by Steven Kuhn
To the left of the pathway was another parking lot that hugged the Nautilus gym, where all the employees parked. There were no assigned spaces, much to the chagrin of all the employees; perhaps this was deemed beneficial, because it forced them to come in to work early.
The tennis court, which had not had many visitors, was to the right; the weeds in the concrete cracks seemed to be the only players, but yellow and red tulips that rounded the steel fence still gave the impression that it was new.
Tiny neon orange cornhole platforms raised their hands to be noticed between the pavilion and the pond, with corn bags strewn on the platforms and in the plush grass. They competed with two fountains on either side of the bridge and the walkway that surrounded them, flowing in and out of the thick woods behind them.
There was a typical, old, gray continental farmhouse with a screen door, large oak trees all around giving shade, and a tractor on the side with tall grass eating halfway into the wheels. The dirt road that led up to the house was splintered off by a white office trailer with wheelchair ramps that headed to the two doors with the word “office” written on the front. The entire place was serene, as the hidden birds sang their songs in the trees, accompanied by the splashes of water from the fountains, that rose up to the blue sky, which blanketed the forest around them.
I gradually made my way up to the pavilion, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it before I entered. Once inside, I looked for a place to sit, away from the people I didn’t know. I found an empty spot at a picnic table in the corner of the pavilion and sat down, hearing a familiar voice in the crowd. I looked around, but didn’t remember any one of the many faces that stared back at me, so I took another drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke down onto the table.
“Are you here to get your asshole checked?” a voice whispered in my ear.
I turned around, and noticed Jack Jack smiling like a cat that just caught a mouse, sucking his cigarette down to the filter.
“You son of a bitch!” I exclaimed.
“Calm down, dude, I was just having a little fun at your expense.”
“You know, you got a lot of nerve trying to pull that shit. I’m in here trying to get help, and you’re fuckin’ around,” I said angrily and threw my lit cigarette into the grass.
I pulled one leg out over the bench and readied to stand.
“Dude, sit down. I was just trying to see what kind of person you were. We get a lot of messed up people in here, and it’s not because of the drugs,” Jack Jack said as he tapped the side of his head with his finger.
I threw my leg back over the bench and sat back down. Jack Jack sat down next to me, put his elbows on the table, pulled out his cigarettes, and offered one up. I hesitantly took one, lit it, and blew the smoke away from him.
“I mean, look, I just wanted to know what type of clique you’re going to fit into. I mean, we have jocks and pricks, who are one in the same, bitches, sluts, cool girls, ditz, wannabe blacks, hicks, ‘in generals,’ and others,” he said as he counted each one off on his fingers. “The ‘others’ are the ones in this pavilion,” he whispered. “Just people who don’t fit in—quiet, and always keeping to themselves.”
“So what category do I fit?”
“You’re one of the ‘in generals,’ because it looks like you don’t give a crap about cliques or supposed status; you just roll with whatever is in front of you.” He said it proudly. I got the impression I had just been accepted.
“And what category are you in?”
“Me? I’m a freewheeler. There can’t be a clique for me, because I’m the only one.”
I shook my head, puckered my lips, and thought, what a smug bastard.
Jack Jack stood and put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, if you’re up to it tomorrow, I’ll see you at breakfast and introduce you to the rest of the guys if they’re there.” I agreed. He walked out of the pavilion and whistled down the path to the glass and steel doors.
As angry as I felt toward Jack Jack, there was something about him that I liked. Was it his devil-may-care attitude toward life or the sense I got that he might be the first person who genuinely didn’t need something from me? Only time would tell, and I would keep my guard up for now, I thought.
I stared into the distance until the burnt tobacco from my last cigarette crunched under the sole of my tennis shoe, and then I headed down the path. I dreaded going into the building, let alone what might await me in my room. I walked down the hall and shook my head, still upset at Barry Eugene for defecating all over the bathroom. No matter how well they cleaned it, the mere thought of how it looked and smelled could not escape my memory.
I peered around the corner that led into the hallway that housed all the detox patients and tried to see if anyone exited or entered my room, but nothing happened. I proceeded toward my room, and stared at only the crème doorway and nothing else, as my apprehension grew. I stopped shortly before the cracked door and struggled to push it open. To my surprise, Barry Eugene was asleep under his comforter, snoring with only the desk light on. I noticed that the black stain on the carpet was gone, and there was a sweet aroma in the air from cleaning products. I pushed the bathroom door open and switched on the light. Cautiously, I stepped in and noticed that the bathroom was clean, the smell of bleach overpowering. I turned off the light and stared at Barry Eugene as I inched toward my cabinet locker.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my key, slowly inserted it into the lock quietly, and made sure not to awaken my roommate. I undressed and put on some gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt. I hung up my other clothes and got my toothbrush and toothpaste, and walked over to the sink by the door. The water trickled as I turned the faucet and looked back at Barry Eugene; still no movement. I brushed my teeth and stared at my face, looking better now in the dim light. I finished and tiptoed back to my closet, put away my toiletries, and locked the door. Slipping under my comforter, I forgot about the light, and didn’t bother to turn it off; I just wanted to get some sleep. Rolling over, I took one last look at Barry Eugene, closed my eyes, and hoped the next day would be better than today.
Gradually, the light from the hallway leered into the room past the open door and rested onto my eyes. Peeking through my eyelashes, I saw the comforter next to me move; the figure farted as it positioned itself. Barry Eugene was still there. In the doorway behind him was a shadowy figure that walked in closer to me as I pulled off my bed cover and sat up straight at the side of the bed.
“Matt. We need to check your vitals. So, just follow me when you’re ready,” Molly whispered.
I took a deep breath, pushed out of the bed, and shuffled my feet after Molly. My eyes struggled to focus as I walked down the hallway; carpet was still green, walls were still vanilla. I arrived at the vitals room, tried to make out the blurred images I passed in the hallway, and hopped up on the table. My eyes came back into focus as Molly slid the blood pressure belt on the same arm and pushed the start button. Relief came when I heard the whistling of air.
“Looks like your blood pressure came down slightly, but it’s still high, so we’ll just keep an eye on it.” She ripped the Velcro, clicked her pen, and wrote on her clipboard. “You can go back to your room now, and another nurse will check on you in a few hours.”
I took a deep breath and slid off the table, eyes half shut, still fighting the Valium and other medication given to me before. I exited into the hallway past the nurses’ station and turned the corner, confronted by two lonely figures coming towards me. The first one that passed was a young man wearing a black t-shirt, black sweat pants, and flip flops. I didn’t notice his face, only the tattoos growing on his neck, arms, and feet. I wondered if what I was seeing was real, and then was acknowledged when the figure bumped into my left shoulder as he passed. The second figure was a middle-aged woman who wore a pink jump suit and blue socks. Her face was tired; her eyes were puffy, matching her clown hair; she held onto the wall for stability when she walked. But I didn’t care what I saw
right then, I just wanted to get back to my room and go back to sleep.
Room 101 passed, then 103, and I grinned, knowing that my room was next. I pushed the door, but held it from opening all the way, as a trail of light landed on the back of Barry Eugene. I walked in quietly, blinked my eyes, and felt a tiny bit of relief that my bed was only a few feet away. I shuffled past Barry Eugene and slid into bed as I struggled with the comforter that seemed heavier this time. Laying my head onto the pillow, I released any air that was trapped inside the pillowcase, and willed my body to go limp. I savored the few hours left for sleep, and hoped that tomorrow would be slightly less hectic.
Chapter 2
“Good Morning, gentlemen!” Carl cheerfully exclaimed, as he popped his head into the room. “Isn’t it a great day to be sober? Breakfast is at 9:00 a.m. in the cafeteria, but you need to see the nurse before that. I don’t care if you take a shower first or see the nurse first, but you must see the nurse, regardless, before breakfast. Have a good day, gentlemen.” He proceeded to the next room.
I kicked off the covers, sat at the edge of the bed, and stared at Barry Eugene, still asleep. I was amazed that he hadn’t heard a word Carl said. I reached between the mattresses, pulled out my key and unlocked my cabinet closet. As I stared in at my clothes, I decided to go to the nurse first, before taking a shower. I closed and locked the closet, walked past Barry Eugene’s bed, and stopped to check my face in the mirror by the door before I left.
“Damn it, still swollen,” I mumbled, disgusted, as I poked at my face.
In the hallway, the nurses and patients still shuffled around in a mirage of overweight cartoon uniforms and aliens in street clothes. I still refused to show my eyes to anyone, and walked down the hallway with only a nod hello to the white tennis shoes I had befriended the day before.
I made it to the nurses’ station and fidgeted all the while with my wristbands; while the path had become familiar to me now, behind the half-door was a nurse I had never seen before. She was older than the rest of the nurses, black and white hair in a bun, thin and bony, face stern like a 6th grade English teacher.
“Name?” she asked with her face firmly planted into her patient catalog.
“Matt Hoffman.”
“All you need to tell me is your first name and last initial,” she barked.
“Matt H.”
“Let me see your I.D. bands.”
She grabbed my wrist, and pulled me in close; my waist hit the half-door. She checked to see if the same numbers were in her book, released my hand, and opened the half-door.
“Okay, come on in.”
With apprehension, I entered and was directed to the wooden chair. She pulled my arm out, wrapped the blood pressure belt around, and pushed the start button. I looked up and noticed the same large nurse as the night before, with a stare stone cold. Beaten, I looked back at my arm and watched the belt fatten.
“Still high.”
Was she talking to me or was she referring to the gauge, I wondered?
“Not much change. Hold your arms out straight in front of you.”
“Damn it,” I whispered under my breath.
I lowered my hands to my lap and stared at the large nurse’s shoes, one lace untied.
The old nurse walked over to the medical cabinet and shoved the large nurse to the side; she collected different medications and put them into a paper cup. She turned around, took a few steps, handed me the cup, leaned over to her book, and initialed the medication administered. My hand shook as I grabbed the cup with the other hand in hopes of limiting the rattling of pills.
“After you take those, I want you to come back every two hours, because I want to check your blood pressure and tremors, and we’ll give you a Valium every time you come if the tremors and blood pressure don’t subside.”
I lifted both hands to my mouth and swallowed the pills. My hands still shook as the nurse continued to write in her notebook.
She turned with another cup in her hand. “Do you need some water?”
“No, thank you.”
“We’re done then, I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” she said. It looked painful as she cracked a smile.
The half-door shut behind me as I traveled across the hallway that was still just becoming familiar. Room 101, 103, one more to my room, I thought.
To my enjoyment, Barry Eugene was gone as I entered the room; his comforter was wrapped in a big ball. “Maybe this day won’t turn out as bad as I expected,” I whispered and walked to my closet to grab my toiletries.
Steam exited the shower room that was only two doors down to the right of my room. There was just one person behind the three curtains, so I hurried to take my clothes off before the person exited, and put them on a black plastic chair by my stall. The water was cold at first when it hit my body, which helped battle some of the drowsiness caused by the drugs. It slowly warmed the flattened hair on my chest as it beaded and dropped, circling the drain below my feet. The darkness behind my eyes was my only safe haven as I imagined the black and purple paint on my face bleeding away from the lather of soap.
Suddenly, the plastic rings on the metal screamed as the shower curtain opened two stalls down, and the pipes rattled from the water pressure as the splash of feet hit the wet, white tiles. I listened to the figure, guarded myself with a bar of soap in hand, and waited to hear any suspicious movement. The shower room door opened and thumped closed. My defenses were lowered and I continued to bathe. I thought all the while, I was just thinking crazy. My hand reached out from the shower curtain and grabbed my robe at the same time as I turned the water off; the soft warmth of the cotton added to my sense of security as I grabbed my clothes and exited the room.
I spat in the sink as I stood, fully clothed, in front of the mirror, looking at the constant reminder of my fall staring back at me. I tried to put on my glasses, but my face was too swollen for them to fit, so I shoved them in my front pocket and walked over to the desk where the map lay and looked to see the location of the cafeteria.
“Fantastic. Right down the hall from my room. I won’t have to walk that far, and I still have enough time before I have to see the nurse,” I said.
I walked out of my room and stood in the hall; I felt refreshed, as if it was the start of a new life. The nurses and patients still roamed the halls. I walked to the cafeteria, still ashamed, and I did not look at or speak to anyone.
Clattered dishes and conversation filled the cafeteria air as I looked around and wondered where I should go first. I noticed a line of people by a stack of trays waiting to receive breakfast. I wandered past tables packed with people as I grabbed a tray and stood in line. A buzzing sound emanated from the juice fountains next to me. The smell of food was making me sick, so I wandered over to the fruit and cereal bar and grabbed a couple of bananas. As I scanned the eating area, I saw the place was packed, and I didn’t feel like parading myself through the massive crowd.
“Peter…hey, Peter.” A lone voice lingered in the air.
“Peter…yoohoo, Peeterr…over here.”
Just then a piece of bread hit me in the chest. I looked around through the crowd and saw a hand that popped up like a gopher. It was Jack Jack, smiling as he waved for me to come over. Reluctant, I strolled around the tables that ended by Jack Jack.
“Peter, come on,” Jack Jack said as he pointed. “Here’s an empty seat.”
I walked slowly around the table and pulled out the chair. The figures beside me slid their trays out of the way as I sat down.
Jack Jack sat stoically with his head held high, as if he was the Godfather himself, proud to display his family to the newcomer.
“This is the guy that I was telling you about, boys. Pretty good size, wouldn’t you say?” he said as all the men stared and laughed.
I sat quietly in my chair and smiled, embarrassed; I knew exactly what they were laughing about.
“Hey, don’t feel embarrassed. It happens to all of us,” Jack Jack said. “Soone
r or later.”
All the men at the table were normal by any standard. No one could tell that there was anything wrong with them—not in the slightest. They all looked middle-aged to old, from all walks of life, with different histories, but the same stories.
Jack Jack started to introduce everyone around the table. “We are part of the group, the “in generals”. I’ll introduce the other guys as they pop up. To the right of you, we meet our black minority quota, Sam, also known as Care Bear.”
“Shut up, Jack Jack,” Sam said with a gravelly laugh.
Sam was a chubby, middle-aged man with white stubble for hair. He looked like anyone’s loveable grandfather who wore his pants above his waist; from his laugh, he was a chain smoker, and it was clear his few remaining teeth held on for dear life.
“To the left of you is Bobby, also known as the White Ninja.”
“What’s up, man,” Bobby said as he extended his hand.
Bobby was unique in that his body was shaped like a snow cone—heavy on top and thin on the bottom. He was white and thirty-ish, which was made apparent by his thinning black hair, slightly weathered face, and need to always wear a professional baseball jersey. I found out later that the jerseys made him feel young.
Jack Jack placed his hand on the shoulder of the figure to the right of him. “And this is Father Tom.”
“Hello,” he said in a soft, calm voice.
He was your quintessential priest. Old, white, gray hair, tall and thin, with sympathetic eyes that still took care of all the souls he had healed. His only sin he admitted was his smoking habit, which was obvious from the yellow tar stains on his white beard and fingers.