The first half of Patrick’s weekend was a dull blur. Both Charley and Justine left him behind on the ward most of Saturday, using their higher-level privileges. Patrick did get to go on a couple of staff-escorted walks, first to a nearby sandwich shop and later to a threadbare city park.
Maybe it was the pills kicking in, as Patrick allowed himself to suppose, but he hadn’t been afraid of being picked up by the DEA while he was outside the walls of the hospital. Yet he felt embarrassed by the low-level functioning of some of the other patients who also went on the walks. Any citizen who spotted their little cluster on the sidewalk could know something was wrong with them. Patrick edged away from the group by a few paces now and then.
Art escorted them for these walks. This counselor was brusque without quite being rude and seemed as eager as any patient to get outside for a while. But he did complain about the hospital van being broken down since he was usually the one to drive patients on field trips.
As for Fred, he was certainly gone by now. The weekend nurse had bagged up Fred’s abandoned clothes after breakfast. Things got a but more interesting on Sunday.
Justine had been granted a twelve-hour pass by Dr. Adams. It was supposed to be used at least in part to prepare for discharge. She said she hated having to go from being bossed around by the staff to being bossed around by her parents. But Patrick was annoyed to hear that she would be spending most of the day with Todd Her Boyfriend.
Otherwise, Patrick was still dreading the time he’d have to call Scott. He was informally considering seven that evening as the hour to call his brother.
Between those two preoccupations, Patrick hadn’t felt like going out on any more walks. Bored by his bedroom, he had aimlessly watched TV out in the day room all Sunday afternoon. In the process, he got acquainted with the new patient, Anthony Gingarella.
Anthony was yet another person of Patrick’s generation. He didn’t smoke so he kept Patrick company in the day room. He was small, with spindly limbs and a large, blond-haired head almost like Charley’s. Anthony – he refused to be called Tony – was sitting in a wheelchair the whole time although he told Patrick he could walk.
Anthony’s voice was soft and high-pitched. He smiled easily but it struck Patrick that Anthony saw a somewhat different reality than he did. It was Frank the counselor’s weekend to work and he was frequently stopping by to check in with Anthony.
Patrick realized that Anthony’s visibility was an improvement from Saturday. Since his Friday afternoon arrival, Anthony had kept himself hidden in his room more resolutely than Patrick had in his first couple of days. Patrick wondered if that was a typical pattern and thought he might try and compare his and Anthony’s behavior to the next new admission.
Because it was summertime, the sun was still shining at seven o’clock. Patrick got up from the day room sofa and reached into his pants pocket to reconfirm that his dimes were still there.
“Gotta call my brother,” he told Anthony on his way past the long table.
“Tell him I said hello,” Anthony responded. “Ha-ha!”
Patrick was not in the mood for joking, however weak that joke might be. His hands trembled as he picked up the receiver and slipped the coin into the slot.
After two whirring sounds came through the earpiece, Scott picked up.
“Hello?”
“Scott, hi.”
“Patrick! Where are you?”
“Uhhh-mmm…”
“Is something wrong? C’mon, tell me!”
“Well…”
“Are you in some kind of trouble? Let me help if you are.”
“I’m not in trouble, not exactly. Listen. I’m in a hospital.”
“Oh, my God! W-what happened? Are you hurt?”
“No injuries. Nothing, um, physical.”
“What d’you mean, ‘nothing physical’?”
Patrick swallowed and closed his eyes. His guts felt all numb and his knees quivered.
“Scott, I’m on a psy-psychiatric ward.”
“Jesus! What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Patrick said, aware that his voice was soft and mechanical. “They tell me I was all disoriented Wednesday night. Cops took me into… custody. One thing led to another and they put me in here.”
“Did you drop acid, or something?”
“No, I asked about that, whether something was slipped to me. They said my blood test was negative for any drugs.”
“Okay, Patrick. I’ll come right down and get you out of there.”
“No,” Patrick replied sharply. “I belong here.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Listen to me. I’m safe in here. I can explain it to you better in person. I signed myself in; I’m not under commitment. This is the voluntary ward.”
“Where is it? Which Hospital?”
“Hillside, it’s called. It’s in Somerville.”
“Do you know the address?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, I’ll check for it in the yellow pages, or something. Are you sure you’re all right in there?”
“Yeah, better here than on the outside.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I told you, I have to explain in person – in here, all right?”
“All right.”
“They’re giving me medication,” Patrick added. “They have to monitor me while I adjust to it.”
“For how long?”
“Can’t be sure. My doctor said the average stay is two weeks, which would be a week from Wednesday in my case.”
“Okay, well, I want to come over right now. Do they have visiting hours today?”
“Until nine. That should be enough time, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’d like to have a word with that doctor of yours. What’s his name?”
“Kearney. But he isn’t here now.”
“Didn’t think he was. There’s always tomorrow, right? I could call him.”
“I guess. Maybe you can ask one of the staff about it tonight.”
“I will. Now, what can I bring you?”
“Clothes. I only have the stuff I was wearing when they found me last Wednesday.”
“You bet. Anything else? Soap, shampoo?”
“They give us that stuff here, man.”
“I’m sorry. Of course they would.”
“It’s okay. Oh, there was this book I’ve been reading. I think it’s over by my bed. I’d like you to bring that and maybe a couple more. It’s boring in here so I’d like to have something to read.”
“No problem. I’m on my way. Oh, how can I reach you in there?”
“On the phone I’m using. They have a couple of payphones for us. You might as well write the numbers down now.”
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
“This one I’m calling from is 936-7277. The other one’s… Let’s see. Oh! Almost the same number, except it ends in an eight.”
“Okay, great! I’ll get over there as fast as I can.”
“Don’t run any red lights.”
Patrick went and told the evening charge nurse that his brother was coming in for a visit. She smiled and nodded her beehive hairdo. Charley came up on the ward from using his privileges. Patrick was grateful for his company. Anthony was pleasant enough but lacked the energy to accelerate Patrick’s perception of time the way Charley could. It was worth tolerating the smoking room atmosphere to sit with his manic friend.
If Patrick felt nervous, Charley seemed to be acting out the same kind of emotional state. He couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. He would smoke half a cigarette, then snuff it out or leave it burning in an ashtray, and then lope off down to his bedroom or the day room. At one point, Charley came back with a cup of juice, only to have a counselor take it away from him.
As dusk approached, the doorbell at the main entrance to the ward started to ring more frequently. Patients with passes or high privi
leges were beginning to return for the day. Patrick was jolted by each ring, anxious for Scott to arrive.
It turned out a bit differently than Patrick had expected. The charge nurse found him in the smoking room and she was all smiles again.
“They just called from the reception desk. Your brother is coming up right now.”
Patrick checked his watch. It had taken Scott just under half an hour to reach the hospital. Despite Charley’s behavior, it had actually seemed longer than that.
Patrick was able to meet his brother at the sign-in desk. There was a strong family resemblance between the two. Scott was about an inch taller than Patrick and a few pounds heavier. Otherwise, their faces were about as similar as those of fraternal twins.
Scott had brought a small suitcase up with him. The charge nurse politely explained that it was necessary for the staff to check the contents for dangerous or prohibited items. Scott looked faintly annoyed but he readily handed the suitcase over to Kris, who was on her weekend rotation.
“Let’s talk in my room,” Patrick said. “I don’t have a roommate.”
“Fine,” Scott agreed.
“I’ll bring this in to you in just a few minutes,” Kris said, holding up the suitcase.
“Thanks,” Scott mumbled.
So as they sat together on his bed, Patrick finally confessed to his brother what had been aggravating his fears since his late teens. Scott listened for a few minutes without interrupting. His face was grave, however. What could he say in response to such paranoia?
Kris knocked on the open door before Patrick was done. They both looked at her with minimal interest.
“All checks out,” the counselor told them, gently placing the suitcase on the vacant bed.
This time, Patrick was sleeping under the window.
“But now,” he continued after Kris left them, “I’m not so sure about the DEA anymore. What Dr. Kearney said makes sense. Why bother with a nobody like me? Could be that my pills are making me think straight.”
“I’m sure they are,” Scott was quick to say.
“Still,” Patrick retorted, “maybe the DEA does things that seem ridiculous when their victims try to tell people about it. Maybe the pills they’re giving me are actually designed to make me delusional. Deluded into thinking that I’m not being persecuted!”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Not exactly. My problem is that I can’t rule it out and I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Like telling me any of this over the phone.”
“Right.”
Still looking grim, Scott nodded.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think you must be getting better. The better you get, the more you’ll realize it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I… I guess you’ll be okay in here. Suppose you could use some cash?”
“Yeah, especially for when they give me more privileges. I’ll want to do some shopping. I mean for little things in convenience stores, like that.”
“That’s what I thought,” Scott said with a weak smile.
He pulled out his wallet and gave Patrick two twenty-dollar bills. Patrick smiled gratefully and slipped the currency into his pants pocket. He knew he was supposed to surrender that much cash for safekeeping in the ward’s strongbox. Yet he relished this minor act of rebellion.
“But enough about me,” Patrick said. “How was Florida?”
Hours passed before Justine finally made it back to the hospital. When it had gotten past ten o’clock, Patrick worried that Justine had chosen to elope like Fred. He would have hated to miss a chance to say goodbye – to kiss her goodbye.
But no, she was simply running late. Patrick had been lying on his bed, deciding whether to try sleeping when the doorbell rang. He rapidly got up out of bed and went to his door to listen. The charge nurse let Justine in, scolding her a little for being so late. It was fifteen minutes to lights out.
Patrick was happily surprised when Justine came right to his doorway.
“Hi,” she said. “I thought you’d still be up. Listen. I’ve got to take my bedtime pills, then I can meet you in the smoking room, okay?”
“Okay,” Patrick replied, trying to be cool about it.
“I’ve got something important to tell you.”
For once, the smoking room was deserted when Patrick got there. Apparently, the nine o’clock medications had sedated most of the patients who’d taken them. Otherwise, the outside activities probably had tired out some of the others. If it hadn’t been for his anxiety over Justine’s tardiness, Patrick might have also been asleep by then.
He didn’t have to wait in the smoking room for long. Before Patrick could mention Scott’s visit, Justine was already telling him the most important thing about her pass, even as she pulled a cigarette from the pack she was carrying.
“Well, it’s over.”
“Over?”
“With Todd.”
“I see.”
“He’s so immature!”
Patrick swallowed and hoped Justine would keep her voice down. He looked at Justine’s slender, shapely legs, bare under the black shorts she was wearing. The anklet was gone. He looked back up to her face. Justine was smiling with smug satisfaction.
“I like you better,” she said, putting her hand on his knee.
“I’m glad,” Patrick muttered hoarsely.
“You aren’t into any macho bullshit.”
“Of course not!”
“And you listen to me, Patrick.”
He nodded.
“You have no idea how much I need that,” Justine whispered, gripping his knee tightly. “I really do! Todd wasn’t giving me any of that.”
“Took you for granted,” Patrick said thickly.
“I knew you’d understand!” Justine beamed and then her smile wavered as she looked at him. “Could I kiss you?”
Charmed by Justine’s sudden, unexpected demure request, Patrick smiled.
“Kiss me like a friend?”
“I’ll kiss you the way I kissed Todd’s brother.”
Patrick touched her shoulder and leaned in so that Justine could show him how. She kissed him hungrily, opening her mouth as their lips touched. Patrick responded in kind but she pulled back after only a few seconds of deep, tongue-sliding contact.
“We’ll have to be careful,” Justine said quietly as she stroked his thigh. “You know why.”
“Sure, sure,” Patrick agreed. “But we can still talk, right? I mean, I really do want to be here for you.”
“Patrick, if I’d met you on the outside a year ago, I would never have been put in these hospitals!”
Justine giggled and gave his leg a final rub for the night.
“You’ll be my special friend from now on! I’m so lucky to have you here.”
“Thanks.”
He leaned forward once more and kissed her again, however briefly. Justine put her hand on his chest and pushed him back.
“Down, tiger! Any second one of the counselors is going to come in here, trying to catch us.”
Justine stood up, then glanced down at Patrick’s crotch. Patrick looked with her. Sure enough, the erection bulge in his pants was obvious.
“Well!” Justine exclaimed. “Think about me when you pull that big ol’ worm tonight.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Patrick confessed just before breaking into a nervous giggle.