,” I said and smiled back.
I was glad to see him chuckle in return.
There was a row of shower stalls displayed on each side of the two-person path covered in small, square tiles. The stalls were separated by floor to ceiling length dividers. I walked into the closest one. There was a small foyer where two hooks stuck out from the wall. The door also had a hook on the side facing the shower where I hung my towel. I flung my clean clothes on one of the hangers and put my soap and shampoo bottle on the small shelf beneath the shower nozzle. I went to close the door, but Natalie stopped me. She closed the stall door and stood in the foyer.
“Sorry, Drew, but I need to watch you,” she said.
“What am I gonna use to kill myself in here?” I asked.
“It’s part of my job,” she said, “I know it sucks, but I have to.”
“Please,” I sighed.
“I’m really sorry,” she said.
She handed me two plastic sleeves. I had to put them on in order for the stitches not to be ruined. They were uncomfortable. It felt like elastic had been wrapped around my arms. I turned around and slowly removed my gown. My embarrassment from before returned, but this time was worse. I’d never been naked in front of a girl. I faced the wall and leaned my head against it. I tried to hide my testicles and penis from her view. I scrubbed the soap around my body and let the water wash off the smell of my attempted demise. I did my best to keep my hands clear of the water sprout. The plastic wrapping made it hard to hold the soap or squeeze the shampoo bottle. I wanted to be quick, but it felt too comforting. I could feel the sand falling out of my hair and armpits.
After five minutes, I finally felt clean enough and far too embarrassed. I never once turned around to see what Natalie was looking at, but I could feel her stare every second I stood under the nozzle. I shut the water off and awkwardly walked backward into the foyer, peeling off the plastic sleeves in the process. Natalie grabbed the towel from the hook and handed it to me. I didn’t even bother drying the upper half of my body. I patted the towel against my knees and thighs and dried my private parts before knotting the towel so it could hang free of my hands. I grabbed my boxers and tried to pull them without touching any of my skin. A few wet spots formed as they reached my waist. I removed the towel, revealing the red-and-white plaid underpants. I then dried my hair, torso, and back before pulling on my jeans and T-shirt. The gown that I’d thrown on the floor was gone. Natalie had it in her hands. She saw my eyes start to ponder curiously the different areas of the floor where I could have left it.
“I have your gown,” she said. “You don’t need it anymore.”
She crumpled it into a tight ball and tossed it into a garbage can. As I tried to collect my belongings, Natalie reached for my arms.
“We need to change those,” she said.
I followed her back to my room so I could drop off my toiletries. A pair of moccasins and a red medical bag sat on my desk.
“Oh, I guess Dougie brought everything already,” she said to herself.
I put my things back in the armoire. Natalie sat in the desk chair and opened the bag. Her red nails pulled out a roll of heavy bandages and medical tape.
“Okay, let’s see those arms,” she said to me.
I held my arms out to her. She gently peeled the medical tape off of my gauze pads. Once the tape was off, she slowly pulled off the bandages that were barely hanging to my wrists anymore. It was the first time I’d seen my wounds. The cuts were shorter than I thought I’d made them. They ran a few inches upwards over the veins in my wrists which were discolored like dried fruit.
“You’re lucky you didn’t damage a nerve or tendon. You could’ve lost use in both your hands,” Natalie said while she spread adhesive island cream on my right wrist.
“Quite lucky,” I said.
I wished I hadn’t said that. I understood the difference between being a nice guy and a dick. I lived with dicks and I felt my lonesome desirable trait was that I was friendly. That comment, in particular, made me feel like I lost some of who I was. I didn’t think
I ever would’ve said that before unless I was talking to my father or brother.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be,” she said. “I can only imagine what you’re going through. A little comment here or there is the least of my concerns. It’s the rowdy ones that get me.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Her words made me feel better. I reminded myself that I may not have said anything like that before my accident, but I also hadn’t spent any time in a psychiatric ward with faded memories of a failed suicide attempt.
“On the bright side,” she smiled. “You don’t need to wear those large pads anymore. The tape will work until the stitches are taken out.”
“When do I get them taken out?” I asked.
“A week or so. The cuts need to heal, but you should be set soon,” she said.
She ripped the final piece of tape from its original roll and pressed it against my arm.
“Okay, how does that feel?” she asked.
“Fine, I guess. I’m not really sure what you mean though,” I said.
“Is it too tight or too loose?” she asked.
“Oh, no, it feels fine then,” I said.
“Great,” she said.
“What now?” I asked as I pulled a pack of cigarettes out from my bag and put them in my pocket.
“Well, you can meet the others in the common room. You don’t have any appointments today. Dr. Phillips went home for the night. She wants to see you after breakfast tomorrow morning,” she said.
Natalie led me to the common room. A couch and a couple of chairs surrounded a television set. The television sat in the middle of the room on a small, wooden table. Cobwebs hung on the corners of the open cabinet below the table platform.
I walked over to the patients sitting on the couch. One man with glasses and a shirt that didn’t cover the flab protruding out of his stomach stood against the wall talking to himself as I walked past. He kept his extremities tightly pressed to his body. I thought he was crying, but I couldn’t tell. He wouldn’t look at me; instead, he turned to face the wall, hiding his cheeks behind his hands. I could see the sweat running through the few strands of hair he had left. I turned back to the patients sitting in the common room.
“Everyone, this is our new friend, Drew Thomas,” Natalie announced. “Say hello, everyone.”
I heard a few hellos. Some of them waved. The rest just stared.
“Hi,” I said shyly and waved with only three fingers extended.
“Go sit down, Drew. I’ll be in the office if you need me,” she said.
“I thought you were watching me everywhere?” I asked.
“I’ll still be watching,” she pointed to the office window. Two female nurses looked up at me. Then, she pointed at two male orderlies who were roaming the hallways. Natalie’s finger shifted to the ceiling. I looked up and saw cameras situated throughout the hallways and in the common room.
“I’ll be around every fifteen minutes to check on you,” she said.
“Okay,” I said.
Natalie walked towards the nurses’ station and left me standing desultory.
“What’s your story?” a man on the edge of the couch nearest to me asked.
He had to be in his thirties. The five o’clock shadow on his face had a few gray strands in it. His pale, hairless skin extended down his arms and atop his head. His eyes were light blue, piercing straight to my soul like a baby’s stare.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What you gonna tell everyone about them scars on your wrists?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, you better know soon. Ain’t many who’re gonna react well to them,” he said.
I looked at his arms. They were clean. Not a single scar. He turned to the man sitting next to him who was sleeping. A blue beanie covered his eyes. Several cigarettes sat in the pocket of folded over fabric displaying a construction company logo. The man who’d been talking to me reached over and pulled five cigarettes out without waking him.
“Morgan, five cigarettes for that pack of gum,” he said to a man sitting on the window ledge.
“No, Jared, I like this flavor,” Morgan said, turning his attention away from the night sky.
Morgan, his name was, was holding a pack of Juicy Fruit with both hands. His eyes shifted back and forth between the gum and Jared.
“You ain’t want that. You want these, I know you do,” Jared said.
“I quit, Jared, remember. I don’t want those,” he said.
Jared stood up. His bald head was shiny. I watched him walk over to Morgan. Morgan was a young and slight man who might have been twenty-five at the oldest. He was short and skinny. Jared was a neo-Nazi look-alike with a six foot, three-inch stature. Morgan didn’t have a chance.
“No one likes a quitter, Morgan,” Jared said as he walked closer.
Morgan looked around nervously.
“That’s not true, is it?” Morgan asked the rest of us.
“Look, Morgan, you know you like that sweet burn. That burn tastes better than any pack of gum. You know you like it. The calming nicotine that don’t make you nervous, c’mon, Morgan, use your head,” Jared said.
Jared reached him and grabbed him by the back of his neck. Morgan didn’t move an inch. After a few seconds, he just nodded at him. Jared left the cigarettes next to Morgan and opened the pack of gum, shoveling a few pieces into his mouth.
“That’s Jared Scherzer,” someone said to me.
I turned around and found Harlan standing a few feet away.
“He thinks he’s king of this place because he’s the loudest one here,” he said.
“What’s his deal?” I asked.
“No clue,” Harlan said.
“Sounds good,” I said nervously.
“Never met someone like that before?” Harlan asked, gesturing towards Jared.
“No, not like that,” I said.
“Welcome to the ward,” he said smiling.
His voice was soft and whispery.
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
I regretted my words immediately. I lacked any knowledge of whether that question was taboo like asking a fellow prisoner what crime he was locked up for.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” I quickly said.
“It’s okay,” he said reassuringly, “I’ve been here for a year and a half.”
“How do you like it?” I asked.
“I mean, it’s a fucking psych ward,” he laughed and I joined him though I felt silly for asking such a question.
“Making friends with the newbie?” Jared asked Harlan.
I turned around and saw him standing with his arms crossed.
“Drew, this is Jared,” he said.
“Nice to meet you,” I said and stuck my hand out.
“The pleasure is all yours. You meetin’ the king of this fuckin’ jungle,” he said.
He threw a few more pieces of gum in his mouth and left my hand frozen in the air.
“Okay,” I said. It was the only word that came to mind.
“Okay? Shit, son, it’s better than ‘okay’. I own this place,” he said.
I heard a voice boom out of the speakers above.
“Time for medication, everyone,” a female voice said. She sounded disinterested.
The patients sitting in the common room rose and staggered to the window booth as the speaker blurted out names. Jared continued to stare at me, chomping on his gum like a handful of Red Man.
“Scherzer,” the voice said.
Jared started to walk away, but continued to stare at me over his shoulder. He finally faced forward once he bumped into another patient.
“Get outta my way,” he said.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s harmless,” Harlan said to me before he walked to the office window. Names vomited out of the loudspeaker consistently, but they lacked any particular order. The nurse at the desk spoke in the same monotone voice ev
ery time.
“Thomas,” she finally said.
I was the last name on the list. As I walked to the window, I filtered my eyes back and forth trying not to make eye contact, but instead wanted to simply see the faces the eyes belonged to. I reached the window where the nurse handed me two pills in a paper cup.
“What are these?” I asked.
“Zoloft. We understand that you’ve been taking this in the past,” she said. She was a large lady. Her brown hair was knotted and poorly manicured. A mole on the side of her face made her seem frightening. It wasn’t the lack of beauty that scared me. It was that she knew she wasn’t beautiful, yet she also knew she was intimidating. Her hardness was cemented in her face. I wondered if that’s why she was in charge of giving out medication.
“Wata?” she asked, haphazardly holding a small cup to me.
I grabbed it and splashed the pills into my mouth.
“Open,” she said after I swallowed.
She leaned against the counter with her chin resting on the palm of her hand. The hair on her fingers was darker than mine.
“Move your tongue up,” she paused, “down…” she paused again, “side to side,” she paused once more, “move along.”
She grabbed the window and slid it closed. The glass separated us then, but I didn’t move. She stopped and looked at me. She raised her eyebrows that hadn’t been plucked in years and shrugged her shoulders, silently telling me, ‘Well, fuck off already’.
I nervously slunk off back towards the common room. The patients had returned to their same seats. The television played old cartoons. Tom and Jerry chased each other around the neighbor’s yard while the bulldog slept in his shed only to be woken by a blast from Tom’s double barreled shotgun. The sofa erupted with laughter every time Tom was beaten up in a hail of smoke or was crushed by a falling anvil. The balding man stuck to the wall like a fly, holding his arms as if he was cradling a baby. I was relieved to find Jared out of sight though I was anxious when I couldn’t find Harlan. I didn’t know who else to talk to. I scanned over the entire room. Two skinny girls wearing all black were sitting around a coffee table in the corner. I thought I could see the track marks on their arms. One had shaved the sides of her head, leaving the rest of her black hair covering her scalp. The other had long, black hair. They weren’t ugly, they were ruined. I didn’t know by what though. The woman with the partially shaved head ran from her seat to her room, slamming the door behind her. The other woman followed slowly behind, rolling her eyes as if she’d grown weary of being her compatriot’s caretaker.