Admissions

by Jennifer Sowle

  “Just try to stay with the pain, Autumn. Don’t be afraid of it,” Dr. Murray reassures her. Autumn cries softly. I feel the horror she’s lived through. Sniffs and coughs around the group make me think others do, too.

  “I wish I could’ve killed the bastards who raped me,” Heidi says.

  “I didn’t know what I was doing,” Autumn says. “It was like I was another person or something. I hate myself for doing it. If it weren’t for the kids …”

  “You did something violent, Autumn. I understand why you did it, but that’s why you are on restriction. You’re making good progress. It won’t be long.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Murray.”

  “I’m in the same boat,” Estee says. “I can’t go out unsupervised either. But it’s because I’m on to them.”

  “Yeah?” Heidi rolls her eyes.

  “I know what’s going on.”

  “What?” Beth asks.

  “Sending radio beams to the star planets. I can see them at night through my window. They’re coming from behind the old barns.”

  “I see.”

  “One of these days, I’ll get out on the grounds. I know right where to head.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Goddamn it, don’t you listen? Behind the barns, I told you!”

  “Okay, Estee. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Maybe you’re in on it.”

  “Now that’s not true.” I try to calm Estee. I don’t want to see her go back to Hall 5.

  “I saw you and that attendant guy.”

  “Just now? Outside?”

  “Yes. Walking, talking. I saw you through the window.”

  “That’s Carl Reinbold, the gardening supervisor. Nurse Judy’s husband.”

  “Oh my god. They got Nurse Judy, Luanne. Now they’re after you.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be careful.”

  Estee swings her head to glance over her shoulder. “You can’t be too careful.”

  Chapter 25

  I recognize him immediately, even from the back. Jeff stands looking out the west windows on the far side of the visitors’ room, his hands crammed into the pockets of his Levis. Jeff loves summer and it shows. His hair is longer and sun streaked. When he turns, with his dark tan and the blond highlights in his mustache, he’s handsome in a surfer sort of way. I feel a tingle. I walk up beside him, put my hand on his waist.

  “Hi.” He gives me a quick hug. “You look great. Wow, you seem so much better, Lu.”

  “Thanks.” I feel my cheeks go red. I feel safe, almost childlike, standing in the nook his arm makes around my shoulder. “I thought we could walk around the grounds while we visited.”

  “Well, yeah, sure. It’s a beautiful day. Is that allowed?”

  “Yes. I’ve earned privileges since you were here last, a ground pass.” I smile up at him as we walk side-by-side toward the nurses’ station, close but not touching. We stop and I pick up two passes. The attendant unlocks the door and holds it open for us.

  Since spring arrived, I’ve spent as much time outdoors as I can. No matter how many times I stand at the open doorway, I always close my eyes briefly, take a deep breath. The sun is high in the sky by the time we step off the porch. Jeff slides his aviator sunglasses on.

  We stroll along the walkway under the large oaks, a warm breeze turns the leaves. Colorful finches glide on the air currents, chirp loudly as they dive for winterberries. I proudly point out my gardening masterpieces as Jeff and I make our way through the grounds toward the Willow Lake reflecting pool.

  Jeff brings me up to date on what the family is doing, gossip about our friends, reports on the Vietnam War. Danny Ortez, one of my favorite dance partners in high school, has been killed. I think back to three years ago when Jeff received his draft notice. He could have been over there, even killed in the war, but he was granted an eleventh-hour 3A deferment when Alexander was born. Jeff always mentions the war as if he thinks about it often, as if he has to remind himself he’s safe. Is he safe? Could they take him now that Alexander’s gone?

  “Luanne, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Okay.” I straighten on the bench, turn toward him, bracing for any news that might be bad. He faces the pond as if he is addressing the ducks.

  “I had to sell the house.”

  “What? Why didn’t you talk to me?” I slump back on the bench like a rag doll.

  “It just happened. Dad was worried, and I agree with him, that the neighborhood was going downhill.”

  “Oh my god,” I whisper.

  “We needed the money to help pay the hospital bills, Luanne.”

  “Where are you living?”

  “I got a little apartment in a complex out by the mall. It’s a lot cheaper, just a studio.”

  “Where’s Alexander’s stuff?” Panic burns through my body. The last thing I remember of home is closing the door to Alexander’s room. Now I feel as if I’m floating in space, with no connection to anything.

  “I packed up everything. I had to.”

  “I …don’t understand. How could you sell my home out from under me? Dr. Murray and I talked …talked about how you and I need to pack up Alexander’s things together. I guess I won’t get that chance.” I stare past the pond into the blurry distance.

  “I’m sorry. Six months now …you barely speak to me. You still don’t remember things …I’m just trying to survive, Lu.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Do you even love me anymore?” He rubs his hands up and down his thighs.

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time to ask me that.”

  “Is there anything else you’re upset with me about, Lu?”

  “Other than selling my house without telling me? No.”

  “I filed for divorce.”

  “Okay.”

  “Is that all you can say?”

  “What am I supposed to say? You put me in here, now you’re leaving.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if you’ll ever come home. I said I filed. Things could still work out between us.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “I talked to a friend at work and she said I need to think of myself, my own survival.”

  “She?”

  “Yeah, a girl on the line. She’s nobody, a casual friend. I’ve been totally faithful.”

  He sounds a bit too self righteous. “I see.” My heart bangs in my chest. We sit silently and stare out over the glassy pool. I search my mind for something to say, but I can’t focus. I leave my body. “I guess I’d better get back.”

  “Okay.” He stands up immediately. We walk along the front of Building 50, toward the visitors’ parking lot.

  “You don’t have to come back with me. Why don’t you just give me your pass, then you can get right in your car and leave.” I put out my hand, palm up.

  “Lu …Luanne, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” He reaches into his shirt pocket, hands me the pass.

  “Hell, you’re the sane one and you still don’t know what to do, Jeff? You never do.” I turn, hurry up the path, eyes riveted on the ground. When I hear the old Mercury fire up, I clench my fists. As soon as I round the corner of the building, I slide onto the grass, my hot cheeks against its cool comfort. I lie there under a locust tree.

  “You all right?” Carl reaches down and touches my back.

  I turn over and sit up. “I think so.” I pull a Kleenex from my pocket, blow my nose.

  “What is it?” Carl sits down beside me.

  “My husband …he’s leaving me.” I release a jerky sigh.

  “Sorry.” He picks at the grass.

  “Why does everybody leave?”

  “Don’t seem right.”

  “No,” I say. “How do you get over it?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe you never do.”

  “Did you? I mean, your baby, and then your wife.”

  “Baby?”

  “Nurse Judy told me she lost her baby.”


  “She told you that?”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “My wife must have liked you. To be talking about things like that.”

  “Yes, I think so. She was kind to me.”

  “You gonna be all right then?”

  I watch Carl limp down the walkway, reach into his back pocket, pull out a white handkerchief. As he disappears behind the north wing, I lie on my back so I won’t look like I’ve fallen in a heap, put my hands under my head, cross my ankles, and close my eyes. The grass tickles the back of my arms, the soft humming of bees takes me to another place—a place where children don’t die and loved ones don’t throw you away when you’re on the fritz.

  Chapter 26

  Have a seat, Luanne.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Well, how did your visit with Jeff go?”

  “Good.”

  “How is he doing?”

  “Good.”

  “Would you like to talk about his visit?”

  “No, not really.”

  I take a drink of water, shift in my seat, play with my hair, look out the window.

  “Okay, what would you like to talk about?”

  “Jean, on our hall, is shitting all over the place.”

  “Yes, Luanne, I know about that.”

  “Can’t you do something about it?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “This place is unbelievable.” I shake my head.

  “Did Jeff say that?”

  “Jeff? I’m saying it. This place is gross, unfit for human beings …it’s like a nightmare. I …I …want …” My voice grows thin as I began to cry. “I … Why …why, can’t he love me?”

  “What happened, Luanne?”

  “He’s …leaving …me.” I bring my hands to my face and wail. “I’m all alone.”

  “Go ahead and cry, Luanne.”

  “Here we go again …” I sob.

  “Again?”

  “My dad. Alexander. And now Jeff.” I reach for a tissue. “The Kleenex box is empty.”

  Dr. Murray walks to her desk for another box of tissues, and when she returns, I sit straighter, try to regain my composure.

  “Is this a punishment?”

  “Loss is a part of life. You can’t avoid it.”

  “Screw that.”

  “I didn’t say it was easy.”

  “I hate him.”

  “He’s let you down.”

  “Let me down? He’s locked me up and thrown away the key. He can go back to his nice little life and I’m stuck here with the cuckoos.”

  “Yes?”

  “What am I going to tell my family?”

  “The truth.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something like …Jeff abandoned you when you needed him most?”

  “Yeah. I guess so. I just feel …so …embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “A loser. Nobody …My dad …he loved me. But he died…”

  “Yes. And your mom, and brothers and sisters love you.”

  “Yeah. I’m not as strong as I thought I was …Maybe God is testing me.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Sometimes strength is vulnerability, the ability to face challenges, pulling through difficult times.”

  “I guess so …a kid in my neighborhood drowned when I was little. I always wondered why.”

  “Sometimes things don’t seem fair.”

  “My dad, cripe, compared to the other girls’ dads, he’s a saint. I have a good family. Not like the others. I feel like a big crybaby.”

  “You’re not a crybaby.”

  “At my dad’s funeral, I wondered how I’d get along without him. I loved him a lot. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe.”

  “It sounds like you don’t believe you’re lovable.”

  “Lovable? Ha.”

  “Think about Alexander. How much you loved him and he loved you. You were a good mother. You have the capacity to love and be loved.”

  I cry for a long time. “Something went wrong. It couldn’t have been Alexander. It must have been me.” Flashes of Alexander, his eye swollen shut, a thin little gnome with tufts of fuzz where his curly blond hair used to be, smiles at his third birthday. His little white teeth look so out of place. Jeff crying and running from the room.

  “It was hard to see him suffer. Just a little guy who had no chance to grow up.”

  “I know.”

  “See what I mean about God?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why would He give us this beautiful baby and then take him away?”

  “I don’t know, Luanne. I really don’t know.”

  “Did I ever tell you how smart Alexander was? He was reading when he was two years old.” I try to smile, but it hurts too much.

  Chapter 27

  We all went to the concert Saturday night.” I want Dr. Murray to know about Autumn’s attack.

  “How was it?” Dr. Murray asks.

  “Great. A starry night, good friends, and Wild Thing. Couldn’t ask for more,” Isabel chuckles.

  “A rock band, huh?” Dr. Murray smiles.

  “You should have seen ‘em dance.”

  “I brought it up because I’m worried about Autumn.”

  “Oh?” Dr. Murray looks at Autumn.”

  “Now why would you be worried about me, Luanne?”

  “That thing with the June bugs.”

  “I hate the sticky bastards. Dr. Murray, those suckers were as big as poodles!”

  “What happened at the concert, Autumn.”

  “They attacked me. The size of them, their buzzing. The sickening crunch of them under foot made my skin crawl.”

  “Autumn, you were shaking all over,” I say. “We had to throw a blanket over you for the whole concert. When I asked you about it, you told me it was a flashback.”

  “Was it a flashback?” Dr. Murray asks. “Something you need to talk about?”

  Autumn’s eyes glaze over. “I was nine years old that summer night. My dad starts drinking when he gets up that morning. When I checked the fridge, the case was almost gone. I heard him yell, Kids, get in the Mexican wagon before I kick all your asses. I’m ready to go. Gotta stop at the store.

  “My mom was terrified of him, we all were. Mom started grabbing our popcorn and pops, Everybody in the car. She muscled open the back door of our old Chevy, its rusty hinges squawking. We lined up quietly in the back seat. I sat in the middle between my younger brother and sister; it was my job to make sure they behaved themselves. The combination of beer and a captive audience might trigger one of my dad’s tirades, accusing my mom of screwing the migrant workers over on the Johnson farm, or calling her a frigid bitch, a lousy mother, or a lazy deadbeat.

  “He cracked open a beer, turned the key in the ignition. Goddamn piece of shit. The back of his neck turned red as he pumped the accelerator. Finally, the engine caught. The Chevy shook and rattled to life. There we go. That’s my girl. He fawned over that old Chevy like he did waitresses and party store clerks. He never used that voice at home.

  “We headed out to the fairgrounds. In the summer, a giant movie screen was set up outdoors and the audience sat on blankets under the stars. It was like a drive-in without cars. He slammed on the brakes. Goddamn it. I dropped my change on the floor and it fell right through that hole. Momma, get your ass out there and pick up that money. Kids, you get out there too. He sat behind the wheel drinking while we scoured the road, our shoulders bent, heads bowed, trying to spot the coins in the dim light. Mom called out as each car approached. Heads up, kids—car.

  “Jimmy was only four and afraid of the dark. He went to Dad’s window. Can I come in with you, Daddy? He sounded like he was about to cry. My dad says, Find any money? I heard my little brother’s tiny voice. No. Then Dad yelled for me. Autumn, come get your brother before I whip his butt. I pulled Jimmy to my side and tol
d him he could look by the street light where it wasn’t so dark.

  “I’d just found a nickel when I heard tires screeching. I looked up. He was lying in the intersection, under the light. Mom ran toward the corner. Jimmy had been knocked clean out of his shoes. His toe stuck out through his dirty sock. Mom made a strange chirping sound as she held Jimmy’s head in her lap.

  “All I could do was hug my sister, Christy, and cry as we waited for the ambulance. The June bugs were thick under the lights—slick as ice underfoot. They bumped and buzzed and stuck to my shirt, their picky legs dragging across my shoulder.

  “Every spring since, I brace for the time the June bugs come out. Knowing if I’d been smarter, my little brother would still be alive.”

  There’s a long silence before Autumn starts sobbing, pounding her thighs, pulling at her hair.

  “Autumn, you did nothing wrong. You were just a kid. You did the best you could,” Dr. Murray tries to sooth her, but Autumn starts screaming. The attendant escorts her out of the group room.

  After she leaves, we all stare at each other. Nobody talks. Finally, I say, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, it’s okay. You did the right thing,” Isabel says.

  “I know how she feels. She didn’t cause her little brother to die, but she feels guilty. I do, too,” I explain.

  “What do you feel guilty about, Luanne?” Dr. Murray asks.

  “Not saving my little boy. Letting him die.”

  “You did everything you could, Lu.” Isabel reassures me.

  Estee speaks up. “I feel guilty for being like my mother—for being crazy. I’m causing my grandma such heartache. First, her daughter, now me.”

  “Guilt is a powerful feeling. We all just try to do our best by people. Take responsibility for what is yours, but try to let go of the guilt,” Dr. Murray says.

  “I could just eat and my parents would be happy. But I won’t. Is that what you mean by responsibility?”

  “No. You have a disorder, Beth. But you are taking responsibility by trying to get help. I would like to break earlier today. I need to go check on Autumn.”

  We all filed out the door, silent.

  Chapter 28