Songbird

by Lisa Samson

  “So, you married a nutcase, I’m afraid,” I finish up.

  “Oh, Shug.”

  He is silent for a few minutes and I don’t know what to say So I just ask, “Are you mad at me?”

  And his arms squeeze me even tighter and I feel his lips on my hair and not long after a single tear splashes on my forehead. “I’m not mad,” he pushes out between a swollen throat. “I’m not mad.”

  For days now, Harlan has been very quiet. He has to get I used to the news, I know. I don’t blame him. I told Grandma he knows everything and she is relieved. “Harlan’s too nice a fellow to keep in the dark, sweetie.”

  In truth, I feel a great relief. I finally opened up my baggage for Harlan to see and inside, beneath Harlan’s loving gaze and even his pity, the purple Fantasia dragon shrank to the size of a child’s toy. Not that he’ll ever go completely away, I guess, because I do believe I’ll struggle with all of this for the rest of my life. Telling the truth is never easy. But the load is lighter and Harlan’s hand is next to mine on the handle. More to the point, he’s been right there with a dish towel every time my nose has bled this week.

  Maybe he doesn’t need to be strong so much as absorbent!

  Ha!

  Funny, I thought deliverance from the purple dragon would be different than this. I thought it would be bigger and grander, for some reason. Unless this isn’t the dragon. I mean, dragons are who they are, whether you recognize them or not.

  I’m sitting in the den working on some play clothes for Hope. She’s so active, always climbing and running. I’ve decided some matching shorts and sun shirts will be just right this year. She tans so easily.

  Kindergarten blossomed her. She’s turned the corner from toddler to little girl and we have so much fun these days. Of course, she’s outside on the swing set right now. Sitting on the top bar.

  She scares me, sometimes, but I hate to tell her “no.” Harlan registered her for gymnastics this fall and I have to give him credit for seeing her potential. He’s like that. Always seeing the possibilities.

  I begin to sew in the waistband on a pair of striped seersucker shorts as Harlan sits down in the lounger beside my table. I bought the chair for him for Christmas because he deserves to put his feet up at the end of the day. But this evening, the sun still golden on the horizon, he sits on the edge of his seat. “Shug?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “I’ve been thinking about things.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I think it’s time for me to change my message.”

  What? ‘”What’s Really Eating at You?’”

  He nods. “I need to broaden things. I feel like I’ve been this magnifying glass that hones in on people’s sins ninety percent of the time and offers the solution ten percent.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Doesn’t the Bible teach against sin?”

  “Yep, it does. It also teaches about other things, too. I guess what it all comes down to is this, Shug. I’ve really neglected the scriptures.”

  “But you know the Bible from cover to cover.”

  He looks out at the kids, then turns back to me. “Truth is, Shug, it’s gotten easy. I’ve been recycling the same material for a couple of years now. I’ve gotten lazy and irresponsible to my calling.”

  “Oh, Harlan! That’s not true. You’re the most dedicated man I know.”

  “But I’m a preacher of God’s Word. God never told me to be so lopsided about it.”

  I shrug. “I suppose.”

  “So anyway, I’m taking this summer to really devote to study.”

  “That’s good.”

  He looks down. “This is hard for me, Shug.”

  “I know that, baby.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For the fact that you’ve suffered alone all this time.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  He takes my hand. “Yes it was. You should have been able to come to me with anything.”

  “But I didn’t want to burden you, either.”

  “See? I always talked about how happy and fun you are. And then all that talk about my sister-in-law! I never gave you a chance to reveal your hurts. As I said, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you with my problems.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I guess we both are at fault.”

  He sighs. “Maybe. But we can only change ourselves.”

  “I’m going to visit Mama as soon as school is out.”

  “I want to come.”

  I shake my head. “I think this is something Grandma and I need to do alone.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “But hey, it will give you several days for nonstop study.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’m going to need you badly when I get back, baby.”

  “Good. I’ve needed you to need me for a long time now, Shug.”

  I push down on the pedal of the machine. “Harlan, I want you to promise to tell me if I start acting like I’m going crazy. I really do. I don’t want to end up like Mama.”

  “You’re really something, Charmaine Whitehead, and you’re the least crazy person I know.”

  Harlan kisses me on the cheek, then leans back in his lounger and falls into a soft sleep. I gaze at the crescent of his lashes.

  I fall in love with this man a little more every day.

  School is out. I have about two weeks off before I get in that RV and start my summer tour. The crickets still scratch and the early mist still hovers over the lawns of the neighborhood. The sky reminds me of the rainbow sherbet the kids have recently taken a shine to.

  I load everyone into the station wagon. Ruby sits in the passenger seat next to me. Grandma Min sits in the back with the kids. Still groggy, they lean against their pillows and eat Cheerios from a Baggie.

  Harlan leans in, pats my knee and says, “Ready?” He looks back at Grandma, too.

  She nods, and I say, “As ready as we can be, I guess.”

  He smiles, his skin crinkling at the corners. “You’ll be fine, Charmaine. I know you will.”

  He kisses me softly, with all the tenderness he holds.

  A minute later we back out of the driveway and Harlan stands there waving, alone on the cement pad.

  Ruby lays the map across her lap. “You are taking I-95, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, sure. I don’t want to dilly-dally. We have less than a week.”

  Grandma’s hand grabs the headrest behind Ruby. “And you’re sure your friends in Baltimore won’t mind us staying with them?”

  “Of course not! It’ll be fun. Luella says she has plenty of room.”

  Oh, Luella. Married for three years now and living a good life with a prosthetics manufacturer in Harford County. Six bedrooms, a pool, and a membership to the country club that she’s never once taken advantage of. And she’s opened her own small gallery now, too.

  See how life can turn around on you?

  But she’s still Luella and I’ll bet her house, which she tells me is painted in all sorts of wild shades inside, is nothing like the houses of the ladies at the country club.

  I’m figuring about seven hours for the drive. Finding a gospel music station, I tell everybody to settle in. The kids color, Grandma Min looks out the window, Ruby adds up the mileage as we go, and we sing along together with the radio.

  I remember when I first got MaryAnna as my agent. “Ruby?”

  “Yeah, Char.”

  “Do you ever regret not signing on with me? I mean, we could be doing all this together.”

  “Not one bit. You know I never live with regret. I count the costs up front.”

  “And now you and Henry are together.”

  She grins. “Oh, baby.”

  “Two more weeks!”

  “I know. Girl, I cannot wait.”

  Ruby’s hanging on to her second virtue and Henry, who blushes at the word “
bra,” is essentially fine with that, but I’m sure he takes a lot of cold showers these days with the wedding so close. At least that’s what he told Ruby the other day.

  I’m missing a concert in Savannah for the wedding, but I haven’t told Ruby that, and I’m not going to. She’s a “the show must go on” kind of lady.

  We stop for an early lunch at a Cracker Barrel near Fredericksburg and stock up on candy for the kids. Around two o’clock I pull the car into Luella’s new driveway! A semicircular driveway.

  Of course I got lost three times trying to find the darned house.

  She runs out before I can even climb out of the car.

  “Charmaine!” she screams, her skinny arms waving around, her upper body sealed in an embroidered chemise. She’s barefoot, toes painted silver running beneath a flowing red gypsy skirt.

  I leap out of the car. “Luella!”

  We embrace.

  Oh, my lands. This is so good. I feel like my nubby Velcro self has been rejoined with the soft side.

  “Oh, Luella, I have missed you!”

  “Me, too, Charmaine. Me, too!”

  And in two seconds we are back to those times in Dundalk. I, a deserted runaway, she a freshly grieving widow, but time kept marching on in every place but our hearts.

  This will be a nice place to come back to after going to Crownsville.

  I introduce everybody.

  Luella says, “The kids are still in school. So you can see them later.”

  “I’ll bet they’ve gotten so big!”

  “They have, Charmaine. Isabel has a boyfriend and is going to Towson State. Esteban still loves gymnastics and we think he’ll be getting a scholarship, and Guadalupe is always singing. In church, at school. Everywhere she can.”

  That warms my heart.

  She ushers us into her house.

  “Luella, I feel like I’m in a palace.”

  “Oh, don’t! People don’t clean their own palaces.”

  Grandma Min asks, “You clean this place yourself?”

  “Sure do. My neighbors think I’m crazy, and I guess I kind of like that image around here. Talk about a boring bunch.”

  Ruby nods. “Just tell me you’ve got a Jacuzzi tub somewhere and we’re all set. You all won’t see me for the next three days.”

  “You’re covered, Ruby. Three Jacuzzis and a hot tub.”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “I’ll show you guys to your rooms and you can rest until supper.” She turns to me. “Charmaine, Frank and Anita will be here by five. We’re going to barbecue out by the pool.”

  Oh, this is old home week. A nice, wonderful mote of sweet to go along with the bitter plank tomorrow will bring.

  There they are! Anita still wears her poodle hair cut and Frank’s belly is still expanding. His hair is white. They wave, the skin beneath their arms flapping in the breeze. I wonder if I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful in my life!

  Dinner now over, we sit around the iron table by the shallow end of the pool, one of those natural-looking type of pools with stone surrounding the water. A waterfall, lots of greenery. It is like sitting next to paradise.

  Grandma Min went to bed with a mystery book she found in the library. Tomorrow weighs heavily on her. Ruby is in the hot tub inside the screened porch. Isabel has taken all the kids to the arcade at the mall, and I am sitting with my Baltimore family.

  “We’ve been watching your show!” Anita says. “I’m so proud.”

  “Well, you all gave me my start.”

  Frank loosens his belt. “That’s what I said, but Anita always says that God was looking out for you and I shouldn’t take any credit whatsoever.”

  “He was, and is. But you can pat yourself on the back a little bit, Frank. How are things at the bowling alley?”

  “Better than ever. We added ten pins a few years ago to keep up with the times,” Frank says.

  Anita nods. “Best thing we ever did.”

  “I still have the little Bible we bought together that day, Mrs. Reasin.”

  “You read it much anymore?”

  “I try to. Some days, well, you know how it is.”

  “I sure do, hon.”

  Frank sighs. “I still go up on the roof every now and again and sit in our lawn chairs, Charmaine.”

  “I’ll bet they’re rusty.”

  Anita waves a hand. “They are. But he refuses to take them down. You weren’t with us long, hon, but we couldn’t love you more.”

  They leave around ten and Luella and I sit at the pool talking until one A.M., long after the kids have come home and gone to bed.

  We talk of womanly things: children, husbands, our sex lives, and low-fat snacks. I almost feel normal.

  4

  Walk in between the center space of four tall, white pillars. The Crownsville State Hospital is brick. I’m sure this has to be one of the original buildings because it has that old smell to it, that musty air no amount of disinfectant can erase. How long has Isla breathed this air? And why?

  I finally allow myself to ask that question.

  What event finally pushed her over the edge, rendering her unfit to navigate her own boat in humanity’s sea?

  “She’s been in and out of this place for years,” Dr. Luca, the clinical director, says as Grandma Min and I sit with him in the cafeteria. He is skinnier than a flagpole on a toy ship. He’s on his lunch break and to be truthful, I’m glad we’re talking here because both Grandma and I are less likely to cry. Despite his objections, we insisted we talk here. Perhaps for our own sanity.

  But who wants to think a thought like that in a place like this?

  “Can you give us some of her history?”

  Dr. Luca opens a sandwich he brought from home. It’s cut into two large triangles. “Are you sure you want to talk about this here?”

  We nod.

  “She’s been in and out since the summer of 1971.”

  The summer after she left. I catch my breath. “Really?”

  He nods. “Of course, things here at the hospital weren’t what they are now. The programs were inadequate.”

  “Where was she living in between?”

  “I’m not sure. We were so understaffed until about six years ago. I’m afraid we can’t give you the complete picture.”

  Grandma leans forward. “But she is treatable?”

  “Somewhat. From what I gather, she responded to medications for quite a while.”

  “How long has she been here this time?”

  “For eight years.”

  Oh, dear Lord.

  Grandma grabs my hand. “Why so long?”

  “She’s no longer responding well to medication or therapy. At least enough to live on her own.”

  “Is that possible?” I ask.

  He nods. “Unfortunately, it is. These places would be empty if all it took was a drug.”

  I sit back against my chair and sigh. Grandma just stares at me for a little while. Dr. Luca opens his thermos and pours some weak, black coffee into the red screw-on cup. “We didn’t know she had family or we would have contacted you, of course.”

  “Of course,” says Grandma. “I’m not surprised she didn’t mention us.”

  My heart swings like a pendulum. When it stops swinging, what will straight down feel like? I have no idea and I know I’ve never had an idea.

  “Would you like to see her?”

  “Is that all right?” I ask.

  “Certainly. She’s been in a flat state for a while now. We’re wondering if she’ll come out of it at all.”

  “What’s a flat state?”

  “It’s a severe reduction in emotional expressiveness. No facial signs or normal emotions. Social withdrawal. When she does speak it’s in monotone. She’ll go for days and do nothing on her own.”

  “Will she feed herself?” I ask.

  “Yes. When the plate is set in front of her.”

  I turn to Grandma. “Well, that’s good!”

  But Grandma is rip
ped in two, like a paper doll.

  “She’s enrolled in the training programs, and she does cooperate when given orders,” the doctor continues.

  “She was a waitress when I was little.”

  He just nods. “The medication does help insomuch as it keeps her from a state of psychosis.”

  “Psychosis?” I ask.

  “Delusions. Hallucinations. Paranoia.”

  I lean forward. “She used to talk about her association with the Queen of England when I was little. And she’d gaze out the window a lot. I never knew what she was looking for.”

  “Probably royal guards out to get her,” Grandma says, the lines of her face folding into deeper grooves.

  When he finishes his sandwich, he shows us back to the ward giving us a brief history of the hospital. How it was built in the early part of the 1900s for insane people of color. They desegregated it in the late ‘40s but white individuals really didn’t start coming there until the early ‘60s. He wasn’t sure why.

  “I haven’t been here all that long. Moved in from Cincinnati last year.”

  I’m not sure why he feels the need to fill the silence, but he does and continues on as we walk down several different hallways. “For a while there in the fifties they sent the criminally insane here with the other patients, some of whom just needed a nursing home and nothing more. There were all kinds of riots.”

  It is so easy to picture riots in this place. A creepy aura born of violence remains despite the improvements and I think about that demoniac in the Book of Mark, how Jesus just cured him —snap—like that!

  He did that spiritually for the Woman at the Well, too.

  As I pass patients in various states, I pray for each one because you can never tell what God has in store for these folks. Maybe it’s something wonderful.

  Maybe.

  Oh, shut up, Myrtle Charmaine. You ‘re an idiot and you always have been.

  Dr. Luca leads us into an activity room where people sit around on chairs or shuffle along the linoleum floor. I don’t see Isla Whitehead anywhere. The television displays an old rerun of Facts of Life. Now, those girls always seemed perky, but, my lands, they look positively fast-motion compared to the doings of the room.

  Plants sprout up in all the corners. They’re trying to make it homey, here. I’ve got to give them that. An orderly keeps a watchful eye.