Admissions (11 page)

“Mrs. Farley. Good evening.” Dr. and Mrs. Cho approach the table.

“Evening. Are you folks chaperoning tonight, too?” Mrs. Farley asks.

“Yes we are, but we’re on our way out. Mrs. Cho isn’t feeling well.” Dr. Cho looks at his wife. “Su Lin, you remember Jill Farley, Dr. Farley’s wife. She’s one of our volunteers.”

Mrs. Cho bows her head.

Dr. Cho takes Jill’s hand in both of his. “Bless you. If it weren’t for our volunteers, I don’t know what we’d do. Some charitable group is always sponsoring our little hall parties and outings.”

“This is Carl Reinbold, works here at the hospital,” Jill says.

“I’m very pleased to meet you.” Dr. Cho nods at Carl, takes his wife’s arm and walks briskly toward the door.

“His wife looks like a China doll,” Carl says.

“Yes, he came to the US from China for his education and then sent for her when he got his job as Medical Superintendent here. They have two of the cutest kids you’ll ever see. She doesn’t speak English very well beyond the basic niceties,” Jill says.

“It must be hard for her living on the hospital grounds.”

“I think it is. Their house is connected by the tunnels. Rumor has it they’ve had a couple of uninvited guests.”

“I heard that, too. Grapevine.”

“I want to tell you how sorry I am about Judy,” she says. “I don’t know what to say. How are you doing, Carl.”

“Not so good. Can’t sleep.”

“I’m sure you miss her.”

“Yup, I miss her. I sure do.” He shakes his head as he neatens the stacks of napkins.

We finally get sick of hanging back and push onto the dance floor. We form a circle and dance the Pony to a song that vaguely resembles
Bad Moon Rising
. I notice Carl smile as he watches us clowning on the floor.

After several dances I sit at the end of the refreshment table and watch the dancers. Raylene Cline, one of the social workers, comes up behind Carl and I hear her say, “Carl, do you have just a moment?”

“Yup, sure do.”

“Sorry to call you away at a social event, Carl, but I want you to report to Hall 6 first thing tomorrow morning.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Happened a couple hours ago. Another patient attack on staff.”

“What happened?”

“Steve Phillipon was sitting at the desk catching up on his paperwork. Of course, the patients were all doped up, locked in their rooms. He told me it felt as if somebody was watching him. He got up and looked around a couple of times, nothing seemed out of place. He had a file open on his desk when a drop of water fell onto the page. He looked up to find a patient drooling from the ceiling.”

“What?” Carl says.

“I don’t have all the details, how he got up there. But he was wedged in between the steam pipes and the ceiling. When Joe looked up, the patient said,
I’ve been watching you
.
They told me to kill you.
He pushed the emergency alarm as the patient sprang down. It took a couple of minutes for the attendants to arrive, but by that time, the patient had him by the throat. Could’ve killed him.” “How in heck did the patient manage to get up there without somebody seeing him? What about night check?”

“Don’t know. They’re looking into it.”

“Steve okay?”

“Pretty shaken up. I wonder if you can meet with him and be a support person for him as he recovers.”

“I’m not exactly a good example of how to recover from an attack,” Carl says.

“I think you could be helpful, Carl. Would you be willing to meet with us in my office tomorrow morning?”

“I guess.”

“I’m going to recommend that Steve talk to somebody who’s walked in his shoes, so to speak. He may or may not want the help.”

“Sure, I can talk to him if you want, if the guy thinks it’s helpful.”

Chapter 21

THE OBSERVER
            
June 1, 1969

Page 10

SELF RESPECT

Some people are walking around the hospital looking like vagabonds. There is no reason not to be neat and clean. Ladies, please do not show up at the canteen or events with your slip showing or your lingerie straps sticking out from your dress. Don’t look like a common streetwalker. Have a little self respect.

At Heidi’s urging, I make a trip to the emporium in the basement of the patient’s library looking for summer clothes. “I want to go upstairs after. Dr. Murray approved a library card for me.” I sort through the swimsuits.

“I’ll go up with you. Do you need a card for magazines?”

“Not sure.”

“I’ll be over there, lookin’ for shorts.”

“I’m going to try on a swimsuit, if I can find one.” I hold up a purple one-piece with a pleated skirt. They all look like old lady suits. A far cry from my bikini—not really a bikini, but a two-piece Jeff talked me into buying. I smile when I think about how he raved about me in that suit. I have to admit, I felt pretty sexy in it. But I hadn’t worn it since Alexander was born. Jeff didn’t understand why, but I did—I’m a mother now. I put the suit down. Used to be a mother.

Heidi and I head upstairs to the patient’s library with our brown bags stuffed with clothes. “I just want to get a couple of books. I shouldn’t be long,” I tell Heidi.

“Our passes are good until two o’clock. I’ll check out the magazines.”

The library is huge, a scant fifteen or twenty rows of bookcases standing in the middle. The shelves are almost empty. I make my way along the first row, run my finger down the spines of the books. I pull out
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
and flip through it. I’d read it in sixth grade. I meander through the bookcases, pulling out a book here and there. I decide to re-read
Wuthering Heights
and take it up to the desk. Heidi waits by the door. She points at the ceiling.

When I look up, high above me the domed ceiling glitters with a wide gold inlay border, circling a giant fresco of angels sitting among clouds, looking down from the heavens. Astonished, I drop my book.

“What’s the matter?” Heidi asks.

“That mural …”

“Cool, huh?”

“See that angel with his finger pointed up?”

“Over there?” Heidi points.

“No, the one toward the edge. He’s smiling.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Alexander.”

Later that week, I walk to the canteen for cigarettes and I notice the maple branches birthing small brown nodules with tightly closed yellow buds. I love spring, but I can’t help thinking about Alexander, how he loved to play outside and ride his trike. Beyond the lawns, wild flowers dot the hillside behind the fire house, popping up through remnants of snow. I see Alexander’s smiling face, holding up a bouquet of wildflowers, the stems barely peeking out from the bottom of his fist. Twilight still comes early and tints the sky chartreuse. Flocks of starlings circle for their night roosts among the trees. Foot traffic is heavy; the canteen just reopened after months of renovation. I spot the Lobster crossing the courtyard, probably on her way to her break.

I’ve heard the Lobster grumble and complain the entire time the canteen was closed. Rumor has it that starting the Tuesday after Memorial Day, Doris Lobsinger orders an ice cream sandwich and a Coke every day until Labor Day. In the winter, she walks through the tunnels to order hot coffee and a slice of cherry pie. I notice the Lobster’s tight uniform. Her waistband measures years of breaks.

The canteen buzzes with staff crowded around the soda fountain counter, some seated on the coveted red vinyl swivel stools, others standing behind them. The room is thick with cigarette smoke and chatter. I stand by the window, smoking a cigarette, waiting for an attendant to ask me to leave. Patients are allowed to purchase items in the canteen, but we are not allowed to loiter.

I watch the Lobster standing in line for her order, scanning the tables for a seat. Carol, an attendant from Hall 9, motions her over. The Lobster balances her drink and ice cream, plops down at the table with other staff from Halls 5, 9 and 19. I stand about two feet from the table. I turn my back to them and listen. It’s a great way to find out what’s going on around here. Listen to staff conversations.

“Okay. I got a story for you.” The Lobster pauses to swig back a thick Coke bottle. “Yesterday one of the retards on Hall 9, you know her, Carol …Marge. She comes up missing from her walk outside. Supposed to start her work shift and she’s nowhere to be found. Around three o’clock, she strolls in with her skirt on backwards.” She smiles, looks around the group. A couple of the aides chuckle.

“Well, you know the punch line. She’s back at it. It’s spring and she’s spreading her legs out in the Soap House for any staffer that comes along.”

“The old Rag and Soap House on
Yellow Drive
?” Dr. Murray asks.

“That would be the
Toap House.
When we know she’s been out having sex, we just say,
Hey Marge, been out to the Toap House?
” The Lobster gulps her coke. The others stare into their coffee mugs.

“This is Marge from Hall 9?” Dr. Murray asks.

“Yeah Marge, the retard with the harelip.”

“She’s having sex with staff members in the Soap House?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Marge has the mental ability of a five year old. She’s a child. She’s being raped by staff members? ”

“Well, now wait a minute. Nobody’s forcing her, she likes it.”

“That’s ridiculous. As I said, mentally, she’s a child.”

“Ah, well …I don’t know that much about it. It’s just kinda’ like a rumor. Ah, I don’t really even know if it’s true.”

Dr. Murray shoves back her chair and slaps her napkin down on the table. “I’m going to check into this.”

So that was it. I smash out my cigarette and leave. As I walk back, I think about Marge. Dr. Murray is right, we all think of her as a little girl, so innocent and loving. Damn it.

Chapter 22

THE OBSERVER
            
June 15, 1969

Page 3

SUMMER CARNIVAL JUNE 28
^TH

Plans for the Summer Carnival are well underway. Volunteers are still needed to set up. Activities include: dunk tank, three-legged race, shot-put, penny scramble for the kids, high-jump, egg toss, and ball roll for the women. Booths will sell popcorn and candy. Everybody come on out and have some summer fun!

Good afternoon,” Dr. Murray says. “I walked across the grounds today — the flower beds are gorgeous. Do any of you work in the gardens?”

“Isabel and I do.”

“Great work.” Dr. Murray sits in the last empty chair in the circle.

I’ve never seen the doctor look so healthy, relaxed. Her cheeks flushed against a deep tan and scores of freckles sit elbow to elbow on her face. Her hair is held off her neck by a leather barrette, damp wisps surrounding her head. “I hope you girls are getting outside. It’s so beautiful up here in the summer, isn’t it? Who would like to start today?”

“I’d like to start,” Estee jumps in.

“Go ahead.”

“I just want to tell you all how much I appreciate your support during my relapse. It’s been a month now. I …I’m getting back to my old self.”

“I’m glad you’re doing so well, Estee,” Dr. Murray says.

“I don’t have visitors, so I need all your support.”

“Can your family visit?” Beth asks.

“They all live in the city, New York City. My grandma writes to me, though.”

“Now what happened to your mom?” Isabel asks.

“I guess she moved to California, nobody knows where she is. My dad brought me up here to the hospital, but he’s moved now, too. I don’t really know where.”

“You’ve shared that your mother is mentally ill, Estee. Do you know what her diagnosis is?”

“Paranoid Schizophrenic.”

“Do you remember her, before her illness?”

“From old pictures, mostly. My mom was so pretty. Before they went out to the clubs, my dad danced her around the living room, spun her around, they both laughed. She was so happy. Then she got sick.”

“What do you remember?”

“Well, I remember my mom would always pick me up at my grandma’s after work. One day she just didn’t show up. Everybody panicked; all the relatives went out looking for her. They called the police.”

“Was she arrested?”

“Not that time. I guess my dad found her in a nightclub with some strange men. When they got home, my mother screamed and threw things around, tried to bite and kick my dad. It was pretty scary. She went in the hospital the next day.”

“I worry about my kids,” Autumn says. “They remember what happened. It must have been so terrifying for them. They probably felt like you did, Estee — scared, you know.”

“My mom came home from the hospital, but she couldn’t work. She slept most of the time. Then, she’d start getting happy again, laughing and joking. Later I’d find out she stopped taking her medication. Pretty soon she’d stopped sleeping, called people up on the phone all hours of the night … My mom had electro shock,” Estee says. “They almost gave her a lobotomy.”

“Sounds like she was pretty sick,” Dr. Murray says.

“Eventually, she’d get all dressed up and leave the house and we wouldn’t be able to find her. A lot of times, the police either brought her home or arrested her for indecent exposure or disorderly conduct. My dad stayed through three hospitalizations, then he left.”

“Who took care of you?” Beth asks.

“My grandma. She lived in the same building. My mom was in and out of Bellevue. By junior high I was pretty much on my own.”

“It must have been so confusing for you,” Dr. Murray says.

“I just never knew whether she’d be there when I got home from school, what kind of shape she’d be in. When she started bringing men home, I’d stay with my grandma.”

“My kids don’t have a father either,” Autumn says.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’ll try. Lord knows, it’s on my mind.”

“Go ahead, Autumn.”

“Well, that night. The night he came over drunk. The night it happened. Like I said, Jim started losing it, getting madder and madder. We were in the kitchen. I sent the kids to their rooms. He was on me before I knew what happened. He knocked me down and kicked me. When I got up, he grabbed me by the hair and pushed me into the bedroom.”