Left In Good Spirits

by Anne Pleydon

  Kenny leads Laura to the last office at the end of the hall. Laura is surprised by all the colour and how feminine and playful it feels. It is full of reds and oranges and greens and yellow. There are potted plants and pictures of flowers and photos of animals and mountain landscapes. There is also a photo of a factory. Kenny sits in her chair and checks her email and then closes it. She peers in a coffee mug, pauses for a moment, gives a small shrug, and takes a sip. Laura takes a seat in one of the visitor’s chairs across from her.

  Kenny leans forward and plays with a pen in her hand. “So I assume you have lots of questions. But let me ask you? … you’ll be here how many days? And this is for therapy?”

  “Two days a week.” Laura is relieved that she knows the answer to a question. “Therapy, yes. But I wouldn’t mind sitting in on an assessment.” Laura finally releases the tight grip on her bag and lets it drop to the floor. She opens the flap and grabs her pad of paper and pen.

  “Two days. Weekends?”

  Laura’s mouth is agape. She is at a loss again. She tries to maintain eye contact with her supervisor but fails. “Uh, I wasn’t thinking that but ...”

  “No, that’s alright. It’s up to you. I’m here. Okay, well, we can get you some therapy kids, for sure. Assessment, I don’t know. Suicide risk assessment, yes, and mental health screens upon admissions, yes. But, that’s probably it.”

  “Okay, no, that sounds good. I’m really excited to be here,” Laura says.

  “Really? That’s kinda scary,” Kenny returns without a tight mouth. Laura pauses for a second, but something tells her this is more of her supervisor’s sarcasm. The grad student leans back in her chair and laughs.

  “Have you worked in a forensic setting before?” Kenny asks.

  “No, mostly I’ve worked with kids with developmental disabilities and concurrent disorders. I was in an ADHD clinic for my last practicum,” Laura says. Kenny twists her mouth. Laura wonders, Is that disgust or pain?

  Kenny says, “Forensics is ... different. Highly specialized. No one outside us thinks it is. But it is. And we’re also in a custodial setting. So, lots to learn. It’s not the kids that I’m worried about. We’ll get to that. It’s actually the staff that can be the greatest challenge. And management. And parents. Burnout is never about the kids.”

  Laura cocks her head to the side and takes a breath. “Oh, I’m sure I won’t have a problem. I work well on a multidisciplinary team.”

  “The staff- ”

  “They seemed nice.”

  “That’s because I’ve been here almost 15 years. There is a divide between clinical and frontline. I’ve worked where the divide was worse and I’ve worked in better. Years of bad psychiatrists and crazy social workers and all kinds of weird shit and clinicians on power trips. It can destroy the reputation of the clinical staff. People don’t forget anything here. Ever. Let me tell you something. This staff can have a bad day every day. They can be impatient, scream, yell at each other, and yell at us. But if you ever show ... if I ever lost it with a staff here or let on that I was even remotely irritated and showed any frustration with staff here, I would be out. Shunned.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s militaristic. A giant, hyper-masculine machine. It just goes and goes. You will make yourself crazy if you think you’re an essential part of it or that you can change it. But you have to understand it and appreciate it. It’s when clinicians try to make staff into clinicians and vice versa. We all have a role here and different mandates. They need to havea unified front. This is a dangerous place. They need to be an impervious organism. In-group status and all that jazz if you remember your social psychology classes. If staff feel unsafe or don’t trust each other or their supervisors, then you don’t even have a custody facility. You would have the group home from hell. You don’t want staff hesitating to use restraints because they’re thinking of political fall-out. That is a recipe for disaster and someone getting hurt. A lot of clinicians don’t understand that. And they shoot off their mouths and then we have a huge mess. These guys all protect each other, too, in this crazy insane way, even when they hate each other.”

  “Would they protect you?” Laura asks.

  Kenny hesitates, then says, “Physically, yes. It’s their job. If there’s a code, they respond. You should see them when they run.” Kenny stops again and it appears she is visualizing something. “It humbles you. But, otherwise. No.” Laura frowns. Kenny had seemed so friendly and close with staff she obviously admired but was so complacent about how she has not earned their loyalty.

  Kenny adds, “It can be incredibly draining to think about.”

  “Wow, that’s horrible.” Laura looks down at her blank pad of paper. She has not written anything down.

  “Hey, you can’t think about them more than they think about us. Which is never. Trust me. You’ll work with the good ones and you’ll get to know the bad ones. There are some fucking pricks here. I want to bash their skulls in. But mostly there are some really excellent kick ass staff here. We can get really good work done here because of the relationships we have with each other. I’m just exaggerating a lot of the politics so you get it. I don’t want you to make any mistakes,” Kenny says, sipping on her coffee again, and making a face.

  “Oh,” Laura says with a quiet voice. Her eyes do not leave her paper.

  “But I also don’t want you to be paranoid,” Kenny says. “Look at me. Whatever happens, I’ll own it. You won’t have to.”

  Laura is at a loss for words. Kenny’s speech is rapid and informal and sensational. The grad student has never had a supervisor talk to her in this way. Kenny appears chummy in her interactions with the staff and she looks so intimate with them and yet she is now telling Laura it does not go beyond surface level. But most of all, Laura wants to make an impression on her supervisor. She has said little and even appeared fearful. Laura sits up straight in her chair and is determined to not look away from Kenny’s intense gaze again.

  Kenny continues, “So, we’ll just sign some paper work and go over policies and stuff today. I’ll give you an office and tons of binders you can read through until you want to kill yourself. We have two other clinicians on mat leave right now. They didn’t replace them so it’s a nightmare. I don’t think the one is going to come back. But Stacey has been here for 5 years. You’ll be using her office.”

  “So, it’s just you?” Laura asks.

  “And Dr. Mull, yes, for now.”

  “Wow, how do you do that?”

  “I work a lot,” Kenny responds. Her voice is flat. Then she gives that smile that does not reach her eyes.

  “Oh,” Laura replies.

  “So, dress code. No skirts and watch the heel length. No hoop or dangly earrings. I wear huge ass stuff, rings, which they hate, but I’m old and I don’t give a shit. But you can’t. I know I don’t have to tell you this stuff. But just watch what you wear. Or it’ll be all over the facility by noon. As a woman here you can be known as one of four things: good at what you do, or crazy, a slut, or a nobody. Aim for being a non-descript nobody. And never be rude. When dealing with staff, wait for them to acknowledge you before asking for shit. They’re busy. We don’t know what they’re doing. When you phone over to a unit, you never know what’s been happening on the floor. Always smile. And then come back here and vent. This unit is a safe zone. But not out there. Out there, never look impatient. If you’re in the Man Trap just clear your mind and look pleasantly neutral. If you look irritated, they hold you longer. I think of it as purgatory in there. You don’t know if you’re going to heaven or hell but you’re being judged for all your sins.”

  “Oh, that’s ... interesting.”

  “Yes, and there’s profanity and not-so politically correct humour here. And you might hear some real-ass homophobic, sexist shit here. I can’t protect you from that. But, we’re not getting into it.”

  “Oh,” Laura says, wondering if she should bring this up i
n her Ethics class next week.

  “Yeah,” Kenny nods. There is a silence between them. “So don’t talk about your personal life with anyone. Not to the kids and not to staff. What the kids know, the staff know, and vice versa. I like to keep it 5% banter and 95% work. Always. With everyone. Okay?”

  Kenny’s eyes are no longer warm and flashing. Laura feels as though a wall has come between them. Kenny drew her in and told her trade secrets but then pushed her back again. Laura nods. Kenny then gets up to escort the grad student to the office she will be using over her practicum. Laura is relieved to see a desk and to sit herself behind one. There are thick policy binders in neat piles laid out in front of her. Once Kenny leaves, Laura fills her lungs and exhales slowly. Then she wonders about the nearest washroom. She wants to wash her hands and break into her lunch bag early. She opens a binder. She does not want to bother her supervisor again for the rest of the day.

  Chapter 3

  MCDONOUGH, THE OIC, comes through the front doors of Merivale at half past 6 in the morning. He approaches the two staff sitting at Front Control. One is the goateed staff and the other is a larger man with a moustache. “Well, good morning, boys.”

  The staff with the goatee says, “You up here this morning?”

  “I shouldn’t be. Unless that no good partner of yours bails again. Oh, hey, Dunny. How are your bowels?”

  The man with the moustache give a broad smile. “Thanks for covering for me. That Mexican went through me like … like I was giving birth to a blow torch.”

  McDonough says to the goateed staff, “Wolcott, my boy, how goes last night?”

  “One admission. Helmcken.”

  “What’d he do?”

  Wolcott says, “Cut his ankle bracelet off and jumped out his bedroom window. He was on the run for a bit.” Dunny shakes his head.

  McDonough says, “Oh, well, there’s a surprise. This is the goddamn Marriott for him.”

  “Now, now, sarcasm is the voice of burnout and despair,” Wolcott says, with a falsetto voice.

  “Who said that?”

  “That flake at the Boundaries workshop.”

  McDonough laughs at he is buzzed through the Man Trap. He raises a hand. “I’m going in, boys,” and they both smile in return.

  The OIC walks through the waiting area and waves at the older woman in the coffee shop. Rita calls out, “Mac, Coffee?”

  He rubs his stomach. “I had one on the way in. But I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be here,” she returns with a wave of her hand.

  “Who do you need today?” McDonough says, stopping on his heel.

  “I’d take Campbell or Michelin again. Cody was asking about working the cafe too.”

  “Cody? In a kitchen. Not gonna happen.”

  “Alright,”

  “Later, Rita.” She nods.

  McDonough is buzzed through the doors to the Rotunda before he swipes because the School Control can see him coming. He greets the School Control staff and then shakes hands with the Night OIC in the office behind School Control. In the OIC office there are two large pine desks, a fan, radios being charged, communication binders, binders for shift reports, staff coverage, and van/car sign-out sheets, two computers, an array of video monitors showing each of the units, and a number of plastic chairs. There are lockers for the OIC and School Control staff. On the wall there is a government calendar indicating the holidays.

  In this office, McDonough holds a brief meeting with the Code Red team. The facility is busy with the hum of shift change. Day staff arrive early to get report and this lets the night-shift staff leave early. Nothing much is going on in the facility except Helmcken’s admission. There were no codes last night. Helmcken is still in admissions/discipline because he appears drug sick.

  “He needs to do his health assessment. But he wouldn’t wake up for it. He’s just been sleeping,” says the Night OIC.

  “We’ll get the nurse to take another look first thing and won’t move him ‘til we get the all clear,” McDonough says. There follows a discussion about classification, which is another way of saying they are deciding which unit to put the youth in. McDonough says, “Why can’t he go in his old unit? What is this classification bullshit? Is this another new word they’re trying to teach us uneducated guys to use? Same wine, new bottle. Goddamn, I’m not moving kids around.”

  “Simpson is there. There’s a no contact,” a staff offers.

  “Who the fuck is Simpson?”

  “Some new kid.”

  “Well, move him over to 4 and put ol’ Phlegmkin back in 3. For Christ’s sake.”

  “Simpson’s already made some friends by screaming racist shit at Sanders and Paul. He’ll get his ass kicked by Hamilton if he goes to Unit 4,” one of the staff offers.

  “Real world consequences, boys. He’ll learn.” And by turning away, McDonough ends that conversation.

  The OIC walks out on the Rotunda and surveys the field. “Which fine minds do we have on garbage?” he asks Rodney at School Control. He can see two youth pushing a cart of large garbage bags across the yard to get to the left wing unit.

  “Michelin and Cody,” Rodney responds.

  “Oh, Jesus.” McDonough returns to the office and starts reading the shift report and communication logs from last night. He knows the Superintendent and Deputy Superintendent will be going over them on Monday.

  It is only a bit later in the morning that he looks out his office and sees Kenny up at School Control chatting with the staff. She is one of the only clinicians he has liked over the years. He warmed to her fairly quickly when she came. He likes that she always keeps it light, seems like a hard worker, and likes listening to his stories. Most of all, she does not mind hearing a joke every now and then, not like these feminist social workers that get their back up the minute they here a non-PC word. Jesus Christ, how is anyone supposed to have a conversation? Kenny respects his ideas about the kids. She asks his opinion. She never seems to be in the way or causing any messes and that is what he likes about her best. Whenever he sees her warm beaming face, he is a kid again fumbling for all his best quips and information to impress her.

  Kenny spots McDonough and comes around the desk into his office. He does not get out of his chair and merely props a foot up on the desk. He notes her pale face and dark circles around her eyes. He smiles and looks at the clock on the wall. “Well, I didn’t realize anyone at the Mental Health Unit worked at this hour. And, on a weekend!”

  “I’m always here this early,” she says. “And sometimes on weekends.”

  “They better be paying you for that.”

  She ignores his comment. “But it’ll be more than just me for awhile. We’re getting a student next week. You met her.”

  “Ah,” the OIC responds, because he does not care.

  “So let me know if you see her doing anything stupid.”

  “Oh, I’ll be letting her know.” He likes to remind her that everyone answers to him on shift.

  Kenny sits in one of the plastic chairs and changes the subject, “So, Helmcken’s drug sick?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He was on the run. They found him passed out in a ditch,” he offers.

  “Nice. I’ll try to look in on him later.”

  “Your therapy is obviously working.”

  “He’s not my client. He refuses mental health,” she says.

  McDonough says, “Now that’s what I don’t understand. Why the hell are they allowed to refuse to see you?”

  “A little thing called consent.”

  “They’re here so they should do something while they’re here.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Old Helmy? Drug addict. Hyper as hell.”

  “Ah,” she says, and there is a silence between them.

  The OIC continues, “He’s another Eddie Howe. Remember him? No one was ever drug sick like him. The worst I’ve seen. Valium I think. He was so ill I almost felt so
rry for him.”

  “You felt sorry for someone?”

  “I said almost.”

  “When was he?”

  “That was ten plus years ago probably. That son of a bitch. He was a scrawny shit then. He was like a ping pong ball, bouncing up and down. And he would get so mad. Just lose it. He couldn’t control his temper.” McDonough laughs. “Staff would rile him up on purpose. He wanted to be a little gangster. He’d do anything that Marco Hastings told him.”

  “Marco Hastings. Yeah, staff are always talking about that kid. I vaguely remember him but I never worked with him,” Kenny says.

  “That might have been before your time,” McDonough says. “Marco had eyes like a shark. They were dead. You know those kids that when you look in their eyes and there’s nothing there. You know those kids that never stop watching the staff. He’d sit there tracking staff on the floor with those beady eyes. He was also big on threatening what he’d do to us if he ever saw us on the outs.”

  “That sounds smart,” Kenny says.

  “Yeah, he was living in Discipline in the end. Racking up charges for assaults and uttering threats. We charged that kid every time. Back when management had some balls. He was so damn huge by the time he left. I think the doc also had him on meds. Because he got big. Big kid. Six feet, easily 250 pounds. Eddie would get caught doing the stupidest shit and you knew Marco had set him up for it. Eddie really wanted to impress Marco. Ah, he was alright to be around when Marco wasn’t there but he was an unfeeling little prick. He liked jumping kids. Coward.”

  “Kind of sounds like Burrard,” Kenny says.

  “Yeah, Burrard sets kids up, but Eddie would wipe the floor with Burrard.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Who? Marco? In the gangs. He’s in federal now I think. Or dead. He and Eddie are really up there now. Eddie was always fronting. Someone’s gonna kill that kid. He’s a vile little shit.”

  “Wow, you’ve seen a lot of kids come and go,” she says.

  “Only 8 more months and I’m out,” he responds.

  “Really? You can’t leave,” she whines and he loves it.