Mistakes of My Past

by Emily James

  Bob rambles on about visitors and cafeterias, but I don’t take in what he says. The screaming in the background is putting me on edge. Bob doesn’t explain and Dad doesn’t ask. It’s all too overwhelming and I wonder why when I've just tasted freedom, am I dancing with a new danger?

  Dad must sense my concern because when we come to a stop he holds me for the first time since I was a child. I soak it up and the unfamiliar kindness opens the dam I’ve been holding back.

  When I can cry no more, and my tears subside, Dad releases me.

  “Right-eo then. Come with me, young lady. Your dad will be back soon to see ya. Ain’t that right, Patrick?” Bob’s accent is so thick I have to repeat his words internally to understand his instruction.

  My dad nods and wipes at his eyes with his palms. “I promise I’ll visit, and if you need anything, you call me okay?” Dad’s eyes are rimmed red, his pain amplifying my own.

  Saying goodbye feels too sudden and I blurt, “Thank you, for coming to get me. I didn't realise I needed you, but I do.”

  Dad dips his head and a tender smile surfaces on his lips. “Honey, I’d cross the whole world every day if you needed me. I thank God I still have you.”

  Dad's eyes move to scrutinise Bob. “You'll take good care of my daughter?”

  “Sure thing, Patrick. Little R and R time, just what the doctor ordered, huh, Amber?”

  Dad turns and holds my shoulders. He says, “I’ve been a terrible father . . . seeing you in that place . . . the pain you were in . . .” His face has the softness I remember as a child. “I want to be a better father to you, Amber. To have the chance, I need you to get well. Please say you will?”

  The guilt etched on his face has no right to be there. I am here because of my mistakes.

  My shame prompts my decision, and I vow to be a good daughter to the parent I have left. The one I'm not responsible for killing.

  I nod and reply, “I will try.”

  Chapter 3

  Amber

  I wake with a start and a sharp prod to my head.

  “That was some fucking nightmare, girl. You might want to check ya didn’t piss your pants.”

  “What the…” I stop and back away from the scrutiny of the too close face. She's mesmerising as she moves to sit cross-legged on my bed. Still coming to from my nightmare, I consider her issues with personal space. “Can I help you?” I say, and instantly regret sounding so catty. I should be thanking her for rousing me so I swiftly apologise and hope she's the forgiving sort.

  Her perfectly arched brow lifts with curiosity. “You’re a Brit? Who the fuck put you in here, princess?” She takes my hand and fiercely shakes it. She's maybe twenty-one like me? Her hair is dread-locked and blonde with pink highlights. Her face is pierced, but not ugly – like the beautiful delicate pieces of metal compliment her. “I’m Roxy Metcalf – your new roomy.” She beams like she's auditioning for a reality show. Her mood seems to change as she adds, “Don’t touch my stuff and don’t keep me awake with all your screaming and we’ll get along fine.”

  Roxy looks like she swallows girls like me with as much effort as a shot of Tequila.

  * * *

  “Get up, girl. We got to get to group,” Roxy calls out, leaning against the doorframe to our room.

  I put my head back under the pillow and call back, “I don't want to find out what horrors exist in this place. I'm waiting it out in here.”

  It had been a stressful night between the screams from down the hall and Roxy waking me from my own screaming.

  “Aw, come on, princess. It's not so bad, so don't you pull that face. Few guys just talking shit for an hour, that’s all.”

  I peek out from beneath the pillow in time to catch Roxy rolling her eyes as if my reluctance is boring her already.

  “You'll survive it. I'll help you; can't say the same for meal times, though. Now that shit is scary.” She wraps her hands around her throat and makes noises like she's choking.

  * * *

  Someone veers past the doorway as I watch from inside the room. He’s skinny. Way too skinny and sickly looking to be staff and I wonder how a male patient got on our floor. Noticing Roxy, he backs away as though she might suddenly decide to strangle him. He’s so outwardly nervous that I feel obliged to get up and check his reaction. Roxy holds her sides as she laughs at my expression.

  “That's just nervous Rod. He likes me keeping him on his toes. It gives him an excuse to practice his repetition.”

  I peer down the hall where Rod’s pretending to read the signage.

  “He's supposed to keep to the other side of the nursing station. Since the female ward is full, we got put on the guy side. They're meant to be policing the strays.” Roxy shakes her head. “Mother-fuckers can't even keep an eye on Rod.”

  “Are we safe, with guys on the same ward? I mean, why are they in here? What if they're psychopaths and murderers?” Unease grips me. I back a little further into our room.

  “Nah, don’t worry. I’m more dangerous than Rod. Since we're all here voluntarily we're considered low risk. This floor is pretty much the OCDs, the depressives and the anorexics. Like Rod here, more likely to count himself to death than hurt anyone.” Roxy sends Rod a big, eyelash fluttering wink and blows a kiss so potent that Rod almost falls over on impact.

  Rod drops his ID-card, picks it up, drops it again, picks it up... all the while murmuring, “I have to start over, I got to do it right, one is for bad, two is for good, three is for . . .”

  I raise my eyebrows at Roxy relieved my own version of crazy isn't quite so obvious. Or maybe it is. My wrist beckons me and I wince.

  “How come you know so much about the goings on in this place?” I ask.

  “This ain't my first rodeo. I was here for six months last year. You get used to the faces. Now come on.” Roxy smiles mischievously.

  I'm a little nervous as I slide my bare feet into my Converse shoes. The laces are too short to bother to tie, and because I don't have my belt, I pull my not skinny-anymore-jeans up and follow Roxy.

  “You and me, we'll be just fine. But we gotta hurry before Hawk-face catches us wagging group. You do not want to skip group. Not unless you enjoy a nice sedative up that butt of yours.” I gawk at Roxy, unsure if she's joking as she links my arm and jostles me down the long corridor. “Just go through this door. If you don't want to talk, give me the signal.”

  Roxy swings the door open with such force it whacks the table behind, announcing our arrival. Six patients sitting on hard plastic chairs jump and rubber-neck. I curtain my hair over my face to avoid their glances as she guides me toward the far wall of chairs, staring at the others as if to invite their comments. Her demeanour is protective or aggressive. I’m not sure which.

  Roxy indicates with her hand for me to sit in the last empty seat while she whisper chats with a painfully thin girl with white blonde hair. She then grabs another seat from the stack by the window and positions herself opposite me in the semi-circle. Rod is beside her and he looks even more nervous than the last time I saw him. He sits fidgeting, stands and sits back down. God, now he's counting out loud and everyone’s looking at him. At this point, I'm not sure if I don't belong or if I fit right in.

  When a long crooked nose enters the room before its owner, I know Hawk-face has arrived. She's clutching a folder under her too bony arms. Hawk-face pushes her glasses up the generous bridge of her nose and the room falls into silence. She clears her throat and noisily drags a chair to the front of our arc, giving herself centre stage.

  “For those of you who are new – my name is Sharon Myers and I will be group leader today.” Her scratchy voice reverberates off the walls and everyone shifts in their seat. “We will start with the usual go around. I want you to each say one thing you overcame to be here today and what helped you do that.”

  Hawk-face turns her head to view us individually, starting with Roxy. Her vision finally settles on me as she repositions her glasses and gives me a sinister s
mile. “Well, honey, you’re up first.”

  My eyes dart from left to right as I search for someone to save me. My anxiety flares and I can't remember what she said we had to do, and I’m not sure how to signal Roxy.

  Hawk-face’s eyes are huge rectangles underneath her thick glasses. She coughs and her eyes dart to mine as if to prompt me. I fake a cough too to buy time.

  Hack Hurghhh.

  It sounds disgusting, and in my uncertainty, I don’t use my hand to cover my germs. I glance at Roxy through my lashes. She looks puzzled. So I cough harder and it catches in my chest. Now I'm wheezing and I can't stop. I gulp for air as Hawk-face rushes out the room and the skinhead with the tattoos next to me starts smacking my back.

  Roxy crouches in front of me.

  “Huh, huhghh. I thought you were going to help me?” I mumble in between coughs.

  “What?” She looks at me like I went a darker shade of crazy. Her face creases into snort like giggles. “I said send me a fricking signal, not an asthma attack. How the fuck was I supposed to interpret that shower of shit?”

  She puts her arm on my shoulder and the other around her torso to stop from laughing.

  “All right now?” Hawk-face asks, handing me a cup of water.

  “Amber’s losing her voice, been coughing ever since she got here. It’s driving me nuts.” Roxy tells Hawk-face.

  The room choruses a stifled giggle. Roxy offers me a small smirk and everyone settles back in their seats.

  “Okay.” Hawk-face stares down her glasses. “I hope you won't be any more trouble.”

  I shake my head and Hawk-face nods, satisfied.

  “Right then, volunteer to go first please?”

  It's the reverse of picking teams at school. Everyone squirms and prays they’re left excluded at the side of the pitch.

  “Here goes.” Roxy rolls her eyes at the room as if playing a part. “Self-disclosure 101. My name is Roxy Metcalf; I'm a twenty-two-year-old white, American girl. I have overcome mother-fucking spine-chillingly adverse conditions.” She swings her head at the crowd, clutching her hands out in front of her like she's telling a ghost story. “My marmie was a big old crack head. She liked to take crack all day and all night. And, when she wasn't taking crack, she liked to fuck all her men, to pay for all her crack. Until one day, she smoked a little too much crack and that little crack pipe sucked her right into the sky.” Roxy raises her eyebrows up dramatically.

  She's putting on a strong front, but there’s a subtle edge of pain that I recognise.

  Roxy continues, “Now I wouldn't know about any of this ‘cos I up and moved my ass away from that crazy bitch when she didn't protect me against her pimp. But, he was a sharing kind of guy, and he took a selfie of her fucked up, cracked up, dead ass and sent it to me on my cell phone. He could've just called, but I guess that ain’t so vis-u-al.” Roxy rolls her eyes and her composure is eerie.

  “So, that is what I overcame to be here today, I overcome it every day ‘cos I refuse to let those bastards grind me down.”

  Hawk-face jots down notes and looks joyous that she prompted this revelation. The rest of the faces in the room stare back dejected. No one wanted to share, but I think everyone wishes they’d said something instead so Roxy hadn’t felt so pressured to share her story in this way.

  Roxy just shrugs off our sad looks like we’re all a bunch of dumb-asses.

  I hope I can one day return her act of kindness.

  * * *

  At mealtime, Roxy leads me to the cafeteria where Rod joins us in the queue.

  “No dairy, wheat, sugar or fat.” Roxy tells the server, who nods a knowing smile.

  “Heard you were back; here ya go, Roxy, it’s good to see ya.” The rotund server hands Roxy a yellow tray from the back of the kitchen.

  Rod and I are told to take our red trays from the cart.

  Roxy oozes confidence as we follow her through the cafeteria. Her endless legs and Kardashian curves earn her more than a few appreciating glances from patients and staff alike.

  We pass Lee, a guy from group, who sits alone. I’m relieved when we don't join him, he’s practicing a sermon.

  Roxy takes a seat at the table toward the back of the cafeteria and Rod and I sit either side of her. The rest of the cafeteria is empty.

  “Yo, what's up guys?” I recognise the lone guy as Mike, the skinhead who patted my back during my coughing fit.

  My face warms with embarrassment.

  “Apart from being in this shit hole, I'm just dandy.” Roxy's eyes turn to mine as she adds, “You met Amber? She's fresh meat.”

  I shrink smaller, bashful from the introduction.

  “Good day, ma'am,” Mike says, saluting. He’s huge and has a military look about him. He sits up straight and nods his head. His eyes are deep set, and give off a pained vibe that doesn’t quite match his boyish looks.

  “I’m not fresh meat,” I correct Roxy, trying to sound braver than I feel. “I came here from a hospital back home.” I decide I don’t want to be considered a rookie, it might invite further attention.

  “A mental hospital?” Roxy calls me out. She’s too intuitive to lie to.

  “No,” I sigh. “Just a regular one.”

  “Ha-ha! Oh girl, I knew this ain't your regular hang-out. You freaked when Hawk-face got on your case earlier. What is it? A little bit sad ‘cos Daddy wouldn't buy you a pony?”

  She’s joking, I think. The rest of the table seem amused that she’s toying with me. Even Rod has stopped counting his peas for a second to grin at Roxy’s game.

  “No. I, um, well, I'm just working through some stuff,” I stutter out, unsure how to describe my steps to incarceration.

  “Aren't we all?” Mike says noncommittal and I'm pleased they don't pry further.

  * * *

  I lift the lid of my meal tray and I'm greeted by a weird looking brown concoction. My nose turns up and Roxy snorts. “Follow my lead in future.” Roxy lifts her lid and my mouth waters at the smell of steak and potatoes.

  “How come you get the good stuff?” I ask.

  “Girl, it's all about who you know. Stick with me and you’ll go far.” She winks and I wish, not for the first time today that I had Roxy’s sass.

  Mike tucks into the contents of his yellow tray with gusto, while Rod polishes his cutlery with a napkin, counting the watermarks as he removes them.

  “Rod, enough already, eat ya food. ‘Kay?” Roxy scolds.

  Rod jumps in his seat. “Sorry, Roxy,” he mutters back with a look of concentration etched on his face, as though straining to focus on the physical task of eating.

  “So how’d you find group, Amber?” Mike asks in between mouthfuls, taking the heat off Rod.

  Pushing my food around with my fork, I tell him, “It's not what I expected. I thought there'd be more... blood?” I giggle nervously, trying to take the emphasis off my newness.

  “You coughed any more and there might've been,” Roxy sniggers.

  “Just not used to crowds, I guess.” I think back to group and liken Hawk-face to the nurse in Stephen King’s Misery. “What is with her, anyway? Picking on the new girl?”

  “Bitch!” Roxy and Mike chorus and laugh.

  * * *

  “Heard you're outta here soon, Mike?” Roxy asks and I’m shocked to hear he's leaving. Not that he seems crazy. Maybe he's cured, or well or whatever they call it. It makes me sad as I know I'm not leaving anytime soon. I'm not what you might call fixed, or even fixable. I reprimand myself. It's good that he’s well enough to return home. I’m being selfish. Tommy always said… I stop myself. Fresh start, Amber! Stop with the Tommy.

  With my thoughts elsewhere, the conversation has continued around me. I catch the end of Mike being told good luck.

  Mike continues, “Time I rejoin my life again I guess. What about you, Roxy? Didn't think I'd see you back here.”

  “Me neither, Mike. Guess I didn't fit in with my perfect daddy and his perfect wife.”

 
; “You were lucky it was here and not jail from what I heard.”

  “You read the papers?” Roxy asks, looking surprised.

  “I have my means.”

  “Well, don't believe the shit they spew. That guy deserved my stiletto heel. If I'd gotten a chance, I'd be modelling his dirt-bag eyes on my footwear.” Roxy crosses her legs to one side. She catches me looking. “Don't look so worried, Amber. He deserved it. The papers just didn't tell it right. If my lawyer daddy had listened to his daughter, and not his pervert intern, he’d be the one serving a jail term. But my daddy’s always so ready to believe I’m a nut job.”

  Roxy's eye roll is tinged with sadness.

  “He didn’t believe you?” I ask, saddened.

  “Who would you believe, Amber, the spoilt little rich boy or the product of a crack-whore and her client?” Roxy raises her eyebrows. “Once you’ve been in a place like this, people believe that you’re capable of unprovoked violent shit. You'll see. I just wish I’d stuck my heel all the way through his teeny little worm dick.”

  “I’d believe you.” Needing to qualify my comment, I continue, “I’ve had experience with liars. You don’t fit the profile.” I tell her, angered but not surprised at the injustice.

  Roxy nods, her eyes searching mine. ”Dad smoothed it over. I didn’t go to jail.” Roxy pins Mike with a stare, “and Fuck-face will get the vision in his left eye back once they finish his surgeries.” Roxy screws up her face disappointed she hadn’t left a permanent reminder of his actions.

  “I bet I could put a few guys together to get that bastard,” Mike offers.

  “It’s okay. I posted Fuck-face’s details on a Paedophile hunt website. Figured it would be better for other women to exercise caution around that bastard, and if the gen pop wants to fuck his shit up, that’s fine by me.”

  I choke on my OJ. Roxy’s version of retribution is shocking and appealing. I figure that’s the difference between Roxy and me. She grabs life by the balls, while I cower in the corner.

  Mike slams the table, a wide grin playing on his lips. “So, you’re actually going to work on your anger this time, Roxy?”