Left In Good Spirits

by Anne Pleydon

  “Is it true that we should plan for termination from the first contact?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “The professor teaching us our Interventions course.”

  “Oh.” Kenny sits back down on Laura’s desk. Laura senses her supervisor is impatient with this line of questioning. “I guess. I think the goal of therapy is to be done therapy. The goal of medication is to be done with medication. I share that with them. But that’s as far as I go with termination. Termination sounds like we’re going to kill our client, doesn’t it? There has to be a better word for that.”

  “Discharge?”

  “Okay, discharge planning.”

  “I finished reviewing Noah Farewell’s file yesterday.”

  Laura feels she has Kenny’s full attention. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, you have some interesting exercises in there. Can you send them to me?”

  “Oh, right. I got those off a Violent Offender program on the west coast and I made up some on my own. Who knows where they got them from so I have no idea who to credit. I like the Eulogy exercise. It’s funny how many kids refuse to do that one. I will send you all the violent offence and sexual offence exercises I have in a document.”

  “They refuse the Eulogy one?”

  “Yeah, it freaks them out to write their own eulogy. They’re really superstitious. It’s like asking them to anticipate breaching on the outside or not getting out at Court when they have a Court date. Some won’t do it. They think if you say it out loud then you make it happen. Like, how you’re not supposed to say ‘shut out’ at a hockey game.”

  Laura does not understand the sports analogy and simply says, “That’s funny.”

  “But they will breach. Almost all of them will breach in the first year, if not the first month. It’s classic.”

  “What were those letters?”

  “Oh.” Kenny smiles and looks at the ceiling. “I took that from an Eminem song.”

  “What?”

  “There’s an Eminem song where you think he’s singing to a woman but he’s actually singing to the rap industry. It’s quite ingenious. That guy can write. Anyway, I asked Noah to write to Merivale like a girlfriend and how he keeps coming back to her. I asked him to suppose who MACC and Gagetown are. Those are the adult facilities around here. The provincial and the federal.”

  “Where are those?”

  “MACC is here. You know that old red-bricked building with the barbed wire fence? On the outskirts of town. It’s officially called the Merivale Adult Correctional Centre or something but no one calls it that because when we say Merivale we know we mean the youth one. Gagetown is on the coast.

  “Who goes to MACC?”

  “It is adult provincial corrections, but they have some psychiatric beds there, too, for provincial and even some federal inmates with serious mental disorders or currently serving a hospital disposition under the Review Board.”

  “Review Board?”

  “You know, unfit, or not criminally responsible by reason of mental disorder. In the US, they call is not guilty by reason of insanity. But we don’t call it that here.”

  “Okay, so MACC and Gagetown are like Merivale’s sisters?” Laura guesses.

  “Yeah, he came up with that. Pretty clever, eh?”

  “But there is a letter to himself?”

  “I asked him to write a letter to himself that I would give him if he ever came back inside. I promised, well, let’s say I did something stupid that I have never done again.”

  “What?”

  “I promised him that I would give him that letter no matter where he ended up. In the world. That I would deliver it to him if he ever went into custody again.”

  “And did you?”

  “He hasn’t done any time, that I know of. So, I never had to deliver it.”

  “Would still you deliver it now? It’s been like 10 years.”

  “I don’t think so. As long I don’t hear anything, then I’m not breaking my promise. I’m not going to fly to the other end of the country to deliver it to him. That would be a bit much. Can you imagine surprising your fucking client out of the blue like that? Hello, your therapist is here. Surprise!”

  They laugh as Kenny picks up the Gift of Therapy again. “Anyway, read this. It’s important. It will get you excited about therapy.”

  “So you don’t believe in transference?”

  “Oh, I do. You better believe they see you as every other white middle-class woman who’s tried to get in their business or their family’s business. That’s a given. But then there’s attachment stuff that comes out, or clients that think you’re omnipotent, that’s hilarious. You’re not gonna see that with the short term clients. But with the longer ones, I swear. Once you’re coming onto a year in therapy together, there is something. I used to see some kids for years. I saw Noah for three and a half years. I will never do that again. I end things now. Not only do I think there’s diminishing return but I think there’s risk of losing perspective. I’m not sure. It’s just too exhausting. I do things differently now. Never again.”

  Kenny springs off the desk. “Let’s walk to the coffee shop. I think Rita’s still there.” Laura gets off her chair and walks beside Kenny out of the unit, down the hall, and into the Rotunda.

  Kenny reminisces as they walk. “I used to have a supervisor who would knock on the practicum office door. All six of us students were crammed in there like sardines. Poor sardines. With two computers. And all of his old files. It was a file room basically. But, I never got along better with a group of people. Common enemy and all that. He told us once he wished he could just get us to respond to dog whistles. It was effortful for him to do all the soft skill stuff with us. He would just knock on the door and walk away and we would run after him. Sometimes he would come upon you and say things like ‘Walk with me’ and we’d be running alongside him through the hospital and he never ever said anything important. Then, suddenly he would end the conversation. Almost dismiss you, really. And you’d be standing in some random spot in the hospital, like what the fuck just happened?”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “He was awesome. He told me he thought I would have been a prostitute if I had been born in the 19th century. An awkward nod and tribute to knowing I was the only working class psychology grad student he had ever known. Good times.”

  As they reach the cafe, Kenny looks over at Front Control as something has caught her attention. Laura sees Cody with a black garbage bag and his civilian clothes on.

  “What the hell?” Kenny says, walking toward him with arms wide open. Laura follows.

  “What’s going on with you? You getting out?” Kenny says.

  “I have court and my lawyer says I’m getting out.” He is grinning and shifting his weight from side to side.

  “Did you know that?” she asks.

  “Nah, he told me yesterday.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I didn’t get a chance to rehabilitate you.”

  “Nah, it’s good.”

  “Well, when you come back then.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m not coming back. Not ever.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m happy for you. But definitely we’ll chat if you’re ever back. Good luck. Be good.”

  “I will,” he says. Laura thinks that Cody simply cannot contain his excitement. They watch him get escorted by staff to head to Admissions to be taken out to the Sheriff’s van.

  Kenny shrugs. “Do you see that? How hopeful he is?”

  “Yeah,” Laura responds. They head back to the cafe. Rita and Michelin are inside. Michelin comes to the counter.

  “What are you gonna do without your buddy?” Kenny asks.

  “I know,” Michelin says.

  “You’re next.”

  “17 more days.”

  “Good for you. In time for Christmas.”

  Michelin nods.
He doesn’t even look at Laura. Rita is doing dishes in the back and calls out, “What can he get you, ladies?”

  “Just coffee. I forgot my mug.”

  “Destroying the environment,” Michelin says, grabbing a paper cup.

  “Damn, I didn’t realize you were so political.”

  Michelin just cackles and gives Kenny the coffee, and says to Laura, “You?”

  Laura shakes her head.

  The student and the psychologist walk back in silence down the hall toward the Rotunda.

  Chapter 17

  IT IS MID-DAY AND Kenny stops in the Rotunda. She nods to the staff at School Control then pauses by the furniture. She stands with arms folded facing the yard. The Unit 2 boys are on the field. Tiny flurries of snow are in the air and a thin layer of frost on the ground. The air is cooler now but half of the boys have peeled off their institutional sweatshirts to play in short-sleeved t-shirts to distinguish teams. One staff supervises on the sidelines. Another is playing on the short-sleeved team. There is more passing than rushing. The football is lobbed great distances at each play. These boys can catch well and some run very quickly, losing their footing sometimes on the slippery grass.

  Mr. Baird enters the Rotunda from the cottage wing. He stops by School Control to chat for a bit, leaning on the desk. He then makes his way to Kenny’s side. Kenny is aware of him from the moment the fob was swiped. Her lungs have to work harder to push her breath in and out when he is around. It is as though her body is sensitive to molecules of air disturbed by his presence in her vicinity. Baird stands with arms folded beside her. It is an institutional stance to stand and stare. Anything moving is everyone’s business in a jail and it is always tracked by someone or something. It is not rude to stare here. It is what’s done. The boys on the field know they are being watched. Bodies standing with arms folded and eyes watching them from the Rotunda is so common the boys would not think twice about it.

  “Whoa, who is that? Is that Michelin? He’s got an arm,” Kenny says, to break the silence.

  “He’s alright,” Baird says.

  “Are you kidding? He threw all the way to the other end of the field.”

  Baird does not respond. She knows he is disinterested in what the boys do on outdoor rec. She has spoken to him about it in the past and he simply says that when there is something organized, there is less chance for a fight, and that’s all he cares about. He has told her that vigorous physical activity during rec increased the chance of more quiet time on the unit for him to do paperwork.

  “I love watching them play football in the snow.”

  “Some of the staff are good and do things with the kids out there and get a game going,” he says.

  “It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

  He looks at her. “You really need to get out more.”

  “Shut up.” She smiles and pushes his arm. She wonders if Baird is as aware as she is in that moment that she has never touched him before. For once, it appears he is at a loss of words. He turns to walk away and she calls after him, “Bye. People say, bye.”

  Kenny watches Baird disappear toward the hall to Front Control. She steps up to the OIC office and sees McDonough on the computer. “Online gambling?”

  The OIC grins. “I couldn’t work the damn thing to save my life.” His style of typing is hunting and pecking. Kenny waits as he finishes his email. She takes a seat in the office and watches the cameras in the units. Then she swings her chair to face the Rotunda and stares blankly.

  McDonough rolls his chair away from the computer toward the shift report binders but doesn’t grab one.

  “I hear Helmcken is on discipline again. How long this time?” she asks.

  “Old Helmky is doing 5 days now. He got lippy in there with Dartmouth and wouldn’t quit beaking at the staff. So he is doing 5 instead of 2.”

  “Hmm. He just can’t stop with the bitch work, eh?”

  McDonough shrugs.“And Cody is coming back tonight.”

  “What? No.” He has her full attention now. “He just left.”

  “Yeah, he lasted 2 days, then went AWOL. His PO told him there was a warrant out for him. The cops picked him up. He resisted of course.”

  “So he’s back for ...?”

  McDonough removes his baseball cap and rubs his head. “It was a conditional discharge, so the rest of his custodial sentence. A couple months. And he’s on a suicide watch, so says the Sheriff.”

  “For what?”

  “He cut himself, I guess pretty bad. They sewed him up at the hospital and put him in cells for the night.”

  “He’s not a cutter.”

  “Well, you get on the booze and drugs.”

  “I’ll see him later this aft or tomorrow.”

  “He might be drug sick when he comes in tonight, so it’ll be best to wait until tomorrow.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the OIC says and puts his hat back on.

  Chapter 18

  KENNY FEELS SHE HAS WAITED long enough to check in on Cody. Today of all days she wishes she did not have a student hanging off her. This is why she hates them. They are so dependent and needy. And always there. And you have to explain everything to them. And you have to be so sensitive to their feelings and skill level every minute of the day. Who has the patience? But Kenny tries to focus and is resolved to not take out her frustration on Laura. They stop by the Health Unit for Kenny to ask about Cody. Karen confirms that he cut “20 stitches.”

  Kenny makes a worried face. “What happened?”

  Karen takes off her gloves and throws them in the garbage. She says, “I think he had a bad reaction to the drugs. The Sheriff thought he was psychotic. Talking about being a Sun god or something. He’d been doing a lot of MDMA. He cut himself before they picked him up. Wanted them to find him like that, probably. He said he wanted to die and told them he swallowed a whole baggy of pills.”

  “Did he?”

  “No, he said he didn’t. I’m glad or else we’d be keeping him in a wet cell until he shit it out.”

  “Who would have to confirm whether he shit it out?”

  Karen smiles. “Who do you think?”

  “You do not get paid enough.”

  Karen grabs her coat. “I’m going for a smoke.”

  “Is he okay now?”

  “He’s really down. I’ve never seen him that down. You know Cody. He’s always joking around with Michelin. But, he’s choked that he’s back, you know?”

  Kenny nods and lets Karen leave the office. She takes Karen’s chair and Laura sits on the stool.

  “Okay, so we’ll go to a suicide risk assessment. It is the end of the day. So, even if he seems fine, I’m going to leave him on until tomorrow morning, because I want a period of stability. Staff will be able to let me know how he’s doing, too.” Laura nods.

  “So, I’m going to do this one, and you can watch. Ready?”

  Kenny leans over and presses four digits on the phone. “Hey, it’s Kenny from Mental Health. Is Cody still in Admissions? Right. We’re going to come over and do a suicide risk assessment. Okay. Be right there.”

  Kenny and Laura walk to Front Control and go around back to Admissions. This area looks scant and old, like a police station or large boys’ locker room. The floor is concrete. There are private rooms for strip searches and interview rooms to do the Admissions interview. There are rooms for showers and to change. There are a couple wet cells in here as boys wait to be processed and searched. Around the corner further still are cells for Discipline and segregation after fights. Boys returning to Merivale go back to their originally assigned units. New boys can wait on Admissions/Discipline for up to a week if they need to settle and until they get assigned a unit.

  Kenny greets the tall, brown-haired staff there. Lucas has been working Admissions/Discipline for 20 years. He is calm and steady and has a quiet smile. “You’re here for Cody?”<
br />
  “Yes, he’s on camera?”

  “Yep, the back one.”

  Kenny follows Lucas and Laura follows close behind. Lucas pulls open the cell door. Cody is laying down on the bed and facing the wall. He is wearing paper shirt and pants. Lucas says, “You have a visitor.”

  Cody sucks his teeth and sits up against the wall on the concrete bed with bandaged arms wrapped around his tucked up legs.

  “You don’t have to talk to me, Cody. You know you’re on a suicide watch,” Kenny says. Lucas waits by the door beside her to see if the assessment is going to happen and if Cody is a threat to the psychologist.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, I’m here to figure out if that’s something you feel you still need.”

  Cody doesn’t answer. Kenny finds this interesting as almost all youth who make a suicide threat in Admissions immediately say they didn’t mean it when she comes to meet with them. It’s something they say out of anger or upset toward the Sheriff when they first get picked up or are not released at court.

  “This is Laura, remember? You don’t have to talk to us. I can come back tomorrow but I will leave you on suicide watch for the night.”

  “Why can’t I go back to my unit?”

  “Suicide watch.”

  “I can be on watch there,” Cody says.

  “We want you on camera.”

  “Why?”

  “The cutting, dude,” Kenny answers.

  “What am I going to cut myself on here?”

  “Anything, you could bash your head against the wall.”

  “I’m not a fuckin’ psycho. What kind of burnout do you think I am?”

  “I don’t know. Can I come in?”

  “I don’t fuckin’ care.”

  “Okay.” Kenny sits on the bench built opposite the concrete bed. She motions for Laura to join her. Lucas walks away from the door but Kenny senses he is still nearby.

  “I’m sorry you’re back here,” Kenny says. Her voice is soft.

  “Yeah, well.”

  Kenny exhales in a deliberate loud manner to model a deep breath to help cut the tension. She knows that often times, the client cannot help but automatically mimic the breathing.