Patrick used his pass on Saturday. Scott came by to pick him up in his Chevette just after ten o’clock. Patrick had decided to wait for him on the street corner rather than have his brother come up to the third floor and ring the doorbell.
It was a nice day out, sunny and warm. The brothers spoke little at first, riding through the late-morning traffic with the windows down. It was a short trip to their two-bedroom apartment. Off-street parking was included in the rent; Scott and Andrew went inside their building from the rear door by the parking lot.
“Are you glad you went to the hospital?” Scott asked once they were inside their living room.
“Yeah, sure. Seriously.”
“That’s good.”
Scott stood awkwardly over by the dining table they’d set up behind a sofa facing a big television screen. It was Scott’s own home but he didn’t seem to know whether to sit or stand. Patrick casually leaned against the back of the sofa.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said.
“I’m not afraid,” Scott reacted, grinning stupidly. “I… I guess I don’t even know which questions to ask.”
“I’m your brother. Ask something you’d ask your own brother.”
“You know it’s not that easy,” Scott said with a sigh as he turned towards the kitchen. “Want anything to drink?”
“That’s a good start,” Patrick told him with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
“So?”
“Got any beer?”
“You want beer?”
“Not really. We’ve always got orange juice, right?”
“Sure.”
A minute later, they were sitting at the table, each with a glass of juice. The radio was playing; Scott had left it on when he’d gone to pick Patrick up.
“So, uh, you’re feeling better now?”
“Of course I am.”
“What’s changed for you?”
Patrick smiled. It was a good question and maybe a sign that Scott was starting to relax around him.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” Patrick answered. “That is, I’m not afraid over nothing. By nothing, I mean my own… well… delusions.”
“You admit that they were delusions?”
“Yes.”
“You did say something about the DEA trying to scare you into quitting the weed. Do you still believe that?”
“Not as a personal effort, no.”
“Personal effort?”
“A personal effort against me. It’s like a more general attack on all drug users, don’t you see?”
“I suppose you could make that argument.”
“A week ago, I might have thought driving some of us insane was part of their master plan. Now, I don’t think that’s very likely.”
“Glad to hear you say that.”
Patrick laughed softly and nodded his head.
“Yeah, it was probably accidental. Law of unintended consequences, that’s all.”
Scott looked worried about something.
“Now what?”
“Um, Patrick, have you considered another possibility?”
“Possibility of what?”
“Well, I mean about how it all started. What if there hadn’t been any drug war? What if you’d never used drugs?”
“Are you trying to say that weed caused me to lose my mind?” Patrick asked with a skeptical sneer. “Come on!”
“That’s not what I was getting at. Listen. Maybe your… your condition had nothing to do with drugs at all. You know: the cart before the horse.”
“I still don’t get it.”
“Well, couldn’t it be that your breakdown was, like, genetic? It was going to happen anyway. Since it happened to a pothead like you, you got all… fixated on cops and narcs. If you’d been raised to be a religious fanatic, you’d blame it all on the devil instead, say. See what I mean now?”
“I guess so,” Patrick murmured, wondering if his brother had been reading up on the subject.
“You’re going to hate me for saying this…”
Patrick glared over at Scott, bracing himself for an insensitive comment.
“…but maybe Mom’s dying had something to do with it.”
But Patrick wasn’t offended. He was skeptical but not angry; relieved more than anything.
“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right about me. Genetics made me susceptible to having what they call a psychotic break. That’s what Dr. Kearney called it; I take ‘anti-psychotic’ medication, too. Yeah, the doc mentioned genetics, come to think of it. So you and I have similar DNA, right? We lost our mother. So how come I’m the one who’s mentally ill? Why aren’t you… crazy as well?”
The bitter tone left Scott intimidated. Patrick calling himself crazy was a kind of defiance. But Scott couldn’t pull back now.
“We aren’t identical twins, Patrick. Not even fraternal twins. Maybe there’s enough difference in our DNA that we didn’t both…”
“Lose it?”
“Whatever. Or maybe we were both equally predisposed to having the same reaction.”
“Predisposed? You have been reading psych textbooks lately, haven’t you?”
Scott blushed.
“Uh, a couple of medical journals in the library,” he confessed. “Anyway, say we did have the same chance of developing your condition. A fifty-fifty chance, a roll of the dice. Came up odds for me, evens for you. Just luck.”
“Don’t you have that backwards? I got the odd number.”
It was food for thought, all right, as Patrick had to admit. It wasn’t until after he had enjoyed some good, solid food with Scott that he finally brought up Justine. But he couldn’t discuss her over lunch; they had gone out to a restaurant near a shopping mall. This place had a sports theme: several TV screens displayed games and Massachusetts team logos decorated the walls, both professional and college.
Patrick was less interested in the constant ball games on the screens than he was in some deliciously unhealthy fried food. He’d had a craving for a highly-stacked burger with an abundance of French fries. Scott ordered a club sandwich and both had glasses of draft beer to wash it all down.
Not having had any alcohol since his admission, Patrick was feeling pleasantly buzzed after just one tall glass. Then he ordered another one.
“I’ve got a girlfriend now,” Patrick said as soon as they were back inside the Chevette.
Scott stared at him. Of course, there was only one place where his brother could have met somebody.
“Yes, she’s a patient,” Patrick told him. “Her name’s Justine.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Hard to say exactly. It sort of developed after my first weekend there. Justine came back from a pass and told me she’d split up with her boyfriend.”
“So you replaced the guy?”
“Yeah, I guess so. She’s in love with me, Scott.”
“You sure?” Scott asked as he backed out of the parking space.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I… I’m not trying to question Justine’s… stability. I know there’s a variety of reasons people are admitted to that kind of hospital. Especially on a voluntary ward.”
“Thanks for saying that. Justine’s not psychotic. She’s got emotional problems, of course and she’s very angry about a lot of things. But she says that I calm her down.”
“That’s good. What I was getting at, though, is that you haven’t known her that long, right?”
Patrick knew precisely what Scott meant. It was the same thing he’d considered after saying goodbye to Charley. But hearing his brother suggest as much made him feel obstinate.
“Haven’t you heard of love at first sight?”
“Sure. But it’s like Santa Claus: I hear of something but I don’t necessarily believe in it.”
“Okay, well, maybe it wasn’t at first sight. But love comes fast
sometimes. And maybe it does have something to do with being cooped up together in that place but does that mean it isn’t real?”
“You tell me.”
“It’s real.”
They rode on in silence for a few minutes.
“Tell me about her,” Scott said in a more accommodating tone.
“She is pretty young,” Patrick said with a self-conscious smirk. “Nineteen years old.”
“Not jailbait, at least,” Scott remarked teasingly.
Patrick laughed.
“She’s very tall and thin, got long brown hair. She’s not built like Arlene.”
“So what?”
“Right.”
“Sounds good-looking, though. Um, how do you have a girlfriend in the hospital, though?”
“You mean with the staff watching us?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we’re not supposed to be touching each other. Patients aren’t supposed to touch each other in general, that is. We’ve tried to hold hands and kiss when no one’s watching. But the staff caught on sooner than I figured. We got away with necking on a field trip and we used to make out when we could ride the elevator by ourselves. But then the staff put a stop to that.”
“How?”
“By changing our privileges. Now I can’t leave the floor on my own if Justine’s already signed out and vice-versa.”
“They can do that?”
“Of course they can. That form I signed when I was admitted says so. Part of the conditions they set for us. That’s just the way it is.”
“But you haven’t done anything like… you know. Have you?”
“No, we haven’t fucked. Not yet. We’re planning on saving that for when we’re actually out of the hospital. Or after at least one of us is.”
“Like a celebration?”
“More like enjoying ourselves because we won’t have to worry about what our doctors might have to say about it.”
“I see.”
“There’s something else I need to tell you about that.”
“Oh?”
“Justine lives with her parents so we can’t do it at her place.”
Scott laughed nervously, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I get it,” he said. “Fair enough. I can spend some time with Arlene at her place when, uh, the time comes.”
“Thanks,” Patrick said, smiling happily.
“After all, what are brothers for?”
Still, Patrick was hardly convinced that Scott approved of Justine. Not based on any first-hand impressions, of course. Her status as a patient was enough. Worse than that, Patrick had to admit that Justine’s personality would likely rub Scott the wrong way.
How was he ever going to convince his brother to let Justine move in with them?
When Patrick returned to the hospital, there was no need to find someone to provide him with any substitute urine. Scott hadn’t even had any dope to share had Patrick requested it. A little alcohol in the urine wouldn’t matter.
Not only that, Frank was working the second shift this weekend; the veteran counselor knew enough to stand outside the toilet chamber door while Patrick filled the specimen jar. Patrick wondered how Charley was doing back at the sheep farm. He’d thought about dialing him up from home but that would’ve been a toll call and God knew it would’ve been hard to get Charley off the phone.
Best wait ’til there’s better news, Patrick reasoned. Like after I’m home to stay. Yeah, after I get laid.
“Here you go,” Patrick told Frank an instant later.
“Thank you, Patrick.”
Patrick nodded and smiled, then thought of something to ask Frank.
“How’s Anthony doing?”
“How’s he doing?” Frank echoed with a slight frown. “Oh, he’s doing well. Why do you ask?”
“Why not?” Patrick said with a shrug. “I like him. Uh, not everyone around here does.”
“Well, I’m sure Anthony would appreciate you’re taking an interest in his well-being,” Frank said pleasantly.
“You know I apologized for that stupid thing I did to him.”
“He appreciated that as well,” Frank responded.
“Is it true that Anthony is suing the clinic he used to go to?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From Anthony,” Patrick said, walking over to his dresser to put away some clothes he’d brought back from the apartment. “I was just wondering if that’s something real or if he was being delusional.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not? If it is true, Anthony obviously wanted me to know about it.”
“I simply cannot divulge personal information about one patient to another,” Frank insisted, his nasal tone becoming more pronounced. “You wouldn’t want me going around telling other patients about your issues, now would you?”
“I… I wouldn’t mind if I’d already told someone myself.”
“We have rules, Patrick. Rules that each of us – myself included – must follow.”
Patrick closed his eyes in frustration and nodded. Frank left the room.
Pain in the ass, Patrick thought. Rules and more rules! At least I won’t have to put up with them much longer. Lights out when I say so. Dates with Justine whenever we want them.
Maybe I could sue the Justice Department for damages, he thought idly as he walked down towards the smoking room. Even if Scott’s right about my warped brain, I could always make a harassing case against them, all the way up to the Attorney General. What’s his name? Meese? I should ask Anthony who his lawyer is.
Justine didn’t happen to be in the smoking room this time. Mildly surprised and disappointed, Patrick did say hello to Linda and Albert. He took his seat in a folding chair.
“Have a good pass?” Linda asked.
“Yeah, it was good to see my brother and apartment again.”
“Nice to know things are still out there where you left them,” Linda said with a smile. “Right there, waiting for you.”
“Yeah,” Patrick agreed, looking out at the night sky.
He was tempted to ask if either of them had seen Justine but felt too self-conscious for that. Maybe she’d already gone to bed. Damn it, he would’ve waited up for her…
“Bum a smoke off you?” Patrick asked Linda.
“You like menthols?”
“I… I don’t know,” Patrick replied with a shrug. “Maybe I’ll try one and see.”
“Don’t know if I like encouraging such bad habits in you,” Linda said, shaking her head.
“He’s a big boy,” Albert spoke up. “Knows what he’s doing.”
“Thanks,” Patrick said, watching the corpulent patient fish a cigarette from his own pack.
He stood up and accepted Albert’s cigarette and a light from his butane flame. Patrick was getting better at tolerating the smoke in his lungs since Justine had given him one recently. It was another thing that Scott wouldn’t like.
Bad influences in this place? Patrick wondered. Or is it because we have nothing to do?