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Chapter Six
Grace
After my hydrotherapy, I spend a lot of time in and out of reality.I don’t know if this is the medication they are giving me, or if it’s simply my body’s natural response to nearly being cooked alive.
I just feel deeply, deeply tired.It feels like a leaden blanket in my head, pressing down on the front of my eyes that keeps me from seeing things clearly.I find myself daydreaming, half asleep, floating on the edge of sleep, just beyond the realm of consciousness.It’s a hazy state in which I flit between past and present, reality and a dream world.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe this is where I belong; maybe I don’t want to be awake at all.Maybe this is what normal feels like.Maybe Dr.Branson is right.Maybe missing something this way is too much for my psyche to handle.
Maybe that’s what this is all about, me being here in the lunatic asylum.They’re dispensing physical pain to combat the mental anguish of not knowing what happened to my family.
It’s almost working.I can smell the burning of my flesh, I can smell the acrid smell of laying in my own filth.My breath comes in shallow bursts, and when I breathe, I inhale the stink of my anxiety and exhale the stench of my waste.
I appreciate it when the hospital’s air conditioning kicks on.The room fills with a different scent then, something sterile and antiseptic, rich with the smell of bleach and industrial cleaning chemicals.
I am just so tired.I can’t move.It hurts.The pain is always there, pressing against my skull, throbbing in my head.But that's not the worst of it.My skin is raw and red, crusted with dried blood.I can smell the infection forming, the rancid stench, combined with sweat and urine.
Sometimes when I wake, a sharp tang and metallic odor fill the air, but not before I realize I shouldn’t try to move.The bedsheets dig into my burned flesh, making everything worse.
It doesn’t really occur to me I might die here.It’s not like a real hospital, where the doctors seemed overworked, stretched too thin.Here, there is a purposeful calm.There is no sense of urgency.No one seems to think I’m in any danger.No one seems to get that I’m burning up, that I’m going to die.I want them to know, but I can’t speak.I try to say something, but what comes out is a pathetic croak: “Water.”
The nurse helps me sit up.There is a cup of water in her hand.She has kind eyes and a gentle smile.She’s wiping my mouth the first time I really get a good look at her face.She looks like my mother-in-law, but that’s probably just on account of the drugs they have me on.
I met Charles through his mother.I think about that day often.The way she waltzed into the fabric store I worked at like she owned the place.I remember being amazed at the way she carried herself.She had a quiet confidence that was palpable.She’d driven all the way from the west side of Houston simply because the linen she’d ordered had been sent to the wrong place.I helped her by retrieving what she wanted from the stockroom and getting her rung up.
I hadn’t really given her much notice outside the fact that she was a customer, and she’d driven a long way.I wanted to make sure she was well taken care of.
She seemed to ask a lot of personal questions, like where I went to school, about my family, what my childhood had been like, whether I was courting a suitor, as she called it.
I didn’t think it was odd, her line of questions.It wasn’t uncommon that the older customers were lonely women who longed for someone to talk to, their children long grown up, off, busy living lives of their own.These women often liked to reminisce about their lives when they were my age, and I assumed this was exactly what Mrs.Solomon was doing as I showed her a dozen or so patterns that I thought might interest her.
“You just have to meet my Charles,” she said as I bagged her items.This also wasn’t too uncommon, women trying to play matchmaker.Mostly, they were trying to flatter me.It was wishful thinking, fantasy, a courtesy afforded.I never actually dated any of these young men whose mothers gushed about them for ages.
Not until Charles, that is.
“What do you say?Would you like to meet my Charles?I just know you’d be perfect together.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, handing her the change.“But I’m in school, and when I’m not in school, I’m working here, and when I’m not working—well, I’m studying.I’m afraid I don’t have much time for dating.”My face fell.I made sure of it.“Hence the empty finger.”
“Oh, come on,” she said.“A girl’s got to have some fun.”
“You would think.”
“No, honey, I’ve been around a long time.I know.”
“Just out of curiosity—what makes you think I’m a good fit, anyway?”
“Oh, honey,” she said, flicking her wrist.“A mother knows her son.Believe me, he’ll fall head over heels the moment he lays eyes on you.I mean, look at you!”
“That’s very kind.”
She laughed a deep low chuckle, like she knew something I didn’t, like she had a secret.I remember feeling uneasy, just the way Mrs.Solomon carried herself.You had to assume she was a woman of power, used to getting her way.She was tall, with fair skin and high cheekbones and deep eyes so light they were almost translucent.They were sharp and nearly judgmental, which I always thought was odd.It wasn’t as though she knew anything about me.
“But it’s more than your looks, Miss Wilson.You sold me four patterns, and I only came here for linen.I’m absolutely positive you could sell a glass of water to a drowning man.”
I laughed uneasily.
“And that’s just the kind of wife my Charles needs.One that can keep up with him.”
I tried to formulate a response, but before I could, the clock just stopped and everything was different.It was like I felt a flutter in my stomach and then whatwaswas just gone.“Don’t worry,” the nurse said, concern on her face.“It’s the medication.You’ll feel better soon.”
I remember thinking about how odd it was, one second my mother-in-law was there, the next she was someone else entirely.I tried, but I couldn’t focus.One second I was back in the fabric store, handing the bag to Mrs.Solomon.She grabbed my hand and held it tightly.I felt my eyes getting heavy, and then I was back in the mental hospital.I was here in my room, but I didn’t know if I was asleep or awake, if I was dreaming, or if Mrs.Solomon had really been here.
In the end, none of it really mattered.Mrs.Solomon was there, in my memory, if nothing else.Charles was there.It was real.She told Charles to sit down next to me, and I felt him put his hand on my head.I remember thinking that this felt right.Like I was supposed to have his hand in mine.I remember thinking that marrying Charles was the best thing I ever did.We were going to be together forever.He found me.Maybe it was meant to be a premonition.He was going to find me.I remember thinking that everything was going to be okay.
But then I woke up, and they were gone.Dr.Branson was there where they had been.Nurse Wagnon stood directly over his shoulder.“Good news, Grace,” he said.“You’re getting a roommate.”
