Call Me Tuesday

Cafeteria Drug Deal

"CHARLIE WAKE UP!" I open my eyes just in time to see a hardback copy of Twilight, sailing through the air. It lands right on my stomach with a "thud." I groan.

"Page. I'm trying to sleep." I protest.

"But Charlie! It's Saturday!" Page all but screams. Saturday. I had completely forgotten. Saturdays are free days. We can do whatever we want. But it’s also visiting day. I sigh, and roll over onto my side.

“You go on ahead. Have breakfast, see your family. I’ll meet up with you in a little while.” I tell her. She looks disappointed.

“Are you sure?” She asks. I nod. She stands up, and shuffles around a bit.

“Um... Charlie? Can I ask you a favour?” She asks, holding her makeup bag. I sit up in my bed, and stretch my hand out. She grins.

“Thanks, Char!” She exclaims, handing me the bag, and sitting down in front of me. I unzip the little, Tiffany blue pouch, and proceed to do her makeup for her. She’s usually really good at it, but she gets nervous on visiting day. Her hands start to shake, and her face ends up looking like the product of a biohazard spill.  

Page closes her eyes, and I look at the selection of eye shadows she has. Today, she’s wearing a black skirt, and a bright yellow sweater, which looks amazing with her bright green hair. I’ve always loved her hair. I could never pull it off though. Bright green, and in a pixie cut. It’s far too edgy for me. I’ll stick with my curly, black, maine.

I choose a light gray eyeshadow for her, with black eyeliner, and mascara. She always wears bright red lipstick, which is a huge statement, but somehow, always looks right on her, no matter what she’s wearing that day.

“How do I look?” She asks, standing up, and smoothing down her skirt. I smile at her.

“Visitor ready.” I tell her. She smiles back.

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” She asks, “She could come today.” I shake my head.

“She’s not coming today.” I say. Page nods.

“Well try and have fun today. Go somewhere. Do something. Don’t just sit around and feel sorry for yourself, okay?” She asks. I nod.

“Good.” She says, “I’ll see you tonight.” I nod again, and she runs out into the hallway, ready to see her family again. I swing my legs over the side of my bed, and I sigh.

“Go somewhere. Do something.” I repeat. I haven’t actually gone anywhere in a long time. Where should I go? What should I do? What’s a fun thing to do? These questions run through my mind, as I sit, staring into space. I stand up, ready to go somewhere, but the only place I end up going, is the floor. I sigh, staring at the pile of books I tripped over. Our entire room is filled with books. There are piles of them everywhere. Page found an old door one day, and decided to hang it from the ceiling, so we could pile even more books on it. We ended up getting into trouble for that. We both did two weeks of chores. But they let us keep it.

You see, Page and I, we live in a residential mental institution, called The Residential Mental Health Institute of Illinois. RMHII for short. We pronounce it Remy. Page and I run the only functioning library in the Remy. Which is probably why the high ups let us keep the door. The patients here love the books. Especially Page. She’s the one who brought them all. Sometimes we get donations, but they’re mostly her personal collection. I remember when I moved into this room. I asked what was up with all the books, and she replied with, “They said I could bring anything.” That’s how she got her nickname, Page. Her real name’s Ellie, but everyone calls her Page because of the books. Everyone here has a nickname like that.