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| Sean Connery would be my Dr. King. |
I
have a room to myself which is great because I don't want to talk to
anyone. My dad doesn't seem to care
about my feelings because he's been hanging around me on and off all day. I
have tried to avoid thinking of him. My
mind, they say, is fragile, and if it gets too caught up with thoughts, it will
collapse and be sucked down the throat of the beast. I ignore my father and do not talk to
him. I watch him as he sits silently in
the one chair in my small room.
Did I tell you why I am one of the
few with a room to myself when most of the other crazies are jammed two and
three to a room like chickens in a cage?
No one says it aloud, but I am sure it will come up in all the
counseling I have to endure. It's
because they consider me a danger -- to others for sure -- and to myself
too. I don't think I could off
myself. Like I say, too afraid to live
and too afraid to die. As far as hurting others goes, I don't really know what
I might do. That scares the shit out of
me. On the other hand, if I get to kick
Jerret's ass, it would be nice to remember and enjoy it.
"You get that temper from your
mother," Dad suddenly says.
"Just leave me the hell
alone," I say before I can stop myself.
Panic- stricken I look around at the door expecting to see two big
muscle heads coming in with a straight jacket. When nothing happens, I look
toward my dad, but he has obliged me and disappeared to wherever dead people go
when they aren't haunting live people.
I can’t have visitors for at least a
week. I have no computer and no
phone. They do give me a small
television and a radio though I am somewhere in the bowels of this hellhole and
I don’t get very good reception on the radio.
I have some notebooks in case I want to journal, but unless I am forced
to do that, I don’t intend to write a thing.
I’ll be damned if I give them any information to use against me.
I have an hour to myself though I am
sure I will be monitored someway. I am
guessing that every room has hidden cameras and microphones. Some people think that is paranoid, but I’ve
been in these places before.
Nothing good is on television, and I
can’t find anything to listen to on the radio, so I crash in my bed and pick up
one of the notebooks. They are cheaply
made, undoubtedly bought for 50 cents at Walmart or Dollar General. There’s not even a good ink pen in the room,
jut a stub of a pencil. I don’t use
pencil stubs to write. Surely, I can
survive this place for two weeks. I decide it can’t really hurt to sketch, so I
begin to draw a little. For a few
minutes, I try to get Ella’s face in my head but it’s like looking through
fog. I have to see her. We have to tell someone about my father. Maybe, she has … maybe … this line of
thinking bothers me so I don’t pursue it.
I finish my sketch of Ella and then I start one on Dee. I hope there’s nothing weird in my drawing a
picture of my sister. It’s just her face
is so much like my face. If she and mom
would admit it, her head is much like mine too.
I focus on my work until time starts slipping away like a stream.
A little later, an aide steps
in. He’s a big guy. I almost laugh because I think maybe they
sent him because they’re afraid of me. I
feel a little guilty about what I did to Jerret, but not much. That bastard should have been hanging from a
tree, not my friend.
“Mr. Knight. I am here to take you to the lab. We have to take some of your blood to--”
“I know the drill,” I say.
He frowns at me and I get that sense
that if I screw up the least little bit this guy will be dropping me to the
floor and restraining me.
“And you are?” I ask.
My tone a little more friendly. I
tell myself that I have to play the game to get out of this place.
“Call me Marcus.”
“Lead the way, Marcus,” I say though
there’s no way in hell Marcus is going to walk in front of me anywhere in this
place. He motions for the door, so
without saying anything further, I step out.
“Straight down the hall to the
door.”
When we get to the door, the
appropriate signals are exchanged and the prison opens. “To the cross hall and make a right. Third door on the left,” Marcus says.
The phlebotomist – Yeah, I know that
word. It’s kind of a cool word, don’t
you think -- takes three vials of my
blood. One will be to test my Depakote
level, which they will find to be nonexistent – definitely not at a therapeutic
level -- and then I’ll get all kinds of shit about not taking my medicine. They’ll watch me like a hawk the whole time
I’m here to see that I take my bipolar cocktail. I can play their game. When I get home, Mom may even watch me like a
hawk for a few weeks, but I’m definitely more patient than my mother.
Marcus comes back in, I think to
lead me back to my room, but instead of going right, we go farther down the
hall.
“Where we going?” I ask.
“Dr. King wants to see you.”
“Is he the head shrink here?”
Marcus just laughs at me. That is more than a little unnerving.
I walk into small office only to
find a bear sitting behind a desk. The
chair he’s in, the desk, the room are all too small for Dr. King. Only, he’s not fat. He’s massive – like an Olympic wrestler or something. My heart drops just a little.
“Sit down, Knight. Thanks, Marcus.”
I sit across from Dr. King as Marcus
smiles at me and exits, chuckling as he goes out.
“So you’re not taking your
medicine,” Dr. King says.
“Why would you --”
“Save your bullshit, Dean. You leave it at the door of any room I’m in.”
I fall silent. I have to admit that I’m a little frightened.
“After the fiasco at the river, the
school got the canine units into the building to do a drug sweep. Your partner David was found with a bunch of
prescription pills. He squealed like a
pig about where he got his stash and what he was doing with it. You’re just pretty fucking lucky you’re not
in a juvenile detention center instead of a hospital. You wouldn’t like juvie, Dean.”
He stares at me, and I feel myself
getting smaller and smaller as if I’m going to disappear.
“Your sister told us what this
Jerret prick said to you. He deserves to
have the shit beat out of him.” He
pauses to let his words sink in, but before I can bask in the victory, he adds,
“He doesn’t deserve to be beaten to death though. The administrators say that if they hadn’t
pulled you off, you would have killed him.
What do you say to that?”
“I don’t remember,” I say before I
realize it isn’t the thing I should have said.
“So you were crazy when it
happened.”
“I’m not sure if--”
“You can’t have it both ways,
Dean. Either you were out of your mind
or you tried to murder him. What’s it
going to be?”
I don’t answer him.
“If you’re crazy, we might be able to
help. If you’re a murderer, we’ll lock
you up. Marcus!”
Marcus pops back in.
“Take him back to his room.”
I leave, feeling very much like I
have been run over by a truck.
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