Acid Rain

by R. D Rhodes

  He was crying. He was a tough man when he was alive. He didn’t show his emotions, kept everything inside. It was surreal hearing those words come out from his mouth, hearing him plead with me.

  I managed to get over my initial shock and spit the words out, “Where are you?” I said.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t tell you where I am, I’m not allowed to. Please just accept my apology. Forgive me.”

  His face was full of such angst and uneasiness, that despite everything he had done, I felt a sharp pang of my old childhood love for him, the small glimmer of love that remained. I couldn’t find it within me to say no, when he was suffering as clear as I could see him.

  “I forgive you.” I said.

  His face relaxed slightly, and his eyes met mine for the first time. He looked thankful. “I really am sorry.” He said again. “Look, I have to go. Just know that I love you. I should have never did what I did.”

  “Wait. Where are you going? Why do you have to go?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t say. I just have to go. Please know how sorry I truly am. I can’t forgive myself. I’m so sorry.”

  He got up from the rock and walked back into the woods from where he had come. So quickly I watched his back fade away and then disappear altogether into the darkness.

  I was alone again. I couldn’t see, hear or feel anything.

  “Tomorrow.” A voice inside my head said. “Your friend will come tomorrow.”

  I opened my eyes in the position I had been in before I drifted off. I wiggled my toes and fingers. My body felt like a block of ice. I was all jittery inside too. It had all seemed so real. I can’t even escape in my head, I thought, but the strange thing was I still felt at peace. Actually, I felt great, better than I had done for months. I was so calm and each breath that I took in felt like a blessing.

  It can’t have been real, I thought. Just my imagination, maybe what my subconscious had hoped to see. Faith is a great survival tool, it gives you hope, and I have no doubt my mind can create something to give me that hope. But what hope did I get out of that? That there is an afterlife? That my dad is suffering for what he did? But I don’t want him to suffer. Or do I?

  Why would my mind create something like that? It was so fresh and vivid. What did it mean?

  He asked for my forgiveness, but he said he couldn’t forgive himself. And he had never been like that before, I’ve never seen his face like that in my whole life. And his eyes, how can I ever forget those eyes?

  I lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The sense of peace and happiness was quick to go. And the more I thought about it the more anxious I got.

  I had talked to God, prayed, since I was little. But the answers you got back in your head were never definitive. The voices you hear in your head could always be your own. How do you separate them? How did you know?

  I was sure I was crazy.

  I clasped my hands together.

  “God,” I said to the room. I said to the ceiling and the walls and the thin air. “I’m really struggling. What did all that mean? Was that really my dad? If it was, could you give me some sort of sign? Anything?”

  With my hands still clasped, I looked around the room. I thought I saw something out the corner of my eye, a little flash, but it was nothing. I looked around. What did I expect to see?

  “Can you just make a noise, or show yourself? I don’t know, a light, a sound? Anything? Please.”

  Nothing.

  I felt like crying.

  “Okay. I know you’re supposed to have faith, and I believe in you one hundred percent but-”, I thought about a quote from the bible, it’s not faith if you use your eyes, “-can you not just tell me?”

  A voice in my head said “Believe it, it is true. There is an afterlife. It was your dad.” But another voice, I don’t know, my logical side said, “Bullshit, it’s all in your head.”

  “Okay, God” I said, “Look, I’m really struggling here, in this place. I need… Help. Help me. And I’m lonely. Please if you don’t mind, if I deserve it, please can you bring me a friend? I need somebody. Somebody. Thank you, Amen.”

  I lay in bed on my left side. I kept looking at the wall with the window on it. The wall I had envisioned myself floating through.

  I got up. I put my shoulder against it and leaned all my weight.

  Nope.

  I placed my hands on the plastered hardness, and with my feet behind me pushed as hard as I could. It didn’t budge.

  It was all crap!

  I have faith! I bloody have one hundred percent faith! I know there is a God. I’ve always known it. So when Jesus said, “you can move mountains with your faith.” it didn’t mean anything.

  Maybe I think I have faith but don’t really. A part of me can’t believe. Nah, that’s crap, it just proves it for me, the bible isn’t there to take literally, it has no literal meaning. It’s all in bloody code, just like everything else in life.

  I got back in bed. Why is the ward so bloody quiet? Is everyone dead?!

  I wished that someone would make a sound. It was so lonesome. I had to get some music- a CD player, a radio, anything.

  I felt like crap. I felt like suicide. I picked up the pillow and crushed it into my face. But my will of instinct was being a pain in the ass. I held the pillow tighter. My chest started to hurt.

  I threw the pillow against the wall. It was all too much fucking effort. I couldn’t be arsed anymore. I needed a gun.

  I hauled up the covers and crawled in deep.

  I hoped to sleep. I really hoped I wouldn’t wake up.

  Chapter 17

  I was pulled back from oblivion by someone shaking my arm. The light stung my eyes and I looked up to see Liz’s fat face and cow eyes staring at me, her enormous breasts sagging over my body.

  “Good mor-nin, Aisha. That must be a record, you’ve been a-sleep since yester-day dinnertime.”

  Sunlight poured through the window. “What’s the time?” I said.

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “Did no-one try to wake me up for dinner, or the group meeting?”

  “The meeting was cance-ulled due to the insidints yester-day, and yes we tried to wake ye for dinna but ye were out like a spak. That appens sometimes when ye are on new meds, just takes time to get used to et.”

  I hadn’t taken my tablets. It wasn’t that unusual for me to sleep that long. Twenty-odd hours used to be pretty standard for me.

  “Ye want you breakfast in you room?” she smiled. She was unusually bright and bubbly, like a different person.

  “No, it’s okay, thanks. I’ll be through in a minute.”

  “Okay, as soon as you out, I’ll get you room tidied.”

  She went out and left me to change. I waited till she shut the door then got out of bed and went over to my bag. I moved sprightly, surprising myself with the amount of energy I had. I zipped open my bag and rummaged through, threw on some clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed.

  I felt better. Refreshed. I thought about the day ahead and the few days past and decided to try and remain as positive as I could, and wait for my opportunity. As for what happened in the dream, I knew it for what it was, my fucked-up mind making shit up.

  I walked across the room. No sooner had I turned the handle and stepped halfway out when Liz came flying in the other way, slamming against me with her elephant waist. “Sorry,” she said unapologetically. She started on the wall with a cloth and Fabreze.

  And up the corridor there was Dale too, standing next to a bucket dragging a mop along the floor, streaks of sunlight shining in the wet strokes he had made. I walked slowly towards him. The fog had cleared, the sun was high in the blue sky and for the first time I got a good view. I could see how far back the forest went from the edges of the lawn, receding way into the distance where it met the horizon. The trees on the lawn were lit up, their old statures accentuated. The car park was packed pretty much full, and to my surprise I noticed a man with a limp
walk, whom I guessed was a patient from another ward, making his way along the lime green grass with a nurse. Or it could even have been his mother.

  Dale was scrubbing vigorously, stopping now and then to dunk the mop. He was scrubbing right up to the sides of the floor and even up the bottom of the walls, and over the same bits two or three times.

  “Mornin.” I said, as I past him and the reek of bleach.

  He stopped, and stared wearily at me. He really does look like Pete Townsend in his mid-thirties, I thought. The long nose, the sad eyes. “Morning.” He grunted, his chest rising in and out. I went on down to the nurses’ station, passing Sanders inside scribbling at paperwork, and went into the common room. Only half the number of patients were in there. No Nina. No Sandy, or Larry either. Shiny yellow tablecloths had been laid on the tables where half the room sat. Take Me Out played on the TV.

  Something else was strange. I counted six staff speeding in and out of the room, and Sanders, Dale and Liz were along the corridor too. They were all busy cleaning, clearing plates, running up and down the hall, taking patients back and forward to their rooms. It was tiring just watching them.

  “Morning Aisha,” Jean greeted, “Here’s your breakfast. And your pills.”

  She watched me swallow and I went to join a table. I carried the tray high, close to my chin, and spat the pills into my porridge. I sat down and chopped up my banana with my plastic knife and added it to the bowl, spooning the tablets to the side and eating around the middle. The porridge was good. I savored the sweet, salty aftertaste.

  Down the table was a slobbering guy, a stoned woman and a vacant-eyed girl not much older than myself, wearing headphones. She tapped at her iPod. “Excuse me.” I said.

  She didn’t hear, but saw me looking, and reluctantly pulled off her headphones. “What ish it?” she said crossly. Her speech was a slurred drawl.

  “Do you know where everyone is?”

  She shook her head. “No. Shorry.” She plunked the headphones back on.

  I finished my porridge whilst watching the others chew their food like cattle.

  “RIGHT EVERYONE. LISTEN UP!”

  Sanders stood, looking as immaculate as ever, in a pencil skirt and black crop top that revealed ample cleavage. Her toned, bare arms were folded as she eyeballed everyone one by one.

  “There’s an inspection on today, for those that don’t already know. Now, I expect everyone to be on their very best behavior. No playing up!”

  Her eyes held for few seconds on each of us. “I mean it. No carrying on. Or you will be going in with Harry.”

  She let the gravity of the words sink in. The others seemed vaguely to understand.

  Sanders lowered her tone. “Okay, back to breakfast. Everyone just enjoy their day.” She turned quickly and clack clack clacked over to one of the nurses.

  I stared at the girl with the headphones, and mimed “Who’s Harry?”

  She whipped them off irritably, and dropped them on the table.

  “What?”

  “Sorry. Who is Harry?”

  Her stare wasn’t vacant with drugs. I guessed she had some sort of learning difficulty. “One of the patients.” She slurred. “They put him in the hole. Four days sholitary.”

  “What for?”

  “How should I know?”

  “I didn’t even know there was solitary here. Where is it?”

  “Shecond last door, at the end on the hall. Go and look. Now, can you leave me in peash please?”

  She put the headphones back on and tapped at her iPod.

  Chapter 18

  W e were sent back to our rooms, and then to another therapy session- art therapy for me. Some folks seemed to get into it, but it was largely another waste of time. After hours of it we were led back to the ward, where two of the staff were waiting to take us straight into the common room. The two tables had been joined together, and what seemed like the whole ward was engaged in a game of cards.

  The room was spotless, the floor sparkling, and for the first time the TV was switched off. I had only been there two days, maybe this was what they did every Tuesday afternoon? I doubted it.

  Everyone had to join in. We didn’t have a choice. Kev was at the bottom end of the table, Jean in the middle, and another two nurses sat at the top. I was the last to take my seat.

  A nurse called Theresa opened a fresh pack and dealt two cards each round the table. Some people seemed to be enjoying it, perking up more than usual. Some were even smiling.

  I kept looking towards the entrance. I didn’t know if the inspector had already been, or was yet to come. I pulled my chair out and stood up.

  Jean’s head snapped round.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Toilet.” I said.

  I pushed my chair in and walked away, stepped out into the corridor, and peered back around the wall at them. I knocked softly on the door of the nurse’s station.

  “Yes?” came a muffled voice within.

  “Can I come in?” I said quietly.

  “Hmph, wait a minute…alright.”

  I pushed open the door. Liz was slouched over the desk, munching her way loudly through a packet of crisps, reading a copy of Hello. Her humongous breasts were supported on the desk as she slowly turned her fleshy face towards me. She didn’t bother closing her mouth and stared at me gormlessly while the gluttonous yellow mush mashed up and down the cave-like hole.

  She really was disgusting. She was the fattest, laziest slob on the whole ward. I was astonished she had been allowed to become a nurse in the first place, she wasn’t exactly role model status for any patient to aspire to. But she was the perfect person for me…

  “What do ye want, sun-shine?” Her jowls gyrated and her cheeks wobbled. I could see right through the enforced kindness her voice tried to carry off.

  “Can I go to the library please, Liz?”

  She looked at me suspiciously through her squashed, tiny brown eyes. Her pig's nose winced as if she smelled something off. Her mouth kept churning the crisps round and round.

  “I’ll go and ask Dale.” She said.

  “Fuck.” I thought to myself. She lifted her arse up from the cushioned seat and the imprint in the red leather expanded as if being able to breathe again. I stepped back and followed her, as she waddled out. She stopped at one of the patient’s rooms, groaning and holding her back as she opened the door. Dale was inside, on his own, removing a vomit-covered sheet from the bed. I waited outside as Liz went in and whispered in his ear.

  Dale nodded at me. “Okay. As soon as I’ve finished, I’ll take you to the library.”

  Chapter 19

  I had put all my hope on getting Liz. Dale was athletic and strong and about six foot two, one look at him and I knew my chance had almost evaporated. But I had to keep positive.

  I stood alone in the corridor and looked out the window. The sun was high and shining bright in the clear sky. I just wanted to be outside.

  I wandered down, to the second last door, and peered in through the glass panel. The floor was covered with pillows and cushions, but nobody was there.

  “You ready then?” Dale hollered, making me jump. He put the bucket in the nurse’s station, closed the door and came towards me. He looked at the ground as he walked, as he almost always did, and when he did look at you his blue eyes always seemed bored, fed up. He seemed almost as depressed as some of the patients. His Pete Townsend face came closer. I didn’t know what to make of him. He wasn’t the creep that Kev was, but I had seen him drag a man down the hall, and he had helped to pin me down while Sanders jabbed me with that needle.

  He took out his keys from his pocket and unlocked the first set of ward doors. I followed him in and waited inside the buffer zone. He locked the first door behind him, jangled through the keys and placed them in the second.

  He caught my glance.

  “Hey! Wait there!” He moved ahead to cover the stairway. “Keep moving on.” His eyes flashed in warning. “I’m n
ot in the mood.”

  I looked behind him at the path down to my freedom. I was skinnier, I could outrun him. But I would never get past those broad shoulders. Better to wait for Liz, or even Sanders.

  “After you,” he said, pointing towards the upper staircase. I headed on up and he followed, barely a meter away. When we reached the third floor, he held back. “Third last door.”

  He was eying me like a hawk. I tried to ease his guard. “Has the inspector been yet?” I said.

  “Keep going. Yeah, he came when you were all out in classes.”

  “How did it go?”

  He snorted. A brief silence passed, “They’ve got us all in today.” “This was supposed to be my day off.” He muttered.

  I got to the third last door, it was open, and I stepped inside. Dale waited in the hall.

  I was the only one in there. The old wooden bookshelves were lined up in rows. I walked over by the coffee-colored walls and went down the first aisle, scanning the titles. It was a limited selection, ninety percent seemed to be crime novels, and I hate crime novels. The books weren’t arranged in any order either. I ran my fingers along and picked some up and leafed through the pages reading random passages. I picked another one up, Salisbury Anne. On the back where the reviewers and newspaper critics had provided their opinions, it said, “This author’s profound moral intelligence echoes through the pages.” The usual load of pretentious shit.

  I put it back and looked some more. Then I found one. Confucius. I had heard a lot of good things about Confucius.

  I spread it open to page twenty.

  “When Confucius’s ruler was present, his manner displayed respectful uneasiness, it was grave, but self-possessed.”

  “When he was passing the vacant place of the prince his countenance appeared to change, and his legs to bend under him, and his words came as if he hardly had breath to utter them.”

  I flicked forward a few pages.

  “In serving his parents, a son may remonstrate with them, but gently; when he sees that they do not incline to follow his advice, he shows an increased degree of reverence, but does not abandon his purpose; and should they punish him, he does not allow himself to murmur.”