Call Me Crazy (4 page)

The ultimate decision had come when I had found her in her bathroom floor cutting her legs. Blood had pooled around her on the white tile floor as she mumbled incoherently. I had asked her why she was doing it and she had told me th
at a kind man had told her she needed to get the bad blood out of her body. That had been a week ago. Now here I stand in the mental hospital that I hope can save her life.

I finally turn the corner and see just a few feet down, the open double doors that lead into the rec room. As I slowly push past the doors, I stop and scan the room, searching for my mother. The large room is just as white as the entryway that I had previously occupied only moments before. The harsh florescent lighting does nothing to alleviate the starknes
s. I see a unique mixture of people. Some are dressed in what appear to be common hospital gowns or pants, but others are wearing normal casual clothing. Several of the patients are pacing restlessly, muttering under their breaths and occasionally pointing at nothing in particular. A few are sitting around tables and coloring in children’s books. Still others are staring out the barred windows.

I blow out a breath as I finally locate
my mother in the furthest left–hand corner of the room. She is sitting in a rocking chair, back against the wall, facing the room. Her unusually light brown eyes are glazed over. She stares down at her hands which twitch nervously. She isn’t a small woman, standing five foot six inches, though the disease that ensnares her mind seems to have withered her body as well.  Her long dark hair, peppered with silver, is done in a braid and lies over her shoulder, the wisps that have escaped frame her troubled face. As I start in her direction, my attention is caught briefly by movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head, only to catch a glimpse of short pink–streaked blond hair dropping below the table as the owner of the hair kneels down. My mind gets the brief impression of a scared ground hog ducking for cover. I am intrigued by the behavior, not to mention the hair, but my attention is needed elsewhere so I turn back towards my mother.

When I reach her, I kneel down so that I can be eye level and wait for her to look at me. When she doesn’t acknowledge me I speak up. “Hey mom,” I say gently not wanting to startle her if she hasn’t realized that I am there. “How are you doing?”

At the sound of my voice she finally looks up. Her eyes meet mine and I internally shutter at the hopelessness that has taken root inside of her. She reaches up with a boney hand and pats my cheek.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is hoarse and weak and as she drops her hand she lets out a sigh that testifies as to just how much strength it takes for her to complete the simple action.

“Can I get anything for you?”

She shakes her head slowly. “You should just go, Trey.”

My chest tightens at the use of my name. It feels like forever since she has spoken it.

“There is nothing for you here,” she continues, “but death.”

“Don’t say that Lo,” I use the shortened version of her name that my grandmother used to use when she was being stern with her daughter. “You are here and you are going to get better and I’m going to be here for you.”

I see her eyes begin to fill with tears and for the millionth time since her life had begun to unravel, I wish I could take it all from her. I wish that I could bear her burden so that she would smile again.

“It is I who should be there for you. What sort of mother leaves her son to fend for himself? Your grandfather would be ashamed that I have let the spirits take over.”

“It isn’t the spirits mother. It’s an illness; that is all. You haven’t done anything wrong.” It is a common argument between us. My mother believes, like most in my tribe, that we are in control of our own bodies and it is up to us to keep the evil and dark spirits from meddling with us. Too many of the members of our tribe believe that my mother’s condition is of her own making because of weakness. They love her, don’t mistake that, but they still believe in the old ways. It was hard to leave our tribe but it was necessary.

“You’re a good boy,” she tells me again, though she doesn’t pat my face this time. I see her eyes glaze back over and know that my time with her for the day is over. She has retreated back inside to the world that only she knows, one where I cannot go.

Ch
apter 3

“Do you ever have a moment in time where you wish you could hit the pause button and just observe the scene? Like in a particularly busy part of a movie where you can’t seem to take in all that muddles the screen so you pause the film to allow your eyes to roam over the action and take in the details. That is what I wish I could do in this moment. I wish I could pause it and take in the p
erson before me because the sheer presence of him muddles my brain and I can’t seem to take him all in.”

~ Tally

I’m hunched down beneath the table like a frightened rabbit as I watch the tall figure kneel
before the new patient across the room. I’m not sure how I came to be hunched down. All I know is that the moment he walked in the room, I felt the uncomfortable rush of something pouring through me. I’m not sure if I liked it or not.

He is Native American; there is no doubt in my mind about that based on his extremely apparent features. His long, black, amazingly shiny hair would have any woman envious of the obvious health in the locks. It flows down his back like a cascading waterfall. His naturally tan skin appears as smooth as silk and his piercing dark eyes don’t seem to miss a thing. He had even caught my movement and had glanced in my direction when I had so brilliantly decided to hide from a person I didn’t even know. I watch as he slowly stands and continues to look down at the woman before him. By the hesitancy in his movements she is obviously very important to him and I’m awed by the tenderness that such a large, imposing guy can show. After several minutes he turns to leave and my eyes never leave his retreating form until I can no longer see him. I feel a kick to my ribs and scramble up with a grunt.

“Crap Candy,” I growl at my snickering companion as I rub my side and glare at her. “What was that for?”

“A better question would be why were you hunkered down under the table drooling over Kemosabe?”

I frown at her. “That’s tacky don’t you think?”

“I’m sixty years old and crazy; I can do tacky if I want,” she snorts at me.

I can’t really argue with her there. Like pregnant women, old, crazy ladies pretty much get a free pass on crassness and eccentricity.

“So come on,” she pats the chair that I had so quickly vacated, “tell Candy all about it.”

I roll my eyes. “He just took me off guard, that’s all,” I lie smoothly.

Candy isn’t buying it. “He was hot, just admit it. Hot and he got you bothered.”

I cringe. “Candy, you calling a guy young enough to be your grandson hot is just not right.”

“Psht,” she flips her hand at me. “I’m old, not blind or dead. Besides, I didn’t say I wanted to jump his exotic bones.”

I groan as I bang my head against the table. “Where do you learn these terms? I mean it’s not normal for someone your age to blurt out crap like that.”

“Did you just use the term normal in a sentence describing me?” She raises her brow surprisingly at me.

I laugh. “Good point.”

“So, are you going to tell me why Pocahontas’ brother had you running for the hills?”

“There is something wrong with you, you know that, right?”

She smiles at me. “That’s what the voices in my head keep telling me. Now spill it.”

I know she isn’t going to relent until I tell her something, so I decide to surrender.

“I don’t really know, just that when he walked into the room, I immediately knew something was different about him. I’ve never been drawn to a guy before, but I was definitely drawn to him.”

Candy tapped her chin with one of her long fingers. “Hmm, so it was lust at first sight?”

I grin at her. “I will admit he was pretty hot.”

She scoffs. “That’s like saying the Grand Canyon is kind of deep.”

“Once again, you basically saying a teenage guys is eye candy, is really creeping me out.”

“If that’s the creepiest thing you ever hear from me then consider yourself lucky,” she winks wickedly.

“I mean, yes, I noticed that he was good looking, but that wasn’t it,” I try to explain. “It’s like he was one pole of a magnet and I’m the opposite and I’m drawn to him. It sort of freaked me out and I went into fight or flight mode.”

“Ahh,” she says with a single brow raised. “So you are a runner?”

“Well did you want me to walk up to him and smack him in the face?” I ask her.

“With your lips?” she laughs.

I shake my head at her with a chuckle. Just the picture of me going up to him and kissing a perfe
ct stranger, albeit a mega–hot stranger, and seeing the shocked look on his face was rather hilarious.

“Well I’m sure he’ll be back for another visit soon. Are you going to run and hide every time you see our new little fascination?”

I blow air out of my mouth and my cheeks puff up. “It’s a distinct possibility.”

“Not on my watch,” Candy stands up and grabs my hand pulling me to my feet. “Knowledge is power, my little protégé. Maybe if you know a little something about our new toy then you won’t feel the need to hide.”

“Did you seriously just call him a toy?” I ask incredulously.

“No,” she says as she tugs me towards the entrance of the rec ro
om. “I called him our new toy.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you need therapy,” I tease.

“That’s what they tell me, and by
they,
I mean the entire medical community and a Judge.” Candy cackles as we walk down the hall―well she walks while she drags me behind her.

“Hey Mildew,” Candy slaps her hand down on the counter of the front desk but Mildred is so used to her antics that she doesn’t even flinch at the movement or the deliberate slip of her name.

“What can I do for you Candace?” Mildred’s voic
e is dry and though she usually smiles sweetly at everyone, she is looking at Candy with obvious annoyance.

“Well I promise to leave peacefully if you will let me have a looksee at the sign–in clip board.” Candy bats her eyelashes flirtatiously.

“Why?” Mildred draws the word out as she looks up over her glasses at Candy.

“It’s a secret, but don’t worry, I’m not planning anyone’s demise, not just yet. Pinky and I just want to know what that tall drink of water’s name was.”

I roll my eyes as I look around Candy’s shoulder. “Don’t mind her, Mildred; she’s in rare form today.”

Mildred glances back at Candy and then to me. “No Tally, I’m afraid this is her usual form. His name is Trey and that is all I’m going to tell you, now off with you. Tally, you have a meeting with Dr. Stacey in a few minutes I suggest you not miss it.”

I smile at her and grab Candy’s hand, pulling her quickly away from the front desk before she can smart off to Mildred and get herself in trouble. Candy loved to aggravate Mildred and for some reason I had the sneaky suspicion that Mildred was one of those people you could only push so far before she reared back and stabbed you with a pencil.

“Trey?” Candy says his name as if he is a strange new fungus. “He doesn’t look like a Trey.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, maybe Running Eagle, or something more Native American-ish.”

I shake my head at her. “Stereotype much? This isn’t a movie you know?”

Candy snaps her fingers. “Damn and here I thought I was Wynona Ryder and you were Angelina
Jolie in
Girl Interrupted
.”

“Phuulease, if anyone is Angelina’s character it is your crazy old ass.” I keep walking as she stops.

“Where are you going?” She asks me.

“In case you missed it, I have a therapy session,” I tell her as I turn around but continue to walk backwards.

“What about planning your next encounter with tall, dark and…,”

“If you say lickable, I’m going to puke,” I warn her.

She winks at me. “You’re the one who said it Pinky.”

I throw my hands in the air and turn around, ignoring her hollering about my future children needing names that reflect their mixed heritage. I swear that woman is going to scare me sane.

~

“Hi Tally,” Dr. Stacey waves me in as she continues to stack files that are scattered across her desk. I take my usual spot on the plaid love seat across from the two mahogany chairs that circled around a matching mahogany coffee table. I watch as she calmly finishes what she is doing and I’m struck again by how collected she always appears. I’ve never seen her frazzled or out of sorts. I wonder what that must be like because I always feel frazzled and out of sorts. I wonder what I must look like to her. She must think I’m such a mess, which, duh, I kind of am, hence my current residence at a psychiatric hospital. I shrug inwardly and take comfort in knowing that I am far from the worst patient in this place.