“You know kiddo, I don’t think this is about your dad. Maybe it’s about your mom. Maybe that’s where we need to focus.”
“Eff this. Eff you. I’m going back.” Joe made sure the door slammed hard and loud; his declaration that Braxton was both cruel and clueless.
***
Disaster. That’s it. The world’s caved in. I lost it. Be here forever now. Control. Where’s the control? Can’t curse the therapist. Joe sat in the ‘Quiet Room.’ That’s what staff called it. “Now, now, you need to calm down. Why don’t you go on to the Quiet Room?” That’s what they’d say to kids on the verge of a meltdown, ready to lose it, go off, get ugly, let their anger fly – “Off to the Quiet Room with you.” The patients called the ten foot padded cube “The Monster’s Hole”; the place to vent, let the monsters out – the anger, the rage, the ugliness – or was it the place to face the monsters? Off to the Quiet Room to wrestle with the freaks and beasts residing in the depth of your inner being – try to console them, try to understand them, or at least try to keep them caged.
He cursed his therapist. First cardinal rule, appease the quacks, the shrinks, the therapists; they decide, they write the discharge orders. I’ve given Braxton what he wants. What else does he expect? To destroy me? See me stay here forever? Emotions, what are they good for? Control them at all cost or they’ll control you; that’s obvious, everyone knows that. It’s the crazy ones that let their emotions fly, have their way. Joe can’t be crazy. Isn’t crazy. He grew up in a world where the show of emotions was most impolite. An offense to be too sad, too angry, even too happy. Depression, rage, fear – not permissible.
The day Joe’s father and mother announced their separation and impending divorce was carefully etched across the hollows of his mind. “We’ve decided the best thing is for your father to be on his own.” That was it. He left ten minutes later having moved his things out while the children were safe at school. After brief hugs, he opened the front door, looked back, nodded, smiled, and said, “Chins up, chins up. For the best, it’s for the best. I’ll see you three real soon.” He was gone. Three months later … or was it three years? What does a seven year old know about time? Dad called. Three months after that he dropped by for seventeen minutes, or was it seventeen seconds? It was his sister’s second birthday.
Joe was twelve when he learned that, after his parents separated, his father moved in with a high school sweetheart he happened to meet at some convention in Tulsa. Two years later Dad ended up marrying a twenty something who had interned at his law firm. When Joe turned fourteen, for some reason, the sperm donor decided he’d be a father and started giving impressive presents, sending money, calling on special days, coming around now and then. “Father by default.” Chuck used to say. “Fathering out of guilt.” His mom would whisper under her breath.
Tears surfaced as Joe sat on the rubber-lined floor. He pictured himself punching the padded walls, hard enough to break both hands – that’d feel good. Real good. No, can’t do that. That’s what the crazies do. Tears? What’s that about? Anger? Guilt? Fear? Or the realization he had likely added weeks to his stay in the hospital? Probably want to put me on Depokote now, or Abilify or Hadol. How could I let myself lose it? Control. Control. It had never been a problem for Joe. Emotions had never begged to have their way. They stayed deep down, somewhere past the proverbial pit in his stomach. He had no need for emotions; life was good, perfect without them. What he felt now, and for the past few months, was nearly unbearable. There was no taming these crouching, hidden entities demanding life – fear, guilt, shame were trying to destroy his will to live. Braxton wouldn’t understand that, believe that. So he just threw out words, words he thought his therapist wanted to hear, words he thought would get him out of this hospital sooner. Tears. Why these tears? Chin up. Chin up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dinnertime. Thirty fellow patients, between thirteen and seventeen, gathered around several square tables, each with six stools fixed to the floor – no dining room chairs, too easily turned into weapons by some frustrated and hormone-raged teen deciding to give the world what it deserves. Three of the walls in the dining room boasted huge murals; one of hot air balloons floating above some clouds, the other pictured gentle mountains smothered by fir trees; the third was a huge rainbow against a bright blue sky. “Trying to get our minds off the reality of our sad, tragic and miserable lives I guess.” Joe muttered to himself when he first saw the obnoxious attempts at art.
Joe hated meal times with a hidden though supreme passion. He always sat next to Steven, partly because he did feel sorry for him. Steven’s poor social skills set him apart; he was the outcast among outcast, a social leper among society’s rejects – what a sad and fearful place to be in the hallowed scheme of the teenage pecking order. Others only acknowledged the wild Indian to mock him, imitate him, embarrass him and, and most of all, to provoke him – just to see him explode.
Joe had taken on the role to accept and to bless this social leper. But like the lepers of ancient times, it meant any who dare mix with them, be touched by them, must be banned from the community as well. Unclean! But that was the main reason Joe sat with Steven, to keep others from trying to befriend him. He wanted no friends in this place. Sitting with Steven meant being an outcast as well; guilt by association; that was okay, that was exactly what Joe wanted. He was not there to make friends, and had no interest in being friendly with anyone. Being a leper was just fine with him.
“Maddie! Hey sexy! Come over here and sit with us.” Steven shouted out across the dining room. His whiny voice and invitation to the new girl ignited laughter from the other tables.
Joe felt his cheeks begin to burn. “God, Steve, shut up. Leave her alone.”
Steven shouted out again, “Joe thinks you have a nice tight ass and he loves your hair. Come and sit right here, beautiful.” More billows of laughter.
Two staff bellowed out in unison, “Steven! Boundaries!” The female staff added, “Any more talk like that Mr. Littleaxe, and it’s early bedtime for you. And that will go for the rest of you lot. If you don’t’ quiet down and focus on finishing your dinner, every one of you are welcome to enjoy an early bedtime. No more nonsense. Last warning. Less nonsense and more eating.” The stern threat was serious and the other inmates, as they liked to call themselves, muffled their laughter and curtailed mocking imitations of Steven’s inappropriate comments.
Joe leaned toward Steven and whispered, “Steve. God! Can’t you think before you let anything come out of that mouth of yours? Jesus. Girls don’t like you talking like that. At least the decent ones. You need to learn to shut your mouth and put your brain in reverse. That’s no way to get someone to give you the time of day.” Joe knew his cheeks were starting to glow with embarrassment. He held his left hand over the side of his face exposed to the crazies at the table to the left. “She has no interest in sitting here. That’s for sure.”
“Yes she does.” Steven smiled and nodded his head toward Joe’s left side.
Maddie placed her tray on the table. “Sure I’ll join the two sexiest guys in St. Jimmies loony-bin. And I do like it when someone likes my hair and secretly admires my ass.”
“Oh God! I never, never said that. Steve here, loves to make things up. Can’t believe a word that comes out that mouth. He was expressing his opinion not mine.”
“Hey, I was just saying what your horny eyes are clearly screaming out.”
“Geez, Steve, shut up. Joe. I’m Joe. And I know you’re Maddie, and you really don’t need to be sitting here. It’s actually very dangerous to sit here. You’ll make your life incredible difficult just being at this table. You’ll be considered scum, an outcast by the certified crazies of Fayetteville.”
Steven nudged Joe with his forearm and said, “Yip. This table is for very special people. But I reckon you’re special enough.”
“Rejects sit here. And you’re no reject. I’d hate for you to lose your friends on table one over there.
I’m sure you’ve already heard lots of juicy rumors about Steve, and probably me, and some of them are true. Sit here and they’ll be spreading rumors about you.”
“Who cares? Those girls just look for ways to stir up the drama. Girls in here love drama. It’s like they love to multiply the chaos in an already chaotic world. And who needs that? I could tell you lots about those girls over there, but I won’t. I thought I had it bad before I came to this place, but being here and you begin to see your life isn’t so bad.” Maddie leaned forward as she spoke. She spoke with a smooth voice, slightly lyrical, so unlike the slight southern drawl of many of the kids on the adolescent unit. Bangs hung across the left side of her face, hiding her left cheek and eye and just touching the corner of her mouth. Pink and green streaks mingled with her light brown hair, which, on the lower right side of her head, was shaved from the temple back to the nape of her neck. Oversized horned-rimmed glasses oddly complimented a slightly rounded face.
“Being here makes any life look pretty damn good.” Joe said. She smiled. Joe wanted to pull her bangs back and get a good at her face. That smile – seemed sweet, innocent. There was something about her, she was not like the hardened girls in this place; their eyes and smiles and entire demeanor always seemed to be hiding forbidden realties full of fear or anger or hurt or who knows what. Damaged goods; they all looked so damaged. Maddie seemed like she might be different. What’s she doing here? A cutter. Why would she do that? Not a question he can ask, would ask. He doesn’t need to know; he’s not here to make friends of any sort. And too, she has to be damaged, otherwise she’d be out in the real world, going to school, doing homework, messing around on Facebook, hanging with friends at the mall, eating dinner with a family that laughs and loves and …
As if reading his mind, she pulled back her bangs and tucked them behind her ear. “So what got you here Joe? Why are you here?” She glanced at his arm still covered with gauze, and quickly looked away.
No. No. That question was not to be asked in this or any other place; hell, it was obvious enough. Why are you here? Maybe the girls ask such things of one another; maybe they’re more open about the whys, the what happened, the secrets– girls can wear their hearts on their bosoms, but not the guys. Privacy. You don’t ask and you don’t tell. Sure, maybe in the groups you have to say something, but that’s minimal, it’s not real, you share only enough to keep the therapist thinking you’re working on treatment, only tell them what they want to hear, or what you want them to hear.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t ask that. It’s none of my business. Gee. I’m so … So do you really like my ass?”
They both laughed. Joe said, “Sure, what’s not to like? It is a fine ass indeed.”
Steven shook his head as they laughed. He grabbed Joe’s hand and hoisted his arm. “He’s here for this. Slicing his arm up cause he wanted to die for some reason. I’m here for hearing and seeing things. But I don’t have hallucinations. I’m not one of the crazy ones.”
Joe and Maddie looked at Steven and laughed more loudly.
“Quiet down you guys. We aren’t here to have fun, are we? This is serious stuff. None of this jovial stuff.” Miss Linda said sternly but with a smile and a nod. “Keep it down, eh?”
“Sure Miss Linda. Sorry.” Joe said and whispered, “I like her, she’s alright. She alright.” The heavyset Black woman strolled to the other side of the dining hall in a manner declaring she was the one in charge on the this unit.
“She’s mean sometimes. I don’t think she likes me. But I guess she’s bearable. So where do you live? What school you go to?” Maddie asked.
Joe didn’t respond. His brain was deciphering what was the right, proper, safe response. I don’t want friends here. She doesn’t need to know anything about me. Too much information, means getting to know each other. Don’t want to be rude though. She’s just being nice, no big deal. He didn’t know what expression his face portrayed. He nodded and smiled; he wasn’t sure how that came across. She pulled her head back and shrugged her shoulders. “This food’s disgusting here isn’t it?”
“Yeah, always is. Always dishing up crap.”
Steven said, “Shit. Shitty. Always taste like shit warmed up without any salt or pepper. Plain shitty.”
“Steven! Early bedtime for you.”
“Oh shit Miss Linda. I’m only speaking the truth.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Only three years older than Joe, Chuck was all a father should be. Proud when he made good grades, disappointed when he didn’t. His biggest cheerleader at all his ball games and riding him hard when he didn’t give his all. He’d taught him how to drive, had once softened mom up when he was suspended in eighth grade after a fight with the school bully. Chuck was his hero.
“How’s mom?” Joe asked and waited for a response as Chuck surveyed the dining hall where half a dozen parents sat in twos and threes around the dining tables with their hurt, frightened or, more often, angry child. His brother shook his head, then looked back at Joe and shrugged his shoulders. “What do you think you little piece of crap?” Joe looked away. “Don’t play the poor little boy Joe. What you did has nearly done mom in.”
Joe’s head swung back and he looked Chuck in the eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What more can I say. I can’t change it.”
Chuck put his hand on Joe’s shoulder and squeezed. Joe winced. “You have to tell her Joe. Tell her why you did such a stupid thing. I can’t keep lying. You can’t hide it forever. She needs to know. She needs to understand why you did such a god-awful stupid thing.”
Joe took Chuck’s hand off his shoulder and pushed it away. Leaning toward Chuck, he whispered, “No one needs to know. Can’t know. There’s no point. It’ll ruin your life too you know. Anyway, time heals. I’ll move on. I won’t let it destroy me anymore. I can handle things now. I’m okay now.” Joe showed Chuck his arm, now un-bandaged, the twenty-one staples no longer hidden. “And I sure won’t do something stupid like this again. End up in a place like this again.”
“I’ll kill you if you do.” Chuck leaned back. An annoying grin grew on his face, Joe knew Chuck was anticipating his reaction to what was about to be said. Drawing in a quick breath Chuck said, “Dad came over. He wants to come see you. Sad but true.”
Joe’s eyes bulged. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Mom had no business telling him I was in this place. How much does he know? Don’t tell him anything. Tell him I won’t see him if he comes. I hope he thinks it’s his fault. No. I wouldn’t want him to think I care that much about his utter failure as a father.”
“He’ll come. Parenting out of guilt. Got to smooth his conscience, whatever’s left of it.”
“I won’t see him. You can tell him that. I can refuse to see him. Tell mom to come. She should be here, not him.”
Chuck gave Joe a look that fueled his already crippling guilt. “I don’t think she can handle it, Joe. It’s just too hard for her. Maybe in another few days. I’m not going to push her.”
“It’s been nearly two flippin’ weeks. My therapist wants her to come to a session, a counseling session. No way. I don’t what her coming here.” Joe shook his head. “Tell her not to come, not to worry. I don’t want her to see me in this god-awful place. You’re right, it’ll just freak her out.”
Chuck laughed and rubbed Joe’s head. “You don’t know what you want, do ya?”
“I want out of this hellhole. What about college? You need to get back. What about football? Still on the team? You shouldn’t be here. Just makes me feel guilty. I don’t want you screwing up your life on account of me.”
“Give me a break, blunder butt. This ain’t about you. So I’m not on campus. I’m doing some online courses. And the football team could care less about walk-ons. The scout team will survive without me.”
Joe leaned toward Chuck and barely whispered. “No cops been around, have they?”
As Chuck shook his head, an eruption of harsh and ugly words se
ized everyone’s attention. “Shut your goddamn face or I’ll goddamn shut it for you! You want to laugh at me? Go on then! Laugh at me! Screw you, you fat little fart face!” The dozen visitors sitting in the kitchen area turned their heads and witnessed Steven’s right fist slam into the face of a thin Black kid who stood stunned in the day area. Steven cocked his arm for a second blow when two hefty male staff grabbed him from behind and yanked him away from the thirteen year old who remained motionless. Steven’s feet barely touched the floor as they ushered him to the ‘Monster’s Hole.’ Several kids laughed; shocked parents gasped and shook their heads.
“Indian on the warpath. He’s something, isn’t he?” Chuck said.
“He’s okay. Pretty crazy though. Yeah, pretty damn crazy.”
“Sorry. It’s time guys. Visitation needs to finish up.” Miss Linda announced as Steven’s foulmouthed screams pierced through the padded room’s walls.
As Chuck stood up, Joe said, “I’ve changed my mind. Tell mom to come. Okay?”
“I’m not sure though, Joe. I don’t think she’s ready.”
“Just ask her.”
***
Steven sat on the floor, legs crossed, back and head firm against the padded wall. Another attack; familiar arrows shot deep into his core. Disrespect, prejudice, mockery, hatred, indifference – arrows of laughter and disdain meant to destroy, to kill. Steven began banging his head against the cushioned wall. At least the wall was too polite to inflict the pain he wanted to feel, feel on the outside so he wouldn’t have to endure the hidden agony of heart and soul on the inside. Don’t belong. No reason to be here, be alive. No reason to care. Why bother? Never wanted. Never ever. Homeless. Just forever homeless.