That nasty mop smell hung in the air. The hall where I was going stretched for miles and miles. I could hardly see the end of it. About a third of the way down was the door to the dining room. That’s as far as I’d walked since I’d been there; any time I’d been past that, someone was pushing me in a wheelchair. Lucky for me, the railing I was hanging on to ran all the way to the end. Once I got there, I turned left.
When I’d rested up enough, I started off again, taking my little sliding steps and pulling myself along with the railing. An exit sign glowed green at the end of the corridor. I stared at that to keep my mind off how far I had to go. Once in a while somebody passed me. It’s a different crew at night, I’ll tell you that. During the day it’s all them Mexican and Filipino girls that probably got kids they have to take care of at night. Say what you will, but they work real hard and are on the quiet side. Polite even. But the bunch at night are loudmouths. Rough. Half of them look like they just got out of jail, or belong to the Hells Angels. They shouted up and down the halls and grab-assed with each other and generally gave me no respect at all. I might as well have been out on Skid Row, walking around at midnight.
I made it to the dining room door and stood there a minute trying to get my breath. It’s no fun not having enough air. Gasping don’t do no good. Your heart beats a mile a minute and your body is screaming, but your lungs can’t do nothing about it. It occurred to me to turn around and go back to my room, but I was already halfway there, so I fastened my eyes on that exit sign and started my feet going again, like I was crossing the Sahara Desert. My mind got to wandering, about how I always liked the nighttime and how, all those years I was married to Abel, that time was my solace, when I could be alone and think my own thoughts without the kids fussing and fighting and Mama this and Mama that, and Abel, too, blabbing on about his day at work and how I needed to do this in the house or that in the yard. I’m telling you, I counted the seconds ‘til they all went to bed. I confess I lived for those nights when the quiet came down and I could read or thumb through a magazine, or just sit there in my chair and look out the window into the dark.
Two women wearing scrubs came by, both of them sucking Popsicles. Popsicles, at that time of night! They hardly glanced at me. I was thinking of the nights when I might step out onto our back porch way late in the night, one or two o’clock. Back then it was still wild where we lived in East San Diego. You might hear an owl hooting or a coyote howling. There were possums, skunks, and raccoons—all kinds of varmints roving around—going about their business of getting food and making love. The night felt alive and the air was so cool. I’d give anything to be able to do that now. To step out on my own porch and stand there in the dark.
The last door at the end of the hall was wide open. When I finally got there, I saw that it was a big, long closet with shelves all the way to the ceiling. A boy was inside, unloading cardboard boxes of toilet paper, paper towels, and toilet seat covers—what we call Texas T-shirts—and stacking them on the shelves. He was small, Chinese or Filipino or something like that, with dark hair hanging down on his neck and a round little ass squeezed into tight jeans. His T-shirt was just as tight. It was sleeveless, deep red with a gold sun spreading across the chest, and so short a band of his brown belly showed all the way around.
He jumped when he saw me standing there.
“Scared you, didn’t I?” I said with a laugh.
He didn’t crack a smile, just gave me a hurt look as he came over for another armful of toilet paper. He had thick black eyelashes and lips like a big pillow. His skin was hairless as a baby’s ass. A pretty boy, no more than nineteen or twenty. When he bent over, I saw that the side of his neck, from his earlobe to his shoulder, was covered with hickeys.
“Who gave you those monkey bites?” I asked.
I was still huffing and puffing, hanging on to the doorjamb of that closet for dear life. He blinked his big, wet eyes and said in a whispery little voice, “Excuse me?” He knew what I was talking about, though, because his hand floated up to those marks on his neck.
I gave him a little smirk to show he wasn’t fooling nobody. “I just need to rest here a minute before I walk the rest of the way to the nurses’ station. Don’t pay no attention to me. I’ll just watch you a minute.”
He looked worried. “Is there something you need? Are you okay?”
I glanced down at his bare belly. His hips were no wider than my hand. “I’m down there in room 136. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just need to get my breath. Go on with your work.”
He finished the toilet paper and started on the paper towels. There was something sleepy about him, graceful, more like he was dancing than filling shelves. He worked faster than you’d think, though. Before you knew it, he’d emptied another box.
“What’s your name?” I said when he came back over by me.
He tucked his hair behind his ears and smiled. I thought of his mama, how happy she must have been to have such a beautiful boy. He was sweet that way a mama’s boy is sweet, like he’s been loved and protected all his life, pampered and kept soft. My Kenneth’s a little bit that way.
“Renato,” he said in that breathy voice. “My name is Renato.”
It was all I could do not to let out a scream. I clamped my hands over my mouth. I didn’t say nothing, though, because I didn’t want to let on what I knew. I wanted to watch this boy, to see if I could figure anything out.
He started ripping the boxes open, then stomping them flat. He had tennis shoes on, white with black stripes. No socks. I remembered the way Marcos had said his name. Just once, I wish someone would say my name like that. I tried to see him like Marcos did. The muscles in his arms, his cheekbones and lips. I pictured Renato’s ass bare, like two brown cantaloupes, and his whang hanging down, and even the two of them—him and Marcos—having at it. Marcos climbing around on him, or kissing him, or Lord knows what—whatever it is they do. I probably shouldn’t be thinking those thoughts, but I’m only human. No harm done.
For the life of me, I couldn’t understand it.
“I better be going,” I said when the boxes were all smashed and Renato started gathering them into a pile. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Mrs. Sledge. Cora. Room 136.”
You could see he didn’t give a rat’s ass who I was or where I lived. He looked up and nodded, then went back to the boxes. Well, isn’t that something? I thought as I pushed off from the doorway, turned the corner, and started down the next hallway.
THE NURSES’ STATION was a beehive. People gathered round, coming and going, leaning over the counter, talking and laughing. I even heard a radio playing. The lights buzzed louder and the floor was even more scuffed up than usual. I leaned forward, wishing I could go faster, but all I could do was slide my feet a few inches at a time. It seemed like eons since I’d left my room. I was almost homesick for it when I pictured the armchair in front of the TV, the oval hooked rug laid over the wall-to-wall carpet, and the basket of pink silk roses that Glenda had brought to make things nice.
If they saw me coming, they sure didn’t let on. A lot of folks were coming and going: men pushing carts and women in scrubs, all of them raising Cain, talking and laughing. It was loud, I don’t mind telling you. Like a big party. By that time I felt like Frankenstein dragging myself forward.
The nurses’ station was a hole cut in the wall with a counter between you and the people working on the other side. Three nurses, colored ladies, were behind the desk, which was covered with computers, telephones, charts, and stacks of paper. On my side of the desk two men and a woman, all of them wearing scrubs, leaned over the counter and talked to the three nurses on the other side like they were ordering drinks at a bar. When I finally got there, I flopped up on the counter beside them and panted, glad to have something to rest against while I got my breath.
I was the only white one there. Nobody said so much as boo to me.
A bunch of food was strewn
across their desk: bags of chips and a half-eaten sandwich, an open thermos and a sack of candy. A couple of Coke cans, an apple, even a chicken drumstick with most of the meat chewed off. There were pictures of little black kids, one with a big stuffed dog, another in a karate suit, a few that were taken at school, in frames here and there. I spotted an open pack of cigarettes. I had half a mind to reach over there and help myself. One of the men was telling a story and all the ladies were hooting and laughing. The radio blared. Who would of known that this went on every night, right outside all the old folks’ doors?
“Vitus Kovic!” I yelled when I got my breath. “I need to know where he is.”
I might as well of been an ant screaming. Nobody paid me any mind. One of the women sitting at the desk had fingernails a mile long: white, with red stripes like a candy cane. Red lipstick to match and white beads all braided up in her hair. Tanya Greeley, her name tag said. She was real tall. She glanced at me a split second, then the party went on like before.
I never! I listened for a minute to see what was so damn important. They were talking about their kids. Shawnee this and Jared that. How one had gone to school and bragged that his daddy had brass balls because that’s what he’d heard at the breakfast table that morning.
“Listen here!” I rapped the counter with my knuckles. “I need some help! I got a question I need to ask!”
They all went quiet. Six sets of eyeballs turned toward me.
“What are you looking for, honey? What do you need?” Tanya, the one with peppermint fingernails, asked.
They glanced at each other. You could tell they thought I was a crazy old loon.
“I need to know where Vitus Kovic is,” I said. “I need his room number.”
“Catch you later,” one man said. He leaned way over the counter and snatched a hard candy out of the bag before he sauntered away like a big tomcat.
“I got to be going, too,” one of the women said. She followed him.
“Me too. Bye-bye.” There went the last one.
The party was over. It was just me and the three nurses behind the desk.
“Vitus Kovic,” Tanya repeated. “Is he a resident here?”
The one sitting next to her picked up the chicken leg.
I couldn’t help letting out a big sigh and rolling my eyes. “Now, what do you think? Course he is.”
She eyeballed me. Trying to make up her mind if I was crazy or not. The other two just watched. “Who’re you, honey?” Tanya asked, like I was a little girl. The beads in her hair clacked when she moved her head. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Cora Sledge. I’m down there in 136.” I nodded over in that direction.
They stared at me like they were waiting for me to break out in a song and dance. The one standing up reached over Tanya’s shoulder and helped herself to a handful of corn chips. They could of at least offered me something.
Tanya looked at her watch. “It’s late, honey. Shouldn’t you be back in your room?”
“Enough of that honey business!” I snapped. “If you are unwilling to help me, I’ll just have to find somebody who will. I thought that was your job, but I guess I made a mistake.”
The jaws of the two others had been working like cows. Now they stopped chewing and smiled, like what I said was funny. Tanya didn’t smile one bit, though. “We can’t be giving out residents’ information,” she said, all business now. “That information is private.”
I sure wanted some of that candy. Besides the bag of hard candy there was a pack of peanut butter cups and a box of malt balls. I smelled them. My mouth was watering. The cigarettes were Pall Malls.
“He’s a friend of mine,” I said. “He’s got something I need. He’s expecting my visit.”
I tried to smile real nice, but Tanya just gave me a hard look. Her friend had a little pity, though (or maybe she got tired of me standing there) because she tapped something on the computer. Her name tag said Marjorie Patterson. She was hefty, with copper-colored hair cropped close to her head and square little glasses that sat on the end of her nose.
“Kovic?” she said. “With a K?”
“That’s right. Vitus.” I got a thrill saying his name.
After a few more taps on the computer, Marjorie said, “What was your name again?”
“Mrs. Cora Sledge.”
“He’s in Room 247, Mrs. Sledge. Upstairs in the men’s wing.”
Upstairs. That threw me for a loop. She might as well of said Siberia.
I let out a big groan. “How am I supposed to get there?” I wailed.
“Shall I have someone come and escort you back to your room?” that smart-ass Tanya butted in. She still had her back up.
I gave her my frostiest look and said, “I just walked all this way. I can’t turn around now and go back.”
“We can get a wheelchair for you.”
She wasn’t even worth bothering with. I turned way around and looked at Marjorie. She might not be prettier than Tanya, but she was a far sight nicer. “Could I have one of them candies?” I said, pointing to the bag.
They glanced at each other. The third one, whose name tag I couldn’t see, stood there watching the whole show. Tanya shook her head like all this business was beneath her. She swiveled her chair around, took a folder off the top of a stack, and busied herself with that.
“Are you on a restricted diet, Mrs. Sledge?” Marjorie asked.
“No, ma’am, I’m not.”
I don’t know if she believed me, but she held the bag out. I felt like a kid at Halloween. It was all I could do not to grab a handful.
Marjorie must have read my mind. “Just one,” she said.
Well, there was fruit candies in bright foil, peppermints, coffee nips, and root beer barrels. My hand liked to have a seizure trying to decide which one to take. Finally, I chose a butterscotch, because it was a little bigger than the others. I unwrapped it right there and popped it in my mouth.
“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” I said, sucking like my life depended on it. “Sure is good. Thank you so much.”
Tanya huffed real loud to show I was working her nerves. She gave me a disgusted look, then pretended to be busy as hell, scratching away in that folder with a pencil.
I smiled at her. “Can you do me a favor, honey?” I said, sweet as pie. “Could you throw this away for me?” I held out the candy wrapper.
Those red and white claws snatched it out of my hand like a tiger. She didn’t even look up, just slung it into the trash behind her.
“Can you tell me how I get there, up to Mr. Kovic’s room?” I asked Marjorie, the nice one.
“Elevator’s down at the end of the hall,” Marjorie said. “Just take it up to the second floor, turn right, then left, and go until you get to Room 247, about halfway down.”
That one little butterscotch was doing wonders for my mood. It melted on my tongue and trickled down. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed anything more, even a steak and lobster dinner. I started to think I might be able to make it to Vitus’s room after all.
Tanya was tippy-tapping on the keyboard like there was no tomorrow. You’d never believe that just a few minutes before she’d been shooting the breeze with her friends like she had all the time in the world.
“Mind if I take a cigarette?” I whispered to Marjorie.
I reached across the counter and was about to snatch one when those striped talons shot out, closed over the pack, and dragged it off the desk before you could say Jack Flash.
“I’m going to act like I didn’t see that,” Tanya said without taking her eyes off the computer screen.
“Well, how about one more candy for the road?” I asked.
She reached in the bag, grabbed the first candy she found, and held it out, still without once looking at me.
At least it was a root beer, which would’ve been my second choice. I snatched it from her. “Well, I�
�ll be going then. Thanks for all your help. Hope I didn’t inconvenience you any.” That last part was for Tanya.
Off I went.
THE BUTTERSCOTCH GOT me to the elevator. I sucked so hard, it’s a wonder I didn’t pull my dentures down my throat. I was getting farther and farther away from my room. God knew how I was going to make it back, but I decided to worry about that later.
You would of thought those beat-up elevator doors were a long-lost friend, I was so glad to see them. Proud, too, that I’d made it all that way. I pushed the button, stepped inside, and up I went.
When those doors slid open, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was like a whole different world. A pool hall or a bordello (though I never been in one, of course), or some kind of opium den. The lights were dim and the smell of piss stronger than ever. Some other smell was mixed in, too: a musty smell of lots of bodies, or dirty feet, or clothes that’s been worn and worn and never washed. Down near the end of the hall a couple of men were roving around in their bathrobes like zombies. I could hardly see them in the murky light. Turn right around, get back in that elevator, and go to your room, I told myself. But the minute I headed back, the elevator doors slid closed. I was standing there punching the button when one of those zombies came up beside me.
“What’re you doing up here?” he asked.
His skin was a funny gray color and he didn’t have a tooth in his head. He had blue rubber thongs on his feet. His toenails were the nastiest things you’ve ever seen: yellow, thick as a plank, and with enough dirt under them to plant potatoes. If that weren’t enough, his robe was hanging open and his business was dangling to his knees. My eyeballs liked to fell out of their sockets.
“I was looking for somebody but I changed my mind,” I said, punching the button like my life depended on it.
“You looking for Keith?” he yelled, loud enough to be heard over a buzz saw.
“No.”
“Cause he ain’t here.”
“I ain’t looking for Keith,” I said, still punching that button.
“You looking for Tony? ‘Cause he ain’t here, either.”
Breaking Out of Bedlam Page 9
