by Tom Lally
“Yeah, we called them the gallery. I don’t know why, but the name stuck,” he said.
“When’d you graduate?” I asked.
“2010. You?” he asked.
“2015,” I said.
Silence followed as I tried to figure out what had to happen for me to be standing in the same place as Otis.
“Wow,” he said suddenly. “I never thought I’d run into anybody here that played for our arch rivals.”
“Me neither,” I said.
“Small world,” Otis smiled.
“Yeah, small world,” I said.
We shot around for thirty more minutes. My anxiety decreased during this time, but I still found myself calculating every word I’d said, putting space between him and myself. Otis wasn’t like Harlan. Our conversation wasn’t as natural. Whenever I met people like this, I needed my distance and my biggest fear was how they perceived me.
Lucky finally blew a whistle, signaling all of us to come back inside. I walked back up the stairs in a fog, my body unconsciously stepping correctly up the winding staircase. It was only when we walked into the ward that the warm air hit me and I found myself in a physically different place then I had been only seconds before. I walked past the orderlies and nurses on the way back to my room. Nerves kicked in and a rush of heat ran through me, vibrating my fingers and toes, as I tried to understand every word’s impact on Otis.
I reached my room quickly and shut the door. Sleepiness revealed itself as my anxiety bordered on chaotic. Though I could comprehend the absurdity of what I was feeling, it didn’t change how I felt. My worries only made me tired. The bed pulled me like a magnet and my legs collapsed once I reached the mattress. I didn’t bother throwing the covers over my body, but simply rested with my limbs extended, stretching out my back before closing my eyes.
Chapter 11
I walked through the second floor of my former home, holding a flashlight. My steps were slow and uneasy as I made my way down the hall.
It was late at night though I didn’t know what time. The digital clock next to my bed was blank since the wind knocked out a power line. The house was eerily quiet, though it should have been since it was early in the morning based on the darkness clouding the outside.
I walked slowly, pointing the flashlight at the mahogany floor and saw the white-painted wood holding up the banister. The light in my hand poked through the crevices between each slat of wood, lighting up family photographs on the walls that lined the staircase heading downstairs. I reached the balcony and grabbed the banister. I pulled myself to the end where the banister took a sharp turn to the right and acted as the second-hand railing leading down the stairs. I pointed the flashlight down the hall and saw the door to my parents’ room.
I was scared of something popping out from one of the doors in the hallway. I wanted to run. I couldn’t open my eyes for longer than a few seconds. The wood floor would creak under my small, bare feet and it would force me to shut my eyes tightly, so only the spatters of light that looked like an Alaskan night sky would appear. I felt like someone’s hands were hovering over my shoulders, waiting for the perfect moment to pull me back while the flashlight fell to the floor, illuminating the force that was yanking my leg into a door down the hall. I took a few deep breaths and opened one eye at a time. Darkness still surrounded me, but the sound of rain and wind against the siding of the house made me hope someone else would wake up.
I finally reached my parents’ room and banged on the door.
“Mom! Dad!” I yelled.
The darkness felt like it was swallowing me as if I was a coal miner disappearing down a tunnel in a small railcar. The feeling in my stomach grew like a sandstorm, roiling my insides from my hips up to my sternum. The rain hit the windows with vigor and branches snapped as the wind grew too fierce. My hand slammed harder against the door. The gold doorknob rattled and chimed against its hinges, but it never rotated. Something crept closer to my neck. I thought I would feel fangs tearing at my skin or a claw pulling at my shirt.
I felt my weight crash as the door I’d been leaning on opened. I fell onto someone’s feet and looked up to see my father’s face. His belly hung over his pajama pants, but I could see his dark brown eyes glaring at me through the lightning strikes.
“Why don’t you just fucking leave?” he yelled.
The windows shattered from the wind, but he didn’t move as the rain started to pour onto the floor. He remained standing over me as I was pushed back by the force of the storm. I collected myself from the floor and used my hands to get back to a standing position. My father’s hands reached out and tackled me. My skull crashed against the wood floor and my dad’s weight crushed my chest. His hands wrapped themselves around my neck tightly, causing me to gasp for air while I flailed spastically, smacking my heels against the floor. I tried to move, but I couldn’t lift my father’s large frame. His eyes were exploding from his face as he started to scream.
“I told you once already. Never come back,” he screamed.
My head was first to rise from my slumber followed by a long, dramatic breath. I grabbed my throat, feeling to see if there were any flesh wounds. I thought I felt the imprints of my father’s stubby fingers, but when I felt the skin, nothing was there. Instead, I found my fingertips covered in sweat along with my palms. With every muscle that moved while I went to stand up, I noticed my entire body was covered in sweat. My skin stuck to my shirt and jeans. I let my feet hit the floor while I rested on the edge of the bed. The smell of myself nearly made me gag. I felt putrid and oddly sticky, like someone covered me in post-it glue. I stepped off the bed and onto the floor.
I could only think of Otis for some reason. I hated living in the same building as people I couldn’t get away from. In the past, I was great at making excuses or saying ‘no’ when I felt I would be better off alone, but here my main excuse was I have to use the bathroom, and I couldn’t even do that by myself.
I grabbed the tub of soap and the bottle of shampoo along with a fresh pair of boxers and a T-shirt. I didn’t care if I needed to use my old clothes as a towel. The simple solitude and normalcy of having a shower without being observed was reason enough. I started to walk through the door, overjoyed by the lack of an authority figure nearby, but was interrupted when I found Natalie standing outside.
“Hey, Drew, just need to check…” her face seemed surprised as she looked at what I was holding, “in,” she finished.
She folded her arms and chuckled to herself.
“Were you gonna use your shirt?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“I know this sucks, Drew, but I have to accompany you to the bathroom,” she said.
“I know. I wasn’t gonna go alone,” I said.
She looked at me, through the lies and self-loathing.
“Drew, you know the rules. Follow them or else we’re going to be doing this for a lot longer than you’d like,” she said.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I said.
I hung my head in shame. I never liked lying despite my poorest attempts at convincing myself that I never did. Natalie grabbed the plastic sleeves I needed to wear and a towel from the nurses’ station and then followed me to the bathroom. I heard a shower nozzle already protruding water from its pores. The steam had built up in the room and the mirror was layered in fog.
“Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive. Well, now, I…” a voice shrilled before mumbling the remaining chorus.
I recognized it quickly. It was Morgan’s voice lacking the nerves and hesitancy I heard when Jared tricked him into giving away his gum. I walked into the stall a few doors away from Morgan’s. I hung my dirty clothes on the hanger and the fresh ones on the other hanger, mirroring what I had done the day before. Natalie grabbed the towel from me and hung it on the hanger set up on the stall door. I turned back around to Natalie once I was in my boxers. She held two plastic sleeves in her hands and helped me put them on.
“You still have to watch m
e?” I asked.
Natalie looked at me, her eyes replete with empathy. I knew I was clawing at her conscience. She blew one sympathetic gasp and let her head sag in the humid moisture encompassing the room.
“Yes,” she said.
My fear returned, paralyzing me until I shook uncontrollably as I reached for the shower dial. I could sense Natalie wishing she didn’t have to stand a few feet from me, but the reality was that she did and it wasn’t going to change for a little while. She stood away from the sliding door, but her presence locked it in its ajar position.
I took off my boxers and showered quickly. This place robbed you of the simplest indulgences. A peaceful shower, a morning cigarette, a few evening cigarettes, and good crap all came with a price tag.
After I pulled on my fresh clothes, minus the jeans I was re-wearing, Natalie took me to the sink to check my bandages again. I watched in the mirror while her calm, motherly face, devoid of beauty and covered with middle-aged freckles stared at my wrists. The bandages lost some of their stickiness, but were still covering my wired wounds.
“These we can leave until tomorrow morning,” Natalie said.
Natalie followed behind me again as I went back to my room. She poked her head around the door as I kicked my worn clothes into the corner, making a small pile.
“I’ll be back in 15 to check on you,” she said as I handed her my towel.
“I’ll be around,” I said.
Natalie smiled and left. I sat on my bed and waited for something to happen. Time passed like corrosion. I dangled my legs and cracked my knuckles, waiting for the seemingly inevitable sound of footsteps creeping down the hall or screaming at the top of someone’s lungs. It felt like an hour passed with the hallway only emitting small chatter and television cartoons, but I only realized I’d sat in the same position for a quarter of an hour when Natalie walked back in.
“Hey, just checkin’ in. At 12:30, we’re having lunch,” she said.
“What time is it now?” I asked.
“12:15,” she said.
I nodded at her as she wrote something on her clipboard. I looked down at my feet again and let my body slide out of the bed before putting on my moccasins.
I walked out of the room and into the hallway. I could see the top portion of black cartoon outlines combined with the audible sounds of 1950s animation. I walked closer to the group, wondering where I was going to sit.
An old man sat at the window. The sun caught his wrinkled skin so it looked like it was peeling off of him like plastic wrap. His glasses were large, the size of Aviators with prescription lenses. His Adam’s apple swam up and down his throat with every painful breath he drew. Drool seeped from his lips, clinging to his chin before plummeting onto his lap.
I looked over at the faces on the couch. I noticed Sammy sitting with his legs folded like a pretzel. He smelled bad though no one nearby seemed bothered by it. The man I noticed yesterday with a pack of cigarettes tucked into the folded fabric of his beanie sat with his eyes partially covered. His black shorts and lace-less sneakers were propped up on the ottoman in front of him. His face was long and blank, lacking any expression. I felt sorry for him. He fidgeted for a second and I was worried he was going to notice me, so I went to an empty chair by the window.
I sat down, put my feet up against the window ledge and stared off into the grass just beyond the tall fence surrounding the recreation yard. I imagined the smell of fresh air when I knew I wouldn’t have to walk back into a hospital. I thought of the beach near my house where I would sit and smoke as the waves crashed onto the sand near my feet. I started to smell everything again and I closed my eyes. The ocean made me philosophical for no reason other than the strangeness of watching the water swirl like a Twizzler.
The night would come and boat lights would flicker in the distance like fireflies while the water rush remained constant. My shirt would brush against my skin gently with every breeze while birds flew overhead. The light of my cigarette would burn sweet as the smoke pooled in my lungs. Burned filters would sit between my extended legs in a pile of other partially fried cigarettes and I’d light up another when my inner addict would say so a few minutes later. I could sit and stare as the night would fall over me and then I could simply bask in my own self-pity when my eyelids felt heavy. When I would stand to leave, I would realize that I would be back tomorrow, away from all the bullshit before the bullshit comes and finds me.
“Drew,” Natalie said from behind me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said and rubbed my eyes.
“Okay, well, we’re all heading down to eat,” she said.
I followed as Natalie led me down the stairs to the cafeteria. We walked in with the other patients and I joined the line to be served. I watched as the two gothic girls sat at a table, each with a full tray of food. A brunette, middle-aged nurse sat across from them. One of the girls flicked her peas and carrots while the other stuck her plastic fork into her slice of pizza. The woman leaned over the table and started talking to the girls, ushering them towards the food when one of the girls unexpectedly lifted her tray and slammed it on the floor. The cafeteria fell silent as the nurse called for Dougie.
“I’m not fucking eating,” the girl screamed.
Dougie ran over from the corner nearest the entrance door. He gently wrapped his arms around her and guided her to the stairs. The brunette nurse walked over to the door and opened it for them. They disappeared into the stairwell, but her screams echoed in the distance like the haunting sound I imagined hearing if I watched someone being pulled into oblivion.
I walked up to the counter where a woman handed me a plate just like the one the girl refused to eat. A slice of greasy pizza, a small pile of peas, and four fat carrots with a carton of lemonade. Walking back into the cafeteria, I searched again for a lonely place to sit and found the seat I was in just a few hours before. Natalie sat at the far end of the table and read something from a beige folder, periodically looking over at me and the rest of the room. I ate silently and stared down at my wrists. I then felt the table shutter and looked up to see Leighton putting her tray down across from me.
“Drew, right?” she said.
“Yeah, Leighton?” I asked.
She nodded her head and I stuck my hand over the table. She saw my bandaged wrist and though I wondered if she noticed them before during group therapy, then I knew for certain that she had more knowledge about me than I was willing to give up.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“You too,” she responded.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said and sat down on the stool.
I returned to my plate and silence ensued for a few seconds as she opened her paper carton of lemonade and took a sip.
“You’re new here, right?” she asked.
“Yeah. That obvious, huh?” I asked.
“Kind of. I haven’t seen you around ever, so I took a wild guess that you might be new,” she said.
A grin formed across her face and it eased my nerves. I smiled back and let out a quiet laugh.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Hayley’s Cove,” I said.
“Where’s that?” she asked.
“About forty minutes from the Hamptons,” I said to which she nodded. “What about you?”
“Manhattan. I’m from the Bowery,” she said.
“Oh, wow, I went to high school down there,” I said.
“No kidding. Where?” she asked.
“St. Thomas,” I said.
“Really? I live a few blocks from there. I went to St. Mary’s around the corner. I probably saw you before,” she said.
“Wow. Small world,” I said.
“For such a big city,” she said.
Her teeth were fluorescent white and her T-shirt hugged her body. She’d changed into tight jeans that grasped tightly around her ankles while her feet clung
to a pair of brown flip-flops.
“How long have you been in, if you don’t mind me asking?” I asked.
“A week and a half. How do you find it here?” she asked.
“I don’t really know. I haven’t been here long enough,” I said and shrugged my shoulders.
“It gets easier,” she said.
“I hope,” I said. I was lost for words. I was enamored by her calmness. Her voice was raspy, but heavenly sweet. I wanted to ask what she was doing here and though I’d heard some of her life’s story beforehand, I wanted to know more. How could she have ended up here?
“Trust me. My first few days were rough, but you start to get acclimated,” she said.
I nodded, but I didn’t truly believe her.
“Yeah, I just have a hard time believing I’m here, you know? It’s just hard to come to grips with,” I said.
I didn’t know why I said that. It seemed appropriate at the time, but I felt my walls of solitude cracking like a dam with spurts of water running through. Leighton’s voice soothed me and I felt like I could talk to her despite just meeting her.
“I know what you mean. Sometimes I look around and wonder how I got here too,” she said.
Silence again ensued for a few moments while we ate.
“I’m sorry if this offends you and it’s fine if you don’t want to answer, but how do your wrists feel?” she asked me.
“Oh, that’s not offensive. They’re okay, I guess,” I said nervously.
“They’ll probably look better than this,” she said and lifted her wrist parallel to her head. She turned her palm towards me. Long scars ran down her bronze arm. Her smooth skin made the scars seem like dried riverbeds. They shouldn’t have been there, but internally, I was glad they were. I didn’t feel alone in this place. I thought that maybe I wasn’t as crazy as I thought I was.
We talked some more and Leighton finished her food quickly. She threw out the rest of her tray and walked to the exit door. She turned back to me and waved shyly. I smiled back and watched her disappear silently into the stairwell.