This Young Lady would be perfect to play the part of Roxanne in Fall of Knight |
As
I am about to finish my milk like a good patient who has been called a danger
to self and others, I look up to see Rocky coming into the dining area. John walks up to her, but she brushes past
him and walks in my direction. If looks
could kill – John would be going up on murder charges – and I would be worm
food. In Hamlet – don’t ask me why I
have suddenly thought of Hamlet – Hamlet talks about the worm who has “et” if I
recall correctly of the rich man and how that worm could be put on the hook of
a poor fisherman to catch the fish that the poor fisherman eats for supper and
thus the rich man passes through the guts of the beggar. I totally get this scene. Of course, Hamlet is nuts at this time and has
just murdered Polonius for reasons I can never understand. At least I had a reason for nearly killing
Jerret.
Rocky sits beside me. John leaves
the room, and only Rocky and I remain at the table.
“I’ll tell you about my beast if you
tell me about yours,” she says, and I feel as if I’m a kid who’s just been
asked to play doctor with the neighbor girl.
She puts her hand on my leg and I feel myself stiffen – in more ways
than one.
“Who was it?” I ask.
I think I know the kind of beast Rocky is battling.
She jerks her hand away – which is
what I want and don’t want at the same time.
“My mother’s boyfriends.”
“Friends?”
Rocky looks down in shame. “I had a friend once who told me he got
together with this girl because her mom was such a great cook. Stupid bastard. My mom’s friends got together with her
because it made it easy for them to get together with me. Repeatedly.”
I want to tell her how sorry I am,
but most of us who are crazy, know saying you’re sorry is pretty lame. It’s like telling someone who’s being burned
alive that you’ll get them a glass of water. I feel a helpless kind of rage
inside me because I know there’s nothing I can do to put out Rocky’s fire. Meds will damper it, but she’ll never be all
right. She’ll never be cool.
“I’ve never told anyone this,” she
says.
“They think you have clinical
depression. The suicide attempts. They don’t know the real reason?”
“And they never will.”
“But why? The bastards who did this to you–“
“Will get away with it because I'm not telling. If I do, I’ll be
the dirty bitch forever. The one banged by all her stepfathers.”
I don’t argue with her because I
know it’s true. People will feel sorry
for you but say you asked for it behind your back.
“Your mom?”
“She’s on number six now. She says he’s nice.”
“Maybe he is,” I say.
A young woman in a clean white coat
comes into the dining area. She must be
the relief.
“I’m just now eating, Dr. Adams,”
Rocky says.
Dr. Adams looks at me.
“I’m new here. I’m not sure where to go next.”
“You’re Dean, right?”
“Correct,” I say.
“You need to come with me. Usually at 6, we do group with one of the
night crew, or we do follow up visits to deal with the day’s events. I need to visit with you for a few minutes,
Dean. Rocky, you’ve had a bad day, according to Dr. King. You need to go to your group.” Two orderlies come in. “Make
sure Rocky makes it to the group meeting.
Come along, Dean.”
“She thinks I’m going to kill myself on the
way,” Rocky says.
“I don’t risk anything with
desperate people,” Dr. Adams says.
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