Patient_Crew

by Hannah Kaplan

  “Because I’m going back to Sunny the same way I left, with no other choice,” I retorted.

  “You need allies, and sometimes it’s easier with a head start. These people know you. The only time you’ll have to account for is the last ten years. Keep it simple, and close enough to the truth to sound true.”

  “You don’t know those people, they dig deep, wear you down. They’d sooner see me dead than coming back.”

  “Get more information than you give,” he said. “People love to talk about themselves. Manipulate the conversation and lie without guilt because those lies will protect everyone. Keep going forward, don’t look back.”

  “What if something bad happens to Marla?”

  “Be ready to cut and run without baggage. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Tim asked.

  “I get it.”

  “If, and when, the shit hits the fan you’ll wait for word from me before making any moves. I will find you, trust it.”

  “Ok.”

  “Keep your mouth shut and the fortune telling to yourself.”

  “I can’t tell the future! I only write what they say, and I don’t control them they control me.”

  “Since you are the only one who hears them you’re the prophet. You, those voices, are a commodity. There are people who’d pay a lot of money to own you. There’s not a person or government in the world who wouldn’t want to see three steps ahead of the rest of us. You might want to start being more attentive to what they say.”

  “When do I leave?” I felt my body empty itself of the fear and dependence it had relied upon for the past ten years. Sending me back to face the destruction of my own creation was cruel. I was being forced to stare into the faces of judgment alone.

  “After breakfast,” he said. “I have eyes and ears everywhere, don’t worry. You’ll be safe, and soon enough you’ll come to terms with it.” Tim lit the stove’s flame and started frying eggs. My hearing faded as the crew took over. I looked around the room and realized there was no hiding place. Tim saw my frustration, and stopped cooking long enough to help me find the notebooks and pens. I sat at the small kitchen table watching Tim cook as the crew took control of my hands.

  My mind wandered. I began to imagine a homecoming parade as the prodigal daughter returned home to a welcoming town. I was led down Main Street on a float. The people held signs that read, Welcome Home Shanna! Jim, Vicky, Jason, and Maria were running beside the float. Pop and Albee were standing in the crowd of people watching as I passed by. None of them had changed; it was as if time were frozen while I was away learning to exist among them. I waved and blew kisses; they smiled, waved and began to chant, “We love you Shanna. We love you Shanna.” The float turned. The town disappeared and we were on Pop’s land. The people who had been on the street were now standing around me. The trees surrounding what was left of a burned down house lifted me out of the float with their branches, and put me down in the middle of a huge pile of hay. Pop and Albee were the first to light the hay on fire. Jim, Vicky, Jason and Maria held hands as they lit a fire together. The crowd cheered. The flames jumped around me.

  I woke up screaming. Tim was standing above me holding my hands down and trying to bring me out of a state of terror. “It’s ok Shanna,” he said, his face an inch away from mine. “You’re safe.”

  “I’m not safe,” I said still shaking. I wiped away tears I didn’t know I had cried. “I can’t go home. I don’t have a home.”

  “I never said it would be easy,” he said and went back to his cooking. “Don’t get dramatic, you’ll find allies. Life has gone on without you, but you can gain another spot for yourself. You’d be surprised how short a person’s memory is.”

  “What should I do with the sessions?” I asked. “What if someone finds them?”

  “Burn them, eliminate the risk.”

  “I’ve put us all at risk.”

  “Remember what I told you about disconnecting? Take out all the personal and address the person,” Tim continued to coach. I had disconnected from my past when I left ten years earlier. I never called home not even to hear their voices before hanging up. I’d not written a single letter and had not expected to return. Now that I was, I had no desire to reconnect.

  The transportation was an eighteen-wheeler with an enclosed trailer. The driver was a middle-aged, balding man who said nothing outside a soft you’re welcome after I’d thanked him for helping with my bag. Neither Tim, nor I showed emotion during our brief goodbye. Thirty miles west of Dallas we stopped, and ate without conversation. I got the impression that he’d been instructed (by Tim) to leave me alone.

  “My name is Shanna,” I said as he finished his coffee. “Could we stop at the cemetery on our way into town?”

  “Do you know how to get to the cemetery?” he asked without offering a name.

  “I can show you.” That was the extent of our one and only conversation. A few hours later, we’d exited the highway and headed down the cemetery road that separates the farms from the town. The big truck slowed to a stop, and I got out for a look around. Since the dead had always outweighed the living two to one in Sunny I had to walk up and down the rows a couple of times before finding the graves. When I saw the white picket fence, I knew Pop had the last laugh. Surrounding the graves of Albee, Pop, Momma, and Albee’s only son, who’d died in the war, was the snow-white picket fence that Pop had built around Momma’s house. Other than myself, it was the only thing that survived the fire. It was freshly painted and cemented into the ground, no gate, no entrance, or exit, and a thick layer of concrete covered the plot. Above the names on the stone it read; tarry not, for even the dead won’t linger here. This was my family, and I was the only one left.

  “It looks fine Pop. I mean the fence and all. I’m not sure about that big ass slab of concrete covering everything. I guess you probably figured I was already dead and buried but still, flowers would have been nicer. I guess you’re mad at me. There isn’t much I can do about it now. I know that I should have written you, and I’m sorry for that—I didn’t know what to say, I did the best I could. You should have told me about Momma, and maybe then I would have been better prepared for what happened to me. Still, you were good to me, and for that I thank you.”

  The setting sun cast an orange glow over the concrete covered graves giving them a golden shimmer that made the fence look like white bleached cotton. I felt my blood warming, home sweet home. In the distance, I heard the truck’s diesel engine roar. I started down the hill and was halfway when I saw the truck at the end of the dirt road turning onto the highway. At the entrance to the cemetery sat a silver hybrid car that looked more like a kid's toy. The title was in the passenger seat, and the keys in the ignition.

  “Yes,” I laughed. “This’ll fit right in.”

  4.

  It took two hours to unpack, and settle myself inside Miss Black’s little house. Two weeks later it still smelled of decayed flesh. I had been told that she was dead for at least forty-eight hours before they found her rotting corpse in the bathtub. True to his word, Tim had arranged delivery of all my belongings, some used furniture, hygiene essentials, and enough food to keep a family of six fed for a year. He’d also arranged for a lawyer from Abilene to settle my grandparent’s estate, and as promised I’d received the deed to the land along with the little money they had saved. Albee had sold the house in town after Pop died, but the land was mine. My plans were to live in the rent house and farm, if all went well I would consider buying my own place. I continued the daily sessions for the crew. My mantra had become write what they say and they’ll go away. I wouldn’t call it a blessing, but it did help pass the time.

  The south winds blow the orange sands of Lubbock through the plains every spring, and the dust storm of two thousand twelve was a doozy, making it impossible to leave the house. The local news reported it to be the worst sandstorm Sunny had seen in forty-five years. Then one day I woke up, and the winds had changed direction. They had blown in a
rainstorm, some fresh air, and a visitor.

  “Well now, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Mrs. Charlene Davidson was one of Albee’s best friends. She looked the same as she had ten years earlier with the exception of a cane that helped her balance. “Jesus have mercy on my soul, I never in my wildest imagination thought I’d see you again, and there you are standing right in front of me. Did you visit your Pop? Bless his heart. He would love nothing more than to trade places with me right this second. I don’t know whether he’d slap or kiss you, both I recon.” She pushed past me into the living room. “Did you go visit your Pop? Did I already ask that? I’m losing my mind. I swunny not a single hair on your head has changed, not one iota. Spitting image of Anna Ruth.” She was breathing deep and hard as she examined the little house. The floors creaked, and the cane made a thunk sound that was followed by her feet shuffling from room to room. She picked up the knickknacks for a look see here and there, giving a little “hmm” as she made her assessment of the decorations. This was to be my first impression. Half the town would hear about it by Sunday morning. I took my time, chose my words carefully and tried to behave in a manner Albee would have seen fitting.

  “It’s so good to see you Mrs. Davidson, and yes I’ve been to the cemetery. I wouldn’t come into town before paying my respects. The graves look lovely don’t you think?”

  “It could do without that fence, but all is forgiven in the end.”

  But not forgotten, I thought.

  “My, but you have fixed the place up. You painted and cleaned out those windows so good it made me want to cry when the dust rolled in.” She sniffed the air like a cat on the prowl. “I see you took care of that putrid smell too.” She sat on the sofa, rolling her thumbs and smiling at me. “Truth be told we’ve all been lurking around here while those Mexicans were unloading the moving truck a couple weeks back,” she whispered the word Mexican.

  “Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry they disturbed you. It’s my fault they didn’t talk. I told them not to. I didn’t want them to raise a ruckus, and I don’t think they understand English. I should have planned better.”

  “We had no idea what was going on or what on God’s green earth could be moving in. I wasn’t the least bit aware that the house had been rented so quickly. Lilly Black’s only been dead a few months. Mrs. Randall, you remember her, lives around the corner yonder, told me she tried to talk to one of the Mexicans, but they just ignored her, wouldn’t give her the time of day. There must’ve been twenty of them in all, working inside and out for five hours straight, and then they just packed it up, and left without so much as a how-do-you-do.”

  I put my head down in shame, and hoped she’d believe the act. “I didn’t mean to make a bad impression.”

  “I’ll tell you what, there was a run on deadbolt locks at the hardware store that week and that’s no lie.” She half-heartedly laughed. I laughed with her. “Hell, I got a couple for myself.”

  “I can’t apologize enough.” I’d never be able to apologize enough for the miserable stain that the women of my family had left on Sunny.

  “We have a lot to discuss you and me, but I don’t want to keep you. I can’t even begin to imagine why you left your family in such a way or where it was you went, but you’re home with your own kind as it should be. We’ll go from there.”

  “Please stay and have a glass of iced tea with me. Just for a bit so we can talk. I can tell you my story.” It was important to establish a story, and sooner was better. I could cease to be the fodder for gossip. All their stories would match, and there would be nothing more to add, allowing me freedom to go on with my life.

  “No dear not today. I have an appointment with Maria at the beauty parlor.” She paused to grant me a motherly look of concern. “Jim knows you’re here. He saw you at the cemetery. He told Pilly, Picky told me, and when Polly found out—I don’t have to tell you what happened next, the whole county knew within seconds. She practically got on the roof and shouted it. She would have if’n she could have.”

  “Oh?” I had convinced myself that Jim had started a new life somewhere far away, but I knew all the same he would never leave the sisters or his land. I didn’t remember seeing him before I left. I couldn’t recall the last words we spoke. Time takes away one’s recollection of the past with slow ease, yet even with fading memories the mere mention of Jim caused a stir in my heart.

  “That’s right. I might be speaking out of turn, but Albee, God rest her soul, was like a sister to me, and I think she’d expect me to let you know that everyone’s been waiting for this dust to settle. Your coming back has ruffled more than a few feathers.”

  “I didn’t come back to ruffle anyone’s feather,” I said.

  “I know that, and you know that, but folk’s is just a little spooked at you showing up out of the blue is all—given the way you left. Albee and Farrest were dearly loved and your leaving tore them up pretty good. I expect people want some answers.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Any who, I’ve rattled on long enough. I do think you should give Jim a call. He deserves a call. He’s had a hard time the last few years. I’ll let him tell you everything, it’s better coming from him don’t you think?”

  “Yes I do. I plan on giving him a call soon, I just wanted to settle in first and then have him over for supper.” In that moment the crew came to visit. “I know you’re busy, let me help you.” I pulled her up from the couch.

  “I really should go now I wouldn’t want to keep Maria waiting. Now don’t forget to call Jim,” she said as I quickly ushered her out the front door.

  “Have a good evening Mrs. Davidson.” The volume of the voices increased as I closed, and locked the door. Joseph was up front and boisterous.

  The truth is told so seldom. What could be worse than a world full of lies? It seems that the answer is a world full of truth.

  He would continue to repeat this phrase until I wrote it down. I closed the windows, and pulled the drapes as The Professor began to speak.

  If one were to tell one’s truth would it then become the other’s truth? Just by virtue of it being one’s truth?

  I locked the bedroom door behind me as the other voices chimed in making it impossible for me to discern one from the other. It was ten in the morning when the session began, four hours later it had ended. This had been the fifth session of this length in the past three days. I had made a habit of checking each room after each session ended to make sure everything was the same, and the only difference this time was that the answering machine message light was blinking. It was Jim. He started by saying how it was inevitable that we would run into each other, and ended with give me a call when you’re ready. His voice brought about severe pangs of guilt that I’d tried to forget. He sounded good maybe a little weathered. I didn’t expect him to look the same. According to Mrs. Davidson I hadn’t changed a bit. Marla said I’d softened. That was her pleasant way of saying I had gotten pale from being inside for ten years, and pudgy from the massive food supply the Todd home clinic provided. It wasn’t as if I could hide from him. We would run into each other sooner or later. I took control, picked up the phone and dialed his number.

  “Shit,” I said out loud, “what if he’s not living with his mother anymore? What if he?”

  “Hello,” Jim said.

  “Hi. Jim? It’s Shanna.”

  “Hey stranger, it’s good to hear your voice. How the hell are you?”

  “Oh, I’m good. So, how are you?”

  “Good…good.” His answer was followed by a painfully long pause.

  “Let’s not do this over the phone. Come to my house for supper, please,” I begged. “I’m not a great cook but I can grill a steak and put a potato in the microwave. Maybe a salad would be good, unless you have other plans that is.”

  “I don’t have plans,” he said. “I’ll be there at seven.”

  I rummaged through the kitchen and found everything I needed for the dinner part of the evening, but I didn’t know what to do
for dessert. I remembered there were at least ten cases of cookies and a freezer full of ice cream so I made ice cream sandwiches. I was bathed, dressed, coiffed, and sitting on the couch like a nervous Nelly an hour before Jim's estimated time of arrival. For the first time—in a long time—I had not thought about the crew, but this didn’t mean they weren’t around, and it also wasn’t a guarantee that they wouldn’t show themselves in the middle of dessert.

  I needed to think of some sort of way to keep them from taking over. I gathered the notebooks that I’d filled since arriving from their hiding place in the sock drawer, held them in my hands and closed my eyes. I’d never communicated with them. I had screamed at them a time or two, slapped my head until my hands were sore, but I had never talked to them. That would just be another step into madness. This was not the time to worry about my mental stability. First, I tried it with thoughts and talked inside my head. It didn’t work. I was half-thinking the thought and half-listening for the doorbell. Nothing I’d done made me feel as if something outside myself were paying attention. I dramatically held the notebooks above my head and spoke out loud. “I need you, all of you, to stay away. If you value me even in the least, please let me have this one night with Jim.” There was no answer. “I’ll take that as a yes. Thank you.” And, the doorbell rang. Jim was as punctual as ever. I walked with stoic control to the front door and turned the knob.

  “Hi,” I quickly said to keep my voice from quivering.

  “Hi,” he said, tipped his hat, removed it from his head and held it against his chest all the while keeping eye contact.

  I motioned for him to come inside. The central air unit had kept the little house’s climate at a steady sixty-eight degrees, yet sweat was beading on my forehead, and I could feel my armpits drip. I watched him as he sat on the couch, fumbling with his hat. The age he’d acquired made him more handsome than I had remembered. He looked the part of a typical farmer. The tension was thick and there was an uncomfortable, blaring silence. The crew was quiet, and so was Jim. Neither of us wanted to be the first to speak. He wouldn’t take his eyes off me, even for a second, as I tried not to fidget.