Assimilation

by James Stryker

  Once more Santino gave his chair a swift kick. But what stopped Oz from still revealing the internal concert’s name was less Santino’s non-verbal threat and more the way Natalie looked at Tinks. She gave him a smile similar to the one she’d given Oz earlier. The one that’d caused an unexpected lightness in his chest and made him question what he liked so much about her. And when he no longer cared for the smiles of women, why did this matter to him?

  “I understand how that is,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Tinks returned the smile. “Anyway, since that was the instrument in my head, I sat at the piano and waited for inspiration. But nothing came. The keys were as foreign to me as ever, and even after I enlisted a tutor, I had no hope.

  “Months of trying go by. And not only on the piano, but everything else. I couldn’t master simple scales. The music in my head frustrated the ability to separate the instrument I was trying to play with what I was hearing. It had a life of its own, like it wanted to compete. The louder I played, the louder it’d grow itself. So I’d never forget it was in control of me. And you’d think it’d become something I’d get used to. Like people who live near waterfalls and can’t hear them. But it’s not the same.”

  “But you said you’re on medication. Doesn’t that help?”

  “The pills keep it low, but it only works so long.”

  “And then what happens?”

  “It erupts. I get crazy when the meds fail and it comes back full force. I forget that my ears have nothing to do with it. The last time I took a Phillips head, set it in the canal, grabbed a hammer, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up in a hospital bed. Again.” Tinks turned his head so Natalie could see the ear. It looked normal except for scar tissue inside.

  “They can fix ears. They can’t fix brains. And I can’t guarantee I won’t cut my own head off or blow myself up trying to do it on my own.”

  “I don’t think I could do anything like that.”

  “Self-mutilation? When I’m thinking clearly, hammering a screwdriver into my head even surprises me.”

  “Well, yes,” Natalie said. “But also suicide. I don’t want to kill myself.”

  “Yet.” Oz tapped more ash into his tray.

  He hadn’t meant the remark the way he usually did when he allowed thoughts to spew unfiltered from his head. He was searching for a specific reaction from Natalie. She lowered her eyes and stared into the half empty glass of water.

  I knew it. You have that look. You’re not suffering enough. Yet. But it’s beginning to sink in as a viable option.

  “So tell us about you,” Santino said. “How is it in your new reality?”

  Santino and Tinks leaned in, while Oz remained in his kicked-back position. He knew she wouldn’t tell right now; it didn’t matter how much of their souls they’d exposed.

  “What about your fearless leader?” Natalie looked across the table at Oz.

  “Fearless leader, eh? I like that,” he mused. “Fearless leader.”

  He did have a knack for bringing people together, if only from his knowledge of people’s medication, and lack of hesitation to say just about anything. He also had a habit of cultivating networks in odd places based on his side hobby of pot distribution. He’d brought every person into their band of brothers, so he could be cast as a leader in that aspect. But once they were in the clan, there was no leadership. There wasn’t a location to lead anyone to.

  “Yes. What about you? What happened to you?”

  “I died.”

  “That much I worked out. But the circumstances? Was it a car accident?”

  “No. I wasted away like a withering flower. A snowflake on the cheek of a child. A fresh pile of dog shit on a hot summer’s day.” He folded his arms behind his head. “My breath escaping me like a playful autumn leaf out of grasp, or the aforementioned shit leaving the ass of the dog. Drowning in my own lungs like a … well, like a person is apt to do if they can’t swim and happen to find themselves in such an unfortunate predicament.”

  “And how are you different? I assume your so called ‘humor’ has been constant.” Natalie rolled her eyes.

  “No, I used to be quite boring.”

  “I think it’s unlikely you’d refer to yourself as a beast if all you became was interesting.”

  “I won’t bog you down with another sob story.”

  He pushed the cigarette stub into his ash tray. At certain portions in the tragedies of the others, his two friends had turned away, or beaten around the bush. But that wasn’t him. He faced everything head on and kept steady eye contact with her alone.

  Oz slid the second to last cigarette from his pack and lit the new one. “I’m a fag. A big one.”

  He grinned and waited for a response.

  “You shouldn’t call yourself that.”

  Natalie had taken the bait. It was too easy. If only he could line up snooker balls this well.

  Or remember how to do it. But don’t think about that. Concentrate on what you still have control over.

  “I reserve the right to call myself whatever I choose. Be it ‘fag’, ‘big fag’, or ‘incomparable specimen of masculine splendor.’ It’s my call.”

  He was ready for a good fight. A war of taunts volleyed until she forgot whatever curiosity she might’ve had. It’d conclude with her surrender. He was too difficult to bother with and she’d never re-ask him anything about his past. His secrets would be safe.

  The only person who’d broken this defense had been Santino. It’d taken months, and several, several gins. But once the wall had been surmounted, Santino had never challenged Oz again. And that’d been years ago. He doubted Santino remembered. He gave no indication of being wiser. So despite the single successful invasion, Oz considered the strategy effective.

  “It’s all about the shock value with you, isn’t it?” Natalie looked at him blankly.

  Yes, it’s sleight of hand. When I’m juggling swords, or eating fire, you don’t notice anything else about me.

  But though she apprehended his motives, she didn’t question further. To his disappointment, she pushed back her chair and stood.

  “Perhaps next time, guys.” Natalie held out her hand first to Tinks, then to Santino. She made no effort to extend the courtesy to Oz.

  “The hubby and kiddies alarm going off? It’s too late to make supper.” Oz felt cold as Santino released her hand. “I suppose you could get a start on packing love notes in with their fucking pudding cups.”

  “You’re married? And you have kids?” Tinks’s lips parted in shock.

  Natalie looked at the ground and nodded.

  “Whatever you’re going through, my friend, I’m sorry.” Santino touched her shoulder. She flinched but didn’t move away. “We can see how your burden weighs on you. And I’m sure it’s made heavier if you feel you’re hurting people who care about you.”

  The sentiment had her eyes glossy with tears, and Oz wondered if no one had ever said they were sorry for what’d happened to her. Was it possible she might not have told her secret to her husband? What was the first thing said when a person found out something bad happened to you? They apologized. Had she been living this long without feeling the gratification from someone genuinely apologizing about a fucked up circumstance?

  “Thanks, Santino.” Natalie swallowed the emotion. “You’re a good guy. You all are good guys.”

  She even looked at Oz, and his stomach fluttered. It’d been a long time since he’d been called a good guy.

  “I’ll come back.”

  He watched her as she left – her hands hidden in the large pocket of her sweatshirt. She walked with her shoulders back in straight steps without swaying her hips. His brain hummed until the door closed behind her. Then he was normal. Somewhat.

  “Oz, I think you may’ve found a kindred spirit,” Santino said when their eyes met.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know what I mean.”

  Oz considered it. Sure, it was
possible she’d reawakened preferring women. It might explain why she’d gone from a high-maintenance, feminine woman to one who wore her greasy hair pulled back and dressed in baggy clothes. But she didn’t fit the profile of a butch lesbian either. Furthermore, he’d never been much of a lesbian enthusiast, but he liked Natalie. He felt drawn to her, as he hadn’t been to anything else in a long time.

  “Nah, it’s not that. But there’s definitely something.”

  Chapter 16

  Whatever else happened to be going on at work or home, Robert always made it a top priority to keep his appointments with Dr. Zuniga. It’d been explained that until the psychiatrist felt Natalie was stable, weekly medication management sessions were critical.

  “Shouldn’t my wife come to these?” He’d first asked.

  “That’s not necessary, Mr. Keller,” Zuniga said over the phone.

  “Why not? She’s the one taking the medication.”

  “We actually find that the most helpful information for medication control is derived from the conservator’s observations.” The smile in her voice made Robert feel more comfortable. “Dr. Brigman mentioned that you and Natalie are art aficionados?”

  “That’s Nat’s thing, not mine.” He didn’t understand the stuff in the least. How could she spend so much time gawking at garbage? That magazine page she’d shown him really did look like a fecal-smeared wall in a monkey house.

  “Well, I’ll make the analogy anyway and hope the meaning comes across. I regard viewpoints on med management like looking at just a small corner of a painting versus taking a step back and seeing the entire canvas. Based on her perspective, Natalie is only capable of looking at that tiny piece, while you are able to provide us a full outlook. The more complete the picture, the better decisions can be made. Does that make sense?”

  “Certainly.” Really wasn’t Natalie herself the painting? Thinking of it that way, she wouldn’t be able to provide much valuable input.

  “Consequently, come by yourself and feel free to speak openly as you might with a friend, Mr. Keller. Or may I call you Robert?”

  “Sure, Robert is fine.”

  So once a week, and unknowingly to Natalie, Robert detoured to the Cryobiotic Treatment Center to speak with Dr. Zuniga. And it really was similar to visiting with a friend, for more reasons than the casualness. The doctor listened to him and provided explanations for Natalie’s strange behavior. She was also supportive of Robert’s actions, siding with him in most things.

  For example, she had agreed that the “welcome home” party had been a great plan. Natalie needed to show an interest in something social, and a big get-together at the SpringHill was an event she previously would’ve loved. The only thing better than having lots of friends around was being the center of everyone’s attention.

  Her birthday is her favorite holiday. And she has more people over for those stupid candle and makeup parties. I don’t get it.

  After her fit had resulted in him popping the pins from the bathroom door to get to her, her reaction made more sense. He was irked by having to cancel his carefully constructed and non-refundable arrangements, but that she was so upset over wanting to be perfect for him wrenched his heart. It reminded him of how she used to be.

  Robert hadn’t needed Zuniga’s insight to solve that incident, but she’d given him the needed reassurance regarding Natalie’s next stunt.

  “So how did this week go?” The doctor had crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. “Were you able to make any headway in arranging a smaller social setting?”

  “I was. She finally agreed to go over to Shelly’s house.”

  “That’s wonderful to hear.”

  “Well, yes and no.” Robert relaxed into her office couch and removed his glasses. He felt his left cheek flinch as he cleaned the lenses. “You should’ve seen what she was wearing.”

  Two days ago he’d done a double take when Natalie marched out the door in a grubby sweatshirt and jeans. Had she forgotten to look in the mirror?

  “Are you sure you want to wear that, hon?” Robert had asked. “Won’t you and Shelly probably go out shopping or to lunch?”

  “I’m not staying that long.”

  He’d laughed. “Sure you will. I’ll come home at seven and you’ll still be over there.” He unlocked the car, but remained blocking the passenger door. “Which is fine. You can go downtown and get one of those kiwi pickle seaweed face things you like.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll probably be an hour. Maybe.”

  Natalie had approached the car, and he inspected her from head to toe. She’d tied her golden hair in a ratty ponytail. Her face was clean, but it was bland without anything on it. And those clothes … was that a paint stain on the sweatshirt? The ends of the jeans were ragged and threads trailed off the back.

  “Nat, are you sure you don’t want to change your clothes?”

  “I like these. They’re comfortable.”

  “Where did you get them? I don’t remember buying those for you.”

  “I found them in her dresser. My dresser.”

  It had happened once or twice that she’d referred to herself in the third person, but Robert didn’t think much of it. How many times did he call himself “Dad” when talking to Simon? “Dad’s going outside.” “Don’t use those papers, those are Dad’s.”

  Robert had sighed and stepped away from the car door. “Okay, but if you do decide to go out, have Shelly drop you by the apartment to change, or borrow something of hers.”

  You could run into anyone downtown.

  When he’d gone to see Dr. Zuniga, she’d picked up a manila folder. Flipping back a page, she skimmed over some writing before shutting the cover. “And did she keep to that timetable? I remember you saying how close she is to Shelly.”

  “When I got home from work, she’d been there as if she’d never left.”

  “Still the same clothes?”

  “Nothing about her changed. She was still wearing that ugly sweatshirt.”

  “Do you think maybe they had a disagreement? Perhaps that’s why she came home early and they didn’t go shopping?”

  Despite the worrisome situation, Robert smiled. It was a relief to have someone think the same way he did. With how Natalie was acting, he occasionally second-guessed his thought patterns. But he couldn’t be irrational if the psychiatrist drew the same conclusions.

  “I considered that. But I’ve been checking her cell phone and they can’t be fighting for Shelly to call as much as she does. She’s calling at least three times a day.”

  “You’re going through Natalie’s phone without her knowledge?”

  “Yes.” He slid his glasses on and studied the doctor. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, it’s your right as conservator to monitor her communication, it’s your duty as husband to protect your family. How can you do that without transparency?”

  That’s right. I can’t be sure everything is okay unless I know everything.

  “And as for the clothing, it’s fantastic that you’re not only positively cheering her on, but being so understanding of the situation,” Zuniga continued. “But these things take time, Robert. Natalie is still readjusting.”

  Robert watched as the psychiatrist opened the lid of her laptop. She talked to him as she typed.

  “What I’m going to do is update her medication slightly. We’ll try something different to ease the anxiety and help her build more confidence.”

  Good, yes. Something different.

  *

  It helped Robert to have Dr. Zuniga as a sounding board, but the good doctor never lost sight of the main purpose for their sessions: Natalie’s welfare. Her first question at their next meeting was straight to the point. “How have things been since we removed the Haloperidol?”

  “Better,” Robert said, although he hated lying to anyone. He sunk into her couch and returned her smile, trying his best to hide the reality.

  “Robert.” She pulled
her glasses down an inch. “I can’t help you or Natalie if you’re not truthful with me.”

  “I mean, at first it was better. There was an incident earlier in the week before I picked up the new prescription.”

  “Do you want to tell me about that?”

  Part of him did and part of him didn’t. Was it really a good idea to describe how Natalie had locked Simon out of the bathroom for three hours?

  Robert remembered how he’d come home and Simon had been on the ground, hugging his knees. It was as if he hadn’t heard the front door unlock. He sat there, the sticky blood from the ends of his broken fingernails staining his pants.

  What about the dead hamster? The care you took in explaining that his pet was dead, and then pulling him into bed with you? Comforting him. Assuring him that everything would be all right. Robert had folded his arms around their son and the boy had just continued to rock, not even acknowledging his presence. What did you do in there for three hours? Plug your ears while he screamed and tried to get to you? He’s just a traumatized little boy.

  But was there any merit in revealing to the doctor such a substantial, disturbing shortcoming in Natalie’s recent mothering skills?

  “No. It happened on the Haldol anyway.” Robert shrugged. “Since she’s started the updated medication I’ve noticed a difference.”

  “A positive difference?”

  “Well, the pacing stopped.”

  “That’s good, I know it was irritating you.” Dr. Zuniga scribbled down a note.

  “I don’t understand anxiousness. It’s a waste of time and energy.”

  The psychiatrist nodded. “Any other effects?”

  “She’s tired a lot. Sometimes she seems barely awake and she misplaces things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I found her cell phone in the freezer and a box of cereal in Simon’s sock drawer. Little things which really aren’t a big deal. And her hands tremble sometimes. None of her other behaviors have stopped. She still won’t do her hair or makeup.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “You know what occurred to me yesterday? My wife is gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. But when I came home from work and saw her in that baggy sweatshirt, I didn’t see Natalie. I saw my overweight high school gym instructor.”