Since September

by Noelle MacLeod

  “What frightens you about being here?” I could hear her pen moving across the paper.

  “Never getting to go home again.” I dug at my arm, intent on finding the source of the itch. It was just so deep I couldn’t pinpoint it.

  “Do you remember your mother’s funeral?”

  “It was just the other day.”

  “Tell me what happened that day.”

  “I got upset.” The itch crawled up my arm to my shoulder.

  “Um hmm,” Dr. Jain uttered. “What else?”

  “They put her in the ground. In that big hole.” I told her, my voice cracking a little as images of Mother’s coffin flooded my mind. “I didn’t want them to do that.” I opened my eyes and looked down to see that my whole left arm was covered in bright red streaks from my fingernails.

  “And do you remember what happened?”

  Tears sprang unexpectedly from my eyes, and, just as suddenly, the intense itching stopped. I blinked and a fat tear rolled down my cheek.

  “I ran to her,” I said.

  “What else?” Dr. Jain nonchalantly handed me the box of tissues that sat on the corner of her desk. I wondered how many people had sat in this very chair and cried.

  “It was fast,” I told her, pulling a tissue from the box and dabbing at my eyes. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of her being down there alone.” I cleared my throat.

  “Okay dear,” Dr. Jain whispered, making another note on her pad. “I’m going to keep you on the anti-seizure med, for now. And I’m adding Lexapro.”

  “Lexapro?”

  “It’s an anti-depressant. It will help with your grief and anxiety.” She stood and walked to the door, her bangles clanking together as she swung her arms. “You’ve been through a traumatic event, hearing the news about your mother.” Her hand was on the doorknob. “Sometimes we just need time to process things.” A twist of her wrist and the door opened. She’d made me cry and now she was ready to shoo me out the door. “If you have trouble sleeping, let one of the nurses know and they’ll give you something.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and walked back to the Day Room, a little dazed. No one was there except Nurse Crystal and Bonnie. They were playing a game of cards and drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups. “Where is everyone?”

  “Oh, Sheridan,” Crystal said. “They just left for group. If you hurry you can catch them before they get started.”

  “Do I have to go?” I was still teary-eyed from my meeting with Dr. Jain and just wanted to be left alone.

  “Absolutely!” She checked her watch and then looked at the big wall clock above the schedule board. “Everyone has to go to group. It’s part of the process.”

  Bonnie smiled at me. “The girls are right down the hall to the double doors,” she said, pointing. “The last door on the right.”

  “Scoot now, Sheridan,” Nurse Crystal scolded. “Ms. Jenkins doesn’t like stragglers.” She waved me off with a flick of her wrist.

  I found the room and was relieved to see that Ms. Jenkins, the counselor, hadn’t yet arrived. The chairs were arranged in a semi-circle with a chalkboard and desk against one wall. I took a seat between Hilda and a striking raven-haired girl about my age. I had never seen her before. Her hair was long and straight and shiny.

  “Hey!” Hilda greeted me, smiling in all her brownness. “How’d it go with the shrink?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “I gotta see her tomorrow.” She made a face.

  “Sshh!” Daisy hushed us. She was at the door, a finger to her lips. “Here she comes.” She ran to her chair, losing several bottles of lotions along the way and sprinting back to retrieve them, finally getting seated just as a tall, middle-aged woman in an expensive beige suit walked into the room. She closed the door and set her brown leather bag on top of the desk.

  “Hello, ladies,” she said, scanning the room. “I see a few new faces this week, so for those who don’t know, I’m Ms. Jenkins, your counselor.”

  “Hi, Ms. Jenkins!” Daisy called out.

  “Hello, Daisy,” Ms. Jenkins smiled warmly at her and then turned her gaze in my direction. “I see our three newcomers have conveniently situated themselves together, so why don’t you tell us your names.” She pointed at Hilda. “You first, dear.”

  “I’m Hilda and this is Sheridan,” my new roommate told her, pointing at me with her thumb.

  “Can Sheridan speak?”

  “Well, yeah.” Hilda giggled nervously. “Of course she can.”

  “Then why don’t we let her speak for herself?” Hilda bowed her head, her face reddening just a little.

  “I’m Sheridan,” I said.

  “Thank you, Sheridan. That’s a beautiful name.”

  “It was my mother’s maiden name. She wanted to keep it in the family.” Ms. Jenkins smiled again and nodded at the raven-haired girl.

  “And you?”

  “Angie,” the new girl told her. “My name’s Angie.” Her voice was like brushed velvet.

  “Wonderful!” Ms. Jenkins clapped her hands together. “Let’s get started.” She put her hands on her hips and paced back and forth across the opening of our semi-circle of plastic orange chairs. “Who wants to go first?” She looked around the room. “Who has something they’d like to share today?” Wild Rose’s hand shot up in the air. Her hair was particularly untamed today, the curls going every which way. “Yes? Rose?” Ms. Jenkins moved towards her, smiling big and wide.

  Rose lowered her hand and looked Ms. Jenkins right in the eyes. “I’m horny,” she said matter-of-factly. Ms. Jenkins’ eyes grew big and round, her jaw fell slack. “I’ve been here so God damned long that even ole yellow-toothed Mark is starting to look good.” Next to me, Hilda stifled a laugh.

  Ms. Jenkins regained her composure and clasped her hands behind her back. “Rose,” she said. “You know very well that’s not the kind of thing I was asking you to share with the group.”

  “Oh, come on!” wailed Rose. “It’s been a month!”

  “You see your husband every Sunday.” Ms. Jenkins moved away from Rose and began pacing again, back and forth in front of us in her three-inch heels. “Now, who has something to share that we can discuss as a group?”

  “Yeah, I see him every Sunday,” Rose wasn’t letting it go. “In a room filled with other patients and their visitors, and the staff watching us all like hawks.” “I wanna fuck him!” I heard Marge gasp. Hilda and several of the others giggled.

  “Rose!” Scolded Ms. Jenkins. She spun around on her heels to face Rose again. “Watch your language.”

  “Well even prisoners get conjugal visits.” Rose pouted, folding her arms across her chest.

  “That is quite enough.” Ms. Jenkins walked to the desk at the front of the room and perched herself on the corner, legs crossed, skirt hiked up just a little too high, one dark brown crocodile pump dangling from her toes. “Let’s move on,” She demanded. Nobody said a word. “Sooner or later you’re all going to have to talk about whatever it is that brought you here.” Surveying the small group of mental patients before her, Ms. Jenkins finally settled her gaze on the new girl next to me. “Angie,” she coaxed. “Why don’t you tell us how you got that scar?” There was another gasp from Marge. I turned to look at Angie. I hadn’t noticed any scars. She was beautiful. Breathtaking. Even without makeup.

  Angie stood and turned to face the group, pulling her long, silky hair back and holding it in a pile on top of her head. A bright red ring went halfway around her neck. Marge gasped again, as did several others. “It’s the second time I tried to do this,” Angie said, her delicate voice barely audible.

  “Why?” Daisy asked the question nobody else would dare.

  “Why not?” Angie let her raven hair fall, hiding most of what now none of us would ever forget seeing, and took her seat.

  “But you’re gorgeous!” cried Marge. “I’d kill to look like you!”

  “Correction,” stated Daisy. “She was gorgeous. Now she’s got that
ugly scar on her neck.”

  “How could you do that to yourself?” Marge was incredulous, almost angry. “Beautiful women like you can have anything they want. Look at Marilyn Monroe. Same thing. I don’t get it. I’d do anything to look like those women and for them it’s not enough.” She raised her voice. “It’s not fair!” Angie turned to Marge.

  “You think my life was easy just because I looked good?” She snorted. “You have no idea.”

  “Tell us,” Ms. Jenkins prodded. She was still perched on the edge of the desk, arms folded across her chest, a slight smile on her lips. She was obviously pleased with herself for having generated such an emotionally charged discussion. “Tell us what made you try to kill yourself, Angie.”

  “I’d rather not.” Angie turned back around in her chair and looked at Ms. Jenkins, her eyes pleading.

  “No, please,” Marge said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell us how bad your life was with your perfect teeth and your perfect skin and your knockout body and shiny hair.” She fiddled with her shirt, pulling it down to cover her belly. “What are you, like twenty? How bad could life be?” Finally Angie had enough. She stood again, facing Marge, fire in her eyes.

  “My step dad’s been fucking me since I was sixteen,” she began. “When I got pregnant, he told my mom what a whore I was to let the boys at school have their way with me and she kicked me out of the house. After a few months of living on the streets, taking sponge baths in the bathroom at the mall, and eating whatever bits of food I could find or steal, I miscarried.” Marge covered her mouth with her hands, tears welling in her steel blue eyes. Angie turned to Ms. Jenkins.

  “Are you happy now?” she asked and walked out of the room.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “When I get my fifty thousand, he’s not getting a dime!” Daisy shouted. She was adamant that the new guy who’d arrived sometime in the night was there to steal from her. “I remember everybody,” she went on. “And we don’t even have a Ron in our family.” She pointed to her gray head of hair. “I have a translucent memory!”

  “Translucent?” Wild Rose scoffed. She’d been pacing back and forth nervously, hugging her notebook to her chest, for about half an hour. “You don’t have a translucent memory. You don’t even know what translucent means!” She threw her head back and laughed.

  “I do! I do, too!” shouted Daisy, her face red with fury. “And I know what they’re up to, Nurse Crystal and her Gremlins!” Spit flew from her mouth.

  In the corner by the door to the smoking room sat the new guy, Ron. He’d kept his head bowed and his hands clasped together on his lap the entire time Daisy was ranting and raving about how he was only there to get her money. Ron was a big football player type with a buzz cut. Cyndi always said guys with buzz cuts were the best clients. They needed frequent trims and it took less than ten minutes to get them out the door. Plus they tended to be good tippers.

  “Jesus,” whispered Hilda. “What’s her deal, anyway?” She, Mark and I had been sitting at our usual table doing crossword puzzles.

  “This is the Looney Bin, my dear,” Mark said, keeping his voice low. I took a sip of my warm, blue Kool-Aid, wishing there was something else to drink instead. Anything else to drink.

  “You really think she’s crazy?” I asked. “I mean… really crazy?” Hilda looked up from her puzzle and nodded in Daisy’s direction.

  “If that’s not crazy,” she whispered. “I don’t know what the fuck is.”

  “All I know is she’s been here every time I’ve been here,” Mark said. “Now, you might think that makes me just as fucked in the head as she is. But I ain’t crazy. I just have some shit I need to work through, just like the two of you.” He looked us both in the eyes, Hilda first, then me. “But Miss Daisy here?” He lowered his voice even more so that we had to lean in to hear him. “They don’t call her Crazy Daisy for nothing.”

  “That poor guy,” I whispered, nodding in Ron’s direction. Daisy was standing directly in front of his chair, arms folded across her chest.

  “I don’t care who sent you here,” she said. “You’re not getting a dime!” Ron continued to sit with his hands folded in his lap, head down, avoiding eye contact with her. Mark beckoned for us to lean in even closer.

  “He showed up here around three A.M.,” he told us, his voice so low it was hard to hear. “They put him in the bed next to me.” Mark cleared his throat. “He shot his belly full of holes a few weeks ago.”

  “Jesus,” Hilda whispered. She shivered and leaned back in her chair.

  The meds nurse came into the room then, pushing her cart full of tiny paper cups with various combinations of pills in them, all lined up in neat little rows.

  “Daisy, darling,” she called. Daisy turned towards her. “Time for your meds.” She held up one of the tiny paper cups, shaking it gently so that the pills sounded like a bag of cat treats. Daisy instantly forgot her rant and skipped over to the cart, reaching for the little paper cup.

  Shake it, and they will come.

  “Hold on, now, Daisy. You know the drill.” The nurse pulled the cups back out of Daisy’s reach. The “drill” was a series of questions we all had to answer before receiving our medication. Things like, do you have any new symptoms? Side effects? Concerns? How have you felt today? Daisy answered each one impatiently, frustrated with the process. Finally the nurse got to the last question. “Do you hear voices or see things that aren’t there?”

  “Of course not!” Daisy bellowed. “I’d tell you if I did!” The nurse handed Daisy the cup of pills and another of water. She swallowed them eagerly, and then opened her mouth and lifted her tongue to show they were gone. We all had to do that, to make sure we weren’t squirreling pills away.

  “Okay,” the nurse told her. “You’re good to go.”

  “Thank God,” Mark said. Now maybe the wack job will settle down and take a fucking nap in her chair before dinner time.” Daisy’s meds always made her drowsy. The nurse looked down at her list of names to see who was next.

  “Rose!” she called. The process went on, each of us being called alphabetically according to our last names. Since my last name was St. John I was near the end of the list. I sat, watching each of my fellow head cases take their poison, one by one, each of them answering ‘no’ to the question about hearing voices or seeing things that weren’t really there. I thought about that for a while. How would anybody know that what they saw or heard wasn’t real unless someone else was there to dispute it? I mean, how could Daisy not be seeing or hearing things? She thought one of the nurses was a girl whose diapers she used to change, and that she was working with Gremlins. And she thought the new patient was out to get his hands on her non-existent money.

  And me. What about the woman with the raspy voice? I knew she was real, but I couldn’t prove it. Nobody else had heard her, but that just meant she was only interested in communicating with me, not them. Just because I couldn’t see her didn’t mean she wasn’t real. And so, when the meds nurse got to the question about whether or not I heard voices or saw things that weren’t there, I answered ‘no’.

  Just like Crazy Daisy.

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Finally, it was Sunday. Visiting day. Today I would see my Cyndi. Maybe my father, too. They would bring me some of my clothes, my hairbrush, hold me close and tell me everything was going to be okay, that I would be going home soon. Cyndi might even sneak in some chocolate or cookies. I’d been too excited to eat breakfast or lunch and now my stomach growled in anticipation.

  Wild Rose had been milling around nervously all day. Her husband had promised her that if she was better, he’d let her go home. She hadn’t seen her kids in a month because her husband wouldn’t bring them to “a place like that.” She said that he told her it was bad enough they had to see their mother that way, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let them see a bunch of strangers acting crazy, too.

  “What if he doesn�
�t think I’m well enough yet?” Rose was wringing her hands, a worried puppy dog look in her dark blue eyes. “I miss my kids.” Bonnie pulled Rose close and hugged her for a long time.

  “Today’s gonna be a good day,” she said. “Okay? Keep telling yourself that. Today’s gonna be a good day for you.” I didn’t see how Bonnie could know that. I’d been there a week and I hadn’t noticed any change in Rose at all. She still paced. She still carried that pen and pad everywhere she went. She still walked around after meals searching for leftover food, collecting it like she was hoarding it away for a long, cold winter. When she spoke she said whatever popped into her head, and she spoke quickly, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

  “Say it,” Bonnie instructed, pulling back from the embrace and placing her hands sternly on Rose’s shoulders.

  “A good day,” Rose said, smiling. “It’s already started, too. I hadn’t had a bowel movement in seven days and then last night they gave me something and it worked!” She was overcome with excitement, barely able to contain herself, hopping from one foot to the other and back again.

  “See?” Bonnie laughed. “I told you it would be a good day!”

  “Yeah,” Rose continued, “but now that I’ve started I can’t stop!” It was more than I needed to know, but when you threw a bunch of people into a room for hours and hours every day, they learned all kinds of things about each other.

  “You’ll be fine,” Bonnie assured her, looking at the big wall clock. “He’ll see how much better you are.” I wasn’t so sure. “Okay, people!” Bonnie called out to the room, dropping her hands from Rose’s shoulders. “It’s two o’clock and I’ve got this week’s list!” She waved a piece of paper around in the air. “If I call your name, line up by the door.”

  My name was called along with Rose, Hilda, and a bunch of the others. Bonnie led us down a long corridor to the cafeteria, where only those of us who’d been there a certain amount of time were allowed to eat their meals. Sometimes they’d sneak extra food back to the Day Room for the rest of us. Apples, bananas, muffins, whatever would fit in their pockets.