"So the cop came into Clarke's and told me to move it along. This cop was big. Named Hoffman, a German. And Germans are evil. Designed to kill." Fergus raised his palms, preacher style. "I looked up into his beady, blue eyes and deep inside the pupil, I saw the demon. A silver-skinned beast with glistening red eyes. It waved its pointy tongue at me. And my purpose was clear.”
"Which was what?" Hela asked with one eyebrow raised.
"To save Clark and Belmont from the demons! The demons who had dwelt there for so long!"
A crowd of patients drifted toward the fervor of Fergus' declarations. Elena sat on the tile at Fergus' feet, with her black hair over one shoulder, like the Biblical whore with the alabaster jar. Mona and Markus sat on vinyl chairs on either side of Hela. A few of the zombies detoured their pacing so they could stumble past Fergus and listen.
"My purpose was clear," he continued, "when the shining blue angel appeared in the restaurant window with a saber in each hand. The angel winked at me. Then Hoffman came at me with the cuffs. I could feel the evil coming from him and as a reflex I threw my foot in his path.”
Hela grinned. Elena gasped. Both leaned toward Fergus with wide eyes.
“His ankle caught mine and he fell on the floor with his arms knocking cups from some tables. Broken glass all over the place. Then I realized, “Holy shit! I’ve just tripped a cop!” and ran to the door, but it was way too late. His backup had arrived. They wrestled me to the ground and slammed my head against it a couple of times, then took me down to the station and that’s how I ended up at County, where I found God.”
“That’s it?” Hela sneered.
“What do you mean, “that’s it?” I broke a cop’s ankle! A German cop! And those Germans are indestructible!”
“Ouhhh! What is…euuuu!” Bandana caught a wiff of Leslie as she paced past the nurse’s counter.
“Every day, your name is the same.” Leslie sang dreamily, inflectionless, in a soft and throaty baby voice as she paced the perimeter of the dayroom. “Every day, your name is the same. Every day, your name is the same.”
There should be a hospital-wide pacing Olympics. Different categories. A category for Markus-like strutting. For angry, crack zombie twitch-stalking, like that of Suzy and Anabelle. A Special Pacing Olympics for those who pace in wheelchairs, like Smit and Milton. The power-walk of Elena and Hela when they decide they feel floppy. The bent-wrist, stumbling t-rex pacing category would have a stiff tie between Carol and Leslie.
Leslie had been rotting around here, un-bathed in those same gowns for about 2 weeks now. So yeah, she did smell like shit. And like the cold canned beans the hospital served up on styrofoam plates for at least one meal each day; like spilled liquid Haldol, sterile and stinging; like dirty cunt.
Leslie stopped her pacing and turned toward Bandana. “I w’s j’st, I was just wunning some fabric. I really like,” she paused and smiled, “fabric.”
“FABric!” Bandana said as if the word were a personal insult, her nostrils flared. She grit her jaw. “I’ll give you 5 minutes and if I don’t hear that water running, security give you a shower!”
But Leslie kept on pacing. Singing, “Every day, your name is the same.” An infantile look to her puffy cheeks and bull-legged stance contradicted her swollen, motherly basketball breasts.
“That’s it!” Bandana growled and pressed the red button on the phone in front of her.
It was around 11, so Alicia was just waking up for a shower before lunch. Stumbling into the dayroom, rubbing her eyes, rubbing out her nighttime Valium. Alicia yawned and plucked a clean, but grayish towel from the stack at the edge of the nurse’s counter. She sauntered groggily to the shower room as two female security guards stomped up to Leslie, mid-pace.
It actually didn’t take much for them to get her into the shower. They just lead her by the forearms, steering her as she paced and asked them, “C’ni, can I have some fabric?”
Mona slid her thin lips into a quivering grin. Her lumpy, old pelvis rocked slightly forward and backward.
“Mona, you’re practicing your kegels, aren’t you?” Elena giggled.
“Mmmm…um…maybe.” Mona replied and let her eyelids flutter shut.
“What’s a kegel?” Hela asked.
“You know, there are muscles inside your pussy. When you push ‘em forward and squeeze, it’s called a kegel. It makes you better in bed.” Elena began to breathe heavy. “And it feels good!”
Hela kegeled. The moisture slipping and pounding inside her. She thought of her master’s hot, thick hand around her neck and cock shoving far and tight up her ass. And of Dr. Littleboy, Scrabble games and how he could fuck her in restraints. Of course, of Alicia’s tiny fingers tickling her clit in the sparkling summer morning, when even the metal bars on the bedroom window can’t block out the sun.
A shriek in the shower room. “You brush up against me and touch me and you ain’t got no pannies on, and that ain’t right!” Leslie’s whine echoed off the tile walls. Followed by Alicia’s cackle.
Hela and Elena laughed at that as they kegeled.
“I- I didn’t forget, you reached over my food yesterday.” Leslie went on. “You reached over my food. ’N you look better with clothes on.”
Alicia left the bathroom, in fresh gowns with a towel over her head, which was funny because she’s bald.
When Alicia got to the dayroom, Hela asked her, “Wanna learn how to kegel?”
8/3
7:20pm
Dayroom
Mona sits beside me. She smells like pee.
“I have a problem, Hela.” she says.
“What kind of problem?” I ask.
“I don’t want to go to sleep, tonight.”
“Why’s that?”
“Last night, at about 1:30 in the morning, I wet my bed. I had to change the sheets. How do ya like that?”
Ahh!
“That does sound like a serious problem.” I say, pretending I’m psychologist Kelly.
“It’s my kidneys.” Mona points to her sides. “25 years of Lithium therapy. Now I only have 25 percent kidney function. I don’t know if I’ll have to wear Depends at night, or what.”
Eeeee!
8:30pm
Bedroom
I am heavy asleep beneath that piece of paper, sorry-ass excuse for a blanket. Head is covered.
The blanket is torn from my body. A wave of cold. My eyes pop open. There is a creature with a face of leather and wild, white worms for hair above me. Ahh! It’s Carol.
She clamps her chilly fingers around my wrist and pulls me from the bed, to the nurse’s counter.
“Nancy, time fo’ yo’ medication.” Carol says to me.
“That not Nancy!” Bandana protests. “Who is she?”
“It’s Hela.” Fergus says.
One of those plastic, sectioned-off boxes that young girls keep their beads in, fishers keep their tackle in, held the chemical bits of color, which sugared and baked the minds of the patients in the D-North ward.
Every patient had their own partition of the pillcase. Each with a name, typed and taped to the side of the plastic square. Some squares were brimming, stacked to the top, like the one that said MONA LAWRENCE. Not only holding mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics, it also had synthetic thyroid hormone, a potassium supplement, blood pressure pill, stool softener and multivitamin.
The section that said ELENA CHIN was less crowded, carrying only a high dose of bright purple anti-psychotic and a birth control pill. Hela’s had just a medicine cup full of liquid Valporic Acid, for now. They didn’t trust her not to tongue her pill and spit it out into the toilet. Or let Alicia take it, instead.
“Hey Hela, are you German?” Fergus asked as Hela held her nose and poured the red goo to the back of her throat.
She gulped and shuddered. “Maybe…”
“I only take the Sweet Tarts. These are Starburst. I don’t take the Starburst.” Leslie said to Bandana, pointing at her section of the pillcase.
“Can I have some water to go with mine?” Fergus asked Bandana.
“These aren’t my Sweet Tarts.”
“Take ‘em anyway!”
“Can I have some water?”
“You see anybody else with water?”
“I don’t take the Starburst.”
“Take ‘em anyway.”
“Okay…”
“I need some water, these things get stuck in my throat…”
“I took the Starburst, miss.”
“Good.”
8/4
10am
Dayroom
It turns out Leslie was right. Those weren’t her pills that Bandana made her take, last night. She’s been in bed all morning. I hear she’s having convulsions. Foaming at the mouth and shaking, with her eyes rolled back into her head. I wish I could sneak in and see, but Nurse Turtle Jean is there. I also heard that Bandana got fired. Horray!
¶ 11:59 AM 2 comments
Behind the nurses’ counter, Bigfoot hoisted her huge backpack onto one thick shoulder. It was the end of her shift. A new night nurse showed up at 8, while visitors were chatting with patients out in the eating area. Well, he wasn’t a new nurse as in it was his first day, but new as in I’d never seen him before.
“Slick Andre!” all the patients without visitors called when he strut into the dayroom.
“Why is he “Slick” Andre?” I asked Alicia, since she’d been here before. I stroked the fuzzy stubble on her thigh while Bigfoot’s blonde balloon of a head was turned.
“Just look at him. He slick!” Alicia pointed to the night nurse. Tinted glasses with thick, tortoise shell rims, a black derby hat. Freshly pressed, but not too fancy black suit. Shiny shoes. A cane that I suspect was just for fashion, since he seemed to walk just fine.
Alicia went on, “Slick Andre, he the pimp. He always wearin’ them antique suits. He lets us stay up late and gives us extra snack. He give you extra meds, if you ask.”
“Let’s ask for some Xanax and we’ll have a really fun night.” I snickered. Alicia grinned back at me, a firefly spark in her colorless right eye.
Slick Andre was talking to Bigfoot. Bigfoot gestured toward me and Alicia. “Those are the new girls. Both have sexual issues. Keep them out of the guys’ bedrooms.” I heard her saying in my mind. Ha ha! If only she knew!
Andre waved and nodded. I waved back.
Getting a sip of water was my alibi to snoop. I always liked peeking at everybody’s visitors. I never see Spiderman out of his room, except for if I’m up at 3am. He’ll be out in the dayroom, trying to climb the walls, ignoring Bandana’s screams. Now he’s talking softly, in short Spanish sentences with 2 weeping women, one older, probably his mother and one younger. A sister? A girlfriend?
Queen Elena’s husband had to be the biggest surprise.
“Hey, Hela. Come over here and meet Steve.” she called to me while I sipped from the fountain. Elena’s thin tan arm was linked around the flannel arm of a barrel-chested man in a trucker’s hat. I walked over.
“This is my husband, Steve. Well, we’re not really married, but close enough!” Elena beamed. Steve thrust his long forehead at me in a silent greeting.
“Steve brought us all these good movies.” VHS tapes were stacked on the table before her. “And we can even watch them tonight since Andre is here. Most nurses only let us watch G movies. I wonder why.”
* * *
After the visitors left, it was snack time. Crackers and peanut butter from a tube with apples, this night. Like every night. But since Andre was on duty, there was popcorn, too. The buttery starch aroma perfumed the dayroom, drowning out the med-farts and cherry reek of spilt Valporic Acid syrup. A line of gown-clad patients with watering mouths had formed. Hela was first, then Fergus.
“So what did you think of group today?” Fergus asked Hela, with his face extra pale and pupils dilated.
“I dunno…staring at a box of tea? That’s supposed to be meditation? It just made me think of how badly I’d like a cup of tea.” Hela sucked her tongue and looked up, trying to recall the taste of honey and lemon.
“I thought it was rather helpful.”
“You would.”
“Ever since I found the Lord at County, I find Him everywhere. Even in a box of tea.” Fergus stuck out his bottom lip righteously.
Hela rose then dropped her arms. “See, that’s what I was getting at when we talked before. If there’s a God, it’s more like a spirit of life that’s in everything. That’s what I meant. You see what I mean?”
“I don’t know, Hela. I guess we agree. I think a pig just flew by.”
Their laughter was covered by the snap of a wheelchair footrest hitting a human leg. Did Milton loose it? It’s always the quiet ones… No, it’s Smit.
“Don’t you cut me in line.” Rosa clamped one hand on her hip and swung her foot like an ax to kick Smit on his hurt leg. Smit, with the fluid lunge of an asp from a tree, bounced out of his chair, landing on his good leg and slapped Rosa’s cheek. Elena, standing behind them, coughed out giggles under her hand. Mona, behind Elena, shook her head slowly, gray hair brushing her shoulders.
Slick Andre sauntered between Smit and Rosa. Thrust one palm full of silver rings in either of their faces. “Now, now folks. There’s popcorn for us all.” he cooed.
“But he cut in front of me!” the wrinkles between Rosa’s eyes were taut and deep.
“I got your momma hangin’!” Smit raised a fist.
“Shut up, white boy!”
“I got your momma hangin’!”
“Shut up, white boy!”
Slick Andre rolled his eyes beneath his tinted glasses and rolled Smit’s wheelchair into his bedroom.
“Rosa. Are you okay?” Elena placed a hand on Rosa’s shoulder.
“I got your momma hangin’!” Smit called out from his bedroom.
“I’ll be fine. That fucker is dead. When I tell the doctor what he did.”
* * *
8/2
Snack Time
Today Smit and Rosa got in a fight. I guiltily admit it amused me, from a circus audience standpoint.
Slick Andre made us popcorn for movie time. It smelled so good, even the zombies stood in line for snack. I was waiting with Fergus, having an interesting talk about God when Smit cut in front of Rosa. I didn’t see, but I heard his wheelchair hit her leg. She told him not to cut in line and then kicked his hurt leg. He’d said to me that he fractured it in a car accident. Yeah right. We all know you jumped off a bridge, stupid.
Pardon me. I’m still sort of bitter from when Smit asked to see my tits.
Anyway, after Rosa kicked Smit in the bad leg, he jumped up out of his wheelchair, like fucking Lazarus or something and slapped Rosa right on the cheek. That ass! Andre stepped between them and broke it up. He’s making Smit stay in his room all night and miss both the popcorn and movie.
Elena and Mona are sitting across from me, reenacting the fight.
“I got your momma hangin’!” Elena is chanting and waving her fist at Mona, who replies, “Shut up, white boy.” in her flattest robotic voice, which makes it even funnier.
“Hey, both of you. Shut up!” Rosa just yelled from the other side of the snack room, where she is sulking and squeezing a tube of peanut butter on her crackers.
Elena and Mona both said sorry. They’re friends with Rosa. Rosa’s a nice lady, usually. Not very crazy at all, just lonely and depressed. Her family has died off, she doesn’t have many friends. No husband or kids. She’s here because she took a bunch of sleeping pills when her boyfriend dumped her. Over the counter shit, so she didn’t die, just slept for a week. Her landlady found her. It all sounds so teenage.
Still, what kind of redneck cretin slaps an old lady? I hope they transfer Smit to a home for the criminally insane.
Okay, so I didn't reach 50,000 words for National Novel Writing Month, continuing my 21-year losing streak at everything I have ever tried.. =)
I was mostly just using the month as an excuse to start a novel. Which I did. And will continue until you're plucking it off the shelf at your local bookstore.
Now back to Hela and the fun folks at the state hospital..
¶ 2:06 PM 1 comments
