The Institution

by Kristen Rose

I’m currently sitting in my favourite tree. It’s my favourite because it’s easy to climb and I can hide myself quite well in it, but also because during spring time, when it’s flowering, it is breath taking. I can see it from my bedroom window, a spectacular collection of purple flowers. At the moment, it looks kind of dead.

  Everyone knows not to talk to me when I am sitting in my tree, I should have the entire afternoon to myself. I’ve got my note book with me to fill in the time.

  I turned it over to the next page, having filled the previous one with neat script and glanced up for a minute. That idiot Foreman was about a hundred metres away from me. I sat still, trying to blend in with the branches, but, my white uniform stuck out far too much.

  He spotted me after a few seconds then made a beeline towards the tree.

  Once he reached the base of the tree he called upwards in his all too cheery voice. ‘Hi, I’m surprised to see you here.’

  ‘Really, who did you expect, a bird?’ I replied with a groan.

  He laughed. ‘You know, you never told me your name.’ He said taking off his hat.

  ‘I’m not supposed to talk to guards and you’re not supposed to talk to patients.’

  ‘Yes yes, we both know the rules … but who’s going to find out, hey? There’s no one around watching us.’ He smiled. ‘You must be bored talking to patients and psychologists all day. I know I’m bored walking around the grounds all day by myself.’

  ‘If I tell you my name will you go away?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe.’ He grinned.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s Jenny.’

  ‘Nice to finally be introduced to you Jenny, I’m Ja …’

  ‘James Foreman,’ I cut him off, ‘I know, I’ve only heard you introduce yourself to about fifty people in the last couple of weeks.’

  ‘Oh, right. So … what brings you here Jenny?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I stared at him blankly. ‘What do you think; I just decided to come here for a holiday? Retard.’ I shook my head.

  ‘I know this is a mental hospital, I just meant that, well, you don’t seem overtly crazy, like a lot of the other people here, I just wondered wh …’

  ‘What is wrong with me?’ I cut him off again.

  ‘Well, I suppose you could say it like that.’ He said to the ground.

  ‘Nothing, absolutely nothing is wrong with me, all the psychologists here are idiots.’

  ‘I see … so why are you here?’ He looked up again.

  ‘They won’t let me leave ...’

  ‘So …’

  ‘So if I were you I would stop that sentence right there.’ I cut him off for a third time.

  ‘Right, sorry. So um, why aren’t you inside watching Gone with the Wind?’

  ‘I’m not allowed.’ I crossed my arms.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because that leopard leotard wearing bitch of a Pilates teacher was walking around with c major camel toe, so naturally I pointed it out to her. Then she had the nerve to go and complain about me, said I was being rude. They phoned Heavy Debbie, and she said that from now on I’m not allowed to go to the movie screenings unless I behave myself.’ I rolled my eyes.

  ‘Sounds like a punishment a parent would give their child. Haven’t you been good?’ He folded his arms in front of his stomach.

  ‘That depends on what you define as good. Today, some might say I have not acted incredibly angelic, I however disagree but no one takes into account my thoughts, which goes to show just how dumb everyone is, apart from me of course.’ I added.

  ‘What else did you do?’

  ‘That’s none of your business. Now if you don’t have anything interesting or smart to say to me then perhaps you should be on your way.’ I waved him off.

  ‘Oh, come on.’ He sat down on one of the lower branches of the tree and rested his hat on his lap. ‘Don’t you wanna be my friend?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ I scrunched my face at the thought. ‘I can’t be friends with a security guard. That’s way too beneath me.’

  ‘Well then, how about I climb up the tree a little higher so I’m level with you.’ He grinned.

  ‘Are you trying to be funny, because if you are you’re failing miserably.’

  ‘You’re a hard one to please.’ He scratched his head. ‘Say, how come you’re always so nasty to people?’

  I let out a horrible gasp. ‘Excuse me! Nasty? What kind of a person are you? Obviously you have no manners. I have every right to go up to the complaints desk right now and have you fired.’

  ‘The complaints desk?’ He frowned up at me.

  ‘Yes, on the fifth floor.’

  ‘Fifth … no, that’s the medical ward.’

  ‘Whatever loser. Any way, it’s not my fault that all of the people who reside here are stupid and need to be put in their place. I’m the only one here who has the guts to stand up to all of the jerks. Everyone knows most of the other patients here are winging sissies. And yet I get a bad reputation.’ I scoffed.

  ‘So, have you been diagnosed with some type of aggressive disorder or something?’ Foreman asked me, unsure.

  ‘Aggressive disorder! Even if that actually existed I wouldn’t waste my breath trying to explain to you how much of an idiot you are coming across as right now. If I were aggressive wouldn’t I be attempting to fight you by now?’

  ‘Well … I ‘spose so.’ He pondered.

  ‘And am I fighting you right now? No, I’m peacefully sitting in this tree.’ I gestured towards the branches either side of me.

  ‘Well, I guess you’re right.’ He paused. ‘I only ask because some of the guards told me to watch out for you because you are prone to lashing out with physical violence.’ He laughed.

  ‘It was one time!’ I yelled. ‘One time I punched some stupid pervert of a guard in the head. And conveniently no one chose to believe my story that he was feeling me up. They all wanted to believe the poor lovely guard who was recovering in hospital from a concussion. Concussion my ass, there’s no way I hit him that hard.’ I mumbled the last part.

  ‘I see. So, you’re not aggressive?’ He raised his eyes.

  ‘Look, I don’t have time for your idiotic questions’ I returned to my notebook.

  ‘Okay, but, what else are you going to spend your time doing, this place isn’t exactly bursting with time consuming activities.’

  ‘If you must know, I’m writing my memoirs.’ I said importantly, brandishing my notebook.

  ‘Memoirs? I thought memoirs were usually written by old people who have lived interesting lives or by people who have something important to say.’ He enthused.

  ‘I have lived an interesting life and I have incredibly important messages I must get across to the other citizens of the world.’

  ‘Really? Like what?’ He tilted his head.

  ‘I’m not going to tell you!’ I said, appalled.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’ll steal my ideas and take all of the credit. If you want to know what important things I have to say then you will have to wait until I publish my memoirs and then you will have to go out and buy yourself a copy.’

  ‘Okay then, I’ll remember to do that.’ Foreman re-adjusted himself on the tree branch into a more comfortable position. He then placed his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a packet of chewing gum.

  ‘Wanna piece?’ He asked me, thrusting the packet upwards.

  ‘No! Chewing gum is disgusting and is an occupation taken up by those who clearly have no sense of self-image or taste.’

  ‘Oh.’ Foreman stared at the packet of gum. ‘Well, I have pretty bad breath, or so I’ve been told. Chewing gum helps. You can’t say I have no self-image if I’m trying to stop bad breath, can you?’

  ‘Yes.’ He stared at me. ‘There are other alternatives to gum.’ I said, concentrating on my memoirs.

  ‘Such as …?’

  ‘Breath mints, mouthwash, or you could try brushing your teeth.’ I laughed.


  ‘Well, yeah that’s true ...’ He popped a couple of sticks of gum into his mouth, ‘I just like gum and then of course there are those ads on TV that say chewing gum helps to strengthen your teeth and prevent cavities.’ He justified. ‘I like to think that by chewing gum I’m doing a little more than just stamping out bad breath.’

  ‘Those advertising Nazis have definitely got you wrapped around their digits.’ I mumbled.

  ‘Digits?’ He looked at me quizzically.

  ‘Fingers dip shit.’ I shook my head.

  ‘Oh, well why didn’t you just say fingers then?’ He laughed.

  ‘Because that would be too predictable and extremely unoriginal.’

  ‘Right ... Has anyone every told you that you use rather offensive language?’

  ‘You think I listen to or care about the things that people say to me? There’s no law against using offensive language. It’s like you and your gum, you like to chew gum and I like to use vibrant language. I promise to get rid of my problem against you and your gum chewing if you promise to stop pointing out my distinct choice of words.’

  ‘Sounds like a deal to me.’ He sat there in silence for a moment, chewing, before attempting to recommence the conversation. ‘So, have you been here very long?’

  ‘Look, didn’t I just tell you that I am busy writing my memoirs?’ I put my hands to my head.

  ‘Well, yeah, but I mean, I’m sure you’ve got time for a little chat. You’ve got the rest of your life to write your memoirs.’ He smiled up at me.

  ‘Fine, I’ll be honest. I just really don’t want to talk to you. I’ve tried to give you subtle hints but obviously you’re not the brightest diamond in the ground so naturally you haven’t realised that I’d rather you just leave me alone. You should actually savour this moment because I think this might be the nicest way I have ever told anyone to get lost and I’ve done it quite a few times.’ I finished.

  ‘Alright, I get your point, I’ll go. I was hoping I could change your mind, but I guess there’s always next time.’ He got down off of the tree branch and stood up tall. He brushed off some pieces of bark stuck to his trousers and placed his hat back on his head.

  ‘I’m sorry but there will never be a next time, it would be a wise move on your part to leave me alone for the rest of your time here. A very wise move.’ I told him.

  ‘Alright … Goodbye then.’ Foreman turned, whistling, and walked off in the direction he had been going before he’d spotted me sitting in the tree.

  #13 Locked Doors