Authors: Charlie Price
Lizard People (16 page)
“What if you've been deceived?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.
“You mean Marco? I mean, sure Iâ”
“What if someone convinced you of things that aren't true? That aren't possible?”
“You're wrong! He ⦠You mean 4000? I know. It seems impossible, but it's beautiful there. People don't have to fight anymore. They've got things figured out and they ⦠Mom ⦠Mom could be well and I wouldn't be so⦔ I didn't want to cry and weaken my argument. I wiped my nose on my arm and she handed me a box of Kleenex.
She waited while my breathing settled.
“Has anyone but you ever seen Marco Lasalle?”
What!
“What? What do you mean?” Scrambling. “You have! The hospital has!”
Dr. Bhuspodi was now writing from time to time in a medium-size spiral notebook.
“Lasalle. Marco Lasalle.” How could I be any clearer?
“And if I told you that no one named Lasalle has been evaluated on this unit in the past six months?” she asked.
“I saw him here! I visited him here twice. I know the curly-haired man. I mean, I don't know him, but I've talked to him. He'll tell you.”
“I spoke to him. He said he's seen you at the unit two times lately. That each time you were upset, and that the last time you practically ran out of here.”
“No,” I said. My voice was too loud. “I was visiting Marco.”
“Could that have been the day you were pacing the front hall and the nursing staff asked you to stay away from the door at the end?”
I realized I had been standing in front of her desk this whole time. I sat. “Marco,” I said. “They asked Marco to stay away from the door.”
“Have you ever experienced stressful times in your life when you, what should we say, dissociate and don't recall what you have done for a few hours or a day or so?”
“Not that I remember,” I said, realizing how foolish that sounded.
“Does the name Overland mean anything to you?”
“Like cross-country? Like no roads? Bushwhacking?”
“I don't mean the word, I mean the name.”
“Uh, that trail? That pioneer thing? Or you mean some jeep or something?”
“No, like Mark Overland. Do you know a Mark Overland?”
“No. Why?”
“Because staff said you talked with him a couple of times.”
“You're saying that was Marco?”
“Ben, I have no idea who your Marco Lasalle is. And I can't talk to you about Mark Overland. I'm just asking you questions to better understand what you're telling me.”
“Are you saying Marco Lasalle was really named Mark Overland?”
“I don't know. I don't know who Marco Lasalle is,” she said. “It could be just a name someone used with you. Has anyone else you know seen Marco Lasalle?”
I shouldn't have eaten the sandwich. It wasn't sitting well. “I don't know,” I said. “I mean, other than you all. Nobody I know, I guess.”
“What if Marco Lasalle isn't real?”
“He
is
real!” I looked for a wastebasket in case I had to heave. “I came in wearing his vest.”
“Hubie Ludlow told his mother he thought that could have been yours. The vest. He believes he's seen you wearing it or something like it during the last year.”
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute, please.” I couldn't look at Dr. Bhuspodi. Why would Hubie lie? He hated Marco. He was jealous of my friendship with Marco!
“What if Hubie's lying?” I looked up for Bhuspodi's reaction. I thought I could detect just a tinge of what ⦠sadness?
“You think Hubie Ludlow is lying about your clothing?”
“He was jealous! Jealous of me and Marco. He was worried. Worried that Marco was going to drag me down with him.”
Dr. Bhuspodi was silent.
Ben
Mander. Dr. Ben Mander. The only wrestler I ever knew personally. I heard him speak today at the annual Frontiers in Mental Health Conference in downtown Boston. He looked great, spoke articulately about new directions in mental health treatment and recovery. I was there in my capacity as a director of Doctors Without Borders. I'm a doc now, too, and go all over the world.
Ben. Seeing him up on the dais, waiting to deliver the keynote address, took me back twenty years to his tough time junior year, with his mother and whoever that strange guy was. WWF had us all worried there for a while. He kind of went into a nosedive when he had to send his mom away. Luckily, my mom and Dr. Whatever-her-name-was put him back together.
4000. That was quite a story! Ben got fairly lost in it. None of us ever did find out what that other guy was really doing. The hospital records didn't have anybody named Lasalle. Mom's buddy Winona said Ben talked to a guy named Overland who went AWOL from the unit and never turned up. Any real info about him was protected by confidentiality.
Ben's hospital discharge plan specified that he stay with us, and that actually turned out to be a lot of fun. Once Ben got a little sleep and some decent food, he went back to being the fun, goofy fishing addict I had always liked so much. He had a “crazy” rep for the rest of the school year, and Hube was his only friend.
But Ben's life sort of normalized once he started winning wrestling matches his senior year. Before I left for California Berkeley, I made him a spandex headband that said
Madman Mander
in sparkly metallic red letters. Hube told me Ben wore that right up to the starting whistle in every match. I guess he was pretty good. He might even have won something at the state tournament.
When I came home that first Christmas break, Ben was hanging out with a senior girl who acted in all the school plays and, according to Hube, rarely wore any color but purple. Around then, they started all going places together, Ben and the girl and Hube and Sarah.
I laughed, sitting there in the audience, remembering the outfits I used to wear and thinking about the pillbox hat, forties rayon dress, and seamed nylons I had on today. Guess I haven't changed too much.
I knew from my mom that Mrs. Mander didn't return to Riverton. It seemed her half brother, Arvin, in his generosity, had expected his wife to do all the work to accommodate their new guest. After a few months taking care of Ben's mom, Arvin's wife filed for divorce.
Mrs. Mander had to go to a Manteca halfway house. I guess that's where she started making greeting cards with Hopi designs, and I heard she sent one to Ben every week, telling him she loved him.
Ben's father moved back in with Charlene and went back to selling pumps. Hube said Ben saw his dad in the stands at wrestling matches. They weren't speaking.
According to the bio in the conference program, Ben had gone on to college and majored in psychology. He wanted to fix people. He said he didn't realize till later that he was fixing himself at the same time. He got a Ph.D. in psych first, and then his medical degree, which led to specialization in psychiatry.
Ben wound up creating a foundation to study innovative treatments like neurological implants to deliver psych medication. One part of the foundation is the Norene Mander Fund, named for his mom. They raised money to endow an urban apartment/office complex where people stabilizing from mental illness live and work together with artists and professionals. Ben's groundbreaking article in
Science
magazine a couple of years ago charted a course for mental health research that will probably be followed into the next century.
I am so proud of him, of all he's accomplished so far. When he finishes his last presentation today, I'm going to go up and introduce myself. See if he still remembers ol' Z. See if he will introduce me to that good-looking bushy-haired advisor who coauthors some of his work.
Dead Connection
Text copyright © 2007 by Charlie Price
A Deborah Brodie Book
Published by Roaring Brook Press
Roaring Brook Press is a division of Holtzbrinck Publishing
Holdings Limited Partnership
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First edition September 2007
eISBN 9781466892736
First eBook edition: February 2015