It Needs a Name

Chapter 15

They are letting me out today. My roommates glare at me with envy, malice, rather than being happy for me. I can't say I blame them. Whenever someone from my ward was discharged, it really pissed me off. Why wasn't that me? How come I couldn't go home yet?

But, I'm not going home. At least not for a while, anyway. The docs decided that staying with my mom's BFF Daphnie would be best for me. Sinceshesfamilyandeverything.

Whatever. The only thing I care about is getting the fuck out of here. I've been chained up long enough, I want to stretch my legs. Jump, run and yell. I wanted to stay up all night, blast my music as loud as I wanted, and not make my bed in the morning. It doesn't seem like much, but if you've been in a place like this, you'd know that those things become freedoms that you can only dream of.

I pack my things into large brown bags, taking time to fold my shirts just so, so I don't have a thousand things to carry on my way out. My slip on shoes squeak against the hideous floor. I can't wait for carpet. Something quieter than this floor. You can hear everyone coming and going. It's ominous, like a horror movie.

I hate horror movies.  

I check my closet again, all shelves are empty. Everything is packed, sorted and shoved in bag after bag. My bed is made, sheets stretched taunt over the brick of a mattress. My bedside table is clean of any messes, the drawers barren. Soon it will be like I was never here. Some other poor soul will take my bed, my closet space. My roommates will have someone new to hate, the day nurses have someone else to poke with sharp things at obscene hours.

It will be as if I were never here. Something about that is comforting to me. I haven't made any sort of impression on any of the staff. The other patients are too ass-backwards to remember me. I can fade away. Continue on with my life. My stay here, like all the others, will be swept under the rug. Never spoken of again.

Except in therapy...

I head down the hall to the nurses station to tell them I'm all set. I nod my head at That One Nurse That's Always Here Who's Name I Can Never Remember, and head into the Day Room for what I hope will be the last time. Three other patients are gathered in front of the TV set, some new program on. If you ask me, people in nuthouses shouldn't be allowed to watch the news. Makes us even more crazy.

I sit in one of the seats near the small yard, used for smoke breaks, and stare out the window. I can feel the warmth wrapping around me, soaking through my clothes and into my bones. It's reassuring. A reminder that my liberation is close at hand. All I have to do is be patient. The wind blows flowers off the hedge, scattering pink petals around the small cement square. There are wisps of clouds in the sky. They look like shreaded pieces of cotton, hanging there. Lazy, tired, ready for a nap. Content with thier lot. Must be nice to be a cloud.

 I don't know how long I sit there, in that seat, thinking about those clouds. A strong hand on my shoulder brings me out of my thoughts, back to Earth. I look up, meeting the kind eyes of the nurse at the station. She smiles kindly at me. I've never seen her smile before. It must have something to do with my going home. She's either glad I'm leaving, or is no longer afraid of me. I can't be dangerous if they're letting me out, after all.

 "Jamie, dear, your ride is here. Let's go gather your things, shall we?"Her voice is kind, smoothe like a Kindergarden teacher. That voice could make me do anything. I stand and follow her down the hall, catching the eye of BFFDaphnie as I turn the corner. 

She's dressed in some weird sweater that has about a thousand colors in it. None of them too pleasan to look at. Her skirt goes down to her ankles, some unknown matirial. Her shoes, well...they look like rain boots. Shiny, yellow. Big. School bus shoes.

She smiles at me, her eyes twinkling. The wrinkles on her tan face deepen when she smiles. If she has any frown lines, I can't see them from here. She has freckles. I never realized just how many. Her face looks like the night sky. Dots everywhere. I wonder if she would let me play Connect the Dots on her face...

With a washable marker, or course.

 I can't smile at her just yet, so I tuck tail and squeak down the hall to my room.  The nurse already has my bags in her thick arms, and is heading back to the station. I feel awkward following her, empty-handed. I almost decide not to follow her back, not wanting to talk to Daphnie. Not wanting this huge change to take place. I wanted to put it off. But I couldn't. I had no choice but to face Daphnie, and her school bus shoes.

I take a deep breath, and round the corner. Walking to the station like I owned the place. Cool, collected, confident. The nurse is going over the out-patient treamtent plan with Daphnie, explaining my medications, drawing out my therapy appointments. Twice a week. Monday and Wednesday at 7pm. She has to drive me there, at take me home, to make sure I don't play hookie.

I look at my shoes, waiting for them to finish talking. I fight the impulse to study Daphnie. Her sweater intimidates me. So many colors.

After a bit longer, the nurse hands me a paper to sign, pointing to the line with her pink nails. I scribble my signature  as quick as I can, hadn her back the pen and smile. The nurse hands me my things, including the clothing I came in. Minus the shirt and hoodie. Too much blood, Nurse explains. They just threw it out.

My face falls all to the floor. I feel my face pale, anxiety stirring up inside my stomach. That was my favorite hoodie. I wore it everywhere. It was my life support. I needed it. I clear my throat, pushing unwilling words out of my mouth.

"I understand. Thank you very much." I offer another small smile, shrug to show that it doesn't matter. Like I have thousands of hoodies just like it at home. No big deal.

My stomach hurts. Is it hot in here?

Daphnie takes the last bag from the counter, shows me her teeth, then heads for the door. No grerting, no 'How are yous'. I've notice that parents or famiy of released patients don't like to talk until they pass the locked doors. They don't talk above a whisper during visiting hours either. Afraid of waking up a crazy, I guess.

Daphnie is also part of this trend. Turning to face me several times during our treck down the Hall to Freedom. Does she think I'm going to run away? Disappear? Melt into a puddle on the floor? I want out of here. Going with her is the only option I have.

After about a billion years, passing doorway after doorway, we glide through the final set of locked double doors. The hospital lobby is sunny, filled with plants, old magazines, and people staring at me like I have four noses.

I swallow the lump in my throat and press on. The nurse walks us to the door, holding the glass open for us. Telling me not to come back. In that moment, I am blinded.

The entire world is filled with the blinding sunlight. My eyes burn, my lids cram shut, trying to keep my retinas from melting. I stumble, trying to follow Daphnie by the sound of her shoes. Without warning, a thick, hot hand grabs my arm, pulling me gentley along. I'm too stunned from the light to fight back.

"Bright out here? Don't they let you outside at all? Poor thing. Don't worry, I'll get you to the car alright. Just follow me. That's it." Her voice is quiet. Her tone one you would use to calm an angry toddler, or a wild animal. I wonder which of the two I am to her.

I stumble along in the dark behind Daphine, scrapping my shoes along that asphalt, kicking rocks, nearly tripping twice. After some amount of time, Daphnie clears her throat, stops moving and waits.  We must be there.

I open my eyes slowly, flinching away from the light. Craving the dull saftey of the artificial lighting of the ward. Everything in the real world is so much stronger. Before me I see a small sedan, faded red and rusted. Daphnie stands to one side of the trunk, her face sunny, yet gaurded. She opens the trunk and tells me to put my bags whereever there was room.

Her truck was a fucking mess to say the least. There were clothes, papers, old food wrapers, maps and God knows whatever was in that box in the corner. A head maybe. A cat. Her bong. I cleared away an old denim jacket, tossed aside a pair of weird leather boots and settling my belongings in thier nest of chaos.

Fear gripped me then. Would I be stuck in a nest of chaos too?