by Calia Read
Fairfax has a point system. It’s our form of currency. If you keep your allotted ten points per day you’re regarded as a good patient. And if you lose points, you lose privileges. You’re someone who needs to be monitored more carefully. People have been known to break down from losing a single point.
Reagan doesn’t seem to give a tiny rat’s ass about her points.
“What I did yesterday? What I did yesterday…hmm.” Reagan taps one of her index fingers against her lip. “I did a lot of things yesterday. You’re gonna have to enlighten me and tell me what I did.”
“Get up.”
Alice leaves no room for a reply and jerks Reagan up by the arm.
“Nuh-uh-uh,” Reagan tuts. “If you keep grabbing patients like that, someone won’t win Employee of the Month.”
Alice lets go.
“Now, before I go back to ‘my room,’ can I have a quick smoke?”
“No. You lost smoking privileges.”
“That’s bullshit!”
“It’s not. You know the rules, Reagan.”
The two of them walk out of the room, but their arguing trails behind them.
My eyes flit nervously to the front doors. It’s ridiculous, but I keep waiting for Sinclair to walk through them. I don’t remember him. Not yet, at least. But I know that he can help me with my past.
His eyes are haunting me.
Last night I dreamed about those eyes, staring at me with the same heavy intensity as yesterday. But we weren’t at Fairfax. I didn’t capture my surroundings; I just remember the air smelling of flowers and a large table separating the two of us. His mouth moved, but I couldn’t make out a single word he was saying. Then, very slowly, he reached across the table toward my hand. It inched closer and closer. It hovered over mine—and then I woke up.
I’ve never wanted so desperately to slip back into a dream.
A part of me thinks that if he comes by to visit, I’ll be able to piece together the dream. But the clock moves forward.
Just then, my mother walks through the doors, like she does every Saturday at eleven sharp. Rain or shine, she’s here.
She’ll update me on everything outside of Fairfax: friends, family, events, gossip. Nothing is off-limits. Nothing except my husband. When I bring up Wes and his visits, she clams up and tries to change the subject.
I watch as she promptly signs in and makes a beeline for my table. She gives me a smile. It’s incredibly different from the one on the woman who beamed at me as we looked through my wedding pictures all those years ago. This smile is wan, never quite reaching her eyes.
“It’s good to see you, honey,” she says.
Before she sits down, she moves in to hug me. The floral scent of her perfume surrounds me. When she pulls back she gives me a thorough once-over. Nothing has changed about her. She’s impeccable. From her black bob, pressed black slacks, and dark blue dress shirt, all the way down to her heels.
“How are you?”
I give her my routine answer: “I’m fine.”
Inside I’m dying to tell her about today: the pictures, the memories. All of it. But if our past has taught me anything it’s that she thinks I’m lying too. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her Wes is alive.
She nods, clutching her purse for dear life, as if the patients around us will steal it from her hands. “That’s great,” she replies mildly.
She scans the room, and watches a slight female patient playing checkers. The girl catches my mother’s gaze and jumps out of her seat, the hem of her hospital gown brushing against her knees. She stands directly in front of my mother.
“Boo!” the girl shouts.
My mother jumps and a nurse instantly guides the girl away, telling her to quietly play checkers or she will get points taken away. The girl starts to cry. Deep, heavy sobs that make even my heart ache. They’re the kinds of cries that carry out into the hall, slip through the cracks of the doors, and carry into the wind. They’re the cries that give psych wards a bad rep.
“I didn’t see her there.” She brushes the sleeves of her shirt as if she’s trying to wipe the crazy off her.
“How have you been?” I ask.
Instantly she perks up. “Great! There was a ladies’ luncheon yesterday. It was just beautiful. You would’ve loved it.”
“That’s good,” I say, but inside I’m questioning whether I really would have enjoyed it.
For the next few minutes she updates me on everything in her life. You’d think that not much would change week to week, but with my mother, it always does. She’s always bouncing around from one event to the next.
I shift in my seat. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What about?”
“Just something about my past.”
“Okay…” She draws it out slowly.
“What was my life like before Fairfax?”
A soft smile appears. She reaches across the table and covers my hands with hers. “It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
The sincerity in her voice can’t be faked.
“I had a visitor yesterday.”
Her shoulders stiffen. Her back becomes ramrod straight. “Who?”
“Sinclair Montgomery.”
His name hangs between us. The look in her eyes shows that she knows that I know about the list. But she never speaks up and offers up an excuse.
“Does the staff have a list of who can and cannot visit me?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Who else is on the list?” I cut in.
My mother blanches. “Excuse me?”
“Who else is on the list?”
“Sinclair and Renee.”
I let out a deep breath and try to rein in my temper. “Shouldn’t you have told me that? Shouldn’t you have told me that there even was a list?”
She closes her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Victoria, I was just trying to help.”
“How was that trying to help?”
Her eyes flash with irritation. “You said you came to Fairfax to rest and I wanted to make sure that nothing or no one would get in your way.”
“You should’ve let me decide that.”
“I know, I know. I apologize. I thought I was doing what’s best for you.”
From the pain in her eyes, I think she’s being sincere. I want to believe she’s being sincere.
“So.” She smiles. “What else can we talk about?”
“We can talk about Wes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to leave Fairfax?”
Her face lights up. “That’s wonderful news, but what does this have to do with Wes?”
“Because no one believes me. You always tell me that you want me out of here. So here’s your chance to help me get out of here.”
She leans back in her seat as if I’ve just asked her to donate a kidney. I can see her mind racing. She wants to help me. That much is easy to see. But will she agree? That’s the real question.
“Victoria,” she says slowly. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
I glance down at Evelyn and gently stroke her hair. My heartbeat is staccato and erratic. “Why not?”
“Because he really is dead.”
All I can think is, Here we go again. Why did I think that this time would be different? I rapidly blink my eyes, trying to push back my tears.
I lift my head and look her straight in the eyes. “No, he isn’t,” I whisper fiercely.
“Yes, he is. Honey…” My mother licks her lips and glances down at the table. “I identified his body.”
This isn’t the first time she’s said that. I didn’t believe her then and I don’t believe her now. “No, you didn’t.”
Her hand reaches across the table toward mine. I jerk back. She sighs loudly. “You won’t even listen to me.”
“Because what you’re saying is a lie.” I lean forward. “I see him all the time.”
“Let’s stop and think about w
hat you’re suggesting, all right?”
“You mean, asking for your help?”
My mother pointedly ignores me and continues. “If I give in and tell the doctors that Wes is alive when he isn’t, then I’m just encouraging you to believe it.”
I slam both hands onto the table. On my lap, Evelyn starts to fuss. “I will continue to believe it whether you want me to or not.” My mother gives me a sympathetic look and that just fuels my anger. My voice starts to rise. “He comes every night at eleven. He tells me—”
My mother looks around, as if we’re under surveillance, then interrupts me and says quietly, “You need to calm down, okay? I’m not trying to upset you.”
Have you ever had someone treat you like you’re less than, even though you know you aren’t? It’s a terrible feeling. It makes my heart thump furiously against my chest. I bite the inside of my cheek and chant in my head, I’m right, I’m right, I’m right, I’m right, I’m right…
My mother and I become quiet. There’s nothing else that I can say, and nothing she can do to erase the tension. She finally speaks up. “Do you want me to leave?”
Part of me does. And a bigger part wants her to stay; if she stays longer than an hour, if she stays for the whole day, then maybe, just maybe, she’ll see Wes.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Very well.” She ducks her head. “I’ll stay.”
Evelyn continues to fuss so I hold her against my chest, knowing that she is picking up on my frustration and anger. I take deep breaths and slowly but surely, she calms down.
“I have another question.”
“Victoria, if this is about Sinclair again…”
“Of course it’s about him. I have this man who shows up and claims to know me. And then I find out that you’ve been keeping him away…” I take a deep breath and watch my mother carefully. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“I know that this man is nothing but bad news.”
“But—”
“No, you need to listen to me.” She leans in, desperation and fear in her eyes. “All the progress that you have made at Fairfax will disappear if you continue to see him. Do you understand?”
“Who was he to me?” I whisper.
My mother hesitates. “He was and is your trigger point. The root of all your problems.”
“Quit talking cryptically and just tell me,” I plead.
“Victoria, I’m not doing this right now.” She stands up and I follow her, beyond frustrated that she won’t help.
“I can handle whatever you have to say. It won’t break me.”
All right, all right. I’ve stretched the truth a bit, but I’m desperate.
My mother smiles and walks around the table. She reaches out and brushes her fingertips over my cheeks. She puts my hair behind my ear. “Oh, Victoria. Look around you, honey. You’re already broken and there’s not a single part of me that wants to watch you shatter even further.”
There’s nothing but silence between us.
“I’ll see you later,” she says finally. Kissing my cheek, she hurries toward the door as if Hell is nipping at her heels.
“Will you ever believe me about Wes?” I call out.
She stops and turns. “How can I? I know the truth.”
I swallow loudly, dreading the words I’m about to say. “If you don’t believe me, then don’t come back.”
She flinches at my words and so do I.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I really do. Almost everyone else in this place thinks I’m lying and the last person who should feel that way is you.”
She holds her head high, looking as regal and self-composed as she did when I was a kid. Her lips pull into a thin line. The only tell that she’s pissed-off is the white-knuckle grip she has on her purse strap. “Very well, if that’s what you want, then consider it done.”
Without another word she turns on her heels and walks out the door.
“Everyone needs to quiet down!” one of the night shift nurses shouts.
She’s standing in front of the TV, holding a clear bowl above her, filled with small, folded pieces of paper with our names written inside. All but two lights are on in the dayroom; the curtains are closed. The tables are pushed to the sides and the chairs are in three rows of eight, all facing the TV. The screen is blue with a DVD logo slowly traveling around it. For the past ten minutes I’ve been watching the word, waiting for it to hit the corner perfectly.
It’s sad that something like this completely makes my day. Every Thursday is movie night. If you ask a nurse or doctor, they’ll say that most patients are “encouraged” to go. But encouraged is just a dressed up word for forced. Unless you’re bleeding from the eyes or convulsing on the floor, you’re in the dayroom for movie night.
Everyone around me hushes up and watches Susan.
“The person who gets to choose tonight’s movie is…” Susan pulls out a name and lowers the bowl. “…Louise!”
When it had been Reagan’s turn, she’d chosen Girl, Interrupted. They made her choose again. Her next choice was Sybil.
Needless to say, Reagan never got to pick another movie again.
“Louise, what movie do you want to watch tonight?”
The older woman furiously rubs her hands together, thinking over the question as if this were the most important answer of her life. “The Sound of Music!” she finally says.
In the midst of soft claps and squeals of delight is Reagan loudly groaning. “That movie again? We’ve seen it, like, ten times! We get it. Julie Andrews can sing.”
The nurse rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t matter. It’s Louise’s turn to pick.”
“Then can I go to my room, please?”
“No.”
“I said please.”
“And I said no.”
Reagan slouches in her seat. Out of all the chairs to pick from, she chose the one on my right. For reasons beyond me, she seems to have latched on to me. Truthfully, it’s not all bad. It’s kind of nice to have someone to talk to in here.
You have your daughter! my mind hisses.
Instantly, I feel guilty and rub Evelyn’s back. Of course I have my daughter but sometimes it’s nice to speak to someone and have them talk back. I love Evelyn’s beautiful smile and chubby cheeks. I love how she looks at me as if I’m the center of her universe. I love it all, but I need to have just a small amount of adult interaction.
The nurse loads the DVD. While the beginning credits roll, she starts to hand out Styrofoam cups of popcorn. The lights turn off and obnoxious shushing sounds die out. Finally, everyone settles in to watch, but nothing, not even Julie Andrews and her lilting voice, can pull me out of reality. I feel Reagan’s eyes on me, but I also feel another set. Multiple times I’ve twisted in my chair, only to see no one.
“What are you doing?” Reagan asks.
I turn to face the TV. In my arms Evelyn makes a fuss. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Nothing.”
Reagan tosses a piece of popcorn in the air. She tilts forward and catches it with her mouth. “Oh, come on. If you’re going to lie, lie good. You could’ve said you were stretching.”
“If I did, would you have believed me?”
“No, but I would’ve admired you for your quick thinking.”
I smile and go back to watching the movie.
“How old are you?” Reagan asks bluntly.
Never have I seen someone jump so quickly from one subject to the next. I get whiplash having a conversation with her.
“It’s rude to ask someone how old they are,” I point out.
She throws another piece of popcorn, only this time it hits Amber, the girl sitting in front of us. She’s an anorexic who’s been here probably just as long as I have. She’s skinnier than ever and shows no signs of getting out of here.
“It’s only rude when the person is ancient,” Reagan shot back. “So…age?”
“Twenty-seven. How old are you?
”
“Eighty-five,” she says deadpan. “I’m like the Curious Case of Benjamin Button.”
That makes me smile.
“I’m twenty-three,” she says seriously.
Her reply shocks me. Reagan doesn’t look a day over eighteen. Maybe it’s her build. Pale skin stretched over incredibly small bones. Or perhaps it’s her laugh. It’s a genuine sound, as if she steals from life all its pleasure and uses every last drop.
Without a doubt Reagan is crazy, but sometimes I wish I could have her personality. Just for a few seconds.
“Does the baby like the movie?” She throws another piece of popcorn. It ricochets off Amber’s head. Her skinny shoulders twitch and I know she’s seconds away from blowing up.
Cautiously, I stare at Reagan. “Quit calling her ‘the baby.’ Her name is Evelyn.”
Reagan holds her hands out in supplication. “My bad, my bad. Evelyn it is.”
I still don’t believe her and hold Evelyn just a bit tighter.
“Does ‘Evelyn’ like the movie?”
“She’s a baby. She doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“Now that is something I completely agree with you on,” she remarks.
She throws more popcorn and a few times it actually lands in her mouth. “You don’t have a lot of friends here, do you?”
“No.”
“Stick with me, Mommy Dearest. We can be the folie à deux of Fairfax.”
“What’s a folie à deux?”
Reagan turns and smiles deviously at me. “A madness shared by two.”
Before I can answer, Amber turns around and shoots Reagan a glare filled with hatred. “Can you not talk so fucking loud?”
“Of course I can not talk so fucking loud but where’s the fun in that?”
Amber makes a grab at Reagan’s popcorn, prompting one of the nurses to stand up. “Girls,” she warns.
“We’re good, we’re good,” Reagan says. She gives the nurse a charming smile.
The nurse sits back and for the first time tonight, Reagan’s quiet for a few minutes. I think it’s a personal best for her. For all her hate of this movie, her eyes never stray from the screen. But I still can’t focus on a damn thing. I keep thinking about my conversation with my mother today. When I told her not to come back I really hoped she would relent and tell me that she does believe me. That she’ll stick by me as I slowly replay my past.
