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Chapter Nine
Grace
Isaw the calendar in Dr.Branson’s office.I stared at it for a very long time, trying to think of the right thing to say.How could I make him believe me?How could I make him understand?What did he want to hear?
I don’t think I came any closer to figuring it out, but I did at least learn one thing.Today marks eight days that I have been here.A lot can happen in that amount of time.
There is an urgency growing inside me.Dr.Branson didn’t say it outright, but I get the sense he is the only one I can talk to.The only one it issafeto talk to.I meant to ask him about client-patient privilege, but then I spotted the calendar, and my mind wouldn’t put the words together.All I could think about was my Phillip and how much he must have grown.Babies change a lot in their first weeks, and I am missing all of it.
And Toby, now that he isn’t in school—or had he been enrolled in a new one?How was Charles keeping his little curious mind occupied?Did he miss his friends?I have to keep reminding myself it’s not just me that my children have lost, but everything they know.And, of course, my precocious daughter.How is she faring without me?Does Charles know to rub her back at nap time or that she prefers the edges of her toast cut off?
I have so many questions, and none of them feel particularly comforting.I don’t have a lot of time for a pity party, unfortunately.My new roommate won’t allow for it.It seems the good drugs have worn off, and the standoff has begun.She refuses to use the bedpan, and the nurses don’t like to remove the restraints, so mostly, she just wets herself.
I think of Phillip and wonder why the orderlies haven’t considered diapers, but nothing makes logical sense in this place, and I figure there’s no point in trying to change the status quo.
The lock clicks open and a whoosh of fresh air blows in.I am so busy thinking about the calendar and what it means, while trying to tune out Elizabeth’s rantings, that I don’t care who has come in.I assume it is Nurse Wagnon returning with a mop and bucket.
“You can just give me your cleaning supplies,” Elizabeth says, motioning toward the cart.“I’ll get right on that.”
I look up just at the moment Nurse Wagnon raises her hand for a slap.And I don’t mean a little tap.I mean aslap, slap.The kind of slap that’s usually reserved for a house cat that’s shat on the rug.Which is sort of what Elizabeth is doing.But that’s not the point.
“Get away from me,” Elizabeth screams.“I said get away!”
Nurse Wagnon slaps her again, harder this time, so hard that Elizabeth’s head snaps to the side.At first there is silence, and then Elizabeth cries out, but not in pain.In anger.
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” Wagnon tells her.“I hope you don’t get used to it.What a shame that would be.”
I guess this is the point where I should say that I’m not really a fan of corporal punishment, and this is a little extreme.I mean, shouldn’t we be a little more concerned with Elizabeth’s feelings on the matter of where she urinates?
Nurse Wagnon goes to the cart, takes the mop and bucket, and brings them over to the bed.Not to use on the floor where they belong, but on Elizabeth, who is looking very confused at the moment.
I watch as Nurse Wagnon raises the mop from the bucket, without doing the most important part.She has been around for a long time, so obviously sheknowsthe most important part.She doesn’t wring the mop out, she simply slides it over Elizabeth, who is still restrained, and then she slides it back.Several times over.
Elizabeth flails about, writhing from side to side like a fish out of water, only she’s actually the opposite of that, because from my vantage point, it looks like she might actually drown in dirty mop water.Her head knocks back and forth, hitting against the bed frame so hard I’m afraid one or the other might break.
“Say thank you,” Wagnon says to Elizabeth, who is looking up at her with a glazed look in her eyes.“Reach out your hands and say thank you.”
“Fuck you,” Elizabeth says, as she fists her sopping bedsheets.“I’ll kill you one day.Just wait and see.”
Nurse Wagnon pats her on the head, like she’s a loving caregiver and not a deranged person with a mop fetish.
“Anyway,” Elizabeth says.“You can’t blame me.Shetold me to do it.”
“She told you to wet your bed,” Nurse Wagnon says with a hint of disbelief.She looks over at me and then back at Elizabeth.
“No.She told me I should kill you.Says she’ll help me do it.”
“Is this true?”Wagnon asks, her head snapping in my direction.“Because if it’s not, I give you permission to strike Miss Yarring for telling a lie on your behalf.”
I study the nurse.Curious and menacing dark eyes stared out from her wrinkled face, her pixie-cut coal black hair framing her shrewd expression.Her eyes pierced me with their intensity.In them I saw death.“I don’t want to get involved.”
“Oh dear,” Wagnon says.“That’s too bad.It seems you already are.”
“She’s lying,” I reply as my heart picks up pace.“And anyway, anyone can see that she’s not in her right mind.”
“A lie is a lie is a lie,” Nurse Wagnon hisses.“Now, unless you agree with the accusations Miss Yarring has made, I suggest you hit her.But only once.”
Nurse Wagnon smiles.Just a little, but I know a smile when I see one.A smile that says, “you can still save yourself.”A smile that says, “this is your one chance, don’t throw it all away.”A smile that says,“hit her, because if you don’t, I will.”
And on the heels of that smile, I know that my days are numbered here.I know because I decide to take a different approach than the one everyone is expecting.
I walk over to Elizabeth and strike her with the back of my hand.It’s a real hit, it’s genuine, though I could have done better.“The first part I said.But not the last.”
