All 220 pounds of Carlene thundered toward the couch. The boys didn’t notice at first.
“What the hell’s goin’ on over there?” she yelled.
A few heads around the common area popped up in response, but most of the torsos remained slumped over. As she came up behind Caleb, Carlene shooed the boys away with her hand. They kept laughing, but they were nervous now and retreated back to the corner as they slapped each other high fives. She came around the front of the couch and saw what they had done.
“What are ya doin’ now?” she shouted. She was out of breath from the walk but managed to shake her finger angrily toward the guys in the corner. “Lord,” she muttered to herself as she took Caleb’s finger out of his nose. Her scrubs stretched defiantly against her body as she moved. They were white with small pink and red hearts.
“I shouldn’t have to deal with these fools,” she mumbled. “Babysittin’ a bunch of rich lunatics day in and day out. And why I bother to get all done up…” She bent Caleb’s index finger back down to join the others and laid both arms down on his lap. After all the activity, she reached one hand up to the top of her head and felt around, surveying the position of each section of hair—the short, dark pieces at the crown were still sticking straight up while the longer, bright red sections cascading down and over her forehead hadn’t budged. Satisfied that each hair was still cemented into place, she walked toward the door. The blend of polyester and cotton rubbed together between her thighs.
The laughter of the boys had died down to a few snickers. Anna didn’t laugh. She wanted to cry, but she would save that for later. Gripping her book tightly, she started reading the words without understanding what they meant. She didn’t want to look at Caleb anymore. He was a reminder that dignity didn’t exist here.
The words. Just focus on the words.
She’d been admitted only a few days ago, but she was already a quarter of the way through An American Tragedy. At this rate it would take her only a couple of days to read all 856 pages. She read it last year as a senior but liked it so much she didn’t mind reading it again. It filled the empty minutes and hours that dragged on, sitting in this place just waiting for nothing to happen. She read so she couldn’t notice what was around her—the dull white walls, the linoleum floor that made a sucking noise when you walked on it, the windows that let in filtered light and nothing else, the door locks that clicked loudly every time someone came or went.
I don’t belong here became her mantra. She was so angry with her parents for throwing her in this place that she didn’t know what to do with herself. Sure, she wasn’t perfect, but this wasn’t what she needed. They were just punishing her in the cruelest way they knew how.
It wasn’t normal to have crying fits every day, not being able to come up with a reason why. She was sad, deeply sad. For months, it had taken everything she had to make it out of bed and get through the day. Her only goal was to exist, maybe even function. Every hour brought her closer to the end of the day, when she could lie in bed and fall asleep, which was her only escape. But she had to get through every minute, every second leading up to it. The hardest part was dealing with the sick feeling in her stomach. It nagged at her constantly. It was like the sadness collected in her belly and would sit there content to torture her for the rest of her life. Even if she had to live with her parents at home, at least there were distractions there—school, television, music. Here there was nothing to distract her from herself.
So she read.
As for the other patients, she had nothing in common with them. It looked like most of them were out of their minds. Some were parked in front of the television all day. Others sat in a corner, drooling in a daze, unnoticed by anyone except when it was time to take their drugs. But the scariest ones would run around in a panicked terror. Yesterday afternoon an old man was screaming that he had no head.
“Pretty hot, huh?”
Anna flinched. Chrissy had snuck up on her. She was leaning over a nearby table with her elbows resting on the surface, her arms set close together, squeezing her massive cleavage for the benefit of the redheaded agitator and his group of flunkies.
“Uh, what?” Anna said, trying to focus her eyes up toward her face.
“Over there. You were staring at him.” Chrissy nudged her head at Caleb, who’d become reanimated. His body was rounded over a big sketchbook as his hand scribbled furiously.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped. “I wasn’t staring at anyone.”
“Right. You’re such a liar.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Think what you want.” She went back to her book and pretended to read.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Chrissy said as she flipped her long brown hair back behind her shoulder. “He’s delicious. What I wouldn’t do to get him alone in a room for five minutes. Mmm. The things I would do to that boy.” She let a moan escape. “Anyway,” she carried on, regaining some composure, “God knows it would do you good to be interested in something else besides that book you plant your nose in.”
Chrissy was trying to be nice to her in the only way she knew how—showing Anna the ropes, since she had been in and out of places like this since she was fifteen. Chrissy’s parents had put her in whenever they couldn’t deal with her. But Anna couldn’t stand listening to her talk about how many guys she had slept with. She made it sound like hundreds, and she was only twenty-three.
“What am I supposed to be doing? Talking to myself, drooling in a corner like the rest of them?” Anna was being mean and knew it, but she couldn’t help herself. All of it was just too much.
Chrissy took a snottier tone. “Calm down. Not everyone is like that.” She relaxed slightly and started examining her nails. She was always complaining how they wouldn’t let her give herself a proper manicure. The doctors were afraid that if she got ahold of a pair of cuticle nippers she might get suicidally creative. “If you’re good, I’ll let you come and hang out with me and the girls.”
The girls were all in their twenties. Like Chrissy, one of them was a bipolar recovering addict. The other had tried to kill herself a couple of times. And they all dressed as slutty as possible. Anna didn’t want anything to do with them. She had seen firsthand how they treated the girls who weren’t cool enough by their standards—the snotty remarks, the eye rolls, the way they could make someone feel like a zero. Even in this place, there were cliques that decided for you if you were in or out.
“I’ll pass.”
“Come on.” Her tone softened now, to Anna’s surprise. “I know how hard it can be. The first time I was in I wouldn’t even go into the common area. I just sat in my room by myself, and it made everything worse.”
Regardless of Chrissy’s attempt at being genuine, it only intensified Anna’s anger. “Yeah, well, maybe in a few days when I’m so drugged up I can’t focus my eyes enough to read I’ll stop on over.”
“Fine. Suit yourself. You don’t have to be a bitch about it, though.” Chrissy pushed the chair back and the legs scraped against the floor. She walked away, swinging her hips in an exaggerated motion that made the redhead and his gang zero in on her backside, which was barely covered by a denim microskirt. Anna took a quick look around to see if anyone had noticed that she had raised her voice, but of course no eyes were on her.
As she scanned the room, she found Caleb again. He was so intense, sitting there drawing. She wondered if he knew what had happened before. Her eyes lingered on him. She couldn’t help herself. She had to admit that Chrissy was at least right about him being good-looking. In the real world, he wouldn’t give her a second glance. Of course here, among the certifiably insane, she had caught him staring at her every once in a while. Normally it would make her feel good, even pretty, but here, it scared her. Why did she even care? She forced herself to focus again on the book. It was dangerous for her mind to wander like this.
Just as Anna started getting back into the story, Carlene returned to the room.
&nbs
p; “Dr. Blackwell’s patients, it’s time for group,” she said like she was bored. She rounded up some of the patients and shooed them out the door and into a smaller room. Anna cringed but got up obediently and made her way out. Carlene put out her arms and swatted at the air near her, as if to make her hurry up. Anna noticed her red acrylic nails and could make out the tiny flowers that had been painted onto the tips. She really wanted to look at them more closely—they were pretty amazing—but Carlene’s only concern was getting them into that little room as fast as she could.
“Come on, people! My stories are startin’,” Carlene bellowed, suspiciously eyeing an old man who was headed toward the television. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” she shouted like a drill sergeant. When Carlene had finished delivering a group of four to the room, her short legs spun her around, and her thighs began rubbing noisily together as she speed-walked to find the last few stragglers.
Seven chairs stood in the room, all arranged in a circle. They were the kind of chairs in classrooms—hard, smooth, and with a molded contoured seat that never fit anyone. Hopefully, the chair she chose would be close but not too close to Dr. Blackwell; she wanted to be on the periphery of his vision so he wouldn’t notice her. She didn’t want to have to say anything today. It was her first time in group.
Then Caleb walked into the room. He seemed to tower over the others—he must’ve been at least six feet tall. He sat down across from her, settling his lean body into the chair. Goose bumps exploded all along her arms. She couldn’t decide if it was because she was excited or scared. Or both.
Chrissy soon followed and took a seat next to Caleb. She skillfully placed her index finger on her chest and traced a slow line down and along her cleavage, all the while smiling seductively at Caleb. He offered her a quick, uncomfortable nod. Anna made herself look away, focusing anywhere except on him. She examined each of the bad watercolors on the white walls, all of flowers, like she was studying them for a test. Then she turned her attention to some end tables in the corner and the fake purple orchids that had been set on top of them. Four identical flowers, each with perfectly shaped petals, lay evenly along the green plastic stems of each plant. Despite the suggestion of flowers all around them, the room smelled like Lysol.
“Dr. Blackwell! They’re all in!” Carlene called out in a shrill voice. When she spotted him coming down the hallway, she bolted out the door. “Good Lord, they better not have made me miss that Jessica gettin’ exorcised.”
A fifty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair and crow’s feet around his eyes walked into the room. He was dressed conservatively in a blue button-down shirt, a striped Brooks Brothers tie, and gray pleated pants. The only indication that he was a doctor was the big MD on the ID badge clipped onto his shirt pocket; he didn’t wear a white coat like the other psychiatrists.
He sat down in the one empty chair, and Anna sighed in relief that it was two chairs away from her. She’d definitely be less noticeable to him over here. Although she hated any kind of therapy, she had to admit that Dr. Blackwell wasn’t the worst. She really wanted to like him. Why he would voluntarily subject himself to these kinds of people every day was beyond her.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” he said cheerily as he made eye contact with each of the six faces.
Only one woman offered a greeting back, while everyone else sat quietly.
“I hope you all had a nice few days since our last meeting. First I’d like to introduce a new member to the group. Everyone, this is Anna. Let’s welcome her.”
Every face in the room shot toward her, and she slouched deeper in her chair. This wasn’t what she had had in mind.
“Hello, Anna,” the group said glumly, in unison.
Her lips stayed glued together as she tried to smile, only the corners of her mouth rising slightly. Her cheeks burned.
“Thank you, everyone,” the doctor said. “Today I want to get us started with an exercise.” He paused, surveyed all the faces, and crossed his legs, resting his hand on his ankle. “Please tell the group something that you know is true. Let’s begin with George.”
Everyone set their sights on the thin, older man dressed in striped silk pajamas and slippers. His lips moved silently as he returned everyone’s gaze, from one face to the next. What was he muttering? His voice was too soft.
“George, tell us something that you know is true.”
He mumbled for thirty seconds more while the doctor waited patiently.
“I know there isn’t an even number of people in here,” George said in a quick panic. “That’s not right.” His face was wild. He started muttering again, but this time he was counting. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” he said over and over again in a whisper. He slapped his hands rapidly on the tops of his thighs four times. He paused and did it again. And again. Anna couldn’t watch. It was too much. The sickness in her stomach spread.
Dr. Blackwell leaned forward and placed his hand carefully on George’s knee. “It’s all right.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, watching George’s face. “You’re right. There are seven people in the room and that’s not an even number. But nothing bad is going to happen because of it, even if you stop slapping yourself.”
George stared at the doctor but kept slapping his thighs.
“Please try to stop. Nothing bad will happen if you stop.”
It was clear George was terrified, but even so, his slapping slowed and then stopped. He folded his hands on his lap, one hand tightly gripping the other. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.
“Excellent, George,” Dr. Blackwell said with a smile. “Excellent progress.” He took his hand off of George’s knee and settled back into his chair, satisfied.
Anna surveyed the others’ faces, trying to see if even in their deranged states they were as affected by George as she was. When she got to Caleb, he was staring at her. She quickly looked away and then after a few moments looked back. He hadn’t stopped staring. His gaze was so intense that she felt like she was naked and hadn’t noticed it until now. She cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears. While he was making her feel uncomfortable, part of her didn’t want him to stop.
“Let’s turn to Gertrude,” Dr. Blackwell announced. “What do you know is true?”
Gertrude sat erect with her ankles crossed. She wore a turquoise skirt and matching suit jacket, nude panty hose, and half-inch heels. A turquoise purse sat on her lap, both of her hands grasping the straps together. Her only piece of jewelry was a gold wedding band. She looked like she was about to go out to lunch with the ladies.
Gertrude thought for a few moments. “I know that it isn’t raining today.”
“Yes. That is certainly true.”
Gertrude’s lips formed a slight smile. She straightened her back even more and leaned forward. “Yes, it isn’t raining today, and that means my unicorn can finally make the trip to come and see me,” she said with confidence.
George let out a high-pitched, nervous cackle, but everyone else was quiet.
“George, this is a safe place,” Dr. Blackwell cut in. “We need to respond to one another with support. What would have been a better way to respond to Gertrude?”
George cut off his laughter and stared at Dr. Blackwell blankly.
“Uh…uh…I don’t…”
“It’s okay, George. Let’s just hear Gertrude out.”
“You know,” Gertrude said, this time to George, “the rain makes her melt, like that green wicked witch. She has to be very careful.”
George tried desperately to stifle a nervous whine, but part of it managed to escape. Dr. Blackwell nodded in his direction, apparently acknowledging George’s attempt to control himself. Then he turned his attention toward Gertrude.
“Remember what we said about your unicorn in our session yesterday?”
She huffed in annoyance and refused to answer.
“Remember how we agreed to focus less on the unicorn and more on things like being able to care for your
self and maintaining relationships with your children and grandchildren?”
“Yes, I remember.” Gertrude crossed her arms and started pouting.
“Good, that’s very good.” Dr. Blackwell nodded.
“I still don’t like what you’re suggesting. My Aurora is very real, Doctor, and I hate to think what she would do to you if she heard you telling me to ignore her.” She turned to George and confided in him once more. “Unicorns can be very unpleasant when they want to be,” she whispered.
George was too terrified to respond at all.
“Now, now, Gertrude, let’s stay calm.”
Gertrude sat up straight and tilted her chin up so as to peer down at Dr. Blackwell with a disapproving air. She wouldn’t answer.
“Let’s just relax and focus on the here and now,” said Dr. Blackwell.
George had started counting to himself again.
“Chrissy,” Dr. Blackwell went on, “please tell us what you know is true.”
Chrissy twirled a section of her hair around and around her finger.
“I know that I’m addicted to being in this institution. I prefer living my life here than dealing with what’s out there.” She motioned toward the window with her free hand. “Here, I can take a break from the stresses of my day-to-day life, shirking my responsibilities.” She paused, waiting for a response. “How’s that for self-awareness?” Her grand finale was a wink at Caleb.
Anna allowed herself to sneak a peek at him, and was at first relieved to see that he wasn’t staring at her anymore. But when she noticed he was looking right back at Chrissy, amused, she was irritated.
“Chrissy, you’ve made a lot of progress over the years during your stays here. Now our goal is to make sure you can function well outside of these walls so that you don’t feel the need to retreat back here to deal with adversity.”
Chrissy continued twirling her hair.
Straightjacket Page 2