Low

by Anna Quon

  Adriana realized her head was full of knots. She had so many preconceived notions and thoughts that led nowhere but tied themselves up in a tangled mass. Somehow they had to be isolated and eased open. Was there a medication that could do that?

  Samantha was humming a tune that Adriana recognized but couldn’t place. They walked toward the elevator and, with a flourish, Samantha pulled some coins out of her pocket, and halted in front of the vending machine. So she hadn’t forgotten. It occurred to Adriana that our habits are as much a part of us as the limbs of our body. She watched Samantha delicately fishing one chip at a time out of the bag that looked so small in her hand.

  As they ascended to the third floor, Adriana realized she wasn’t even sure what her own habits were. She knew that she slept when confronted with emotionally thorny problems, and let Jazz take the lead in everything—that was a kind of habit. Was her mother’s presence in her mind just another habit? Adriana was struck with the idea that if we were able to shed our habits, it would mean freedom. But then, who would we be? Maybe, like Samantha, who shed her body’s habitual form, we would become the people we always wanted to be. But maybe, instead, we’d be lost at sea without a life raft.

  Adriana exited the elevator, Samantha trailing behind her. When Samantha put her hand on her arm, she noticed for the first time that the older woman had a slight tremor. It could be a side effect of medication but it could be something else. How had she not noticed it before? Adriana shook her head, as though trying to shake off her self-absorption.

  The kitchen was crowded with patients. Adriana could see from the doorway that Bartholomew Banks was no longer on the phone. As she and Samantha were buzzed in, they spotted him in the kitchen, sitting at one of the tables with a Styrofoam cup in his hands. Samantha patted Adriana on the shoulder by way of goodbye and went to sit down at the table opposite Bartholomew. He looked up, his eyes glowing with that strange light, and nodded at Samantha, who put a hand in front of her mouth and tittered, like a school girl.

  Adriana continued down the hall to her room. Marlene was sitting on the edge of her bed, legs shuffling back and forth in pink fuzzy slippers. Adriana could see she’d been crying. She sat on her own bed and hugged her knees, against the contagion of Marlene’s misery. “Is it suppertime yet?” Marlene asked in a voice thick with snot and tears. Adriana looked at her wrist. It was already 4 p.m.

  “Soon,” she told Marlene, who lifted her legs onto the bed and curled up, her thumb in her mouth.

  Adriana straightened the things on her bedside table—a travel clock, a Styrofoam cup, a newspaper. She made her bed, then lay down on it, but she couldn’t sleep. She thought about knitting, but for the moment it had lost its appeal. Adriana finally accepted defeat and got up and wandered to the kitchen

  Samantha was now sitting at the same table as Bartholomew Banks, and was seemingly in deep conversation with him—at least, she was leaning toward him, earnest and confidential, and he was nodding. Adriana sat at another table, as far from them as she could get. Not that she wasn’t curious, but she knew Samantha would prefer it that way. She would have to return to Laurel for her own supper, and Adriana knew Samantha was trying to hang on a few seconds more, until the nurse at the counter asked her to leave.

  The nurse read the names on the trays out. When the name “Bartholomew Banks” was called, Samantha rose from her chair. The nurse frowned at her. “I’m just collecting the tray for my friend here,” she explained. “Bartholomew is new.”

  The nurse nodded grudgingly. “You better get over to Laurel, Samantha, or you’ll miss your supper.” she said. Samantha smiled and continued talking to Bartholomew, who looked politely confused. The nurse waved her hand. “Shoo, Samantha,” she said. Samantha, head held high and dignified, rose once more from her seat. The nurse bent toward her. “You can’t come back here tonight, okay?” Everyone was too absorbed in their sweet and sour meatballs and rice to notice. Besides they all knew Samantha wasn’t allowed on the unit when Tony came on shift.

  Samantha stood in the middle of the kitchen like a mountain peak. Adriana was afraid she might overturn a table. Instead she smiled graciously at Bartholomew and, clutching her purse in front of her, glided toward the door. Adriana thought she looked quite regal and wondered if Bartholomew thought the same. His eyes still glowed with a strange light but he was clearly absorbed in his meal, methodically spooning meatballs and rice into his mouth.

  Adriana watched him as she ate. When he finished the meal, he got up and made himself a cup of tea. Gradually the kitchen cleared as patients took their trays to the counter and shuffled off to smoke or watch TV. Banks didn’t move again, but remained at the kitchen table until everyone but Adriana had gone.

  She cleared her throat. “Bartholomew Banks.” She said and stood up. He looked at her but it was as if he looked through her to something beyond her. Adriana shivered, but screwed up her courage. “You told me there was a wraith following me, a wraith that said I have everything I need.” Banks’s forehead wrinkled, as if he were trying to place her. “Remember? At the Westin?” Bartholomew Banks smiled politely and nodded to her.

  A door slammed. Adriana jumped, as Melvin kept going, his eyes darkened by sun glasses. “What did you mean?” Adriana pressed him. “What did you see?”

  Bartholomew Banks shook his head and looked down at his tray. He was an old man, Adriana realized. This likely wasn’t his first time in the hospital. He raised his hand and let it fall to his side. “I’m afraid I don’t remember,” he said, in that mild, gravelly voice. “I’ve seen many things for many people.” Adriana trembled. Banks peered at her, until a sudden look of recognition overcame him . “You came with a friend, didn’t you?” Adriana nodded. It was typical that Jazz was more memorable than she was.

  Banks nodded slowly. “I remember,” he said as though something were slowly dawning on him. He frowned. “There was a man hanging,” he said, and covered his eyes with his hands. Adriana stared, disbelieving. “You had a woman in white following you.” Adriana nodded. “Her hair… she was bald.” Yes, Adriana thought. Her mother was likely bald because the last she saw her, lying peacefully in her coffin, she was wearing a wig that was long and curly like her mother’s own, but with more red in it than she remembered.

  Bartholomew Banks squinted at Adriana, as though the light was in his eyes. Adriana almost felt like she was melting, fading, blending into the background. He looked through and beyond her, as though she were transparent. Bartholomew nodded to someone, but Adriana looked and there was no one behind her. “You’re almost done here,” Bartholomew said, “Aren’t you? You’re almost ready to go home?” His voice was kind and slightly apologetic. Adriana nodded, a little shakily. Bartholomew Banks leaned his chin on his hand. “This place… can only take you so far,” he said sadly. “You have to go home to get better.” Adriana thought about it. She knew he was right, anticlimactic though it was.

  Adriana got up to leave. Bartholomew nodded at her by way of goodbye, but she had a surge of courage. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, and the words seemed to her razor sharp. Bartholomew nodded again, to himself this time. “I hear voices,” he said. “I don’t think of it as a problem, but my children do.” Bartholomew smiled. “The medication quiets them down, but I don’t like to be alone in my head so I usually stop taking it.” He shook his head slowly and sighed. “On the pills, it’s like not being able to tune into my favourite radio station.”

  Adriana thought about it for a while. She understood Bartholomew Banks, because she was lonely too, without her mother gazing at her from the afterworld. These days, her mother looked like a faded facsimile of herself. She had not lived long enough to grow old, but was nevertheless disappearing before Adriana’s eyes, for the second time in her life.

  Bartholomew shaded his eyes, as though from a bright light. Adriana lifted a hand in farewell as she left the kitchen but Bartholomew Banks was absorb
ed by something going on inside himself. It was as if he were listening to a heated conversation, one which required his patience and attention. Adriana saw him lift his hand but she could see it was not a gesture meant for her.

  She made her way down into the hallway, which was like stepping into an ever-changing stream. People passed her but she didn’t recognize anyone. Then Melvin went by, closing again the few doors that had been opened after his first pass down the hallway. He grinned at her, but there was something awful about it, as though he was in great pain.

  Adriana felt sick. The woman with the wispy hair, whose name she had never found out, wept silently as she passed her. Adriana stopped and looked at her as she went by, and the woman turned slightly toward her, with a cringing smile under her tears. She wanted to connect, but it was as if she didn’t know how to do anything but cry. Adriana raised her hand in greeting, but didn’t try to talk. It was more than she could bear at that moment, to reach beyond herself to touch someone else’s hurt.

  Chapter 34

  The next morning, Adriana called Jazz from the kitchen phone, but it was too early. She wasn’t awake yet, Mrs. O’Connell said. She was doing well though, glad to be home. Adriana was about to hang up when Mrs. O’Connell asked, “But how are you doing, Addy?” Adriana wasn’t used to Jazz’s mum being interested in how her life was going. She thought about what she might say, but couldn’t think of anything. After a few moments, Mrs. O’Connell asked, in a small voice, “Are you okay, Addy?” She was, she realized.

  “Yes, thanks. Um, could you tell Jazz I called?” Adriana asked, as casually as if she were phoning from her own home, as she lay on the living room couch with a mug of coffee in her hand.

  Adriana heard the phone click off. Poor Mrs. O’Connell, she thought. Jazz’s mum had a decent job, a house and a beautiful, charismatic daughter, but she was the most uptight and unhappy person Adriana had ever met. She dialed her father’s house. There was no answer, but the voicemail came on after four rings. Her father’s voice, enthusiastic and cheerful, said “You have reached the Song family home.” Beth’s voice, a little wavery, chimed in “David, Adriana and Beth are not in right now, so please leave a message.” Her Dad ended with a cheery, “Have a nice day!” And the sound of the Chinese gong in the kitchen to end things off.

  Adriana felt her chest tighten “It’s Adriana,” she said. “Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Dad.” He would be 50, she realized, stunned. He had always said Beth was his best birthday present and that Adriana was his favourite Christmas gift, because she was born on December 24. She wondered what she could give him. The only thing she had was the olive green scarf she’d knit on short stay. Knowing her dad, if she gave it to him he’d start wearing it right away.

  Adriana was walking away from the kitchen when she realized, with a jolt, that she was feeling okay, kind of normal. How had that happened? She wondered. Could the medication really be working?

  She had a feeling of strength, that she hadn’t had for a long time, along with a healthy seed of impatience, a desire for forward motion. It was as though she was ready for something and her body was resting, just waiting along with her for whatever came next. But Adriana knew she would have to wait. This hospital was an imperfect place, that did not operate in rhythm to the healing of its patients. It did not expel them at the first signs of health. She’d seen other patients reach this stage, more quickly than she had, and be held for days and sometimes weeks while the hospital took its time. Adriana knew that she had to depend on herself if she was to get out of hospital and back to the land of the living.

  She plopped herself down onto a sofa in the common room. Melvin was sitting in the rocker, rocking steadily. He grinned at her from behind his sunglasses—that pained smile that he’d had since the hurricane. Adriana nodded to him. She had never really had a conversation with him, but she figured it wasn’t too late. “Hey Melvin,” she said quietly. He kept rocking, but turned his head toward her. “How are you today?” It was lame, she knew, but she had never been a master of conversation.

  Melvin stopped rocking, and Adriana felt a jitter of nerves. In a calm voice, Melvin said, “Everything’s cool,” and started rocking again, no longer grinning. Adriana nodded, and sat back on the sofa.

  A familiar voice called “Medications!” It was Elspeth. Adriana didn’t take morning meds but got in line anyway. When she got to the counter, Elspeth smiled and gave her a little cup of juice. “Hello, sunshine,” she said.

  As glad as she was to see Elspeth, Adriana was filled with trepidation about what she had to ask. “How’s Jeff?”

  Elspeth smiled. “You’ll have to ask him yourself. He’s back on the unit this morning.”

  Grateful for a rush of relief, Adriana stepped aside to let Melvin receive his pills. Elspeth smiled at him and said something that made him throw back his head and laugh silently. Adriana felt a pang of jealousy, but she knew how it was. What Elspeth offered as a nurse was for everyone, not just her.

  Adriana, relieved and thankful, decided to take a walk around the grounds. She hadn’t been out much since she was admitted, although her privileges had been restored. Outside seemed like an unknown quantity. Adriana put on a sweatshirt and wrapped the olive green scarf she’d knit for her father around her neck. She doubted it was cold, but the scarf offered more than warmth—it was protective gear.

  There were still branches and leaves strewn all over the ground, like an obstacle course. Adriana stepped over them, her sneakers quickly starting to feel damp. There were some big old elm trees with branches down at the north end of the property. It felt like something terrible had happened, like a glacier had just passed through or a club-wielding giant. But Adriana kept walking to the perimeter of the grounds, and stopped at the edge of the gravel track that led to the main road. She had no desire to leave the grounds today, now that she knew Jazz and Jeff were safe, and now that she technically had permission to walk the grounds freely. She mulled over the attempts she’d made to “escape” the hospital. She was more determined than ever to leave, but it no longer felt like an urgent necessity.

  Adriana rounded the edge of the hospital property and turned back, past the brick laundry with its comforting smell, and the newer Mount Hope building where people lived for years and sometimes longer, if no spots were available in group homes. Adriana had not visited those units but she thought they must be something like a warehouse for human beings who were not able to take care of themselves. She felt grateful that would not be her fate.

  Adriana considered the possibilities. She could go home—there were a lot of people she knew in hospital who didn’t have a home to go to like she did. But it seemed to her that her father’s house was no longerher home—it was the home of her sister and before that, of her depression. Adriana’s face reddened. She knew she should appreciate it more, but something was pushing her away from the idea of returning to her father’s house and toward her own survival.

  Could she and Jazz find a place together? They’d talked about it in the past. Adriana thought she could get a part-time job as a cashier or something, and Jazz could get a student loan and continue going to school. Maybe she’d take a course herself. Just one. She could handle one. And she’d start thinking about the path she wanted to take, whatever that was.

  Adriana felt relieved. She had a plan, and it made her feel like she had a future.

  Adriana stopped at the common room when she got back to the unit. Surprisingly it was quite full. Jeff and Melvin sat together on one of the sofas and spoke in low voices. Jeff still had bandages over his neck and Melvin, in sympathy or comradeship, wore a white towel around his own neck. Jeff looked up at Adriana briefly and nodded. She felt herself crumbling, but with all the willpower she could muster, she sat down on the couch where Marlene dozed in her parka.

  Adriana caught a smattering of Jeff’s conversation with Melvin. “It was a strange time,” he said.
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  Melvin nodded and said in a his clear, bell-like voice, “Things were weird here too.” Melvin took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. It was the first time Adriana noticed them and to her surprise, they were green.

  “I like it better back here,” Jeff said, stretching his legs out in front of him and putting his hands behind his head.

  Melvin stretched out too. “Glad you’re back, buddy,” he said. Jeff nodded sagely. “Yes I think I’ll hang out here for awhile,” he said. Melvin threw back his head in silent laughter, and Jeff grinned.

  Adriana cleared her throat. “Jeff,” she said. Her voice sounded hoarse and strange. Jeff looked up.

  “Hey Adriana,” he said.

  “Jeff I’m sorry,” Adriana blurted and the rest came out of her in a river. “I’m sorry I gave you that jar. I’m so sorry that you hurt yourself. I feel terrible about it. I hope you’ll forgive me. Please forgive me.” Adriana stood trembling. Jeff looked up at her, confused. Adriana pointed to his neck. “You cut yourself. It’s my fault.” she said, hysteria rising in her throat.

  Jeff shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said mildly. “It happened and I’m glad. Relieved.” He said. Now Adriana looked confused. “I mean when you have a hurricane to deal with, you do what you have to,” he said. She felt stricken. Did Jeff think he could stop the hurricane by hurting himself?

  “Hey!” he said brightly, pointing at her father’s scarf. “Do you think, you could make me one like that? It would be nice to have something to cover my neck. I get cold sometimes.“ Adriana nodded. He wanted a scarf to cover his battle scars, and who could blame him? She felt relief rising in her like a loaf of bread. So there was something she could do, after all.