The Universe versus Alex Woods

by Extence, Gavin

  ‘I’m pleased that you’re alive,’ I admitted.

  ‘Great. So that makes one of us, at least.’

  I looked at Ellie. She rolled her eyes at me. For some reason, Ellie’s demeanour hadn’t changed one iota in the past two days. Either she’d decided that it was best to act normally with me, or she wasn’t acting, and attempted suicide was just one more thing on the long list of things that didn’t faze her in the slightest.

  ‘You had no right to do what you did,’ Mr Peterson continued. ‘It wasn’t your choice to make!’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘And what would you have done if our positions had been reversed?’

  ‘I would have respected your wishes. I would have let you die.’

  I ignored this too. ‘I’ve brought you some things from home,’ I said, gesturing at the bag on the floor. ‘Some clothes and books – things like that.’

  ‘Books – great! That’ll make things easier. You know I can’t read worth a damn right now!’

  ‘There’s also some music. Schubert’s fifth, Mendelssohn’s third, Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto, Mahler’s fourth—’

  ‘I would have preferred his sixth.’

  ‘You’re not well enough for his sixth.’

  ‘What about Bach?’

  ‘I’ll bring Bach next time.’

  ‘The cello suites?’

  ‘Anything but the cello suites.’

  ‘Jesus, kid! I don’t even get to decide what I listen to?’

  ‘There’s a time and a place for Bach’s cello suites, and we both know it’s not while you’re recovering in hospital. I’m trying to help you.’

  ‘You want to help me?’

  ‘Yes, of course I want to help you.’

  ‘Fine. Then bring me something else.’

  ‘I’ll bring you whatever you want – within reason.’

  ‘Bring me some pot.’

  ‘I’m not bringing you pot.’

  ‘I’m gonna go nuts in here.’

  ‘It’s ludicrous. Where are you planning on smoking it? The bathroom?’

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘They’re not going to release you any sooner if they catch you smoking pot.’

  ‘They’ve had me on fuckin’ heroin for the last twenty-four hours!’

  ‘I’m not bringing you pot.’

  Mr Peterson turned to Ellie. ‘What about you, girl? Will you bring me some pot?’

  Ellie regarded him frankly for a few seconds. ‘I hardly think pot’ll make you less suicidal. Do you?’

  Mr Peterson snorted. ‘I appreciate your concern – and your tact – but that’s not something you need to worry about.’

  Ellie shrugged. ‘It’s just my opinion. As far as I can see, you’d be better off taking some stimulants.’

  Mr Peterson turned back to me. ‘Jesus! Is she for real?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Possibly.’

  ‘She has a name!’ Ellie pointed out.

  ‘Young lady,’ Mr Peterson said, ‘it’s too late for me to worry about learning new names. My brain’s turning to mush – as I’m sure Alex has told you. It’s not a pleasant thing to have to face, and the pot makes it just that little bit easier. Maybe you can appreciate that?’

  ‘Tell me my name and I’ll bring you some pot. How’s that for a deal?’

  ‘Sally.’

  ‘Ellie.’

  ‘No one’s going to bring you any pot,’ I said. ‘Ellie’s right. It’s not going to help you.’

  ‘You know, I’m gettin’ pretty goddamn sick of people telling me what’s not gonna help me.’

  ‘Even if it did help you, the nurses are going to confiscate it within about ten seconds of you lighting up. Can’t you see how ridiculous you’re being?’

  ‘This whole situation’s ridiculous! And it’s your fault.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘If you’re not willing to help me, I’d like you to leave.’

  ‘You’re acting like a child.’

  ‘Just go.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll be back later with your Bach.’

  ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t bother.’

  ‘If you keep on like this, I might not.’

  ‘Right now, that would suit me just fine. You’ve taken away the only choice I had left to me. I only hope you never have to find out what that feels like.’

  I left without looking back.

  Ellie caught up with me a few moments later at the Coke machine. ‘Well, that wasn’t exactly what I was expecting,’ she said. ‘You know, Woods, the deeper you delve, the weirder your life gets. Is he always like that?’

  I ignored her. The Coke machine wasn’t accepting one of my five-pence pieces. I kept feeding it in and it kept rolling straight back out again. I fumbled in my pocket for more change.

  ‘Honestly, Woods, you must have the patience of a saint. You do realize he’s insane, right?’ I went on ignoring her. She touched my arm. ‘Seriously, Alex. Are you okay?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not okay. I’m upset and I’m angry.’

  ‘You should be angry. He had no right saying what he said to you. Here – take this.’ She pressed a pound coin into my hand. The vending machine ate it without giving any change. ‘I don’t care how ill he is,’ Ellie continued. ‘Some of the things he said to you were completely out of line.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Definitely!’

  I sat down in one of the chairs opposite the Coke machine. Ellie sat beside me.

  ‘Are you gonna come back later? Because I wouldn’t blame you if you decided not to.’

  I shrugged. ‘I guess I’ll come back tomorrow.’

  Ellie stayed quiet for a few moments, rolling her tongue in her cheek. It seemed like she might be trying to figure out how best to phrase something. This was not usual for her. ‘Okay,’ she said eventually. ‘But you should be prepared for the fact that it might be another wasted trip.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s a wasted trip,’ I said. ‘I still have to come back.’

  ‘You don’t have to come back.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘There’s no point being a martyr. Seriously, I know you’ve got some weird ideas about morals and shit, but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want your help.’

  ‘Don’t be dense, Ellie. This hasn’t got anything to do with morals. And I’m not expecting any miraculous overnight changes. I know that the next few days are likely to be just as bad.’

  ‘Okay. So if you know that, then why bother? Why do you have to come back straight away tomorrow and go through the exact same thing again?’

  ‘Because he’s my friend and he needs me here – even if he doesn’t realize it. Even if he spends the whole time shouting at me. If that’s what he needs to do, I’ll put up with it.’

  Ellie rolled her eyes through a complete circuit. ‘Jesus Christ, Woods! That makes no sense whatsoever! Not the part about you being friends. I mean, that’s a little out there – actually, it’s just plain fucking bizarre – but, still, I can see it all the same. But as far as the rest of it goes, I’m at a loss. He gets riled up, you go home feeling like shit – how’s that helping anyone? Give him a few days to cool off.’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t expect it to make sense to you. But it makes sense to me. I know what he’s like. And right now he’s scared to death. He’s scared and he’s got no idea how to handle it.’

  ‘So he rants at you?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And what – expects you to handle it just fine?’

  ‘I can handle it . . . I’ll have to handle it.’

  ‘Jesus, Woods, you really are a fucking saint.’

  ‘I’m not a saint. I’m just being practical.’

  Ellie shook her head.

  ‘Are you ready to leave?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Please. Let’s get out of here. Hospitals do my head in.’

  ‘I didn’t make you come up,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Tha
t’s not what I meant. Let’s just go.’

  But as soon as we were out in the car park, Ellie decided that she needed to go back and use the ‘ladies’ room’ because she couldn’t last out for the half-hour trip back to Glastonbury and apparently had only limited powers of foresight. I waited in the muggy car for what seemed like an eternity, wishing that I’d had enough change to buy another Diet Coke. I made a mental note to bring a two-litre bottle next time.

  ‘You took an inordinate amount of time in the toilet,’ I complained when Ellie returned.

  ‘Fuck, Woods! What kind of thing is that to say to a girl?’

  She started the car and immediately stalled.

  ‘You left it in ge—’

  ‘I know!’

  ‘Also, you should remember the speed bumps on the way out, because coming in, you—’

  ‘Just shut the fuck up and let me drive!’

  As soon as we were past the roundabout, she turned the stereo up as loud as it would go. For some reason, Ellie and I could never sustain a conversation for more than a few minutes at a time.

  When I returned with my mother, the next day, we were informed that Mr Peterson had been moved to more suitable, ‘longer-term’ accommodation. This turned out to be the psychiatric ward – abbreviated to the ‘psych ward’, or simply ‘psych’, whenever the nurses were talking among themselves. I found this casual shortening a little too casual for my taste, but my mother seemed to think that for most people it was more likely to be reassuring; most people, she said, were not that comfortable with medical polysyllables. From her personal experience, she knew that a similar shortening occurred on gynaecology, which was always abbreviated to ‘gynae’ – but this was a conversation I decided not to pursue.

  Located on the second-to-top floor, ‘psych’ turned out to have a surprisingly sedate atmosphere compared to the general wards below. It immediately struck me that there was much less bustle and pedestrian traffic. There seemed to be fewer staff too. I’d later discover that there were also fewer patients, each of whom tended to have fewer visitors. And, generally, the patients could all be seen and medicated at the same set times each day, which helped to keep things very orderly and regimented. Of course, there were some ‘problem patients’, but there was also an unusually large number of private rooms on the ward, which stood ready for any person whose behaviour was deemed ‘potentially disruptive or upsetting’. These were mostly psychotics, which meant people experiencing psychosis – schizophrenics and so forth – not people who were just uncommonly angry, like Mr Peterson. He was in one of the general, four-person rooms. His bed was in the far left corner, next to the window, from which there was a view of uninterrupted grey sky. I thought that unless the sun came out, the staff would be better off closing the curtains.

  My mother insisted on ‘popping in to say hello’ – as if this were a social call – and proceeded to talk at some length about Lucy’s kittens, who had been born (curiously enough) on my birthday, the autumnal equinox. Since this was an unusually large and scruffy litter, my mother was still struggling to find homes for them. I doubt this was of any great interest to Mr Peterson right then, but he nodded his head every so often to show that he was listening (for some reason, he always displayed an uncharacteristic degree of patience with my mother) before politely declining her suggestion that perhaps he’d like to ‘take one off our hands’. I don’t know what she was thinking, but it wasn’t a joke, since my mother doesn’t make jokes. Either it was problem-solving on the fly, or she’d thought matters through beforehand and come to the unfathomable conclusion that Mr Peterson’s situation called for a kitten. Whatever the case, I apologized on her behalf after she’d left.

  ‘Your mother’s your mother,’ Mr Peterson said. ‘I’m sure her intentions are sincere.’

  ‘Yes, probably,’ I agreed. ‘She’s still insane, though. She should be on the psych ward.’

  Mr Peterson shrugged.

  ‘I brought you the Goldberg Variations and some more AA batteries,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Should I ask if you’re feeling any better?’

  ‘I’m not feeling any worse.’

  ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘They sent the shrink round yesterday. He’s put me on Prozac. Prozac! He thinks I’m depressed.’

  ‘Aren’t you depressed?’

  ‘I wasn’t depressed.’

  ‘You did try to kill yourself,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Yes. That’s what he said too. Apparently that’s a classic symptom. It’s not thought a sane plan of action for someone in my situation.’

  ‘I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘You’ve got way too much faith in doctors, kid. They ask some of the most moronic questions you’ve ever heard. Am I feeling hopeless or bleak about the future? You’d think they hadn’t bothered to read my file.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating.’

  ‘Stick around and judge for yourself. One or more of them’ll be back later on for the ward rounds.’

  ‘Do you want me to stick around?’

  ‘Why not? Later you can all get together and discuss what’s best for me.’

  I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t look away either. I just waited. I thought Mr Peterson reddened fractionally.

  ‘You know, that girl came back to see me,’ he said. ‘After you’d left.’

  ‘Which girl?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. You know the girl. The girl with the bangs.’

  It took some time to establish that Mr Peterson was talking about Ellie’s fringe.

  ‘So are you and her—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why not? I think she likes you.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. And certainly not like that. As far as I can tell, she only likes morons. Older morons.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll grow out of that.’

  ‘I’m not comfortable having this conversation.’

  Mr Peterson shrugged. ‘Fine. I’m just saying that for someone who doesn’t like you she certainly seemed pissed when she thought I’d upset you.’

  ‘That’s just how she is. She’s always pissed off.’

  ‘She was extremely pissed off. She told me that I was being an asshole and right now I didn’t deserve any sympathy.’

  ‘Yes, that sounds like the kind of thing she’d say,’ I acknowledged. ‘She’s quite direct.’

  ‘Yes, she is. But in this case she was also right. I was being an asshole.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  I shrugged.

  ‘But you have to understand what I’m sorry about.’

  ‘Okay. So tell me.’

  ‘I’m sorry about what you had to go through. I know it must have been horrible.’

  ‘Yes. It was.’

  ‘But I’m not sorry about what I did and I’m not gonna pretend otherwise. I have to be frank about that. It just wasn’t meant to turn out this way. I thought I’d planned it so it couldn’t turn out this way. I had no way of knowing you’d come back. And I wish to God you hadn’t.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘That’s one hell of an apology. You know, even if I hadn’t come back, there’s still no guarantee that things would have turned out all that differently. Your planning was lousy. You took so many pills you were just as likely to vomit as to die. And as for the codeine, God knows what you were thinking there!’

  ‘I was thinkin’ they were the strongest painkillers I had and they’d be the easiest to overdose on.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that. Codeine’s just about the hardest painkiller to overdose on – especially if you’re used to taking it.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Obviously! So you should get it out of your head that I’m to blame for the position you’re in now. Your plan was lousy!’

  ‘Fine, point taken! I guess next time I’ll do more research.’

  A thick silence descended for
about a minute. I threw the Goldberg Variations on the bedside table and went for a walk.

  Dr Bedford, Mr Peterson’s psychiatrist, turned out to be a very large man with huge piano-player hands but a surprisingly soft voice. Later on, Mr Peterson told me that this was not surprising at all, since all shrinks were trained to speak like this and had to master ‘the voice’ before they were allowed to practise their particular brand of medicine. I decided this was almost certainly bunkum.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’ Dr Bedford asked.

  ‘I’m feeling just fine,’ Mr Peterson said.

  ‘It’s important for you to answer these questions as honestly as possible,’ Dr Bedford reminded him.

  ‘I’m sick of this place and I want out,’ Mr Peterson said. It wasn’t clear whether he was referring to the psychiatric ward or the universe more broadly. Dr Bedford, rather optimistically, plumped for the former.

  ‘You know that’s not possible right now,’ he said softly. ‘I think it would be much better if you put it out of your mind and focus on taking one day at a time. We’ll discharge you the moment you’re well enough, but not a moment sooner.’

  Mr Peterson swore loudly. ‘Doctor, have you read my file? You do know what’s gonna happen to me in the not-too-distant future?’

  Dr Bedford nodded solemnly. ‘Yes. I know.’

  ‘My eyes are gonna get a whole lot worse, and so are my legs. Eventually, I won’t be able to walk at all. I’ll be in a wheelchair. I won’t be able to go to the bathroom unaided. I won’t be able to speak or swallow solid foods. It’s very possible that I’ll die choking on my own vomit.’

  ‘I understand why you feel the way you do.’

  ‘If you understood, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Things aren’t gonna get any brighter for me.’

  ‘It might seem that way now. That doesn’t—’

  ‘Alex!’ Mr Peterson spun to face me. ‘Since Dr Bedford seems to have some kind of mental block when it comes to my voice, perhaps you’d be so good as to tell him that I’m not insane. I’m thinkin’ a whole lot more rationally about this than he is.’

  I felt my cheeks reddening. ‘I’m sure Dr Bedford knows how to do his job,’ I said.