Justine was supposed to spend half of Tuesday with her parents thanks to another pass from Dr. Adams. She left around ten o’clock, about the same time that Dr. Kearney was meeting with his team on the fourth floor. Justine slipped Patrick a note in the day room before signing out.
He stuffed it into the pocket of his corduroys and walked into his room to read it.
Cutie-
If that dummy Charly can get out of here after a good pas so can I. So we’re that much closer to doing it right your place or mine!!! Be a good boy Patrick or else. Stay out of Cindys pants or I’ll have to cut it off. Just kidding cutie I’d want to keep it attached to your fine thin body you good looking real man. Don’t wayst it on that FAT pig or yul brake my heart, seriusly. You’re my boyfrend & I love you love you love you love you
Patrick was embarrassed by what Justine had written. He sighed and slowly sat on his bed. That terrible spelling and grammar bothered him because she had seemed so intelligent otherwise. Okay, so maybe Justine had a learning disability and couldn’t help it. But what about that threat halfway down the note? Pretty harsh and enough to throw cold water over the four-letter word she’d repeated at the bottom of the torn notebook page.
What have I gotten myself into? Patrick wondered.
After lunch, Simon finally got around to calling on Patrick. So far, he had only been superficially cordial to his assigned patient but Patrick hadn’t suspected bad news was at hand. It was often the case that counselors didn’t have much to say to patients who weren’t causing trouble on the ward.
Simon found Patrick in his room, tolerantly enduring a barrage of chatter from Charley. The manic young man’s impending discharge had done nothing to cap his energy. As a matter of fact, Charley’s understandable excitement over leaving added to his natural, if abnormal, hyperactivity.
“Hey, guys,” Simon said from the doorway, “if I could interrupt your conversation, I need to have a word with Patrick.”
“Scuse me,” Patrick said to his roommate.
“Let’s meet in Dr. Kearney’s office, okay?”
“Fine.”
As he followed the big counselor down the hallway, Patrick glanced up at the ceiling. He thought about Wyatt, and then remembered how Simon had tried to intimidate him into signing the conditional voluntary. He’d made the secure ward sound like a prison: no shoe laces, barred windows. Or were there bars? Patrick had looked up at the top floor windows from the sidewalk during his very first unescorted outside walk. He hadn’t seen any actual bars, like in a jail cell, but noticed a metal lattice mesh screen over the patient room windows.
“Well, what’s this about?” Patrick asked inside Dr. Kearney’s office as he sat down. “Has my discharge date been set?”
“No,” Simon replied softly, settling into the doctor’s high-backed chair.
“What’s up, then?”
“Okay, listen. You must know that your… relationship with Justine hasn’t gone unnoticed.”
Feeling a numb sense of trepidation, Patrick frowned.
“Especially since you’ve been seen touching each other twice now. We’ve had some strong suspicion that something had been going on even before we saw anything.”
“S-so what?”
Patrick had meant to sound defiant, thinking of how his girlfriend would have handled this but the stutter betrayed him.
“I know it can be exciting to meet someone who likes you,” Simon lectured. “Especially in what can be a hostile environment. But it’s not a good idea to – ”
“Why can’t I have a girlfriend?” Patrick shouted. “Come on! We like each other, man! Besides, w-we haven’t g-gone all the way, I swear!”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you,” Simon responded in a tired yet calm voice. “But that isn’t the point I was trying to make right now.”
“What, then?”
“You and Justine, you feel like you’re close to each other, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah…”
“Like you understand each other better than the staff understands either of you?”
“Wouldn’t say that, necessarily. But, uh, Justine tells me I keep her calm, that having me near her keeps her anger under control.”
“And is that why you’re here? To keep Justine calm?”
Fuck you! Patrick almost said it but Simon could apparently read the words in his eyes.
“Sorry I put it that way,” Simon muttered, much to Patrick’s surprise. “I shouldn’t be flippant. But still, it’s true that you’re here to work on your own issues and not get caught up in someone else’s problems.”
“That’s not what it’s like,” Patrick protested. “So, you don’t want us to kiss, is that it? You counselors and nurses and doctors all have people you can kiss and the patients don’t. How nice for you.”
“I can’t debate you into agreeing with me about this,” Simon admitted. “But there’s something else I need to tell you; it came up in the team meeting today.”
“What, more good news?”
“You won’t think so. We were discussing your privileges in the meeting and there’s been a change.”
“A what?” Patrick exclaimed. “Change? Hey, c’mon! I already told you we haven’t done anything!”
“Hey, hey, calm down! You aren’t having your privilege level dropped, Patrick. You can still leave the hospital grounds on your own but you and Justine can’t be signed out at the same time, that’s all.”
“Have you told Justine yet?” Patrick asked after sulking for a moment.
“That’s up to her treatment team. But you can be sure that her doctor and yours are in agreement on it.”
“This sucks, Simon. That’s all I have to say. It… sucks!”
“You won’t believe it, but this is for your benefit.”
Patrick snorted, then asked, “This doesn’t mean I’m restricted to the snack bar until Justine’s back from her pass, does it?”
“No, her pass is something else since she’s with her family. You may go for a walk in the meantime.”
“Anything else to tell me or can I leave now?”
“You’re free to go.”
“Free, my ass.”
When Patrick put his hand on the doorknob, he thought of something, then turned to face Simon.
“Whose idea was this? Yours?”
Simon finished standing up before answering in a casual tone.
“It was a team decision, Patrick.”
“That’s not what I asked. C’mon, you’re actually a nice guy. Can’t you just tell me, man to man?”
“All you need to know is that this was a team decision.”
Charley wouldn’t have to worry about conditions being put on his privileges. Nor would he have to bother with group sessions or lights out at eleven o’clock. He was leaving right on schedule, the announcement made official during the Wednesday morning ward assembly.
Linda was still reading off the names of admissions and discharges along with the group schedule. Patrick wondered, if Charley was about to leave, what on earth was keeping someone like Linda here? There were no new people to be introduced so the mistress of the ward assembly got right to Patrick’s roommate.
“Discharges today: one. Charley Doolan!”
Charley stood up from his chair, between Patrick and Simon, and waved to the patients and staff, a broad grin on his face.
“So, Charley,” Rachel said, “where are you going when you leave here?”
Charley’s face betrayed an instant of bewilderment. Didn’t the head nurse know all about his discharge plan? Oh, well…
“Goin’ back to live on the farm,” he declared. “Take my lithium, stay out of trouble!”
“Good for you,” Linda commented.
“What helped you while you’ve been here with us?” Gloria asked, a stock question for departing patients during assemblies.
“The lithium. It kept me from getting’ too excit
ed, like. Then the staff was okay.”
Charley looked around and grinned again.
“They were real good to talk to! Anyone flips out back home, I’ll recommend this place…”
“Anything else?” Simon asked.
“Hey, for real, I made a good bud here. That’s my roomie, my pal, Patrick over here.”
Patrick blushed a little as Charley reached over to clap his hand on Patrick’s right shoulder.
“We had some good times together, right?” Charley asked. “Best roommate a guy could have!”
“Yeah, sure,” Patrick said with an embarrassed, weak smile. “I’m gonna miss you, Charley.”
“Sounds like a couple o’ fags!”
This sour interpretation had come from a scowling, middle-aged man sitting with his back to the counter, hairy arms in short sleeves crossed over his chest. His name was Gus and he was often making nasty comments about all kinds of things. Gus was heavy and his face was well-creased below thin, gray hair. Rachel wasted no time in confronting him.
“Gus, that is a very inappropriate thing to say! I’m asking you to apologize right now.”
Gus slowly uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on his knees. He looked over to the young patients.
“What you guys do in private is none of my business,” Gus said. “I shouldn’t have said nothin’ about it.”
“That’s no apology at all,” Rachel responded as Charley sat back down with a scowl on his face.
Simon leaned forward in his seat and tensed his legs. There was a possibility that Gus might escalate and need to be restrained.
“Sorry,” Gus mumbled rather than fight against the staff.
Linda looked at Rachel, hoping for a signal to move on to a new topic. Patrick sought out Justine’s face; she was sitting across the way from him. His girlfriend was smirking for some unfathomable reason.
She had been angry over the staff’s interference with their romance the day before. Justine bragged to Patrick about having a fight with Dr. Adams about the change in their privileges although the terms were still in force.
“What did you do with my note?” Justine had asked.
“It’s in my wallet.”
“What if you lose it?”
“My wallet?”
“Yeah, dummy!”
“What do you want me to do with the note, then?”
“Eat it.”
“What?”
“Eat it, cutie. Then no one can read it and some of it would stay in your body.”
“It would?”
Now, one day later, Justine had barely spoken a word to him. Then again, Patrick himself had been distracted by Charley’s discharge. That slob Gus could say what he wanted but it wouldn’t keep Patrick from missing his roommate. Besides, God only knew how long it would be before they shifted a new guy into the bed next to his. It could be another Wyatt.
All Justine had said about coping with the staff’s precautions against their affections was that they should wait for an “opening”. Patrick guessed that might come with the less vigilant counselors and nurses who worked on the evening shift. Otherwise, there was Patrick’s own tentative discharge to look forward to.
Plus arranging a time and place for “doing it right” as Justine had scribbled in the note. Patrick had actually obeyed her, chewing up the scrap of paper and swallowing it. The next time he had a bowel movement, Patrick was reminded of the note.
“Well, goodbye,” Charley said at the entry door; his parents were waiting in the lobby downstairs.
Simon was holding the door open while the two former roommates shook hands. Patrick felt the urge to hug Charley but doubted that Charley would like it.
“I’ll call you when I get out,” he promised instead.
“Hey, before you know it,” Charley nodded. “Hope you don’t get that freak Tony as your roommate.”
“Better him than Gus.”
“Well, gotta go. Stay outta trouble or… or…”
“Or get myself a cheap lawyer?”
“A cheap lawyer!” Charley shouted with appreciation. “Gimme five!”
They slapped their right hands together one more time. Then Charley was on his way, Simon escorting him into the elevator.
Patrick stood there and watched through the small window in the door to see the elevator doors closing. He sighed, then wondered why he should feel so sad to see Charley go. They’d only met a couple of weeks ago and now it was as if they’d been fraternity brothers, or something. Weird feelings in this place.
Maybe I’ll ask Kearney about it, Patrick thought. Like maybe we’re just bottled up in here so it pressures us into more intense relationships than you’d have in an office or a store; it was more like what soldiers in a war zone went through, like Patrick saw in some old movies.
Then something else occurred to him, making Patrick’s mind reel. It didn’t have anything to do with the DEA this time. He’d though of Justine. Up to now, Patrick had wanted to believe in the magic of love. The idea that you could meet the right person anywhere, anytime and you’d both know it somehow.
Whether it was in a classroom, on the subway, or anywhere else, you could meet that somebody. And why not on a psych ward? Some of Simon’s words from the day before came back to him.
Patrick shuddered and walked back towards the day room.
Okay, so why not? So what if it had a warped beginning? My feelings for her are real, aren’t they? They must be: I started having them after I began taking that pill, ha-ha. Lookit: I want to see Charley on the outside. I really do. Nothing wrong with that, is there? No one tried to discourage our friendship, did they? They let me be Charley’s roommate. Guess I interfered with his treatment when I gave him my jar of piss. Hell, maybe they are jealous of me and Justine! Maybe Simon wants to fuck Justine himself. Tall guys want tall women, after all. Fuck her? No, fuck you, Simon! He’d probably get fired if he did it with Justine, as if she’d have him. Yeah, if Justine’s forbidden fruit for me –
“Patrick?”
He turned his head in the direction of the voice. There was Frank, holding that clipboard again, just stepping out of the day room.
Speaking of fruits, Patrick thought irritably.
“What?”
“Occupational Therapy,” Frank replied flatly, nodding in the direction from which Patrick had walked.
“Terrific,” Patrick mumbled.
But he complied. After all, he knew that Justine was also supposed to be in that group.
And not only Justine. Anthony wheeled himself into the art room at the last minute. Erin the occupational therapy assistant was presiding over the group once again. Patrick had brazenly sat right next to Justine and put his leg up against hers under the table. Patrick was reassured when she rubbed her knee against his.
Linda was also sitting at the table, along with Albert and Cindy. Patrick made a deliberate effort not to acknowledge Cindy. He didn’t want to antagonize Justine at this stage, if ever.
Erin had set out materials for watercolor painting: half a dozen thick, white 11x17 sheets of paper lying like placemats alongside the small, rectangular paint palettes. Two glass jars half-filled with water were sitting on the table, each holding more than enough paintbrushes for everyone.
“We’re painting today, Anthony,” Erin told the straggling patient as he pulled up to the table. “Does that sound like fun?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Anthony grinned. “I’m not much of an artist.”
“Don’t be silly,” Erin replied. “Of course you are.”
She selected a brush for him and held it out, handle first.
“Why can’t I do something else?”
“What?”
“I don’t want to paint. Couldn’t I use some clay?”
“Anthony, I can’t get the clay out just for you,” Erin said with a sigh. “Just forget about it.”
“It’s not fair,” Anthony
complained. “I don’t see why each of us can’t do whatever we want.”
“You’re being impractical,” Erin told him.
“He’s being an idiot,” Justine said in an annoyed voice. “He’s always fighting everything!”
“That’s not true,” Anthony protested.
“Yes, it is!” Justine snapped.
“That’s enough,” Erin cautioned her; Justine went back to her painting without another word.
Anthony stared up at Erin. Then he broke into a grin as she frowned back in confusion.
“You’re far too beautiful to be limiting my freedom,” Anthony declared.
“What?” Erin exclaimed.
“You should be the object of courtly love,” Anthony continued. “Poetry should be dedicated to you, a fair maiden!”
“Out!” Erin shouted, dashing around the table, her red braids fluttering behind her head.
Patrick burst out laughing while Justine only scowled. The other patients started smiling. For his part, Anthony kept still until Erin took hold of the handles on the back of his wheelchair.
He struggled as best as he could, pressing his feet on the floor. But Anthony was too small and light to thwart Erin that way. She outweighed him by about twenty pounds and was no weakling. Erin dragged Anthony back from the table, turned him around, and pointed him towards the door, which she had left open.
“Out!” Erin repeated.
“I want clay!” Anthony shouted, trying to dig in his heels.
Patrick stopped laughing. Anthony’s resistance to Erin’s pushing was more effective than his fight against being pulled.
“That shithead,” Justine growled. “Why don’t they get rid of him, like Wyatt?”
Erin was shoving Anthony slowly out of the room. It was an awful, degrading sight. Patrick’s chest tightened. Between Justine’s angry muttering and Anthony’s shrieks, he was feeling more and more anxious. This all had to stop! Why didn’t a counselor come by and help Erin?
With a numb sense of purpose, Patrick got up from the table. Justine and the other patients stared at him as he walked swiftly over to the struggling pair.
“Patrick, what are you doing?” Erin asked as he roughly brushed her aside.
“Getting him out of here!”
Patrick tilted the wheelchair back, raising Anthony’s feet from the floor. He rolled the chair out of the art room rapidly, carrying the sputtering Anthony out into the hallway. Patrick didn’t notice Simon jogging in their direction in response to the commotion.
Shocked to see Patrick behaving this way, Simon hesitated in an effort to comprehend what was happening. Patrick stopped the wheelchair suddenly, causing Anthony to pitch forward and fall out of his seat. He landed face-down on the floor.
Simon rushed forward as Erin watched from the art room doorway.
“What the hell?” Simon gasped, looking from Anthony to Patrick to Erin.
“I – I was throwing Anthony out of group,” she explained. “Then Patrick decided to… take over.”
The counselor gave Patrick a hard stare. Feeling sickened by his own actions, Patrick looked down at the floor.
Other staff arrived as Simon crouched alongside Anthony. Gloria was there along with Kris and Tom the social worker. Anthony was fully conscious.
“Are you all right?” Simon asked him.
“I’m fine.”
Anthony turned onto his side and smiled up at Simon. Gloria asked if he’d hit his head. Anthony said he didn’t think so. Next he denied having any blurred vision.
“Let’s get him up off the floor,” Gloria told Simon.
Hoping to impress Erin, Simon put his hands under Anthony’s armpits and easily lifted him to his feet before Gloria could lend a hand. Gloria took hold of Anthony’s left elbow as Simon eased the patient back into the wheelchair.
“How did this happen?” Gloria asked.
Erin repeated what she had told Simon a moment earlier. Gloria turned to scold Patrick.
“You are not to put your hands on any other patients,” she said coldly.
“I… I only touched the wheelchair,” Patrick stammered lamely.
“Go to your room,” Gloria demanded. “Right now.”
Patrick started off, walking unsteadily at first. He paused after passing the staff.
“Uh… for how long?” Patrick asked cautiously.
“Half an hour,” Simon replied.
“One full hour,” Gloria interjected.
Patrick shuffled away, deeply ashamed of himself.
Yes, he agreed. At least an hour.