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Chapter Fourteen
Grace
Out of the blue, I get cafeteria privileges.And so does my roommate, which makes me wonder if it’s a sort of two-for-one kind of deal, or whether being friends with Elizabeth has its perks.One thing is obvious: everyone sure seems to love her.
The cafeteria looks about like I expect it to look.Other than my sessions with Dr.Branson, I haven’t seen anything outside of that tiny room, which explains why the expanse of the space immediately overwhelms my senses, not to mention all the people.In actuality, there are only maybe sixty patients, give or take, but I find it striking that when you compare our numbers with the amount of staff the asylum has standing by, it is very easy to see that we could overpower them in a New York minute.
I scan the rows of tables, trying to decide where to sit.I can’t figure out whether I’m supposed to go through the line for a tray or whether they will bring one to me, so I just sort of stand there, frozen in place.
“Take a seat,” a male orderly says, pointing at me.He has a youthful face and a boyish figure; he hardly looks old enough to work in a place like this.“We can’t have patients just standing around.”
He says it almost apologetically, as though he’s embarrassed to give the orders that have been passed down to him.“They’ll bring you a hot plate.”He looks toward the line.“Though I hate to tell you, it won’t be hot.”
He’s right.My food is lukewarm at best.It beats having a tepid tray brought to my room, but not by much.
When the orderly makes his rounds again, he studies me closely.“You’re new, huh?”
I shrug, thinkingdefine new.“Yeah.”
“I’m Bradley.I’m usually on kitchen duty, but on Thursdays they need me out here.”
So it’s Thursday.Grocery run day.Bridge night.I nod and then turn back to my plate, because I get the sense I’m better off not saying anything.
“You need anything, you let me know.”
So long as it’s Thursday.“Thank you.”
I should be thinking about my new freedom.I should be paying attention to Elizabeth and her friends, both old and new.I should be making some of my own, but that’s not what I’m thinking about at all.I’m thinking about Charles.I’m thinking that if he left me in a shit-hole like this, he must have had good reason.Not that he knows where I am, but he wouldn’t have disappeared if there weren’t a reason for him to do so.
I pick at my peas, running over and over our last conversation, as though something new, something I haven’t yet thought of, might appear like magic.When it doesn’t work, I stab at a pea with my plastic fork and watch it, too, elude me, rolling around the plate.We aren’t allowed real silverware.It’s too risky.The pea rolls from one side of the plate to the other and then back as I try to pin it down.It’s like my memory, on the run and difficult to grasp.I’m hardly hungry, but if I leave my food untouched, there are consequences.I’m not a fan.
Sometimes, in our room, Elizabeth eats for the both of us.I look around the cafeteria, wishing she’d come to my aid now.There’s nothing on my tray that looks remotely appealing.She keeps telling me I’ll get used to it, and I keep not being used to it.
One second she was standing beside me at the entrance, the next she was off chatting with a group of women.Now, she’s standing in the corner talking to two women.Whatever they’re discussing, it looks intense.
No one bothers to tellherto take a seat.
The woman seated next to me, bangs her head against the table.My tray jostles like at least a seven on the Richter scale just hit.“Every day is worse than the one before, so every day you see me is the worst day of my life.”
She repeats this line over and over.I look over at her, but it’s like I’m not here at all.I start to pick up my tray and move, but an orderly tells me to sit back down.
It goes on like this forever, until finally, the woman raises her head and her eyes seem to focus on me.And this look isn’t exactly what I would call full of gratitude for my presence.
“Why is it like this?”she asks, grabbing my arm, her eyes full of fear.“Why is it like this?”she repeats, begging for an answer that I don’t have.When that’s not enough, she bangs both her head and my arm against the table again.
I get up, looking for help, but there’s no one in the immediate area, not even the orderly boy, and I feel the pressure of the woman’s hand around my wrist, pulling me down.It feels like one of those dreams where you’re running but you’re not going anywhere.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling away, but not seeming to make any headway.
“Let go of her, Martha,” I hear a familiar voice say.
The woman’s eyes grow as wide as saucers.“You.”
“Ta-da,” Elizabeth says with a curtsy.“I’m back.”
“You’re back.”
“That’s what I said.Now let go of her, Martha.”Elizabeth steps forward, and the woman cowers.“Go on, you heard me.”
