Everything Here Is Beautiful

by Mira T. Lee

  “If she takes her medicine, she’s fine. But if she doesn’t, well . . . that’s why she was acting so strange.”

  He nodded, but did not look at her. Kept his focus on Essy, wiped a trail of drool from her chin with a dishcloth.

  “Crazy,” he said. “She was crazy. Loca. I was scared.”

  “What did she do?”

  He shook his head.

  “Please, it’s important. I need to tell the doctors.”

  “She was sitting all day in her room like a zombie, wearing socks on her hands. When she talked, she didn’t make any sense. She wouldn’t let anyone watch the TV, kept turning it off, but then sometimes, she turned it on full blast. One time I came home, she’d burned her fingers. Another time I found Essy covered in shit.”

  She winced.

  “She thought there were bugs everywhere.” He paused. “But it turned out she was right about that.”

  He fetched two mugs, two tea bags. Tea. She was pleasantly surprised. “Would you like to hold her?” he asked. He held out the baby.

  “Oh, no, that’s okay.”

  Essy gurgled, smiled. Miranda smiled back.

  “You see, she knows you are her auntie.” He laughed.

  “Oh. Well. Okay, I guess.”

  He placed her niece in her arms. The bundle, so light. The life, so new, so innocent. So beautiful.

  Her insides ached, a tangle of want and pain.

  Esperanza squirmed.

  “Hi, baby,” she whispered. “Shh. Hi there.” Miranda touched the tiny hand to the tiny mouth. Essy sucked happily on her fist.

  “You are good with babies,” he said.

  See, Ma, Mei-mei is smiling.

  “Manny,” she said. She was afraid to look up. Pinned her gaze to her niece’s face. “Lucia is still not taking her medicine.”

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  He was confused, of course. She felt achy, sick, exhausted all over again.

  “I thought she is in the hospital.”

  “She is. But when she’s sick, she doesn’t understand why she needs her medication.”

  “But they are helping her there?”

  “We’re trying. We thought maybe you could visit her, talk to her.” We. She and Charo, a “we.” The two of them, in agreement. It had come to this.

  “With the baby?” He was skeptical. “I don’t like hospitals.”

  “No, not with the baby. But I could take you there.”

  She watched his struggle, the story on his face. He was considering, weighing, wrestling with it: whether or not to get involved. The kettle started to sputter on the stove.

  “Lucia wants to see me?”

  She stroked Essy’s chin, pretended she hadn’t heard. She wasn’t sure anymore why she had come.

  “The doctors, they help her there. She will be okay, right?”

  He looked forlorn, lost, like an abandoned dog. She could not lie to him. “I’m sorry, Manny, but I don’t know. No one knows what will happen. Lucia’s illness, it isn’t easy—I mean, it’s really, really hard.”

  He nodded, grave.

  “She needs help. And support. Someone responsible. Someone who understands her illness.”

  The words, so unwieldy. Unappetizing from the second they dribbled from her mouth. She should’ve brought the pamphlets, the brochures, the 25 Tips. She didn’t feel like explaining anymore.

  “My situation, it’s not easy either,” he said.

  Of course, she understood. “I can try to help,” she said. “If you need anything, I can help, I promise.”

  His eyes had fallen again. He seemed not to hear. “I will pray,” he said. “I will pray for her.”

  What does that mean? she wanted to yell. Will you go or will you stay? Will you care for her? Will you take responsibility for her illness? Will you know what to do?

  But he was just a kid.

  The kettle was screeching. She felt a lurch in her gut, a wrench of revulsion, a desperate desire to be transported away. She wanted to go home. To Switzerland. To her husband. To her life. To the wicker rocker on their back porch with the view of the Alps. She stood to leave, but in her arms lay a baby. Esperanza had fallen asleep.

  Is there other family? Friends? Anyone?

  She dialed. Waited for the click at the other end of the line.

  “Jie! Long time!” he said, with his usual exuberance, and she could picture him sitting on that rickety red bench in the East Village, his duck lips and gray eyes and his big, wide smile. “How is everything?” he asked.

  She considered where to begin. Instead, she cried.

  Lucy Bok lay on a couch by the window, soaking in sun like a tropical plant.

  “Hi, my sweetie,” he said.

  She looked up, blinked, disoriented by this unexpected guest.

  “How did you get here?” she said.

  “I have legs,” he said.

  She blinked again, puzzled, as he toured the lounge as if inspecting an old friend’s new pad. He touched the wide-screen TV, assessed Big Juan’s technique at the Ping-Pong table, admired the wall of windows, the view, the potted plants.

  “Is that him?” Charo elbowed Nurse Bob.

  “I don’t think so,” said Bob.

  “Then who is he?” said Charo.

  Bob wasn’t sure. Asked to sign in to the visitors’ log, the man had penned an illegible scrawl. Good morning. Hola. Bonjour. He greeted all who passed. The staff smiled, charmed by the man’s frankness, his big, crinkly eyes.

  He knelt down to peek under each of the vinyl couches, peered behind a thick curtain.

  “What are you doing?” asked Lucy.

  He wiggled the tip of his nose. Frowned. “Where’s the Ostrich?” he said.

  “Ostrich?” said Lucy. Then suddenly, she laughed, lit up for a quick moment. “No ostrich,” she said.

  “No ostrich.” He grinned.

  They played chess. He kept correcting the way she moved her pieces, but she didn’t seem to mind. Nurse Bob noted an ease in her face, the usual tension losing its grip.

  “Uh-oh, here comes the sister,” whispered Charo. Miranda Bok, waltzing in with her high-heeled boots, dropped her coat over a chair.

  “Yonah!” she said. “You’re really here!”

  “Of course,” he said.

  An odd couple, thought Nurse Bob, but the embrace he observed seemed genuine. Bob noticed now, the man had a prosthetic left arm, though he seemed in no way impaired.

  “How did you get here?” said Miranda.

  “He has legs,” snapped Lucy.

  Yonah let out a deep, gut laugh. “We’re playing chess,” he said. “Lucy’s gonna beat me again. Come, sit.”

  Charo inched closer, fascinated.

  “Uh, nosy. Don’t you have work to do?” said Bob. Yet he could not help but linger, too.

  The guests stayed through lunch. Bob was in the break room microwaving a lasagna when Charo came rushing in.

  “It’s him,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “Him,” said Charo. “The boyfriend. He’s here.”

  They found him sucking water from the fountain. Manuel Vargas was handsome, sexy, possessed a fitness of youth, but in his eyes a skittishness showed.

  “You’re here to see Lucy?” said Nurse Bob.

  “Yes,” he said. “Is it a good time now?”

  They accompanied him to the visitors’ lounge, where Lucy Bok’s guests were just putting on their coats. Miranda spotted him first.

  “Manny . . . ?” In her face, the rest—the surprise, the what the fuck?

  Manuel’s gaze swept the room, hovered at the Ping-Pong table before settling back on the sister, then Lucy, then the man beside her. A razor-sharp silence. Manuel, like stone. Then a scowl. Eyes narrowe
d. He hardened his stance, marked his ground. Territorial, like a wolf.

  Bob stepped toward him, charged, tense. Charo, too, by instinct, as if responding to some internal alarm, a call to defuse the situation.

  They were preempted by Yonah’s outstretched hand.

  “I’m Yonah. Nice to meet you.”

  Manuel’s expression remained blunt, hostile. He stared at Yonah’s hand. Did not raise his eyes. No one spoke. The air seemed sucked from the room.

  “I have to go now,” said Yonah. He turned to Lucy, wrapped her in a giant bear hug. “Be good, Lucy Goosey. Listen to the doctors, okay?”

  She nodded. Waved. He blew kisses as he walked away.

  “Manny,” said Miranda. She stood there in her cream-colored coat, fiddling with her buttons. “It’s nice of you to come.”

  She coughed, tugged at her hair, scratched the back of her neck. Bob had never seen the sister so uncomfortable. “I need to get going, too,” she said. “But I’ll come by the house again. Sometime soon.”

  She left without saying a real good-bye. Charo saw her hurry to catch up with Yonah by the elevators.

  “Yonah. Yonah!”

  He turned, smiled. “Jie. Don’t worry. She’s gonna be fine. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  And in his big embrace, Miranda could almost believe it, that he possessed some clairvoyance she did not.

  • • •

  “So, what’s up?” said Manuel. He squeezed Lucy’s shoulders, sat, stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. “This is a nice hospital.”

  Lucy studied him, as if startled by his size. “You,” she said, finally. She went to the bookshelf, returned with a box, Connect Four. “Wanna play?”

  Bob drifted closer. The boyfriend seemed relieved, more comfortable with this plastic barricade between them. She dropped in a red checker. He dropped in a yellow one. Stroked his chin, concentrated on the holes.

  “Want some juice?” she said.

  “Sure.” He stood when she stood, as if fumbling for etiquette on a first date. “The food here is okay?”

  “It’s the pits,” she said. She stuck out her tongue. “Rice. Can you bring me rice?”

  Manuel’s face softened. “Sure. We got rice.”

  “Yeah, rice. And beans.”

  They kept playing the game. He loaded up in the middle, she went heavier on the sides. With only two slots left, she won. Big Juan Lopez slapped her a high five.

  “So what’s new at the casa?” she said.

  He didn’t reply.

  “What, I’ve been gone for weeks, and nothing’s new?” Lucy’s tone suddenly laced with aggression. She was like that these days, the next moment calm, back and forth.

  “Essy is sitting up,” he said.

  Hearing her daughter’s name, Lucy seemed to pale.

  “Sitting up,” she said, digesting this information. “What, she didn’t sit up before?”

  Manny shook his head.

  “And Susi?”

  No answer.

  “Where is Susi?” She looked around. “I’m locked in jail, and no one comes to visit.”

  “Susi is gone,” he said.

  “Where’d she go? On vacation?” She let the checkers crash onto the table.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where? Disney World?” She let out a shrill giggle.

  He didn’t laugh. He whispered. “Susi was taken away. Police came to the house, looking for the baby.”

  “Which baby?” said Lucy.

  “Esperanza.”

  “Esperanza? Essy?” She giggled again. “Why would she have Essy?”

  “She didn’t,” said Manny. “But the police took her away anyway.”

  “Must be on vacation,” said Lucy, frowning. “When’s she coming back?”

  “I don’t know.” Droplets rolled over his cheek. He brushed them aside. “I don’t know where she is.”

  “Probably in Arizona.” Lucy dropped her voice. “The FBI. Bastards. But why would they want Susi?”

  “I don’t know,” said Manny. “Mrs. Gutierrez, she said someone came to the house, looking for the baby. Susi, she didn’t want to tell them where the baby was. She wouldn’t cooperate.”

  Lucy closed her eyes. She sat quietly, tilting her head to one side. “When did she go?”

  “A week ago, maybe.”

  “A week. One week. What day is it today?” Lucy called out to Nurse Bob.

  “Friday,” said Bob. “Today is Friday.”

  • • •

  Alone once more, Lucy Bok paced the halls, buffing the floor tiles with her paper slippers. Tall Paul said hello, attempted to catch her eye. She did not respond.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” said Loco Coco, shuffling beside her.

  “I did it.”

  “Did what? You didn’t do nothing, baby.”

  “I did,” said Lucy. “I did it, and now she’s gone.”

  “Who’s gone?” said Coco. “You’ve been here this whole time. I know it, I’m your roommate, remember?”

  Coco followed at Lucy’s heels, lapping the unit until they reached their room, watched her climb into bed.

  “Hey, guess what?”

  “What,” said Lucy.

  “I’m getting out soon.”

  “Out?”

  “Outta here.”

  Lucy frowned. “Where are you going?”

  Coco didn’t answer. She pictured her nephew’s two-room apartment, its filthy kitchen, grease caked on the counters, sink overflowing with cloudy water. She’d sleep, cramped, on a twin futon couch infested with fleas, surrounded by old newspapers stacked to the ceiling (better than the floor—she’d tried that, too, the worn spot on the rug in front of the TV tuned to a sports channel, and she hated boxing, wrestling, ultimate fighting, and her nephew hated having her there). That show about the hoarders, about the woman found dead, partially devoured by her sixteen cats, it could happen to her in there. But if not there, where?

  “Susi. Susi’s gone.” Lucy clutched a pillow to her chest.

  “Your baby? She’s all right. Didn’t that boyfriend of yours say, just today, she’s doing great?”

  Coco could not extract any further information. Her roommate lay in bed for the rest of the day, buried under a sheet. Coco listened to her sniffle, cough, whisper, cry. When it had been quiet awhile, she wondered if Lucy had fallen asleep. She tiptoed over, poked at the lump. When it didn’t move, she lifted the sheet.

  “We need help,” mumbled Lucy. Her forehead was sweaty, her eyes open wide. “Susi needs help,” she said.

  “Who is Susi?” asked Coco.

  “My hermanita,” said Lucy. “My friend.”

  “I thought I was your friend,” said Coco, pissed. Visitors always messed up everything.

  Miranda curled into a ball on her flowery bedspread, stared out her motel window to the night on Route 9: speeding red and yellow dots, triangles of fluorescent white, snow falling sideways, until finally, the quiet dark. Extremely high functioning, Your Honor. She has insight when she’s well. We lost our mother to cancer. The stress, Your Honor, a trigger, no doubt. And she has a baby now. A beautiful baby girl, four months old. A baby deserves a proper mother, Your Honor. She can be a good mother when she’s well. She speaks five languages. She plays the violin. She was always excellent at puzzles as a child. She’s genuine, she’s warm, she plays well with others. Can’t you see? She doesn’t deserve this, Your Honor. She’s my sister, Your Honor. She’s my family, Your Honor. I love her. I need her back.

  Who knows why they do it? You’d drive yourself crazy, trying to figure it out. If it was something you said, or the doctor said, or the social or the medical student or the janitor or God, or those gods muttering insults in their ears. Maybe it was the ex-husband, the boyfriend, the sister, th
e roommate, maybe it was the threat of court, maybe it was a tidbit seen on Family Feud, read in Better Homes & Gardens, heard at Group or overheard in the visitors’ lounge. Or maybe, as Bob most often surmised, they just couldn’t stand it anymore, being here. Whatever the reason: She did it. One morning Lucy Bok grabbed the white pill, opened her mouth, downed it with a thick gulp of water. She remained compliant thereafter.

  Day by day, the staff observed her, her mind ever more present in her body. She seemed to unfurl, like a fern receiving water. She was pleasant, polite, communicative. She volunteered in Group. She played Ping-Pong, tended to the plants, helped organize the boxes in the self-care room. Manuel visited, brought her cartons full of rice and beans and garlicky stews. Charo was glad to see he seemed attentive, competent. She called a meeting in her office.

  “I’m ready to leave,” said Lucy.

  “Yes, I believe you are,” said Charo, smiling. The treatment team was already looking at discharge dates. “What do you think?”

  “She’s doing great on the Zyprexa,” said Miranda.

  The boyfriend nodded. He’d sat in shock the first time Charo briefed him on the illness, explained to him in careful Spanish that there was no cure, only management and vigilance. Relapses were likely. Routine was key. Sleep. Stress management. Of course, the medications. He was given pamphlets: Treatment Options, FAQs 4 Caregivers, Bipolar Symptoms and Signs. Miranda, engulfed by a torrent of sympathy, could not look at him. I love my daughter was what he had said. My daughter needs her mother, so for my daughter, I will try.

  Nurse Bob agreed, it was a remarkable recovery. The girl had shown insight, which he hoped would continue to improve. And that sister, softening with relief in front of their very eyes.

  Miranda patted Lucia’s arm. Charo smiled again. No one said it: I told you so.

  Esperanza was a beautiful baby. Each staff member cooed when they saw her, shrieked when she cooed in return. “She’s just gorgeous,” they said, patting Manuel on the back. “And what a darling outfit that is.” They pinched the toes of her duck-footed yellow pajamas, patted her pink fleece hooded jacket with ears. Charo nodded and smiled to each of them, as proud as if the baby were her own. Nothing was more wondrous than a baby, especially in a psychiatric ward.