Admissions (5 page)

“Are you okay, Luanne?” Dr. Murray asks.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” My stomach knots, forms a lump in my throat, sending shocks of pain into my jaw; my face goes numb. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine
…

The others sit back, smoking. I know nothing more will happen in group today. It’s as if we silently agree to switch to small talk, complaints about conditions in the Hall, until the hour ends.

Dr. Murray looks at her watch. “Anything else?”

Everybody shakes their heads as they fidget and eye the door, like caged animals ready to escape.

Dr. Murray puts her notebook in her briefcase. “Just to remind you, I’m going to Chicago for the holidays to visit my son and grandchildren. I’ll be back the day after New Year’s which happens to be our group day, so I’ll see you then. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all of you.” She zips her briefcase and walks to the door.

The attendant waits to clear the room. Isabel puts her arm around Heidi as they walk down the hall. The rest of us follow silently. I look forward to getting lost among the crazies in the dayroom.

Chapters 8

L
adies for a walk, ladies for a walk.”

I know where to go. Once or twice a day, wards are cleared and everybody, except the most unmanageable, goes outside. I head for the large walk-in closet. It’s just after a fresh snow. We all need boots, coats over our state-issues, along with hats and mittens. Patients shove their way into the room, jump on the tables piled high with outerwear, grab at the clothing. Hats and coats tumble through the air as if they’re in an invisible dryer.

The Lobster shouts over the clamor. “Ladies, ladies. Settle down. Pick out one coat, a hat, and mittens. An attendant will help you with your boots.” Slap fights break out among the chronics. Over the weeks, I’ve learned that unless they really hurt each other, the attendants let it go. After about twenty minutes, the scuffling and yelling die down, the Lobster checks for readiness. Two attendants lead the line, with patients in pairs behind them. Two more attendants bring up the rear.

I cross the threshold,
seventeen
, I feel the attendant’s fingers thump my shoulder through my coat. I trail onto the sidewalk in formation, straight out from the building, stop. Patients stand there for ten minutes, arms flapping, feet shuffling for warmth.

I hear Alexander’s laugh riding the wind. I can see him, his rosy cheeks squeezed into plumpness by his cap, arms rigid in his snowsuit.

“No, no,” he protests when I tell him it’s time to go in. His nose red with cold. “Snowman, snowman.” It’s so cold that day the snow won’t stick. Jeff wants to try it anyway—he hates to disappoint his little boy. I’m the voice of reason. “Let’s make a snow angel and then go have some hot chocolate.” Alexander holds out his stiff arms as I lower him into the snow. He laughs as I pull him up. We all admire his angel. Then Jeff suddenly falls backward and waves his arms and legs. Alexander’s laughter …I can hear it.

“Okay, ladies, turn around and head back in,” the attendant shouts. We do an about-face, trudge back in our own footprints. I’m behind Raven, the nickname I gave the woman who caws. About five feet from the entrance, I poke her in the back.

“Hey, Raven, how’s the weather for flying?”

She launches into her routine, loud caws growing in intensity until they echo off the brick walls.

An attendant takes her by the shoulders. “Jean, quiet down now.” But the chain reaction starts. It slithers down the line. Obscenities cut the crisp winter air, gibberish, screams.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Bitch …bitch …bitch.”

“Bastard.”

Somebody sings
Winter Wonderland
off-key. A round woman in a pink fuzzy coat breaks from line, slips in the snow, lands on her back, arms and legs kicking like an overturned turtle.

“Ladies, ladies. Please. If you don’t settle down, you will
all
be put in a protection room.” The buzzing gradually stops, the line begins to move. A few of the women cry. I have no idea why I poked at Raven, like laughing during Mass. The pressure to conform sometimes blows out sideways. Or, maybe I just need to have control over
something
.

When I come into the dayroom, I notice the gang huddled in the circle under the windows, talking in loud whispers. It takes a good twenty minutes for the patients to get their gear off. I stand by the door as the chronics, still agitated, run in circles, punching at each other as they pass.

“Groovy.” Heidi leans toward me as I join the group. “You had ‘em comin’ and goin’.”

I feel like a movie star in front of an adoring fan. “It just kind of happened. I don’t know. Ridiculous to get all dressed up to stand out in the snow for ten minutes.” I fumble in my pocket for a cigarette. All hands raise for a light.

“You don’t seem very sick,” Estee says. “I can’t figure out why you’re on Hall 5.”

“I tried to kill myself.” I figure I might as well come clean. We’re all in the same boat.

“How?” Heidi asks.

“Tried to drown myself.”

“How do you do that, drown yourself?” Estee asks.

“Not very well, I guess …They found me floating down the Saginaw River late one night. I don’t know how I got there …”

“I’ve thought about killing myself a lot,” Autumn says. “But once I had my kids, I just couldn’t do it, couldn’t leave them with that bastard. I guess I ended up leaving them anyway. At least they’re not with Jim.”

“I thought about it, too,” Heidi says.

The sounds of smoke exhaling, like long gentle sighs, leads to silence. My ears buzz. Life on the outside seemed so predictable. Now nothing seems real. It’s like going to a costume party, trying to figure out who people are behind their masks. I look at Autumn, so gentle, fragile really. How does a person so nice end up here? And Beth—she’s rich. What’s she doing here? There must be private hospitals for eating problems. Estee seems completely normal. So, Isabel’s a drunk. Big deal. I know lots of drunks.

“I don’t really want to die, but I think I could,” Beth whispers.

“Luanne, come with me please.” Startled, we look up to see the Lobster
.

“Why?” I’m panicked.

“Come with me, Luanne.”

“Why?”

“You know why, dear.” The Lobster smiles.

“No, I don’t. Tell me!” I flick my cigarette in the can, hold on to the arms of the chair with all my strength. I plant my feet squarely on the floor and tense my leg muscles. Several attendants stand poised by the nurses’ station. They are not regulars.

“Assistance with a patient, please.” The Lobster shouts her command. The attendants are at my side before I have time to think. They drag me out of the room.

I scream, “I didn’t do anything,” over and over. I try to think how I can explain myself, escape what’s coming.

The Lobster runs down the hall to keep up. “You acted inappropriately today on the outside. You created a riot among the patients.”

When they open the door to the protection room, the stench is overpowering. The attendants try to hide their disgust, but noses wrinkle as they push me out at arm’s length. They shove me in, pull the door closed. The only light comes through the transom. I blink to adjust to the dark. There is nothing in the room but a thin mattress on the floor, a black blanket, a bedpan. The walls and floor are rough concrete. They look clean. The pee and diarrhea must have seeped into the cement.

Chapter 9

I
figure I’ve been in protection for eight days. The five-foot-square room is my dining room, bathroom, and bedroom. The food absorbs the stench as soon as they place the tray on the floor.

Yesterday, they took me out for a ten minute shower. “Just hand her the gown. Holy crap, what are we, the maids?” The Lobster pushes me, sends me staggering against the cement wall. “Get dressed. You’re lucky you’re gettin’ clothes. Most of you troublemakers don’t get nothin’.”

I slip the flimsy state-issue over my head and lie on the mattress. I crave a cigarette so badly, I gnaw on my fingernails, rip my cuticles. The blood and ooze leave smatterings on my gown, like brown chicken scratches. If I finagle the thin blanket by holding on to the edge with my toes, I’m able to carefully pull it up around my shoulders. In a fetal position with the blanket barely covering my body, I try not to move. Even my bones are cold. The first day in protection, I wonder if I can survive.

Whether I want to.

When the attendant arrives late with my pills, I float to the surface, begin to think. It’s no wonder I think about blankets.

Like a lot of kids, Alexander started carrying his blanket around with him as soon as he could walk. He stuck his index and middle finger into his mouth while he held the satin binding to the side of his nose. His blanket fell against his cheek and onto his lap, or it swung back and forth as he toddled along with it.

My brother Harry teased Alexander just like he had our little sister, Molly. I didn’t let on to Jeff, but at first it got to me—I worried Alexander might become too attached. Look what happened to Molly. Despite years of teasing, she wasn’t able to kick the habit.

Over the years, Molly’s soft white crib blanket had deteriorated into three grimy little threadbare squares. It got to the point where she puckered her lips, set the square under her nose, and carried on with life. As a teenager, she walked around, did her homework, drove the family car, practiced cheerleading routines, changed the record on the hi-fi, did the twist …she could even talk in a strange muffled voice with the blanket square nestled under her nose. I expected her to take it on dates, but even Molly had her limits. She was down to one gray square when I left home to marry Jeff.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

I wake up when I hear something buzz. I don’t know how long I’ve been out—I never do. But it must have been awhile. My face is pressed against the bare cement and when I lift my head, my neck and cheek hurt. My state-issue is stuck to my body with sweat. The place is almost quiet, so I guess it’s night time. The fly lands on my shoulder and walks around, down my back. I’m shivering so hard, I don’t dare move for fear of losing my blanket.

Then I remember.

My body freezes. Now I’m afraid to move, afraid a monster will get me.

“I don’t recommend an open casket,” Mr. Morris said. “Perhaps you can make a collage of family photos.”

Alexander’s grandmother splurged on a new outfit for him to wear to Thanksgiving dinner and I was determined he would wear it. What difference did it make if it was too big? We brought the outfit to the funeral home along with underwear, navy blue knee socks, tennis shoes, and his blanket. Mr. Morris greeted us in the foyer, took my arm as he led us back into the showroom.

The caskets were lined up with little cards at the foot of each one listing the options, like a car. Only one model child’s casket made of a composite material with a brocade finish, like fancy cardboard was available in four colors: gold, white, blue and pink.

“Where are the mahogany caskets, like we had for my dad?” I asked Mr. Morris.

“Oh, Mrs. Kilpi, children are
never
buried in wood. It’s just not done.” He wrung his manicured hands, flashed a weak smile.

We didn’t ask questions, we ordered the white one. But I couldn’t help wondering if it was a matter of supply and demand, or was a real casket just too big an investment for such a short life?

The second day after the funeral, I wandered to the kitchen, found myself snatching the tin-foil covered dishes from the refrigerator. I flung the food into the garbage, splattering the spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, baked beans, and Jell-O salads until they ran together like a giant bug smashed on the bottom of the can.

The sticky dishes bumped around in the scalding water as I scrubbed them, my hands like stewed tomatoes. Each container had the name of the benefactor written on white cotton adhesive tape stuck to the underside. I put the clean dishes, plants, cards, holy cards, guest register, and other remembrances in Alexander’s room, closed the door, dragged myself down the hall.

I met Jeff going into the bathroom. He tried to give me a hug. “What happened to your hands?”

I spread my fingers in front of my face. “Dishes.”

“Jesus, Lu. They looked burned.”

I shrugged, jammed my hands into the pockets of my robe.

“Where are those dishes we need to return?

“Bedroom.”

“I’m going to run them back this afternoon.”

“Now why would you want to drive all over hell’s half acre with those dishes?” I snapped. “We don’t even know half those people.”

“I can check with Mom. Don’t worry.”

“Suit yourself.” I couldn’t wait to get back in bed.

The house was quiet when I got up later for a drink of water. A faint yellow twilight cast distorted rectangles against the living room wall. I turned on a lamp and sat down on the couch, stared out the window until the streetlights came on. Jeff still wasn’t home. Oh, that’s it. Taking the dishes back gave him an excuse to get out of the house. I plodded back to the bedroom.

I’d been in bed for two days by the time Jeff went back to work Thursday afternoon. I slept around the clock. By Friday, I didn’t care if I ever woke up.

Alexander is gone. It settles on me. The weight of it pushes me flat against the floor.

The Lobster opens the door. “Okay. You’re out tonight.” I roll from my side onto my knees, draw my hands up under my body. From my hands and knees, I can get up slowly. My legs work, but I can’t feel them.

“It’s eight-fifteen. You’ve been transferred to Hall 9. You need to be there before night check. If you’re not showered and ready by eight-thirty, you’re not going.” The Lobster backs up, pushes the door fully open with her body, stands in front of it while I pass. She covers her nose and mouth with her hand.

“Gee, we’re really going to miss you, Luanne.”

Chapten 10

I
reach toward the nurse as two attendants drag me through the door. Nurse Judy waits at the nurses’ station. “I’ll take her, thanks. Welcome to Hall 9, honey.” I crumble at the nurse’s kindness, slump against her chest and sob. Every bone in my body aches, my mind is numb with drugs and shock.