Admissions

by Jennifer Sowle

  Estee shifts in her seat and scratches her arms, then jabs her hands under her thighs, and rocks back and forth. “The itching . . .”

  “Can they give you anything for it?”

  The kitchen workers set trays on the table.

  “Why is the meat always gray?” Heidi pokes her meatloaf.

  “Don’t start. I’m trying to pretend it’s Mom’s,” I say.

  “I make a good meatloaf myself,” Autumn says. “Estee, can I open your milk?”

  Estee rocks on her chair as if she doesn’t hear her. Autumn presses back the sides of the carton top and squeezes until a spout pops out. She hands the carton to Estee.

  “Potatoes are fake.” Heidi slides a tan lump from her fork. “Beans are mushy.”

  “Just eat for God’s sake, Heidi.”

  “Eat your food, Estee.” Autumn hands Estee her fork.

  “I’m itchy. Can’t …”

  “Jeez, Estee. Sit still.” Heidi uses her finger to push the beans onto her spoon. “Can’t she sit still?”

  “No. She’s miserable. And stop talking about her like she’s not here.”

  “Is she?” Heidi asks.

  “Is she what?”

  “Is she here?”

  “Fuck you,” Estee mutters.

  Chapter 15

  I huddle in the courtyard with the rest, over six hundred men, women, and children evacuating Building 50 in the worst blizzard of the winter, eighteen inches of new snow, winds howling off the frozen bay.

  Autumn shouts directly into my ear. “Where’s the fire?”

  “It must be here in Building 50,” I holler. Sirens cut the night. The attendants yell directions above the wind. I look around—all these crazy people out in a blizzard. No wonder there is no tap and count as we leave the building. Now attendants mill through the crowd, counting, sticking adhesive tape on each patient’s forehead as they cut us from the group. “Lift your face.” An attendant slaps the tape against my forehead. When the last patient is marked and released into the counted, I hear the attendant screaming at the top of her voice.

  “Nurse Reinbold, I think we have one missing.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “Find out.” She leans close to the attendant, shouts into her ear. “Where is the fire?”

  “It’s definitely in 50. I saw flames over the patients’ library. Men’s wing, I think.”

  I push through the crowd. Patients scream and wave their arms. Attendants wrestle to turn the faces of the patients, identify them. I hear one of the nurses yell, shake Nurse Judy’s arm. “How long can we last out here?” She pulls her cardigan shut over the front of her thin uniform. “Some of the patients are in slippers or just socks. We’ll freeze to death.”

  “Where’s Estee?” I shout to Isabel. She shrugs and frantically swings her head around, searching the crowd.

  “I thought she was right behind me,” Beth cries.

  I motion to an attendant. I yell, “We know who the missing patient is.”

  The attendant takes the news to Nurse Reinbold. “The lost patient is Estee Weisman.”

  I duck as an explosion shakes the ground, flames shoot up from the library roof. Patients standing in the courtyard scream and wail. Fire trucks round the corner of Cottage 21. As they pull up, shiny black figures spill from the doors like ants, shouting orders, running to their posts.

  “We need more manpower, more hookups.”

  “Willy, grab any extra coats or blankets we got. These women are half naked.”

  “There’s a patient missing. Ground floor, Hall 9.”

  “One missing.”

  “Del, we got at least one rescue. First floor.”

  “Get the squad in there.”

  “Any missing? Any missing? Any missing?”

  “Another one, second floor, back.”

  “Any missing, any missing?”

  “We need more men, more equipment.”

  “All we got are volunteers, Benzie, Antrim and Leelanau counties, that’s it.”

  “Get ‘em here. Call the station. Tell them to put out a 410.”

  “Storm’s pretty bad.”

  “Get ‘em here! We don’t have room for no pussies. Get the damn help. Now.”

  “Jack, where’s the rescue team?”

  “We got three men in the north wing.”

  “Start them pumps.”

  “Start pumpin’, for Christ sakes, get them pumps started!”

  Nurse Judy puts her arm around my shoulder.

  “Luanne, when did you last see Estee?” I try to tell her we were all sitting in our place by the window when the alarm sounded. I thought we went down the stairs together. It’s hard for her to hear me above the voices of the firemen and the screams of the patients. A man runs up to her. He brings his face close to hers.

  “Judy, are you okay?”

  “Carl! Thank God.”

  He grabs her forearms. “We got people coming from all over the hospital, bringing coats and blankets.” He looks out over the group. “Some of these ladies don’t have shoes, and them thin smocks…” He wraps a blanket around Nurse Judy’s shoulders, briskly rubs her back. “Your uniform is like tissue paper.” He shouts to another attendant, “Joe, where are them blankets?”

  “Plows and trucks can’t get through. Fire trucks got the roads blocked. I just got word we’re evacuating this group north to Cottage 21.”

  “On foot?” Carl asks.

  “Only way to do it,” Joe says. “We can’t wait—these gals won’t last much longer out here. With the spray coming off the hoses, they’ll turn into icicles.”

  “Carl, can you lead the evacuation?” Judy says. “I need to stay here and see if they’ve found the missing patients. Luanne, this is my husband, Carl. He’ll lead you all over to 21.”

  Carl takes me by the arm and waves goodbye to his wife as we struggle through the deep snow in the courtyard. He instructs the patients to line up by twos. We follow orders, clutching warm clothing around us. Carl motions the line through the iron gate of the courtyard, away from the back of the building.

  “Okay, ladies. Start walking. Hold the hand of the lady next to you. Walk quickly, but do not run.”

  As the line clears the rear wall of Hall 19, I see the fire running along the attic, the entire length of the south wing. I come to a dead stop. The patients behind me trip over my heels. My knees buckle, and I fall into the deep snow.

  “Lady, what’s wrong. Keep moving,” Carl pulls me up by the waist. I put my arm around his neck and point up. “Look!”

  Silhouettes of men set against a glowing background fill the second floor windows. Their arms are raised. I can’t see their faces, but I can imagine them.

  Chapter 16

  When I wake up the next morning, I rise up on my elbow, scan the cots set up in the halls of Cottage 21. Drugged, most of the refugees still snore. I think I spot Beth asleep a few rows down.

  “Beth, are you awake?”

  “I am now,” she says. She blinks her eyes. “I thought I might be having a nightmare. I guess we’re really here.”

  “I’m going to find the others, see what’s going on.” I weave through the cots toward the dayroom. Autumn is asleep near the nurses’ station. Women are gathered in the dayroom waiting for breakfast. Isabel sits on the floor, dragging on a cigarette. She’s talking to Estee.

  “Estee, you’re here!” I hug her around the neck, practically sit in her lap.

  “Yeah,” Estee croaks.

  “Where were you? Where did you go?” I glance over at Isabel. She shrugs her shoulders.

  “I had to be saved, Luanne. I met the test. God sent angels.” Estee stands up, speaks as if she were giving a sermon, hands punctuating her story. “The siren blared. I’m coming, I said. I moved toward the sound, the empty halls wispy with smoke. I was terrified, and I yelled, Lord, why have you forsaken me? Tears streamed down my face. Smoke snuck under the doors, burned my eyes. I heard
the voices of the damned screaming from below.

  “Then I ran, my arms straight out, toward the double doors. They flew back on their hinges as I hit them hard with the palms of my hands. Smoke billowed in from the hall. I staggered back, wiped my eyes, stumbled through the entryway, found the wall, pressed my body against it, slid along slowly. There had to be a way out, a way up. Hell was not far below, I could sense it, feel the heat. I took it slow, one hand pressing the plaster, the other flailing in front of me.

  “I couldn’t see, so I reached for the hem of my state-issue, wiped away the tears and soot. I kept blinking. Then I saw it, a red eye glowing through the smoky haze. Terror gripped my chest, my heart pounded like a piston. Be gone, Satan. I cast you out in the name of God Almighty. Cast ye down, demon. I yelled as loud as I could. I wanted to run, hide, but I knew I must meet the challenge. God was testing me. I had been chosen, Luanne.

  “It took all the faith and courage I had, but I moved forward, toward the glowing eye. I remember blinking and blinking, my eyes burned. The smoke coated my tongue, I swallowed, coughed. I cast ye down. I screamed out the words, and each tiny step moved me closer to the demon. I would face it, stare it down. Then I made a cross with my arms as I slid along the wall. I could feel God with me.

  “Suddenly, the red eye expanded, transformed itself. It glowed its message of salvation—EXIT. Thank you, Lord. Thank you. I laughed with joy and fell to my knees in prayer. Then I heard his voice, ‘I am with you now, Estee.’ I stood under the EXIT sign. My hand touched the doorjamb, then the knob. I turned it. The door opened, revealing a staircase, steps ascending up.”

  Estee drags me down next to her, as she kneels on the floor of the dayroom. “Thank you for showing me the way, Lord. I am so alone.”

  She’s a tough act to follow. All I can say is “Ah, okay.”

  “I am blessed now. Lord, please save my sister, Luanne. She’s pure of heart, Lord.” Estee’s voice raises as she rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. She takes my hands, squeezes them tightly. “It is God’s will. Fire and brimstone, Luanne.”

  As soon as the Observer comes out, I run to the nurses’ station and grab a copy, rush to the dayroom with it.

  THE OBSERVER

  Traverse City State Hospital. The paper by and for patients and staff

  April 4, 1969

  SEVENTY-SIX SOULS LOST IN FIRE

  Reports were released this week from the Traverse City Fire Department. The March 26th fire at the State Hospital claimed the lives of seventy-five patients, seventy-three from Ward 20, Men’s Wing, and three patients from Hall 12 and Hall 16, all in Building 50. One staff member, Nurse Supervisor, Judith A. Reinbold, also perished in the fire.

  THE OBSERVER

  April 4, 1969

  Page 3

  CAUSE OF FIRE UNDER INVESTIGATION

  Chief Barry Mead, Traverse City Fire Department, fought the fire, March 26 in Building 50. The fire fighting effort lasted two full days with the help of firefighters from five counties. Crews from as far away as Cadillac battled the blaze. Chief Mead indicated that the cause of the fire has not yet been determined, but it appears that a cigarette may have ignited the curtains on the second floor of the men’s wing.

  “Is that a picture of Nurse Judy and her husband?” Autumn asks.

  “Yes, at the last Christmas Party.” I wince at the sight of Nurse Judy with her husband. They look so happy.

  “Hey. Remember when I told you I thought the attendant was my dad when I first came in? Well, here he is right here.” I point out Carl in the paper. “Nurse Judy’s husband, Carl Reinbold.”

  Isabel scans the paper. “They don’t say a word about the faulty elevator.”

  “Here’s an article by Father Fred, God’s Divine Plan.”

  “God’s will be done,” Estee says.

  “Here’s the names of the victims.” We lean in to read down the list.

  “Creepy,” Heidi says.

  Estee closes her eyes, bows her head. “You don’t have to worry about them. I talked to the victims. They told me they’re happier in heaven than they ever were at the hospital.”

  Chapter 17

  The announcement scratches and crackles from the wall speaker. “Patient Luanne Kilpi to the nurses’ station.”

  “Now what?” Being summoned, plucked from the safety of my circle of friends, jolts me. I feel a surge of anxiety.

  “You better go,” Heidi says, her fake brows knitted with worry.

  “Jeez, what?” I push back my chair, step over Estee’s legs, walk slowly toward the nurses’ station.

  “Luanne, your visitors are here. An attendant will escort you to the visitors’ room,” the nurse supervisor says.

  “Visitors? I …nobody told me …who?”

  The nurse checks her paperwork. “The order says three approved visitors, that’s all it says.”

  I feel dizzy, disoriented. Life in the hospital is so routine, the only surprises are bad ones. My mind ticks like a roulette wheel, tries to match the message with its meaning. “I’m not ready.” As I glance back at my friends, I long to be back in the circle, a little girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts.

  “Are you declining the visit?”

  “No, no …of course not …ah …”

  “Do you need a few minutes to get ready?”

  “Um …yeah …hold on.” I take a deep breath and hurry to the safety of my friends.

  “I’m getting …I have visitors.”

  “That’s great!” Heidi says. “Jeff?”

  “Three. My mom and sister, probably. This sounds stupid, but I’m scared. I don’t want to go.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Autumn says.

  “Christ, I look like a tramp.” I pull at the sides of my baggy sweat pants.

  “Here, let me smooth your hair, tuck it behind your ears.” Isabel stands and circles me, primping. “Autumn, take off your shirt and give it to Luanne.”

  Autumn starts unbuttoning her blouse, holds it out to me and then slips my ratty t-shirt over her head.

  “Beth, your stretch pants,” Isabel says.

  “I …I don’t feel comfortable taking off my pants.”

  “Here, sit down, slip them off. Luanne, give Beth your sweatpants. We won’t look.” Isabel turns her back.

  “Thanks.” I button and smooth the cotton print shirt, adjust the black pants around my waist. “Good?”

  “You look great,” Beth says.

  “Good luck,” Estee adds.

  Jeff, Molly, and Mom are lined up on straight-back chairs against the north wall, away from the other patients and visitors. They stand up in unison when I come through the doorway as if somebody pulled a lever under their seats.

  Mom steps forward, gives me a hug. “We were so worried. Thank God you’re okay.” Jeff hugs me next, then my sister Molly.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I can feel my knees shaking.

  Jeff pulls a chair over, and motions for me to sit down. They scoot their chairs into a tight circle.

  “First we heard about the fire, then they said no visitors for two weeks.” Mom dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “My God, you’re so thin and pale.”

  “I called right away. They said you were not on the list of injured or …passed away.” Jeff reaches for my hand, squeezes it.

  “The other section is all burned,” Molly says. “Did you know anybody who got hurt …or …died?”

  “Yes. Nurse Judy. Remember her, Jeff?”

  “The one who helped us when I visited?”

  “She died in the fire.”

  “Gee, that’s too bad.” Jeff leans forward and rubs his palms together.

  “The day I came in, an attendant reminded me so much of Dad. It helped make things easier. Then again, he helped me during the evacuation. I just found out he was Nurse Judy’s husband. They were such a nice old couple.”

  “Man, you’re skinny! Maybe I should spend a few weeks here,” Molly says.

  “I don’t recommend it as a
weight loss program.” I manage a weak smile.

  Mom flashes a look over her shoulder, leans forward in her chair toward me. “These people are …ummm …really mental, aren’t they? I mean …look at that one over there.”

  “Mom!” Molly says.

  “What are they doing here to help you?” Mom asks.

  “I see the doctor a few times a week for therapy, I go to group. They reduced my medication twice already. I’m getting better.”

  “Is your memory coming back?” Jeff asks.

  “Bits and pieces.”

  “Do you need to remember everything to get out of here?” Mom asks.

  “I don’t think so. My doctor said it could take a long time. Or it might never come back. Not fully.”

  “You might never remember that morning?” Jeff asks.

  “What morning?”

  “The morning Alexander …when we found him.”

  “No. We’re going to have to work on that. Right now, we’re trying to piece together the night I almost drowned. I don’t remember that either.”

  “Did they say how long you’ll be here?” Molly asks.

  “Dr. Murray thinks another six to nine months.”

  “That long?”

  “That’s what she said.” I feel myself leaving, floating up toward the ceiling. What do they expect? I’m a patient in a mental hospital, no different than the woman Mom pointed at. Do they expect an instant cure, a few zaps of electro maybe? I feel ashamed, grotesque.

  “How’s school?” I turn toward Molly. I can see myself mouthing the words, smiling. But I’m not there.

  Molly starts talking, rattles on—who’s going steady with who, the lucky girls who’ve been asked to prom already, what trouble her classmates are in, details of the last basketball game. Mom adds news about the family, church, and the local gossip. Between the two of them, they keep the awkward silences at bay.

  “Our time’s almost up. I’d like to spend a couple of minutes alone with Luanne.”

  “Oh, sure, Jeff. Of course.” Mom jumps to her feet, Molly behind her. “We’ll see you again soon.” They hurry past the other patients and visitors, eyes riveted on the door.