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Chapter Eighteen
Grace
Slowly and then all at once, Elizabeth pulls out of her low and finds a more even keel.She starts eating again, and she spends a lot of time in the common room, and soon I’m granted privileges as well.We spend a lot of time there together.Like the cafeteria, it’s entirely overwhelming at first.The easiest way to put it would be that it’s sort of like being in a playroom with loads of children of varying ages and levels of ability and maturity.If it’s meant to be a certain kind of freedom, it sure doesn’t feel that way.At least not at first.
It takes some easing into, some getting used to being corralled, to being shut in a room with people not of your own choosing.The near-incessant shouting, the kind of sound you’d hear in a classroom full of unruly children, doesn’t help.
My friend circle started out mostly with Elizabeth’s circle; it made it easy for me to plug in.It’s nice that I don’t have to work that hard.Elizabeth is friendly with everyone, and she’s revered by everyone, which makes it simple for me.
Martha, the stage-five clinger from the cafeteria, hangs out in front of the TV most afternoons, which means she’s slightly more sedate than the last time I saw her.There’s Sandra, a woman in her early sixties, who rocks back and forth in the corner, crying on and off for most of the day.When she’s not doing that, she’s trying to pick fights with the other patients, so I try not to mind the crying too much.
Elizabeth introduces me to Susan and Patricia and Kimberly and Julie and Holly.But my favorite person is Joy.Her name is fitting, and while she irritates the other women, I feel an immediate kinship to her.Perhaps it’s the mothering instinct in me.A mongoloid, she reminds me a lot of my Eleanor, full of wonder and energy, and, of course, joy.
Susan’s husband wanted another wife, but was a staunch Catholic, therefore she found herself here.Patricia and Kimberly are neurotics, Julie and Holly are anorexics.Elizabeth, I soon learn, is the nymphomaniac of the group.
Martha believes there are worms in her stomach.She repeats the same three sentences over and over.Agnes is here because she disagreed with her family’s religious beliefs and “spoke foolish romantic talk.”She did not wish to marry, and she does not want children.
Patricia, or Patty, as most of the other women call her, is known for her violent attacks.One minute she’ll be sitting next to you laughing or smiling, the next she is clawing out your eyeballs.Rumor has it she partially blinded a patient, hence the reason she’s forced to wear a straitjacket when she goes anywhere outside of her room.None of us have yet realized she can do a lot of damage with her mouth, too.
One afternoon, I’m playing checkers with Joy.Elizabeth is not around—supposedly in session.She has a lot of sessions; more, it seems, than the rest of us.Joy is surprisingly good at playing checkers, but I always make sure to let her beat me nonetheless.She likes to draw the game out by pretending she can’t figure out her next move.I learned the hard way the first time we played.Her stalling was only exacerbated, should she lose.A single game can take an eternity, but it’s not like I’m going anywhere.
I run my finger back and forth over the black checker, feeling its rough edges, my mind elsewhere, my ears scanning the room for any relevant information.The rough grooves on the checker grounds me.We aren’t allowed anything sharp in here.No clothing with ties or strings.Nothing you could use to strangle yourself.Nothing that could do yourself or anyone else harm.This amounts to a lot of forbidden things.
“Elizabeth, no friend,” Joy says, bringing me back to the present moment.
“What?”She doesn’t talk often, Joy.She’s more of a quiet observer, although I haven’t yet figured out whether this is on account of her disability or whether she doesn’t have much to say.
“Careful,” she tells me.“Very careful.”
I slide my checker forward, making a bad move and not entirely on purpose.Joy snatches my checker up and adds it to her pile.“You don’t like Elizabeth?”
She shakes her head.“She’s okay.But no friend.”
I want to ask her what she means, but Nurse Wagnon appears with her rolling cart.Little paper cups are lined neatly in rows.These paper cups hold our medication.
“She’s going to escape,” Joy says, as she contemplates her next move.
I swallow hard.I can’t tell whether Joy knows that Nurse Wagnon is standing behind her, so I make a move on the board intended to get Joy’s attention, to distract her from saying more.
“No one is going to escape, dear,” Wagnon says tartly.“Not on my watch.”
“Elizabeth is,” Joy exclaims.“I’m going with her.”
“You’re going nowhere,” Wagnon huffs, slamming her fist down on the checkerboard.In almost slow motion, I can see what is coming.It’s like storm clouds gathering on a hot day.Nothing gets in between Joy and her favorite thing in the world.Not even Nurse Wagnon.
“She doesn’t mean anything by it,” I say to Wagnon, trying to defuse the situation, fearing I am too late.“She’s just very imaginative.You know how it is.”
“She’s a liar is what she is,” Wagnon screeches.“We do not make exceptions, Mrs.Solomon.Everyone is treated fairly and equally on this floor.”
“Listen—” I interject.It’s no use.
“For lying,” Wagnon says, “you lose checker privileges for a month, Joy.”She levels with her.“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Joy’s eyes widen.Wagnon might as well have back-handed her.
As Wagnon slides the board off the table, Joy’s eyes change from disbelief to something else.Something worse.I know what’s coming.I’ve seen this very thing with Eleanor, right before one of her epic tantrums.A milky white fills her irises and then the pupil.In a fraction of a second, she turns from the childlike Joy I know and adore to a monster.
The next thing I know, Wagnon is being dragged to the floor by one hand, while Joy has her hair in the other.“My game!”Joy hisses.
