by N. K. Smith
“Schizophrenia.”
All I know about mental illness is what I’ve seen in movies or read in novels, which means I don’t know much at all.
The fear of the unknown grips me in a vise so tight I feel nauseous. “Is she. . .dangerous?” I feel like an ass asking him, but I have to.
“You don’t have to do this, Saigey. We can go back to Pechimu. It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t want to meet my mom. I know it’s uncomfortable.”
He’s getting it wrong. “I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable. I want to meet her. I just need to know what I’m getting into. I don’t want to be shocked.”
Fox takes a deep breath and releases it slowly as he turns his eyes up toward the building. “No matter what I tell you, you’ll be shocked.”
“But is she—”
“Yes. She can be violent, but she’s on medication to help control it. She hasn’t acted out in a long time.”
“What does that mean? Acted out?”
He doesn’t respond right away, so I squeeze his hand.
“My dad told me that when she was still at home, she’d throw knives at the door because she thought they were getting in.”
“Who’re they?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know. Whoever poses a threat to her; the people she dreams up in her head.”
“Like the nightmare picture?” I ask, thinking about the drawn image I’d seen weeks ago in his room.
“Yeah. She also freaks out about spies and double agents.”
I thought all that paranoia and conspiracy stuff was drummed up by Hollywood and writers, but he’s telling me his mother suffers from it. “But she’s okay now?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s all relative, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“The last time she acted out, she tried to stab an orderly with a paintbrush.” He pauses. “Now she only gets crayons.”
It’s not usual for Fox to stay quiet for long, but we sit here for minutes without a word. His depressed mood is palpable, and I feel horrible because I know my toxicity has crept into him. I shouldn’t have asked all this stuff. I should’ve just visited his mother and let it happen instead of bringing up the past crap that probably takes his hopes away.
His voice halts the tense silence. “What do you get when you cross a dyslexic, an agnostic, and a schizophrenic?”
My body tightens as I cringe. I don’t want him to make a joke of his learning disability and his mother’s illness, but he does.
“A guy who is of two minds about whether there is a dog.”
It takes me a moment to work out all the parts, but when I do, I just frown at him.
“It’s a stupid joke,” he says. “Schizophrenics don’t have two minds or split personalities.”
“And dyslexics know the difference between god and dog.”
More silence then, he squeeze my hand twice before letting go. According to his expression, he’s back to being happy again. “Come on. I want you to meet my mom.”
My anxiousness doesn’t die down, but I don’t say anything else. I get the feeling he’s nervous, too. His normal cheeriness is subdued, but he’s not down like he was just a moment ago. Instead, there’s a soft confidence laced with a quiet trepidation as he holds my hand and leads me up the steps of the building.
Inside, it smells just like I thought it would. Antiseptic, dust, and soap. It’s not unpleasant, except for when I think about the smells those are masking. I don’t know what goes on in places like this, but with so many people and so many illnesses, it can’t be clean or tidy.
Fox checks us in at a security desk. We both have to show our driver’s license, and then we’re let through, but it’s not like we’re allowed to just go walking around. We have to wait in a room that’s set up to look like someone’s living room, only with way more chairs than someone would have in their home. There are magazines and toys. A television hangs on the wall and plays children’s shows. It sparks a question within me. How many kids have to come here to visit their parents?
It’s not like I didn’t get it before sitting in this waiting room, but now it strikes home how horrible it must be to have to come here just to see your mother.
I glance over at Fox just in time to see him run a light hand over his hair as if he’s perfecting it. He wants to look good for his mom. As I study him, he swallows, shifts in his seat, and darts his eyes around the room. Finally, he allows them to settle on me.
What would it be like to have to eat Christmas dinner with your mother in a place like this? How has that shaped the man before me? I reach over and take his hand, which he clasps as if I’m the only thing keeping him here. “Thanks for bringing me.”
Although he smiles, he says, “Don’t thank me yet.”
I can’t say anything in return because a nurse with short hair and callused, dried hands comes in. “Fox, it’s good to see you.”
“Hi, Etta. How is she?” he asks as he stands up.
As she leads us through corridors, Etta answers. “She’s good today. Said she might even want to take a walk with you.”
We stop outside of what looks like a recreational room. There’s only one person in there. A woman with dark, messy hair sits huddled up on the couch. Her arms are wrapped around her legs as she rocks just enough to be noticeable. That must be his mom.
“Do you think she. . .”
When Fox doesn’t finish, the nurse puts a hand on his forearm. “She knows you’re coming. She’ll remember you.”
“But will she know—”
“She called you her son just twenty minutes ago. Like I said, she’s having a good day.”
Fox turns to me. This is a completely new side to him. I’ve never seen the worry in his eyes. “Do you mind waiting out here for a minute? I just don’t want to freak her out if she’s having such a good day.”
The smile I give him is meant to be supportive, but I have no idea if that shines through. “Of course.”
It’s a relief not to go in with him. I stand to one side of a big viewing window into the room and watch as he tentatively walks near her. His arms are at his sides, the palms facing up.
What’s going through his mind right now? Is he worried she’s going to do something to embarrass him? Is he worried I won’t like his mom and judge him for her illness?
Probably not. Fox is better than that. Even if those would be my fears, I know they’re not his.
When his mother looks up at him, I move out of view from the window, afraid to let her see me just yet.
Chapter 14
Fox
“Hey, Mama,” I say as I approach her cautiously. Just because Etta said she’s doing good today doesn’t mean it can’t change in an instant.
She jumps a little at my voice, but looks up. “Fox!”
Her eyes are bright, so I let out a sigh of relief. “Hi.”
I sit down next to her. She looks like she has taken a shower within the past few days, but her hair is matted again. It’s at least a step up from where she’s been the past few months. She’d been refusing to get into the water because she was convinced the hospital was putting radioactive material in it. Before that, she was sure the government was sneaking mind control drugs into the water supply. Her theory was that it would absorb into your bloodstream via your skin. More concerning had been her refusal to drink.
The hospital had to sedate her and hydrate her with an IV.
“Can we draw today, Fox?”
I don’t want to say no because it’s been a while since she’s been interested in anything. “Of course, but Etta said you wanted to take a walk.”
My mother’s expression darkens as she pushes out her lips and narrows her eyes. “What does Etta fucking know?” She throws a look full of malice at the nurse standing by the door. “Nothing! That’s what,” she yells.
“Mama,” I say for no other reason than because I think it might mean something to her.
“Yes. I’ll walk with you, but not th
rough the trees. The parasitic worms will fall on our heads and burrow into our brains.”
I glance at the viewing window and see just the edge of Saige’s shoulder. This is probably a bad idea. I shouldn’t have brought her, but that doesn’t matter now. She’s here. I’m here, and my mother is here.
My mom holds something tight in her hands. Before I can ask, she shoves it toward me. I dodge back just in case it’s something sharp or painful but then feel stupid. She’s holding out her hairbrush.
I take it, and our hands touch. Normally she winces and cowers away when she feels skin on skin, but she doesn’t today. Maybe it is a good day for her.
“You’re so handsome. What a grown-up you’ve become. My boy!”
Heat prickles my cheeks at the compliment and tears rise up in my eyes. It’s not the time for blushing or tears, so I sidestep all the emotions I feel and say, “Thank you, Ma,” in a soft voice.
Again, something dark passes through my mother, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns around and waits for me to brush her hair. It takes forever to get the knots out, but it’s something I can do to let her know I love her.
“Did you paint anything for me? They put me in a bigger room, so I have more walls to cover.”
I already know my mother thinks too much blank wall space gives the government too much room to use x-rays to spy on her. “I didn’t know that. I’ll start another one for you. What would you like?”
“Do you remember that day we took you to the park, Foxy? Do you? You were just a tiny baby, and I held you over the grass. It tickled your feet. You didn’t want to put them down, but when you finally did, you loved it. Then the birds flew overhead and you laughed and laughed. Do you remember that?”
Of course I don’t, but she doesn’t need to be bothered with that. “I’ll paint it for you.”
When I’m finished brushing out the knots and tangles, I smooth it down. Ma turns back to me, a rarely seen smile lingering like a ghost over her features. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I see her in me. Deep down in the small dark spot I’ll never show anyone, I don’t want to look like her because that means I might end up like her. I don’t want that. I don’t want my only legacy to be pain, confusion, and destruction.
As I push her hair behind her ears, then over her shoulders, I say, “We have to look good today, Ma. I brought someone to see you.”
It’s not outright terror I see begin to shift her expression, but I can see worry, anxiety, and alarm. “It’s okay,” I say as I take her hand. She doesn’t pull it away but begins to rock back and forth. I stand up and help her to her feet. “Let’s go for a walk. I want you to meet my girlfriend.”
I can tell Ma’s a little reluctant to leave the room now that I’ve told her there’s someone new to meet, so I do my best to soothe her. “Come on, Ma, you’ll like her. She’s pretty, like you.”
Since she hasn’t seemed to mind my hand on hers, I put her arm through mine and interlace our fingers again. I’m able to get her just to the door, but she digs her heels in as soon as we’re close to Etta. “But Foxy, what about the satellites?”
I should start thinking of stuff to combat her paranoia before I’m in the moment, or I should ask Saige. She’s a writer. I bet she could come up with some excellent things to say to my mom when she starts going on about mind control. I’ve always been good at improvising, so I just shake my head like I know what I’m talking about as I say “Don’t worry about them today. I just heard on the news someone shot them down.”
This earns a look from Etta, but it calms my mom, so I don’t care. “Yeah, only the ones broadcasting television work now.”
“Who said? Who said this? Who did it?”
“The, uh, World Organization for Mind Freedom.”
Although I’m glad she accepts it, I feel like crap for lying to her like that. Her illness isn’t something to play with, but I want her to go outside with me. I want her to meet Saige.
After another minute, my mother lets me open the door and take her out into the hallway. Saige is leaning against the smudged walls, looking prettier then when I left her out here a few minutes ago. “Mama, this is Saige.”
My mother won’t look at her straight on, but I can tell she’s checking my girlfriend out through the corner of her eye. She says nothing, just stiffens when Saige says, “Hello, Mrs. Harrington.”
Mom’s head snaps up, not to Saige, but to me. “Why did she call me that? Why would she—”
“Because it’s your name. Remember?”
“No. It’s Echo Seven.”
I look to Etta, who just gives me a small, apologetic smile, then to Saige. She looks a little freaked out but not to the point of bolting. “Would you like to take a walk with us?”
Saige hesitates, but then laces her fingers with my free hand. It’s a silent walk through the building, but once we’re allowed outside, my mom makes a creepy noise. A deep, guttural howl. I look at Saige, who gives me a sympathetic smile.
I really should have thought this meet my mom thing through. Anything could happen. I’m not necessarily embarrassed by my mom, but I’m uncomfortable for Saige, and the whole fact that I’m putting my thoughts and attention on how my girlfriend feels before how my mother feels, makes me a bad son.
The campus is big, and there are plenty of activities to do, but I know my mom doesn’t exactly like it out here. She keeps looking up at the sky, but it’s not until we sit on a stone bench that she asks, “Are you sure they’re all gone? What if—”
She’s talking about the satellites again, so I cut her off. I don’t want Saige to hear that stuff. “Yeah, Ma, they’re all gone. It’s safe out here.”
“But the CIA told me years ago when they held me—”
Even though my mother is talking, I’ve got my eyes trained on Saige. She looks like she’s trying to work out one of my more complex jokes.
“Well, the CIA was wrong.” My voice is a little too harsh. Etta whips her head around to look at me.
Shame burns in me, and I bend my neck. All I can stare at is my lap. Maybe I am embarrassed of my mother. There are only so many conspiracy stories, mind control babble, and government cover-ups I can handle, and I don’t want Saige to hear them. My girlfriend might be a good person, but even the best of people would bail after witnessing my mother’s distorted mind. I mean, who wants to get involved with someone who has this in his family?
It’s not like Saige needs much of a reason to run. She almost broke up with me because of what Gage said to her; this is way more of a reason to get out now. I think she gave these earrings to me because it’s easier than telling me she doesn’t return my feelings. Saige likes me but doesn’t love me, and while the earrings are awesome and I’ve never had anything like them before, they mean next to nothing when all I want is for her to adore me like I adore her.
I’m not sure why Saige has me in this stronghold, but she doesn’t even know it. Or, if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge that she has me completely. Maybe she doesn’t know how caught I am. Maybe it’s not her who has caught me. Maybe I’m just like the little gnat flying around her, not caught, just drawn to her even though she’s trying to swat me away.
“Foxy? What if—”
“There’s no mind-control, Ma. Jesus!” I let go of Saige’s hand to dig my fingertips into my eyes.
“You’re acting very odd, son.” My mother’s voice is quiet and even, so different than usual. I look up. For a moment, I can fool myself into thinking she’s a normal mom, and she’s just concerned for me, but then she stands, yanks my hand until I’m standing, too. My feet follow hers even though I know she’s in the grip of madness.
We don’t stop until we’re under the trees. My mom drops down to the long grass and pulls me down next to her. I find myself cradled in her arms, face against her chest, her neck and chin covering the side and top of my head. “Ma?”
“Don’t worry. It’s okay now.”
“But we’re under the trees,
Ma.”
She rocks me. “But you’re safe from her. She’s a spy. She was controlling your mind, making you a different person.”
“She’s my girlfriend.”
I feel my mother’s head shake in denial. I pull away, and she takes my hands in hers. “She wants to use you for the government’s—”
“No, Mama, she’s my girlfriend,” I say again, not harsh like I was before. “And of course she’s making me a different person. Everyone you meet changes you. You’re not supposed to—”
She pulls me to her again, holding my body tight to hers as she rocks. “Shhhh. It’s okay now. I won’t let them take you like they took me. I’ll keep you safe.”
There’s not much I can say back to her, so I stay silent and let her rock me. When I close my eyes, I can pretend we’re not on the grounds of an institution. I can imagine that we’re in my room, and I’m just a little boy again. I can let myself think that my mother is just comforting me during a thunderstorm; that she’s just a regular mom.
***
Saige was quiet on the ride back to her place. I’m usually good at breaking awkward silences, but I had nothing to say, no jokes to fit the situation. Now hours after returning from the institution, I’m sitting on her couch, socked feet up on her coffee table, with her next to me. I’m lucky enough to be holding her hand, but a part of me is still terrified that seeing my mother has pushed her even farther away.
I need to paint. Or draw. Hell, even doodling would suffice, but I have no supplies here, and it’d take too much energy to get off the couch and find a pencil and some paper.
She must not be able to take my mood anymore because Saige gets up. I don’t wait for her to say anything. I stand up, too. “I should just go home. Not much fun today.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, like I said she wasn’t fun.
“Not you. Me. I can’t expect you to want to mope around with me all day.”
Saige’s laugh is bright and unexpected. “You are talking to the queen of all mopers. I can mope with the best of them. I was just getting up to put on music. I thought you might, you know, want to take your mind off everything.”