Break in Case of Emergency

by Brian Francis

  That’s what it feels like inside of me. But I can’t tell Dr. Singh that because it makes no sense.

  “No,” I say.

  “That’s okay,” Dr. Singh says. “You don’t need to understand. Not yet, anyway.”

  I notice her eyes for the first time. They’re brown and soft and sad. Her bangs hang like upside-down question marks. I wonder how many patients she has. Broken people like me. It must be so hard, day after day. So depressing. I wonder if she has kids, what she tells them about her day. I want to make it easier for her.

  “You can tell my grandparents they can visit me,”I say.

  Dr. Singh smiles and nods. “Okay, Toby.”

  * * *

  One time, my mom went away. For about two weeks. I stayed with Grandma Kay on the farm.

  “Your mom is getting some good care,” Grandma Kay said. “She just needs a little rest.”

  I remember wanting to ask, “From me?” But I already knew the answer, even though I knew Grandma Kay would say “no.”

  I found out later that my mom was in the hospital. She was there because the voices in her head got too loud. Now that I think about it, she must’ve been in the same hospital as I am now. Maybe in the same room. The same bed, even. She must’ve looked out the same window, watching the cars coming in and out. Cars driven by people with normal lives in a world that doesn’t include my mom and me and Meg and everyone else inside this place.

  Knowing that I’m here, in the same place as my mom, makes me feel closer to her. I look down at my hand, the wristband with my name typed on it. But I don’t see Toby Goodman. I see another name. Heather Goodman.

  Then I realize it’s finally happened, what I’ve known all along.

  I’ve become my mom. We’re the same person.

  * * *

  Mike was the one who found me on the deck. Only I’d fallen out of the chair. I was lying on my stomach, the chair on top of me. I don’t even want to think about what I must’ve looked like. He put me in his car and drove me to the hospital.

  This is what Grandma Kay is telling me. I’m watching her, her red eyes, her hair that looks like she hasn’t combed it for days, her hands that flip-flop in her lap like fishes out of water. And even though she’s telling me this, I can’t really understand it. It’s like she’s speaking another language, just sounds, not words.

  Grandpa Frank is standing a few feet away from the foot of the bed. He looks tired, as well. His ball cap is off and he’s rubbing the brim, over and over. He’s barely said anything, and I know he’s angry with me. For getting in the way of what needs to be done on the farm. For being such a problem. I’ve only been able to look at him once.

  “Mike called when he got you here,” she says. “I remember screaming into the phone. My worst fears came true. I was always afraid, Toby, that you might do something like Heather did. That fear would keep me up at night. I ran out to the barn, to get Frank.” She glances over at him, but his eyes stay on his ball cap. “He didn’t know what was going on. Not at first. Said I wasn’t making any sense. But he figured it out, eventually, and we tore away in the truck. I’ve never seen that man drive so fast.”

  “I’m sorry I put you through that,” I say, quietly.

  “I’m just glad Mike got to you in time,” she says. “If he hadn’t. Oh, if he hadn’t . . .” She fumbles to undo the clasp on her purse. For a second, I think she’s going to pull out a letter from Arthur. But, no. That wasn’t her. That was my mom. And that was years ago. Inside Tops. Instead, Grandma Kay pulls out a crumpled tissue.

  “I’ve cried many tears these past few days,” she says. “I thought I’d drown in them. Or that I’d run out. But there’s no end, I guess. I’m more water than blood.”

  I can’t keep apologizing, but I don’t know what else to say.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The words sound so helpless, a featherless baby bird that’s fallen out of the nest.

  “I have so many questions,” Grandma Kay says. “But there will be time to answer them. We’ll have time for all of that later on. Right now, the important thing is that you get better, Toby. That’s why you’re here. I know it’s not the nicest place.” She glances over at Meg, who’s sitting in the chair next to her bed, counting something on her fingers. “But they’ll help you here. More than I ever could.”

  She reaches out and grabs my hand. “Oh, Toby. If only I had known. I should’ve known. That was my job. It was all right in front of me. But my eyes were closed. I’ll never forgive myself. Never.”

  “It wasn’t you,” I say. “You aren’t to blame.”

  But I know she’s not listening. Her tears are louder than any words I can say.

  Chapter 31

  Before they leave, Grandma Kay tells me that other people want to visit me.

  “Who?” I ask, afraid that it might be Mike. Or Mr. Whitlock. I can’t even think about seeing either of them again. They must be so angry at me.

  “Shirley wants to stop by,” Grandma Kay says with a roll of her eyes. “She’s pretty shaken up. She said it would make her feel better to see you. I told her it wasn’t about her feeling better. It was about you feeling better. But, given everything, I understood what she meant. Are you okay with that?”

  “I suppose,” I say, hoping Shirley doesn’t bring up Arthur. I don’t want to talk about him ever again. He’s where he should be—out of my life.

  “I’ll let her know she can come by,” Grandma Kay says. She looks over at Grandpa Frank, who’s been standing in the same place the whole time. “Anything you want to say?”

  “Nope,” Grandpa Frank replies, and I feel my face burn red. Knowing he’s so angry with me hurts most of all.

  “Well, then,” Grandma Kay says, clearly not impressed. “We’ll be back tomorrow. Is there anything you want from home? Not that I can bring just anything. There are . . . rules, I guess. Although most of them sound stupid to me. But it’s not my place to question what the nurses tell me.”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say.

  A few minutes after they leave, Meg walks over to me.

  “Those your parents, Tracy?” she asks.

  “Grandparents,” I say.

  “They seem young.”

  “I guess they are,” I say. “For grandparents, anyway. My mom had me young.”

  “Where’s she at?”

  “She died.”

  “Oh. That’s too bad. And your dad?”

  I don’t even know where to start, so I say what’s easiest. And, in some ways, what’s most true. “I don’t have a father.”

  “Wow, you really have it rough.” She shakes her head. “Say, do you have a quarter? I could really use a coffee.”

  “No, Meg,” I say. “I don’t have any money. And you shouldn’t have any more coffee. You need to sleep.”

  “I sleep just fine,” she says.

  * * *

  The next morning, Shirley’s head pops through the doorframe. Her hair is still dark red. Not that I was expecting anything else.

  “Hi, sweetie,” she says.

  I feel so exposed in this place. Vulnerable. Anyone, at any time, can come walking through the door.

  “I brought you a doughnut,” she says, shaking a small paper bag. “I know hospital food is terrible. I wasn’t sure what kind to get so I got one with sprinkles. That seemed right.”

  I tried to kill myself and Shirley thinks sprinkles are going to fix me.

  She nods at the nameless woman; she looks at Shirley, but doesn’t nod back.

  “What’s up with that one?” Shirley asks in a hoarse whisper, as if the woman isn’t ten feet away from us.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “She doesn’t speak.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose it’s none of my business.”

  She sits down on the bed. “How are you doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, surprised by my honesty.

  Shirley looks down at the doughnut bag. “I came here thinking of all the things I’d
say to you. Like we were in a movie and I’d say all the right lines to make everything better. But all those lines have flown out of the window. The last time I was here, it was to visit your mom. You were staying with your grandparents. Do you remember?”

  I nod, wanting to ask Shirley if this was the same room, the same bed. I look down at my ID bracelet, but it says Toby Goodman now. Did I imagine my mom’s name before?

  “And I thought about what your mom would want me to say to you,” Shirley says. “So, this morning, after my breakfast, I closed my eyes and tried to connect with her.”

  I lean forward. “And? Did anything happen?”

  Shirley nods. “I think so. I saw an image of an old woman, laughing. At first, I didn’t recognize her. I thought, is that Heather? Then I realized who she was.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “She was you, Toby.”

  I never thought of myself growing old. I never thought it was an option. But after hearing Shirley’s words, I try to imagine myself with grey hair. Glasses. Laughing, like she said. Maybe holding a grandchild in my lap.

  Is that kind of future even possible for someone like me?

  * * *

  Trisha comes after lunch. The first thing I notice is her hair. She hasn’t straightened it. It looks like there’s a giant orange Brillo pad circling her head. I think about faking amnesia. It’d be easier than having to deal with the truth. I saw a movie once where a woman lost her memory on her honeymoon and then fell in love with someone else. But she ended up marrying her husband. Looking at Trisha, I think, If I don’t recognize her, then she’ll have to forgive me. You can’t be mad at someone for something they don’t remember doing.

  “Hi,” Trisha says. Her voice is so quiet I can barely hear it. She holds her hand up, fingers slightly open, like she’s a priest giving a blessing. Or someone meeting an alien for the first time.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Your grandma said it was okay if I came. Is that all right?”

  “I guess so.”

  She slowly walks into the room, glancing around her. I’ve never seen her like this. Scared, nervous and quiet. Three adjectives I’d never use to describe Trisha Richardson. I start feeling even more uncomfortable. She pulls up a chair next to the bed but doesn’t look at me. Instead, she stares at the patient ID bracelet on my wrist.

  “There are so many things I don’t understand,” she says, softly. “I don’t know why you did it. Or tried to do it, I mean. Or why you did it at my parents’ cabin. Or that you asked my brother.”

  “Trisha, I have to tell you some—”

  “I know about the two of you. He told me. And yes, I’m so angry at you for lying to me. But I’m angrier about other things. More important things.” She looks up at me and I see tears in her eyes. “Why didn’t you ask me to take you to the cabin?”

  “What?”

  “Why did you ask my stupid brother? Even if you were dating or whatever it was. It should’ve been me who took you there in the middle of the night. That’s what best friends do.”

  “Trisha, you would’ve asked too many questions. You don’t even have your licence. It’s not that I didn’t want to ask you. But it was easier with Mike, that’s all. It’s nothing personal.”

  My words are tumbling out. I’m shocked that this would be the thing that’s bothering her. I never expected it.

  She looks down again and wipes her eyes. “I should’ve been there. If I was there, I would’ve known. I would’ve seen something in your eyes. I know you so well. I would’ve stopped you, Toby.”

  “But I didn’t want to be stopped.”

  She jerks her head up. “What you want isn’t always what’s right. Don’t you realize what would’ve happened if Mike hadn’t gone back? Don’t you understand what would’ve happened, what it would’ve meant, for all of us left behind?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about that,” I say. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Well, you better try to fucking explain,” Trisha says, her voice rising. “You better try really, really hard to explain it. Because I can’t believe you would do something like that. Don’t you understand?”

  She drops her head again. “It should’ve been me.” Her voice sounds like it’s in a thousand pieces. “It should’ve been me who rescued you.”

  * * *

  We sit in silence for a while. I’m numb from Trisha’s words. I knew she’d be angry about Mike, but I had no idea that she’d be angrier about something else. Another betrayal from me. Just when I think I can’t screw up anyone’s life more, I always find another way. That’s one of my talents.

  I can’t take looking at her sad, silent face any more. “How’s Mike?”

  “Fucked up, but okay, I guess,” she says, her voice coming back to normal. As if anything can go back to normal after everything that’s happened. After everything I’ve done. “All things considered. He’s been grounded for the rest of the month. And he can’t drive anywhere. Unless it’s for work. Which means he’s been riding around on his ten-speed, looking like a loser eight-year-old. Which he is.”

  “Why is he grounded?”

  “He took you to the cabin.”

  “Only because I asked him to.”

  “So, if you asked him to glue his eyelids shut and he did it, he wouldn’t be to blame? By the way, never ask my brother to glue his eyelids.”

  “Is he mad?”

  “I don’t think ‘mad’ is the right word. But he’s something at you.” Trisha leans in. “Is this because of your mom? Because of what she did?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “There’s something I always wanted to ask you. Did your mom mean to kill herself? Or was it an accident? Like, did she take more pills than she was supposed to?”

  I realize this is the first time Trisha and I have actually spoken about my mom’s suicide.

  “I’m pretty sure she meant to take them.”

  “But why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “It’s not like I can ask her.”

  Trisha closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “No, you can’t.”

  She reaches into her knapsack. “Before I forget.” She pulls out something wrapped in paper towel.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She hands it to me. “Open this when I leave.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can we talk when you get out of here?” she asks, glancing over at Meg. “We’ll find someplace quiet. Just the two of us.”

  “Sure,” I say, even though that’s the last thing I want to do. I just want to disappear. From everyone.

  She leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Get better soon, Toby,” she says. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Once she leaves, I take what she gave me and carefully roll away the paper towel.

  It’s an egg. With a note.

  Break in case of emergency, it reads in Trisha’s handwriting.

  * * *

  After dinner, which isn’t that horrible, I decide to go to the common seating area. I need a change of scenery. They have a TV on the wall, usually showing game shows or dramas about hospitals. Which is pretty ironic, considering everything. The TV is behind a thick sheet of plastic. I guess so we’re not tempted to stick our head through the TV. Or throw it at someone.

  There’s only one other person watching television, an older man whose name I think is Charles. I try not to talk to people. It complicates things.

  Wheel of Fortune is on.

  “Do you mind if I change the channel?” I ask Charles. He doesn’t respond. I don’t think he’s even watching the TV. So I grab the remote and flip through, trying to find something worth watching. I need to take my mind off my mind, if that makes sense. I can’t tell if being in the hospital is making things worse or better. I’m here for two more days. Then I’m going back home. I need to report back to the psychiatrist. They need to know that I won’t harm myself again. I’ll tell them what they want to hear. That’s what Me
g told me.

  “Play them at their game,” she said. “That’s the only way to survive. It’s the only way any of us survive, if it’s in here or out there.” Her finger jabbed toward the window. “Remember that, Trudy.”

  I finally settle on a National Geographic show about lizards. I look over at Charles to see if he approves, but he doesn’t seem to register anything. It’s like he’s watching a show on the other side of the television.

  Just as a frilled-neck lizard comes racing across the screen, I hear a voice behind me.

  “I don’t understand why you nurses insist on wearing such pedestrian clothing. It’s criminal. Where are the white shoes with the crepe soles? Where are the white caps perched elegantly atop shellacked beehives? Where are the white pantyhose, darling?”

  That voice. I know it. I slowly turn around and see a woman with thick blond hair talking to one of the nurses at the station. She’s wearing a blue dress so tight it looks like the buttons might pop at any second. Her lips are the colour of cinnamon hearts. Her eyelashes look like tarantula legs.

  Oh my God, I think, as I turn around and slide down the sofa.

  It’s him.

  Arthur.

  Chapter 32

  I don’t know what to do. If I try to slither off the couch and crawl back to my room, I’m going to be spotted. But if I stay here, he’ll eventually see me too. There are only a couple of metres and two pillars separating us. My eyes dart from one side of the room to the other as I try to figure out an escape plan.

  Why is he still here? He was supposed to go back to Europe.

  “Personally, I think the glamour of nursing has fallen by the wayside,” I hear him say. “It used to be a respectable position. Now you’re all rolling into work wearing burlap sacks.”

  “Who are you here to see again?” He’s speaking with Nancy, one of my favourite nurses. She’s younger than the others and has perfect white teeth.

  “Miss Toby Goodman.”

  “Are you her grandmother?”

  “You bite your tongue before I snip it off. I am her father.”