Accidents of Marriage

by Randy Susan Meyers

  Jerry? Joseph? The puzzle man had a J name. She knew it. Every day stupid puzzles from the J man. The curved plastic chair made her squirm. Never a comfortable spot. Green too. Everything had turned putrid green. Mental-institution green. Green was the color of crazy, though she didn’t know why she remembered that. Or if she were correct. But she knew that she hated this place.

  Chipped Formica tables were scattered around the puzzle room. They reminded her of the cafeteria in Gracie and Caleb’s school. She still hadn’t seen them—Gracie and Caleb. Either of them could do the stupid puzzle in three seconds. She missed them. They couldn’t come here, Ben said. Too scary.

  “One piece at a time,” Puzzle Man yelled.

  ONE PIECE.

  ONE PEACE.

  NO PEACE.

  “Match it. You have to exercise the memory.”

  She shook her head, whipping it for him to get the point.

  “Nooooo. She said no. No exercise. Won’t help.” Maddy’s words huffed and puffed out, slow and wooden. She had to take a breath between every other word. The nice one said it was just a matter of time. No over and over and over. Waiting. For healing.

  Jack rolled his eyes to show he hated her. “Zelda meant that trying to perform exercise for talking wouldn’t help yet. She’s right about that.”

  Zelda. That was the name. Right. She took Zelda breaths to speak right.

  “But for memory, you have to practice. Come on, now. I’m waiting.” He tapped the puzzle three times. Tap, tap, tap, he rapped her brain.

  She tucked her lower lip under her front teeth and concentrated on the wooden puzzle. Black words, stark against green, read French. Library. Train. Orange. Below each word, an empty space waited. Four wooden rectangles, each with a little wooden handle sticking out, sat on the table, waiting for her to fill the proper empty puzzle spots. Station. Juice. Fry. Card.

  “Come on, Maddy. You can match them. Start with one. Which one do you know right away? All you have to do is put it in the right hole.”

  I know what I’m supposed to do, stupid jerk!

  “Fuck.”

  “Swearing isn’t appropriate.” He tapped the puzzle again. “You can do this.”

  She touched the stem of Juice, lifted it, and held it, swaying, over the words. French. Library. Train. Orange. She mouthed each word. Was there a French juice? There was orange juice. Right? But was there also French juice? There were French fries. Was it a trick question? Banging her knee against the leg of the table, she shook the piece back and forth, finally putting it down. She picked up Train. Wasn’t there a train card you used to get on the train? She held the puzzle piece over the slot under Card and tried to fit it in, finding it impossible to line up the edges. Sweat pooled between her shoulder blades. She was hot and cold, cold and hot, hot, hot.

  “Hot.”

  “Yes, I know. I told you yesterday, remember?”

  Remember, remember, remember.

  “You’ll be hot and cold for a period of time. It’s normal for you. Your internal thermostat is adjusting. Remember?”

  Remember, remember, remember.

  Again, she tried to fit Card under Train.

  “Are you sure that’s where you want to put it? Think, Maddy.”

  Think, Maddy, think, Maddy, think, Maddy.

  “Fuck.” She banged a wooden card on the edge of the table.

  “No swearing! No hitting. Concentrate. Think!”

  HATE YOU SO MUCH!

  She picked up the puzzle and smashed it on the table.

  “Stop it now, Maddy. Right now!”

  “Stop . . . it . . . Maddy,” she mimicked as she swept the loose pieces to the floor in one satisfying motion.

  Puzzle Man leaned over and put his hands, with big fat ugly sausage fingers, on her shoulders. “I said stop.”

  “Stop. Stop. You stop!” She tried to shake off his heavy hands. “Noooo!” When he held her, she couldn’t catch her breath. She would suffocate and die. She kicked the table legs in rhythm to her words.

  “Calm yourself, or I’ll be forced to do it for you. Quiet down. You can do it.”

  “Home . . . home. Go . . . now.” She twisted and jerked, trying to get away from him, kicking out, thrusting her legs until she connected with his thigh.

  “That’s it. Now you’ll stop.” He went behind the chair and imprisoned her from behind. Cigarette sweat smells overwhelmed her.

  “What’s going on here?” Boss Nurse appeared like magic. “Jack, what are you doing?”

  Jack! His name was Jack.

  Back, Jack.

  His arms loosened. Maddy shook, angry tears smeared over her face. “Ben! Want Ben. Call!”

  “She was out of control,” Fuck Jack said. “She needed to be restrained.”

  The nurse put a light hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Maddy. Jack, why don’t you take a break?”

  Maddy wrapped her arms around herself, looking at her feet. White sneakers. Her mother brought? Kath?

  “I’m fine,” she heard Jack say.

  “Take a break,” Boss Nurse said. “Now.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  Fuck Jack’s feet and legs headed toward the doorway. The nurse knelt before Maddy. Muscular thighs stretched white pants. Nurse Sandra. That was her name. Never Sandy. Sandra. Never Sandy.

  “It’s okay, honey.” Nurse Sandra, never Sandy, put a large hand on Maddy’s forehead and pushed back her sweaty hair. Maddy saw Sandy’s thin mustache hairs. “Let’s go back to your room. I’m sorry about him.”

  “No, no. No . . . more. No more.”

  “No more, hon. I promise.” She pushed herself up and held a hand out. “Come on, let’s get you freshened up. Soon your handsome husband will be here. Every day at six. What a good man.”

  Ben joined her for supper every night. Where were the children? Ben had told her, but she couldn’t remember. Alone? Children couldn’t come to this smelly jail. Emma could come, but only once.

  Who was with the children? She shook her head.

  Did mustache nurse know?

  “Look who’s here!” Mustache said.

  “Maddy? Are you all right?” Kath! Tears again overwhelmed her. Crybaby. Kath knelt where the nurse had been moments before. She put out her arms, and Maddy fell into the circle.

  “He hurt.” She had to stop and breathe. “Me. Hurt me.”

  “Who hurt you?” Kath asked.

  “Your friend had an altercation with one of the occupational therapists.” Nurse Sandra-never-Sandy Mustache stood with her arms folded. “He had to restrain her.”

  “Maddy had an altercation? What in the world happened?”

  “To be honest, I don’t yet know.” The nurse again put her hand out. “Why don’t we sit and talk about this? Someone else will be using this room in a minute.”

  “Want. Kath.” She held her best friend’s hand as though Sandra-never-Sandy might pull her away.

  “Of course I’m coming with you,” Kath said. “Do you want me to call Ben?”

  “Yes. Call. Yes, yes, yes. Want Ben.”

  • • •

  Dr. Paulo came out from behind his desk when they came into his office. He was a special doctor. For broken brains. Fizziest?

  “Maddy.” Dr. Paulo patted her upper arm. “Are you okay?”

  She frowned as meanly as possible, turning her lips down and making squinty eyes.

  “Mr. Illica, good to see you again.” He offered Ben his hand. “How are you?”

  “I’ll be better when I find out why your employee terrified my wife.” Ben looked stern. Maddy put her hand out. He held it, squeezing lightly a few times. It’s okay! I’m just scaring him!

  She could read Ben-hand!

  “Please, sit. Both of you.” Dr. Paulo gestured toward the long brown leather couch. This room looked pretty. When she had her exams with him, they met in a cramped room with two chairs and an examining table. Good chair for him. Bad chair for her.

  Be
n led her to the couch. “What happened?” he asked.

  “First, let me assure you that if Maddy was ill-treated in any way, that staff person will be held accountable. Our patients are our first and only concern.”

  Ben leaned forward. “Dr. Paulo, if this person—whose name I want immediately—has ill-treated my wife in any way, he will not be accountable. He will be dismissed.”

  Fitz-a-trist?

  Dr. Paulo folded his hands on his big brown desk. “Mr. Illica, you’re a lawyer. You know our employees have rights. Due process. Employee confidentiality is at play.”

  Her chest tightened as she tried to follow the flying words. Ben again placed his hand over Maddy’s.

  “Maddy is incapable of lying in her condition. Right?” Ben asked.

  “Believe me, Mr. Illica; I will not keep an employee who is hurting patients, but I must proceed legally. Trusting in your confidentiality, I will tell you that the man in question is temporarily suspended.”

  “Still—”

  “Please. Let us speak about your wife.” He turned his dark sad eyes to Maddy. Dr. Paulo reminded her of a dog. What kind? Floppy long ears. Droopy eyes. What? What kind?

  “Are you still scared, Maddy?” the doctor asked.

  “Basset!” she shouted, excited by remembering the name.

  “Basset?” Ben asked.

  “He’s a basset,” she said.

  “Do you mean he’s a bastard?” Ben asked.

  “No! Basset.”

  Ben shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Basset,” she insisted and began crying. Why didn’t he understand?

  Dr. Paulo handed her a tissue. “Mr. Illica, we all need infinite patience. Including you and me. And most especially the staff. If Maddy gets upset in any way, speech skills become even less accessible. Though she still has complex thoughts, she can’t express them. Imagine her frustration!”

  She scrunched the tissue. Zelda made more sense. She looked at her fingers. Stretch up. Stretch down. Up. Down. Up—she was happy. Down—she was sad.

  Ben punched his fist into his hand. Maddy flinched.

  “Look, I will not let my wife be hurt. Emotionally or otherwise. I worry that she’ll say the wrong thing and get her feelings hurt and then—”

  The doctor held up his hand to stop Ben. She sounded out the words on his jacket pin. Dr. Paulo. MD. Physiatrist. Fizziest. “Even when Maddy can’t express herself, even when she seems incoherent, she may be able to understand most of what is said. You must always include her and act in ways that honor her comprehension. This will prevent you and others from making hurtful comments to which she cannot respond. She is quite vulnerable to you, Mr. Illica.”

  He looked at Ben and then at her. With basset eyes. Dr. Paulo never scared her. He clasped his hands and pressed them to his lips for a moment. “The language used to express emotion resides in special sections of the brain. Different from those usually used for speech. Sections used for emotional expression are often less damaged than those used for speech. Can you both follow me? Maddy?”

  She shook her head. “No. Zelda says better.”

  Zelda had a blackboard. She drew the brain. She made circles inside the brain. She labeled the circles. Emotional Word Place. Regular Word Place. She made roads to each. The road to the regular word place squiggled in and out. There were secret doors. The road to the emotional word place was smooth and clear.

  Dr. Paulo smiled at her. “I agree. Zelda says it better. Mr. Illica, you should make an appointment with her. I know she told you this is why, at this stage, Maddy will reach into the section used to express emotion more often. At times, inappropriately. Swearing and aggressive words will come out at unfortunate times—”

  Ben clapped his hands. “Yes. How can I ensure—”

  “Mr. Illica,” Dr. Paulo interrupted. “I know that this distresses you, your family. And others. However, this inability to express herself properly is far more disturbing to Maddy than it is to you. She knows she is floundering. Awareness of one’s deficits makes it all the more difficult. It is Maddy’s high level of frustration that is evoking these inappropriate words. The calmer the environment, the better for Maddy’s recovery.”

  “Exactly. This is why this incident upsets me. I think it’s time to talk about bringing Maddy home and continuing her therapy outpatient,” Ben said.

  “We can discuss that,” the fizziest basset said.

  She laid her head on Ben’s shoulder and cried once more. Until then, she’d thought they might leave her there forever.

  • • •

  Ben took her out a few nights later. All night. For the first time. Just the two of them. To ease her, Ben said. Prepare. First this. A hotel. A date? Then, home.

  She wore a soft yellow dress Ben had brought to rehab prison. The hotel scared her. Too fancy. Veiny marble. Gold swirling all over the ceiling. They were eating in the hotel restaurant. Her hands shook on the Important White Tablecloth. She might spill everything. But the food made her swoony. Butter thick as she wanted, spread on bread that didn’t taste like Communion wafers.

  Once she took Communion just to see what the wafer tasted like. Ben joked that she was going to hell, but she ate it anyway. Now she knew a Communion wafer tasted like rehab.

  Ben ordered for her. Ravioli. Easy-to-eat creamy meat wrapped in buttery rubber-silk dough. Food could be so good!

  “You’ll be out in just a few days,” Ben said. “I know it’s been a long three weeks.”

  He reached across the table, using his fork to break her apple pie into smaller wedges. The nurses told her how lucky she was to have Ben. That she was lucky she could walk. Pee in the toilet. And make number two.

  Lucky! She could poop in the toilet!

  Lucky! Just the right part of her brain was jangled and mangled so she could do all the large motor skills. Nurses said that like she’d won a giant prize.

  Her hair was gone. The whirls and curls were now a little bowl on her head. We had to even it, they’d said. Why? Wouldn’t the gone side grow to meet the long side? She could have waited. Where was she going?

  She took Zelda-type thinking breaths before every move she made, not wanting to end up wearing salad dressing. Ben talked while she tried to be good. Finally, they had dessert. When she picked up the apple pie with two fingers, Ben cleared his throat. She dropped it.

  “Sorry.” Tears began spilling.

  “Shh!! Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Look at the beautiful sunset.”

  She looked out the window and watched the sun fall into the water, the airport, and the tiny distant skyline. Everything and nothing seemed familiar.

  On Sunday, Ben would take her home. For good. On Sunday. Today was . . . She took out her notebook and peeked at the morning entry. Day 24. Fryday.

  “You’re not going to have to worry about anything ever again, sweetheart. No one will hurt you.” He shook his head and reached for her hand. “Ever. If that hospital is lucky, I won’t haul them into court. Are you okay?”

  “Puzzle Man is. A fuck. Man.”

  Ben peeked at the next table. “One good thing about your not being able to speak loudly,” he said. “Whispering takes the edge off the cursing.”

  She tried to smile back but instead hiccuped a small sob. “Sorry. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sorry.”

  She rested her head on her arms. Her cheek squashed the apple pie. Ben came around the booth and slid in next to her, helping her off the table. She rested her face on his shoulder. Apple pie face. Pat, pat, pat, he touched.

  “It’s okay. I was just teasing. Please, don’t cry. I know you can’t help the swearing, honey.” He lifted an arm and swirled it in the air at the waiter. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

  She leaned on him as they went out the restaurant door, through the lobby—slow, slow, with Maddy planning each step to show Ben that she was good. That he should take her home and not leave her in the rehab.

  He murmured soft words as she might ha
ve done with Gracie.

  She would disappear without him.

  “Here we go,” he said when the elevator came, his hand tucked in the small of her back.

  The elevator doors closed, and she grabbed him. “I. Love.” She pulled him close. She needed him. Now. Two floors up the elevator stopped. An elderly couple entered, and Ben gently pushed her a bit away. She threw her arms tighter around him and pressed her lips deep into the hollow of his neck, pushing aside his starched collar. Stabbing hard desire for him hit her deep inside.

  “I want. I want . . . f—”

  Ben pressed his lips to hers.

  They got off at the seventh floor. Ben turned to the elderly couple. “Good night.”

  Zelda had warned Maddy that she’d have little control. Sexual need will pierce you with a ferocity that seems uncontrollable. Maddy saw the truth of her counselor’s words. At supper she’d almost kissed the handsome waiter. To thank him. For being handsome. She had to pinch hard on wanting that handsome-waiter-kiss or she’d have jumped right on him.

  Ben opened room 719. Subdued light fell over ivory walls. An ocean of cream-colored carpet lay in front of them. Abstracts dotted the walls. Bags covered the bed.

  “What’s. What’s that?” she asked.

  “Presents. Remember, I told you that you didn’t need to pack a thing, right?”

  Remember, remember, remember.

  “Your mother did it all. I called her and told her to buy a few things and have them sent.”

  Bags were everywhere. She touched a corner of a glossy brown one. Burying her, was that her plan? She looked up at Ben to share the joke but didn’t know how.

  She pushed all the bags off the bed.

  “Are you okay, Maddy?” Ben came toward her. She held out her hand. They laced their fingers. She pulled him on the bed.

  “Lie . . . next. To me.”

  “Maddy. I’m not sure—”

  “I’m sure. Married. Right?” She kissed every bare piece of Ben’s skin within reach of her lips. His cheeks, his neck, his forehead. “Please, Ben. Want normal.”

  He put his hands to her shoulders. Gentle. Like she’d shatter.

  “Won’t break, Ben.” She climbed on top, hungry to have every part of her touch some part of him. She pressed her breasts into his chest, matched their legs bone for bone until her feet touched his ankles. Starving, needing his skin against her lips, she buried her face in his neck. Too many barriers. She ripped his shirt apart, yanking it away from his chest. Heat rose from the white cotton. She yanked off her dress. And pressed her body to his, only her bra between them.