by James Murphy
“You know, when I used to go out to the lake at night, and just sit on my tailgate by the water’s edge I lost myself out there. You start thinking about everything subsurface, and it’s all alien. You can’t possibly conceive it but you know it’s beautiful. My friends never had me. My girls never had me. But that lake, it had me every time.”
It was a comfortable thought, the idea of losing yourself in a moment. Giving the mind time to release and recover from whatever may be ailing it is important. That importance was lost for a long while with James. Long weeks in the butcher shop never gave him a moment to escape his toil and societal responsibilities. It wore him thin, and the thought of that left anxiety building within James. He felt trapped and needed to do something to get his mind off what was going on in the outside world. A voice called over the intercom inviting patients to the craft room.
“I think I’m going to go color some toads” James said to Ryan, doing his best to force a smile.
James walked out and slowly made his way to the craft room. He hoped that if he diversified his activities, the days would pass more quickly, and he wouldn’t feel anxious or trapped. When he reached the craft room he walked into a space with white tile floors, and round desks. The windows were big, bigger than any other room on the Seventh Floor, and James was pleased with this, even a little giddy. There were about ten or twelve patients in the room, and a bookshelf filled with crayons, colored pencils, markers, and books. He saw an instructional book that showed him how to draw a few animals. He picked up the book an took a seat at a desk across from a pretty, young girl. He watched her move the crayons over the page with her delicate fingertips. She tripped the imagination and began to get James all hot and bothered. He shook the sensual thoughts from his brain, and began thumbing through the book of animals. He tried his hand at a bear, then thumbed through the book hoping to find directions on how to draw a coyote. He found none and maybe it was for the best. Besides, the image of Coyote from that night on Sweet Grass Hill was burned into his memory for life. James tried to lose himself in the arts and crafts, coloring and drawing. The prospect of a creative outlet sparked hope. Though it was bleak hope, it was hope nonetheless. Activity, involvement, it appeared to be and escape. He started coloring and drawing slowly. Then, he’d catch himself holding his breath and scribbling with mania. He’d get the feeling his skin was crawling as his mind raced with thoughts. It wasn’t until that moment that James realized how tight his head was wound. Subconsciously, he did get used to the butcher shop, or at least he adapted. His soul and character in the course of that adaptation may not have been maintained at an optimum level. He was working on things in the Seventh Floor. Nevertheless, James would look up at the other people in the room and want to just tear their work to pieces. Five years of working in a butcher shop with no friends or family to come home to will do that to a man. He could still hear the sounds of the meat grinder, and band saw cutting and grinding, filling the room with the smell of fat and muscle. The industrial memories of meat processing held the door open for furious impulses to stroll through James’s consciousness. It was trauma that seethed through his brain like oil. The pain itself was manageable to some degree, but ignorance to a person’s pain was an even deeper laceration. Ignorance to a person’s pain was everywhere on the Seventh Floor. Ignorance on behalf of the professionals was inexcusable, but there was another sort of ignorance on the Seventh Floor, that of the patients. James came to the understanding that it wasn’t every patients fault that they were ignorant. Most of the patients didn’t have the learning aptitude James possessed, and he soon realized that. He didn’t give them the cold shoulder. James tried to be as warm and genuine as he could be, but he was damn sure not to involve himself in a conversation that made him appear psychotic or delusional. He had the sneaking suspicion that eyes and ears were everywhere, and he was damn sure not to let the Seventh Floor get one up on him. Most of the people in the arts and crafts room didn’t have a good grip on reality. Some thought they were super-heros. Some had no faith in themselves that they could ever face society or nature and find success. Most of the people on the Seventh Floor were hiding from some aspect of truth, and were delusional because of it. Even the pretty girl James was sitting across from was so deep in depression that everything looked grey and there was a good chance she would never see the beautiful colors in front of her. At least arts and crafts time was a time and place within that prison that was peaceful and therapeutic to everyone. The creative outlet let James’s mind wander and forget the walls around him. There was virtue in the symbolic exercise of artistry. It was the process of taking the personal significance of what you see and feel around you and producing something beautiful. The lack of sanity in the art room usually left him yearning for sane conversation with sane people. It left him wondering what Ryan was up to.
It was lunch time. Hamburgers were served and James couldn’t bring himself to even lift the beef patty off his plate. He looked around as the whole mental ward gorged itself in the meal while James picked at his peas and pudding. Watching burger grease drip from the mouth of every patient on the Seventh Floor left James feeling a little disheveled like the walls were closing in around him. He longed to feel the sunshine on his face and the wind in his hair. It was only his third day on the Seventh Floor and it was already beginning to break him. The isolation from sensual, Earthly stimulation left him hungry. There were nearly zero sensations that let him know he was alive. He was in some numb, melancholic balance as he spent his waking hours in the prison of the mental ward. He reached out and tried to grasp whatever he could to feel life, but he was having a hard time obtaining those impulses.
After lunch, he walked to the lounge and found Ryan reading a magazine. The Weather Channel was on the television again, and the meteorologists were talking about a drought that threatened the country. The words from the atmospheric scientists got James’ wheels turning. He spaced out and began thinking about those effervescing hearts on Sweet Grass Hill. He caught himself before he really began to dwell on the thought. It was a dangerous thought and James knew he couldn’t ponder things like that if he hoped to get off the Seventh Floor in any expedient fashion. Dwelling on it too much was sure to take him to a neurotic place, and doing the song and dance for Dr. Chode and the other professionals was a fine line to walk. A single hiccup and he would hear “You don’t even know yourself” fall out of Dr. Chode’s mouth. James needed to get his mind off of effervescing hearts, and Sweet Grass Hill, and the weather. He interrupted Ryan’s reading.
“Do you have a family, Ryan?” James asked.
“Nah, I’m an orphan, and it never seemed to work out with women.” Ryan replied
“Don’t you desire love? Don’t you long for anything?”
“Sure I do, but nothing of this world. How about you”
“I haven’t felt love in a long time.”
They sat in silence for a while, each thinking about what they had said to the other. Ryan’s words hit home with James, and James began contemplating his own desires. He wanted a tangible love, and all of a sudden he felt lonely. He never had a girlfriend. He was deserted by his family, sent out to find God knows what in a slaughter house in Montana. He had no tangible love, only a virtuous road with a righteous destination. Though he had no one to wrap his arms around and lay next to at night, he did have love. He learned things that night on Sweet Grass Hill that filled his heart with respect and kindness, but he was thrown into an economic situation that removed him from where he found belonging and purpose in life. James saw life as the embodiment of spirit. It was a relationship between energy and matter that derived so much beauty. Working in that butcher shop for so long slowly worked at destroying that relationship between energy and matter. Now, the professionals on the Seventh Floor were working further to destroy that relationship. They believed James’ concept of reality needed reworked from the ground up. They were robbing him of the most precious part of a human’s integrity; their ideas, t
heir beliefs. James held on to his vision quest and all that it taught him, but thinking about the place that was so close to his heart was dangerous in his situation. No one considered it sane thinking, but it was all James had. He wanted to get off the Seventh Floor stat, and go find someone he could share a life with far from all the vices of society. Those nights and days on Sweet Grass Hill taught James the feelings that respect and kindness could derive. It was love that he learned and tasted. Then, he was ripped away from all of that in an instant. He was unsure if anyone loved him in the fashion that he knew was possible, but little did he know, he was as loved as a favorite son. Mother Earth saw something in James during those days he spent on Sweet Grass Hill. She saw an 18 year old virgin man, pure of heart, displaced from his home, and he was out to seek the ethos of a culture that lived, loved, and respected all by the whims of the natural world. Sweet Grass Hill knew what went on those two days and nights five years ago. James had favor deep down in the soul of Mother Earth. She knew he was her great warrior, and his battle was just beginning.
Chapter 5
When James arose to his 4th day on the Seventh Floor, the sight of the white walls panged his heart. The dresser seemed to intimidate and tower over him. He was beginning to get the feeling that this place was bigger and more powerful than he was. James was beginning to get the feeling that this place was going to exact some pain from him. His heart raced and pled for an escape. He turned to the window, but saw nothing but branches. He had to get out of his room, and did so just in time for breakfast. He ate his oatmeal and fresh pears, then made his way down to the lounge. As he passed the nurses’ desk along the way, he saw Ryan with bags packed.
“Hey man I’m leaving!” Ryan exclaimed with delight.
It was the happiest James had seen Ryan since he arrived. It gave James hope that he too would be leaving sometime soon.
“That’s great news bud. I hope you find what you’re looking for out there. Just remember, never let the bastards get you down.”
“I think I got it. Virtue, right?”
“Right!”
They shook hands and James continued on to the lounge. James was sad to see Ryan leave, but pleased to see such a beautiful bird uncaged. Ryan was the first man since Paahsaakii that James got to speak to about some of the intangible things that he held close to his integrity. Effervescing hearts and the smells of wood smoke worked their way into James’s mind as he listened to Ryan talk. Their words created images, and the images feelings. And as they culminated, James was filled with the notion that he was an individual. He had experienced something special out in Montana. Their conversations restored some of the faith James once had in himself, and furthermore allowed a simple social connection that was crucial for a person’s sanity. Interpersonal relationships help define the bounds of truth within our concept of reality. James was lacking these relationships for too long, but Ryan helped rekindle the fire that once burned in James’s mind. James wished, just a little, that Ryan hadn’t left, but knew it was for the best.
It was sometime after lunch when James heard the rolling voice of a middle-aged man in the hallway. It wasn’t oppressive or erratic. It was actually kind of soothing, and the exotic thought of it brought peace and consolation to James’s mind after he had told Ryan goodbye. He thought it was another chance at connecting with a sane brain, but he wasn’t about to jump to any conclusions before meeting the man. James was slowly bringing himself out of this dither, and Ryan’s departure was a direct blow to his progress. He could only hope this new patient wasn’t a screw-ball like most others on the Seventh Floor.
The Seventh Floor was a hell of a place to get acquainted with. There were ear-popping screams, and conversations that lacked all logic, but nothing set James on his heels like the people who continuously talked to themselves. The schizophrenics were a creature all their own. The grandeur that the schizophrenics showed was disturbing to watch. Most thought they were kings or gods. They walked, talked, and gestured to entities that only existed in their minds. It was painful and unnerving for everyone to watch, everyone except Dr. Chode. James heard them all hours of the day. They were constantly being inoculated with anti-psychotic medication in hopes of forcing a slumber through all hours of the day. All the professionals, especially Dr. Chode, found great pleasure in twisting stories around the minds of the schizophrenics, and James was careful not to appear in that same frame of mind. John was a man of this condition. He told everyone to “Kneel before the King of Avocado!” And if you crossed John, occasionally he would threaten you with the wrath of his guardian, Shoebox.
James’s whole experience on Sweet Grass Hill, and the connection he saw with the bloody hands of Coyote, and the blood on his own hands from the slaughter house had lead him to believe that Coyote’s prophecy of a great warrior was true. He believed that tale for five years. Now he was locked up in the mental ward of Good Samaritan Hospital. He wanted to believe Coyote so badly for so long, now James was a mere prisoner being careful not to fall deeper into psychosis. If James wasn’t careful, soon enough he might become the King of Avocado, protected by Shoebox.
After Ryan had left and there was a further flux of patients, James was moved to a double room where he had a roommate. The identity of his roommate was a mystery until sometime shortly before supper. James was in his new room just meditating on his bed when the old black fellow he had heard in the hallway earlier walked in with an armful of clothes.
“Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to disturb you. My name’s Neal.”
“No worries Neal. I’m James. I wasn’t up to much, just kinda waiting for supper”
“Me too! I can’t wait for some grub! Eh, I mean I’m a little hungry myself.”
Neal’s excitement over their next meal took James for a loop. It didn’t put James on edge, but it made him a little suspicious.
“Where are you from, Neal?” James innocently asked
“I’m from around here.” Then there was a pause. “I’m from a little bit of everywhere, New Orleans, Chicago, Denver.”
“Ever been to Sweet Grass Hill?” James asked.
“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of the place.”
“Well, it’s in Montana. A man can lose himself for days up there.”
Hospital staff wheeled in the supper trays and the patients were called to the dining area. James was a little amused by Neal. Neal made James forget about the game he had to play for Dr. Chode and all the other professionals. Neal’s presence was therapeutic to James. When James looked at Neal’s face he saw a canvas covered with lines of couth and character. His wrinkled eyelids held eyes that were often blinded by thoughts, locked in a humble stare bound with respect. Neal’s eyes weren’t aggressive or intimidating, but they were filled with questions. The stature of his lips and jaws suggested that Neal’s mouth had the answer to the questions his eyes asked. When Neal walked, he moved with his head down, looking up just enough not to bump into somebody. When you approached him with words, he’d tilt his head and raise eyebrow just a bit before curling his lips and giving a reply. When Neal did answer, his voice rolled with a rhythm that soothed whatever troubles were on your mind. He was exotic, but the two gelled. The delight James saw in his eyes as he sat down in front of his meal revealed truth in the premonitions that Neal was a hobo. Maybe he checked himself in to the Seventh Floor for a few hot meals, a hot shower, and a comfortable place to sleep for a few nights before the hospital caught on to him and released him back into the streets. James sat across from Neal and disinterestedly watched him eat. It pleased James to watch someone enjoy every morsel as Neal did. Before every bite of his steak sandwich, Neal held it up to his nose and smelled it. Then he’d take a rather large bite, and chewed it for the longest time. And, after each bite he’d wipe his mouth, take a deep breath, and smile, then repeat the process. It humbled James and made him feel a little embarrassed as to how far he took what he claimed to be the “trauma” of the slaughter house. Maybe his whole journey had a litt
le more to do with his vision quest and loneliness than it did with cutting meat for 70 hours a week. James decided at that moment he was going to open up to Neal, and he was sure that Neal had some stories to tell. James didn’t want to know much, just a little bit. The character in Neal’s face, and the feeling in his voice tempted James’s palate. He presumed Neal could talk for days about time and space, life and love, greed and hate. He was starved for raw recollection of experience. James thought Neal had plenty of experiences to talk about. That’s all that James was really hungry for; a gripping moment of time and space as seen through the eyes of another man. An experience. When you get down to brass tacks, experience is the best teacher in life. It enlightens us and empowers us with knowledge. James was hungry for just a little of the knowledge Neal had to share, but odds were it wasn’t the kind of power James could hold over the head of Dr. Chode, and expedite his delivery from the Seventh Floor.
Chapter 6
When James rose on the fifth day of his stay he was feeling anxious. His mind was at great unrest, and his thoughts were racing. He kept thinking about the slaughter house, and Coyote’s prophecy. Being locked up on the Seventh Floor not only left him trapped physically, but mentally as well. He felt hollow and yearned for freedom. The mere thought of his captivity angered James. He felt like a pawn in the game of life, and James began to believe that that was exactly what Dr. Chode saw him as. James wanted to reach out and grab someone by the neck and choke them until their head turned purple, but James knew he had to walk the line for Dr. Chode. It was another dry day outside and James’s psyche was beginning to fall apart at the seams. As James peered through the window, out to the hillside, he could see all the plants wilting beneath the hot, dry sun. They were weak and began to wither away. Strangely enough, James saw this as a reflection of his own life. His mind was withering at the hand of the professionals on the Seventh Floor. The longer he went without exposure to the natural world, the worse his condition became. He tried to calm himself by watching TV, but as soon as he sat down, talk of the horrible drought that was striking the nation infected his brain. James began thinking that this terrible drought had something to do with him being locked up on the Seventh Floor. Mother Nature was mad about something, and there was no remorse.