Beach Babe | The Outsiders | Johnny Cade

| Hospital | 64 |

Dr. Giovann says I got shot in the side, had a collapsed lung, lost a lot of blood. He says I'm lucky to be alive. Lucky? Nothing about my life has ever been lucky.

     No one's come to visit me here, in the 9 days and 20 hours I haven't had one visitor. No one cares enough to. No balloons or stuffed animals sent to my room, no flowers, not even a card. Dr. G won't even let me ask about my friends, he only let me ask about Theo because he's my brother. Theo is okay, he had three broken ribs, a torn tendon in his shoulder, a severely pulled muscle in his thigh, and a slight tear on his liver. He's recovering across the hospital from me, I'm kept on the psych floor for some reason.

"Okay, Ms. Greene, up you go." Dr. G manually props me up and checks my spine, I had a cracked vertebrae from my fall on the stairs, they're worried about it. I couldn't care less, if I die right now it'll be a good thing. "Looks good. Take some deep breaths?" I reluctantly oblige and do my best to take as deep of breaths as I can without hurting myself. He presses the freezing stethoscope to various spots on my skin then pulls away. "All good."

He then sits in front of me in a chair and grabs his stupid little clipboard, he opens his mouth but I beat him to it. "My name is Stacy Andrea Greene, I was born in San Francisco, California. I moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma earlier this year. I killed Jesse Swanson in self-defense." I recite.

      It's the same questions every time, what's your full name?, where were you born?, when did you move here?, what happened to Jesse?. Same old shit. He never asks about my "danger zones" i.e. Johnny, any of my family besides Theo, Dally, the gang, or my suicide attempt. He thinks I'll have some kind of episode, unfortunately he's right. He tried to bring up Johnny one of the first days I was conscious and I cried so hard I had to be sedated.

      The alcohol withdrawals have been difficult, extremely so. I've never felt so awful. I saw things, heard things, they kept having to sedate me because every time I woke up all I would do is scream and cry. It's mostly over now, even thinking about the taste of tequila makes me gag. Guess there's no more drinking for me, good.

"When do I get out of here?" I ask, my voice quiet and soft, it's the only tone I can manage now. The idea of yelling is foreign to me now. It's silent here, it feels wrong not to whisper.

"Not for a while, Stacy. You'll be kept for a two-week psychiatric evaluation." He says and pats my knee, I sigh and tear up, I scoot back into my bed and lay down, tugging the covers up around me like a child. "I'm sorry, really, I am. But you need it." He says, his tone remorseful and kind. He's always kind. He's the best doctor I've ever had

"No I don't." I pitifully whimper, I meant to say it confidently but my mouth had other plans.

"That scar on your temple says differently, Ms. Greene." My fingers instinctively find the circular scar on my temple, feeling the angry blisters and scabs. He sighs and rubs my shoulder comfortingly. "I'll check up on you every day, I promise."

I nod and blink back tears, I hate the feeling of my face being all wet.  "When do I have to go..?"

"When I clear you. Couple more days, I'm just trying to keep an eye on your spine, but it looks good." He sighs and scratches his nose under his glasses. "Theo went home today, his doctor said his liver is okay enough for him to go home. His on a crutch and his arm is in a sling, he'll make a full recovery, Stacy."

The dam of my tears broke, I wasn't sobbing, my facial expression didn't even change but the tears were pouring out of my eyes. "He's okay, my god, he's okay." I whisper, I close my eyes and cover my face with my hands.

       Dr. G quietly leaves the room. My tears don't stop till the sun is low in the horizon, casting gold and pink hues across my room. I stand and hobble over to the window, I always keep my blinds open. I stare at the sunset before looking at the sidewalk, seeing socs and greasers walk by, seeing husbands wheeling their wife's and new babies to their cars, watching the bus pick people up, watching a teenager comb his hair in a store window, watching the world pass by.

     I don't mind it here, it's quiet on this floor, save for the occasional screaming fit from the old PTSD-stricken WWII veteran down the hall. I asked Dr. G, he said he severed in the army on Omaha beach, said he's stuck there, stuck twenty years in the past. His name is Clarence, I'm not sure why he stands out to me among the others here, Doc has told me all their stories, the abridged versions of course, but none of them stuck, I can't remember most of them. But old Clarence, the WWII veteran stuck in time, is stuck in my brain. Maybe it's pity, maybe it's sympathy, maybe I see myself in him a little. Stuck in a memory from the past unable to escape the nightmares that never stay contained to sleep.

       I look away from the window and cross the room the little cart and the shitty suitcase record player on top. I play the Surfer Girl album by The Beach Boys, Dr. G was able to get this in here for me. I won't be able to have it when I get a proper psych room so I'm taking every advantage of it. I only requested this record. I got it before Jesse, before we moved, before life went to hell. It reminds me of better times.

      I play it on low volume and bring the cart as close as I can to the bed and lay down. I listen to it over and over. I know every song inside and out, but I'd rather overthink these songs than thinking about literally anything else. "In My Room" is my new favorite song, it's the closet thing I can get to cozy in my life.

I drift off as the gentle sounds play through the room.

———
The next day Dr. G clears me to move to a proper psych room. It's prison, smooth corner everything, frosted windows, and a thick door. Two-weeks of hell.

      I spend as little time in my room as I can. They make me see the psychiatrist, Mr. Clarkson, every day for an hour, he makes me talk in detail about everything that's ever happened to me, he asks me questions that I can't comprehend. He's nice and respectful but I hate him. I don't want to describe how I saw my twin-brother's death. I don't want to talk about seeing the light leaving Johnny's eyes. I don't.

     He diagnoses me at the end of the first week. He says I have depression, anxiety, and PTSD. Depression I understand, I don't really know what anxiety is, and there's no way I have PTSD, I didn't go to war, I just had a bad boyfriend experience. That's not bad enough to have PTSD, right? Surely not.

    Dr. Giovann visits me once a day like he said he would during lunch and we eat together. He tells me that Theo came in for his one week check-up and he's healing nicely, that makes me smile for the first time. I know he wants nothing to do with me but at least he's okay. It hurts a little that my own family and friends don't care about me anymore but maybe it's for the best, maybe I need a fresh start. No, not maybe, I do. I need to get out of Tulsa, start anew somewhere else.

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Thanks for reading!!

Word count: 1380