Waiting for Fitz

by Spencer Hyde

  “Sounds right,” said Junior.

  “So we need Potts to leave his post for a short spell. Just a minute or two.”

  Nobody said anything for a moment. I could hear the echo of our heavy breathing in the tight space of the chapel. The air smelled of sweat and anticipation.

  “I can do it,” said Leah. “I already lit a candle for us. No te preocupes. Estamos listos. Trust me. We’re good. Los Santos are with us.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” I said to Leah, but she made a stern face and looked at Fitz.

  “Let me do it,” she said. “What do you have planned for Potts?”

  “Well, it’s mostly watching the clock. Addie and I will leave our rooms at exactly eleven forty-five. We’ll both say we need to use the restroom. Martha is super flexible about that stuff. Anyway, Addie will use the restroom and grab her stuff—we’ll have to hide our clothes for the outside behind the toilet during the movie at some point—and then she will tell Martha she forgot to take her pill and needs to check with Jenkins.

  “I’ll use the bathroom and then tell Martha I need to check with Jenkins about Riddle’s request for my morning pill or something more specific. I’ll think of something better.

  “And that’s all false, of course, but Martha won’t care enough to stop me. Then, Leah, you need to make your move. You’ll need to get Martha to open your door—say something that surprises her or makes her worry—and then just take off. If you head to the bathrooms, you’ll pass right by Potts. He won’t know Martha is behind you, because she’s slow, so he’ll take off after you. That will give me and Addie the minute or two we need.

  “You’ll just dead-end in the game room, and Martha and Potts will walk you back to your room. Now, I still haven’t figured out what you should say to Martha. I don’t want a second person on suicide watch, or they’ll have to bring in the on-call nurse.”

  Fitz sighed, his chest lifting and lowering like a giant bellows. I could tell he was nervous about things working out correctly.

  “What if Potts doesn’t chase me?” said Leah.

  “Then I’ll have to distract him, and we’ll run away from him anyway. Not ideal, because then they’d know and we’d lose ourselves a couple hours’ head start, but it would have to do,” said Fitz.

  I started worrying about the night after the escape. I mean, it didn’t sound like he’d thought of where to sleep when we got out. I made a mental note to talk to him after our chapel visit. I thought I had enough money for a hotel or motel or something—assuming Mom brought the books I’d requested on her next visit—and it’s not like Fitz and I had sat down and done a break-out-budget by the hour or whatever.

  It made me think again of one of those corny late-night ads: “Need to break out of your friendly neighborhood psychiatric ward? Try Phil’s Bills, the most user-friendly break-out budget available, created by our own former SEC accountant, Phil Sumpter. It will help you dole out your money each day for street meds and low-cost beds. But wait! Order now, and get Phil’s Dills, a whole jar of his homemade pickles canned and seasoned in Aubrey, Texas—all garlic, no brine! And if you order by midnight, you can even get Phil’s Skills, a guide on how to budget once you’re on the outside and free of that pesky hospital gown!”

  Leah brought me back to the present.

  “Martha won’t put me on watch,” she said. “I know how to tease her. But I’ll make it seem serious at first.”

  It seemed like we were putting a lot of faith in Leah. But there really wasn’t another option, and I knew she had the gumption to make it happen. Didi and Junior were already doing something, and Wolf wasn’t really involved.

  Having three people ask to leave their rooms might surprise Martha. I didn’t think she’d do anything different, but it might make her the slightest bit suspicious.

  Thankfully, Martha was the sweetest person ever. She liked lights out at night so she could read in peace. She was all about these romance novels that took place in space. She called them space operas or something. It made me imagine alien-robot hybrids singing opera songs to one another on some distant planet. So weird. Anyway, if you had to use the restroom she usually just waved her hand and kept her nose in whatever book she was reading at the time.

  If you asked to use the bathroom more than a few times it bugged her, and she’d say no, but that was only because it would cut into her reading time. She was selfish in that way, but we’re all selfish in our own ways, I guess.

  Martha hated being on suicide watch because she wasn’t allowed a book—there was a strict policy about all eyes on the patient or something. But because Martha was the most senior orderly, she was always able to claim her standard position on night watch near the rooms. That way, she didn’t have to deal with the main door and any visitors, or be stationed at the pharmacy, logging doses and taking notes each night for the morning staff.

  “Looks like we’re all set,” said Fitz. He got another goofy smile on his face and looked at me from beneath his curly hair that poked out from beneath his bandana.

  “I want my horse,” said Wolf, bowing his head.

  “And somebody work on getting Wolf that horse, okay?” said Fitz.

  “Why don’t you find him one on the outside?” said Junior.

  Pastor Michaels walked back in and surprised us. We were still sitting in a circle when he entered, light pooling around our bootie-clad feet.

  “A group prayer. Y’all are taking nicely to this. Why don’t you make sure and stand by that door again next week, and I’ll have something special planned for your group about prayer. Ain’t nothing better than an earnest and honest plea to the Lord,” he said, holding his Bible over his stomach. “Let me walk you back, now.” He gestured with his right arm, motioning us to rise and leave.

  I watched as Leah whispered something to the candle she’d lit earlier, then she joined our group. Behind her, a few candles burned low in their cups of wax, and I wondered what my life would be like: would I get blown out, or flicker and come back stronger? We all flicker; it just depends on how willing we are to emerge again, and with how much light.

  As we neared the door, I stalled and dropped back in the shifting group of people to find myself next to Fitz, near the back. He stood close to me as we walked the hallway. The hallway was crowded with other doctors and people visiting their friends or family or whatever, which, it turns out, is exactly what we needed. That way the pastor didn’t keep a close eye on us.

  I felt Fitz’s warm hand touch mine. My heart raced. I think he saw me glance at my watch because he squeezed my hand again.

  “Don’t count the beats,” he said, smiling.

  “Wasn’t going to,” I said, squeezing his hand back.

  Seven

  The next morning the sky was bouncing with rows of bright clouds cruising through the blue, like some race to the horizon. There were these small rays of sunlight trailing down the hospital windows that turned as the clouds drifted past.

  Wolf was standing near the entrance to the psych ward and quietly repeating, “I want my horse.” I considered talking to him but realized it might only lead to more anxiety. I understood routines all too well. Rituals—the absurd nature of their repetition.

  As I made my way to Doc’s office, I saw Leah curled up with a book near the fake plants in the study room, but it didn’t look like she was all that invested in her book. I stopped by to visit, even knowing it would make me late for my session with Doc. Whatever. He’d get over it.

  “What are you reading? Looks cool,” I said. “And I love the new hair color.”

  “Thanks,” she said, rubbing her buzz. She’d dyed a streak in one side of her hair, probably for a day visit with her mom, who probably wanted to help her stop obsessing over the short hair. Really, though, the girl pulled off the look.

  “I almost dyed once,” I said. Leah looked at me in surpr
ise. I waited a beat. “But I didn’t think my hair would look good with the new color.”

  She laughed. That’s what I lived to see—a genuine smile on another face. She had her knees pulled up beneath her oversized shirt that she usually wore to bed. Look, it’s not like people really got “ready” for the day in the psych ward. In fact, we rarely wore anything but sweats and a T-shirt. On cold days—okay, every day—I grabbed a sweatshirt as well, but the dress code was nonexistent. Even the orderlies wore the same thing most days. It was probably nice for them, in fact, not having to worry about that sort of thing.

  “It’s a book about whales. Kind of cool,” she said.

  I nudged her a little with my shoulder as I sat down next to her and curled into my own body, the shared warmth a nice thing on a cold morning. “You okay?”

  “I am. Just thinking, is all.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  “Whales. Like how much they eat and stuff. A baby whale gains two hundred pounds a day for the first year of its life. Cool things like that,” she said, rubbing her hair as she finished her sentence. “And when they die, it’s called a whalefall, and they make it so other fish can live on their body for hundreds of years. I don’t know how that works.”

  “I’ve gained so much weight here, I’m starting to feel like one of those whales,” I said, standing and lurching forward, mocking a slow step and undulating motion.

  Leah laughed as I made a fake whale call by singing in loud, prolonged rhythms with my mouth in an O, and swam away. “I’ll seeee yooou at lunch, Leeeaaah,” I said in my whale voice.

  She kept giggling as I wandered away. Yes, I was smiling. Yes, it was because I was able to put a smile on Leah’s face. Yes, I lived for moments when the psych ward and the complexities of life and the stresses of recovery melted away, leaving behind a smile and some genuine laughter.

  As I knocked on Doc’s door, I thought about what Leah said about whales dying and making life for other fish. Like, I guess the vegetation would be greener the closer it got to the body, right? The fish a little happier, the world a bit more certain knowing it had this whale to keep it alive for hundreds of years. It was pretty amazing.

  It was all I could think about, this life-giving-life to others for hundreds of years just by the presence of a body, the soul removed, the physical left to molder. How much life could be sustained off whatever I would end up leaving this world?

  I settled into the chair across from Doc, who already had his stupid folder open, already doing his doctorish moves with his glasses.

  “Your mother dropped these books off yesterday,” he said, handing me the play I’d requested. Mom had indeed delivered the goods.

  It was then that I started to get nervous again. Like, I’d tried my best and done quite well in forgetting about the breakout planned for that evening, but seeing Doc and the book with the money hidden inside it brought it all back. The week had really cruised by, but that tends to happen when your life is set in a routine that plays out like clockwork. Or as Leah might say, like the broad side of a barn. I started curling the sweater in my palms. I worried he knew everything and that his folder was just open so he could write down my confession or whatever.

  I started tapping my left foot in seven-step patterns, blinking my right eye in sets of three, and clearing my throat after each set of the foot-eye combo.

  “Ticks trying to keep you busy, Addie?” said Doc. “Have they kept you up at night lately? Is it worse today for some reason?”

  He had to know something. Maybe he’d met up with Wolf, and Wolf had stopped talking about his horse long enough to tell Doc everything we’d said in that chapel. Maybe Leah wasn’t really thinking about whales, but was relaxed because she spilled it all and felt relief from that weight being lifted off her conscience. Maybe Fitz had yelled it to Toby or Willy or something. I didn’t know how to proceed without giving myself away, so I grabbed the new stress ball and began pushing on the giant, fake smile.

  “Just one of those mornings,” I said, offering a boring platitude and hoping Doc bit.

  “That’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re sliding back. We all have those days sometimes.”

  There he went again with the first-person plural, like we were all dealing with the same OCD that kept us washing our hands and tapping our feet and clearing our throats and blinking our eyes in three- to seven-set bursts. Whatever. He had no clue. Whatever clue he had came from those manuals he read.

  “In fact, you might be feeling more anxiety because you’re looking forward to getting outside. It will be a nice break from the ordinary.”

  Of course. He knew. He knew my anxieties were because of the breakout. Nice break. Breakout. Outside. He knew. Who told him?

  “What do you mean?” I said, hoping I was wrong.

  “Group Talk today is in the yard. It’s a nice day, and I told Dr. Tabor to take everyone outside near the big pines to soak up a little sun.”

  I had to get out of that office or I’d totally fall into my anxieties and slip somehow. I wondered what I could say to get Doc off the topic, but I also wasn’t sure if anything I said would let me leave earlier or just make him write more notes in that folder. I decided to give it a shot. What could it hurt? I was already sweating, and I had to kill time and distract myself from the evening plan, something I was totally freaking about because I wanted it so bad. For Fitz, sure, but for me, too.

  “Last night I couldn’t really sleep,” I said.

  Doc looked over his glasses and set his pen down. Finally, some eye contact. You’d think they’d start with that. You’d think, sure, but you’d be wrong.

  I decided to tell Doc the truth of why I couldn’t sleep—and it wasn’t just because of the breakout. Oddly enough, the breakout and thinking of Fitz had reminded me of my physics class in high school where Mrs. Peddle had taught us about light particles. Sounds odd, I know, but that’s what kept me up the night before, so I figured I’d let Doc use all his doctorly wisdom to poke and prod and see what stuck and what made sense.

  “Why is that? Counting? Did you feel you needed to wash? Ticks?”

  “Usually this is where I’d say ‘Yep.’”

  “But you’re not saying ‘Yep,’” said Doc.

  “Nope,” I said.

  “And why is that?”

  “I kept thinking about this experiment one of my teachers told me about. And it made me think of light. Did you know that the light we see from the stars is hitting us after years of travel? We are literally looking back into space-time, and the light from some of the stars is years old, and just now reaching us. So cool,” I said, getting caught up in the idea. “Like, something that is dead and gone can still light up our world. What was can still be an is if we put ourselves in the right place.”

  “Seems like a good thought to keep you awake,” said Doc.

  “Right, but then it got me thinking about my past,” I said, kind of lying. I say kind of because I’d really been thinking about Fitz and how he’d asked about being forgiven and said that he had to make a personal atonement. To me, it sounded like Fitz was trying to rewrite his past, or change it somehow.

  Doc was scribbling away in the folder and not looking at me, so I paused to see how long it’d take him to realize I was waiting for him. He finished a sentence and looked up, like, wondering what happened to the recording or something. Sometimes I wondered where he learned, or didn’t learn, his bedside manner.

  “Anyway, I started thinking about this experiment called the double-slit experiment. My teacher, Mrs. Peddle, said that observing a particle now can change what happened to another particle, but in the past.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Doc.

  I don’t know why, but something about him not understanding what I was talking about made me giddy. I realized I had stopped trying to squeeze the guts out of the stress ball and was
actually quite calm. It was a wonderful feeling.

  “That’s what I said in class. Mrs. Peddle said scientists are only dealing with a fraction of a second right now, but they are hoping to use that theory on light from distant stars. I still don’t get it. But what if the present could change the past, even if only for a fraction of a second?”

  Doc set his pen down again and rubbed his beard. It was a normal sight, but this time he had a little more expression on his face, his eyebrows knit and lowered. He bit the side of his lip and sighed as if in deep thought.

  “In a purely mathematical world,” he said, “perhaps we could talk about that theory. But in the world we live in, I don’t see that as possible, or even probable, though I love the idea, Addie. Your mind is clearly working on a different plane than most.”

  “I can never stay awake on planes. I’m not a good traveler.”

  “I mean, on a different level,” said Doc.

  “I know what you meant,” I said, smiling.

  He smiled back and shrugged with a small laugh. He started scribbling in the folder again, and I wondered if I was being silly in thinking that helping Fitz change his past was possible. I knew the experiment was just that—an experiment, totally just theory—but what if understanding more about it could help me with Fitz? What if what I did right now with Fitz changed, maybe not his past, but at least the way he looked at his past? What if I could help him with that personal atonement he sought? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to help, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt like an adventurer who finally had a goal that was worth pursuing. Like I was worth it.

  I was all caught up in those feelings and thoughts, and my ticks returned as all my anxieties rushed back. Would breaking Fitz out hurt or help his situation? I wasn’t sure, but I was sure I wanted to be with him wherever we decided to go and whatever we decided to do. Just as I started tapping my foot, I heard Didi right outside of Doc’s office shouting, “Home Shopping Network! QVC!” I started laughing but tried to cover it up with a cough. Doc smiled.