Low

by Anna Quon

  Elspeth handed her a tissue, and Adriana wiped her face. She felt just a tiny bit better, somehow, but she still didn’t know the words to use. “I don’t know how to take the next step,” Adriana said. “I don’t know what the next step is.”

  Elspeth thought for a moment. “It’s hard to take the next step when you don’t know where you want to end up.” Adriana waited, considering those words. “Maybe,” said Elspeth, “you need to be able to picture what you’re aiming for.” Adriana closed her eyes. She had no idea what she was aiming for.

  “Do you have a faith Adriana?” It seemed like a strange question. Elspeth continued, “I mean, what do you believe in… or what don’t you believe in?” Adriana couldn’t say. In high school she’d gone to Bible class with a friend who turned out to be a two-faced liar. After that she started hanging out with Jazz and the other girls who smoked around the front door of the school building. She never really felt comfortable there, but she didn’t feel comfortable anywhere, so it didn’t occur to her to look elsewhere. And Jazz had become her best friend, in fact the best friend she’d ever had. She believed in Jazz.

  Adriana hung her head. Elspeth continued. “We all believe in something. Maybe you just haven’t figured it out yet. A lot of people are really helped by defining what they believe in, and what they’re aiming for, and setting some realistic goals. It’s like putting on a pair of glasses when you’ve been struggling to see clearly. I’m not saying that medication and psychotherapy won’t help, but you might be surprised how much you can do for yourself.”

  It seemed too straightforward to be true, Adriana thought. But she nodded her head, and Elspeth patted her hand. “It’s not easy to be young,” she said, sympathetically. “If it’s any consolation, in my experience, life gets easier as you get older. That is aging’s one saving grace.” Adriana didn’t believe her. She thought aging was a matter of loss and regret, and how could the sorrows of old age not be felt as deeply as those of youth? We’re the same people at 70 as 20, she thought.

  Adriana looked at Elspeth’s hands, resting in her lap. They seemed peaceful and Adriana wished for that kind of peace. “You have a younger sister,” Elspeth said. Adriana looked up at her face, surprised. “I understand that she’s struggling too. Fiona told me that you both recently lost your aunt.” Adriana nodded. Not that she’d given much thought to Beth’s feelings. “Are you glad to have her back in your life?” Adriana shook her head, her eyes downcast. She didn’t think Elspeth would judge her. “Why not?” Elspeth asked. Her eyes were warm and intelligent, Adriana thought. She felt a pang of regret, and a sudden shyness. She shook her head again and her cheeks reddened

  They sat quietly for a minute, Adriana struggling for something to say. Then Elspeth, smoothing the skirt of her dress, said, “Tell me about your mother. What do you remember about her?”

  In a moment of stunned silence, Adriana’s mind adjusted itself to Elspeth’s question. She thought of sitting at the kitchen table, barely tall enough for her chin to reach the tabletop, eating a peanut butter cookie her mother had made. Her mother had smiled at her, her eyes crinkled with happiness, her long curly hair swinging as she leaned forward to give Adriana a glass of milk. It was a surprising memory, one she had not thought of for a long time.

  Elspeth smiled at her. “All in good time,” she said. Adriana wasn’t sure but she thought Elspeth was letting her off the hook. They sat together quietly, Adriana caught up in her own thoughts and Elspeth, patiently waiting. Adriana wondered how she had learned to sit so quietly, and whether the wait was worth it in the end.

  Something came to her, suddenly—a memory she had forgotten, that had been squeezed out of her by the pain of adolescence.

  Her mother stood, backlit, in a summer dress. Her angular face pinched looking, with the effort of picking blue berries. Adriana’s margarine container had filled nearly to the brim. Her mother beckoned for Adriana to come to her, to pour the contents of her small container into a larger one. Adriana wasn’t sure she wanted to give up her berries but was too timid to tell her mother. She watched the beautiful, smoky blue of the small fruit tumble into her mother’s bucket. A noise startled her and her hand jerked sideways, the remaining berries spilling to the ground. Adriana sat down where she stood and started crying. Her mother looked at her, startled, then yanked her by the hand. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she muttered as she hurried Adriana to the path that led in one direction to the lake and, in the other, toward home. As Adriana’s mother pulled her away, she looked back at the blueberry patch and saw a man standing at the edge of the woods, his hair as blonde as an angel’s. His pants were open and Adriana could see that he was exposing himself.

  Her mother tugged violently at her hand. “Hurry up!” she hissed. Adriana didn’t know whether her mother had seen the man, standing peacefully by the edge the trees. But later, she heard her mother telling her father about it in a low voice, punctuated by titters of nervous laughter. Mr. Song held her hand and nodded, his eyes concerned. And for the first time Adriana could remember, she thought her mother was going to cry. But she didn’t—instead she got up and busied herself putting away dishes from the dish drainer.

  Adriana wondered if her mother were angry with her. She had seemed so, as she dragged Adriana by her hand on the path to home. As usual, her mother walked faster than she did, always tugging on Adriana’s arm to hurry her up. When they hit the main road, her mother slowed down. There were cars, and people. Adriana looked over her shoulder and saw that the man hadn’t followed them. She was glad, because she knew her mother would be furious. That night at bedtime, her mother hugged her hard and kissed her on the forehead. “You forget about today,rozumiesh?” she demanded. “We no pick blueberries again without your father.”

  Adriana, dazed, slouched in her chair. Elspeth nodded. “You remembered something?” Adriana shook her head, then nodded. She wasn’t sure whether you would call what she’d seen in her mind, a memory—it was more like a paint chip, one among many small samples of colour. Yes, it was like a sample. There were many more of them waiting to be picked up, fingered and kept or discarded. As if there were only one that she would choose to keep in the end, and that sample would colour the whole of her later existence.

  Elspeth was smiling, a warm and yet unobtrusive smile. Adriana smiled back tentatively. Elspeth had helped her claim something, though she wasn’t sure what yet.

  Chapter 22

  Samantha was snoring when Adriana went for breakfast the next day. Adriana sat down at a table with the weepy woman who combed her hair all the time—evidently she too had been moved up to the purgatory that was Mayflower. It seemed like the same men and women as had been in Short Stay sat around the tables eating porridge, some of them barely able to lift spoons to their mouths.

  Adriana made herself a cup of tea at the hot water dispenser by the sink and sat down to eat a tea biscuit wrapped in Saran Wrap. Jeff sat at the table across from her and looked at her as though seeing her for the first time, as if he’d just woken up and was confused to see her sitting there.

  “I’ve seen you before,” he said.

  Adriana nodded. “We were both on Short Stay,” she ventured.

  Jeff frowned, trying to think. “No I don’t think it was Short Stay. I think it was somewhere else. Maybe Vietnam?”

  Adriana smiled. “I’ve never been to Vietnam,” she said. She doubted Jeff had either.

  Jeff shook his head. “Maybe it was China,” he muttered, “It looks like China in here.” Adriana felt a sting, like a bee had collided with her heart. Jeff was staring out the window. “Even the trees are Chinese,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

  Jeff stood up and walked to the window. “There’s a storm coming,” he said. The sky was blue with a few puffy white clouds. He looked forlornly out the window, resigned, it seemed, to something terrible. To Adriana, it was as if Jeff stood between two mirrors, his reflection mul
tiplying to infinity, trapped forever.

  Adriana had a lump in her stomach. She wanted to go curl up under the blankets and sleep off the feeling of futility emanating from her gut. It was as though, after the talk with Elspeth, something should have changed—but she was still bleak inside, still stuck with herself in this terrible hospital. Adriana looked at Jeff’s thin shoulders. He was so absolutely alone.

  Adriana stood up straight, as though she had made some kind of decision. She walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to her bedroom. Adriana went straight for her locker, and began to empty it of clothes and the other things her father had brought her—shoes, books, pens and paper, deodorant, CDs. She stuffed them all in her knapsack and a couple of plastic grocery bags.

  Samantha opened one eye. “Leaving, hon?” she asked. Adriana nodded. Samantha pulled the blanket up to her chin, a contented smile on her face.

  Adriana walked down the hall of the unit to where the open door beckoned. No one was stopping her. Her heart beat fast as she exited the unit and stood at the elevator. It didn’t seem like Samantha would tell the nurses she was leaving. Adriana stepped on the elevator and the doors closed the way a hand closes into a fist. She felt safe there, somehow. She wished the elevator would keep going, down into the earth until she emerged on the other side of the world—as far away from the hospital as possible.

  She left through the front door, and quickly crossed the grounds to the bus stop. No one came for her, but the hospital loomed, massive as a mountain face, the people inside hidden from view. It occurred to Adriana that the building was like a brain, and the people inside like part of a communal mind. She herself was a rogue thought of escape.

  The bus arrived and Adriana hesitated before mounting the steps to where the driver sat, looking at her, guardedly, she thought. She felt the stares of the other passengers. Did they know she was a mental patient? It would be hard to think otherwise, as she was carrying her clothing in plastic grocery bags. She sat at the front of the bus and stared straight ahead.

  She would go to Jazz’s house. Jazz and her mother wouldn’t be there, but Adriana knew where Jazz hid the key, under a particular stone in the rock garden out back. When she arrived at the O’Connell’s subdivision, she slipped through the gate to the backyard, looked around to make sure no one was watching and let herself into the basement where Jazz’s bedroom was.

  Jazz’s cat, Maestro, was curled up on her bed, his yellow eyes blinking slowly and inscrutably. Adriana gently pushed him to one side and crawled into bed, Jazz’s scent on the sheets. She wouldn’t mind, Adriana thought. She had often let Adriana sleep in her bed when they were younger.

  Adriana fell asleep to the sound of purring, a low electric hum. She dreamed a door opened, but no one was there. Dressed in a johnny shirt with a blanket around her, Adriana went through the door into an empty corridor. It was like the hospital, but also like a funeral parlour. There were flower arrangements in shallow bowls and a casket in front of the nurses’ station. Adriana approached it, knowing who she would see inside. It was her mother lying there, long curls spread across the pillow, hands crossed on her chest. But strangely Adriana wasn’t afraid. Her mother looked like a china doll, her face serene and peaceful, almost blending in with the ivory satin lining the casket.

  Adriana woke with a start. There was a noise above her. Someone was home. For the first time she felt uncomfortable about having let herself in. It occurred to her she should try to leave without them knowing she’d been there, but her limbs felt heavy and paralyzed, as though she were in quicksand. Adriana heard footsteps coming downstairs, and the door swung open. Jazz gave a little scream, her hand over her mouth.

  Adriana smiled weakly. Jazz looked angry. “Shit, Adriana. You scared me. You look like a corpse lying there.” Adriana couldn’t speak. She hadn’t seen Jazz in a few weeks. “Are you out of the hospital now,” Jazz asked, diffident, pulling her sling bag off her shoulder on to the floor.

  Adriana croaked, “No.” She wasn’t sure why Jazz was acting so casually. She thought she’d be happier to see her.

  Jazz straddled the chair at her desk, arms folded over its ladder back. “Did you run away?” Jazz asked, coolly, Adriana thought. Even clinically.

  “Yes.” She never lied to Jazz. She’d never had to.

  “Your dad will be looking for you,” Jazz said. Adriana nodded. Finally she was crying, the hair that framed her face damp with tears.

  “Okay. It’s okay,” Jazz said, softer now. She sat down on the bed next to Adriana. “It’s going to be fine,” she said, stroking Adriana’s hair. Jazz took a deep breath. Adriana looked up at her and saw that Jazz had dark circles under her eyes.

  The two of them sat there, with Maestro making a figure eight around them. Adriana felt emptied. The strength she’d had when she walked out of hospital had evaporated.

  Jazz put her arm around her shoulders. “Want breakfast?” she asked. Adriana felt confused. Wasn’t it late afternoon? Jazz smiled. “I was just testing to see if you knew what time it was.” She said. Her face turned serious. “Who’s the prime minister?” she asked, then laughed. It was a mirthless sound, dark and heavy.

  Adriana had thought she would feel better with Jazz, but she didn’t. It was as if a shadowy membrane stood between them. On her side Adriana was submerged in liquid, struggling simply to move. She envied Jazz her freedom. If they had been walking side by side, Jazz would be miles ahead by now.

  But there was something different about Jazz. She didn’t look happy. In fact, she looked kind of miserable. Adriana put her hand on Jazz’s. “I missed you,” she said, quaking.

  Jazz hugged her shoulders hard and seemed to brighten. “I missed you too, potato head.”

  They climbed the stairs to the kitchen, a spotless place with a bowl of fruit on the island counter. Jazz grabbed a banana and handed it to Adriana, and then an orange too. “You look like you need vitamins,” she said. Adriana thought the same thing about Jazz but didn’t feel up to bantering.

  They sat on the bar stools at the counter. Adriana handed half the orange to Jazz, who took it without saying anything. Adriana looked at Jazz who stared straight ahead. “Is something wrong?” Adriana asked, her voice sounding tiny in the kitchen, immaculate as a museum. Jazz looked at Adriana with something bordering on disdain. Adriana stopped chewing. “Jazz, what’s wrong?”

  Jazz’s face closed, before it started crumbling. Adriana put her hand on Jazz’s. Adriana had never seen her like this before and it frightened her, more than the hospital ever had.

  “I’m pregnant,” Jazz told her.

  Adriana’s mouth hung open. Jazz screwed up her face. “Shut up.” She said. “Don’t say anything. I can’t…” Jazz rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands.

  For some reason, Adriana pictures Jazz’s mother, hanging the delicates she washed by hand on the wooden rack in the bathtub, when she gets the news.

  “My mother doesn’t know,” Jazz said. She took a fierce bite of banana. “I can’t tell her.” Adriana wondered, but didn’t ask, who the father was. That was clearly not something Jazz thought was important to mention. Another image wandered across Adriana’s mind, of Jazz in her pale blue underwear and undershirt, sitting on a kitchen chair, smoking a cigarette. There is a guy lying under a blanket on the living room couch but she can’t see his face, just his muscular arms hugging the covers. Adriana didn’t even know Jazz had a boyfriend.

  Jazz hung her head. “I just found out this week. I have an appointment for an abortion tomorrow,” she said. Adriana gaped.

  Jazz whispered something. Adriana bent her head close. “I don’t want to go,” she said. “I’m scared.” Adriana put her hand on Jazz’s hands, which were twisting the front of her shirt in knots. She whispered, “I’ll go with you.”

  Jazz smiled weakly. “You’d do that? I would have thought you’d had enough of hospitals.” She pu
t her arm around Adriana’s shoulders. “I’m sorry that I didn’t visit you.” Adriana shook her head. There were dozens of questions she wanted to ask but they all had hooks. Jazz didn’t need any more pain. They sat quietly, finishing their bananas. Jazz got down from the bar stool, her hand on her stomach. “I’ve been feeling so queasy,” she said, rubbing her gut. “Bananas are about all I can handle”

  “Can I stay here tonight?” Adriana knew it was a lot to ask. Jazz frowned, thinking.

  “Mom can’t know,” she said. “You’d have to be quiet and stay downstairs.” Adriana nodded. She thought of Samantha, alone in the bedroom at the hospital, looking up at the ceiling. Adriana didn’t think Samantha would tell the nurses anything.

  They went downstairs and made Adriana a place to sleep on the floor. Jazz sat down wearily on the edge of her bed. “I have sociology today and I feel like shit,” she said. Adriana wanted to say don’t go. But she knew that for Jazz, it was better to behave as though nothing was wrong, to plough through the day, and come home exhausted. Then, she would sleep, and tomorrow would come. That’s what always seemed to work for Jazz—pretend a problem doesn’t exist and then it passes without much fanfare.

  Adriana put her hand on Jazz’s back. “Go now,” she sang, giving Jazz a little push “before you see me cry.”

  Jazz smiled. “You’re such a ham. What are you doing in the mental hospital?”

  Adriana shook her head and put her hands over her ears. She wanted to hold her head and scream.

  Once she heard the storm door bang shut, she knew she was alone. Even the walls looked sad, a dreary battleship grey in the muted light. Adriana settled into Jazz’s bed, with a book from her bookshelf. It was the first year psychology textbook, a copy of which she knew lay open on her desk at home. She opened it to the familiar picture of the bisected brain, the labels spiking out from the various parts, and felt a strange longing, for her old life, the life of a university student. She’d never much appreciated it at the time, but it beat being in the mental hospital hands down.