Half

by Duncan MacLeod

  “No. It's a bunch of roommates.”

  I can't blame Damon for the puzzled look on his face.

  “It's on Jackson?”

  “Yeah.” I would love to change the subject.

  “Do any of your roommates stop by here?” God Damon is nosy.

  And then, as if on cue, in walks Tony, Helen, Bernadette, Mei, Kathleen and a few other Conard House clients. Tony swaggers as he approaches the counter.

  “So Ethan, we convince Janis we do coffee walk here today! You happy to see us!”

  I was raised by wolves, but I went to a good finishing school. I know it is always the right choice to follow the path of truth and kindness. It is the gracious thing to do. At the tip of my tongue are a number of choice words. It is my job to put them all together in the right order, discarding the hurtful and shameful ones. I fail.

  I turn to Damon and say, “I don't know who the fuck these people are.” No sooner do the words leave my mouth then there’s a great pain in my heart. Tony’s face is crushed. Helen Ka looks away, blinking back tears. Mei loses all expression on her face.

  Kathleen, oblivious, shakes Damon’s hand and proclaims, “Ta brae nacht na bricht!”

  Liz defuses the situation by addressing Tony with respect, “What can I get you, sir?”

  Tony shakes his head and looks at his feet before shuffling out of the shop. As the leader of coffee walk, the entourage follows suit. I eat deep regret salad with shame dressing and cruelty croutons.

  At the end of the shift, Damon hands me an envelope.

  “What’s this”?

  “It’s your last paycheck.”

  *

  I’m not clear if he fired me for being mentally ill or for being a dick. I think about it while I walk to the house. Either way, I deserved it.

  Inside, I hear the clatter of Mah Jong tiles in the living room. I can't go in there. How can I face my friends after being such a cunt?

  “Ethan, ‘that you?” I hear Tony calling.

  With trepidation I answer, “No, it's some asshole who acted ashamed of his friends.”

  “Good. We have one spot at table for asshole. Come sit your asshole down.”

  This is the best reaction I could hope for. I may be a dick, but Tony Ha is not. He is forgiving.

  While we shuffle, Tony explains. “Ethan, this your first time in mental health right”?

  “Yes.”

  “This my five times. You not ashamed of friends. You ashamed of yourself.”

  We stack the walls in silence. “I’m so sorry I treated you like that.”

  “We know because we all do it before.” He says a few words in Chinese. Helen and Annie nod.

  Tony continues, “We maybe do because of family or church or work. Normal. You know what important?”

  I shake my head.

  “You came back to table and play. You good person in bad place.”

  *

  I found an old copy of The Bell Jar in the library basement and read it cover to cover in one sitting. I laughed out loud. I know it’s supposed to be a sad story, but she must have meant for it to be funny. She couldn’t have known while she wrote it. She couldn’t have known she would die in a sealed kitchen with her head in the oven. She seemed so hopeful.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - SIXTH STREET

  Michael G. Page is visiting today at Conard House. Tony comes to the room and tells me I have a visitor. Downstairs, there’s Michael. He looks like a rat in a snake cage.

  “Girl, this place is freaking me out. Where can we go? I know they’re going to figure me out, lock me up, and throw away my keys. He curls his lip and titters.

  I’m saving my pennies for Mexico, so I decide we should go to the coffee walk Rolling Pin Donuts on California. Michael says he doesn’t care where it is as long as it has coffee.

  In Rolling Pin, he grills me about Chance. “How come I haven’t met him? How can I give him the Michael G. Page seal of approval? Tell me more about him.”

  “He has olive skin and green eyes. He has a motorcycle, and he works at a Vespa repair shop on Van Ness near the Marina. He’s built like a brick shithouse. And he’s bisexual.”

  “Yeah, you told me a month ago. Is he dangerous? Does he own a gun? Where is he now? I forget what you said.”

  “He’s staying at a GA hotel on Sixth Street.”

  “Let’s go there and find him. I want to see this Chance for myself. You know I’m your real mother, and you need my approval before you hop a train to Mexico with a bipolar bisexual.”

  “Yeah, I don’t remember which hotel it is.”

  “Well then we’ll just have to try them all.”

  *

  Sixth Street is the filthiest, loudest, most vile street in the City. Crack whores and petty felons line the street, looking for an angle on every passerby.

  “Late night, satellite” echoes along the corridor. Bike messengers come here to buy weed, speed, crack and whatever else their measly paycheck can purchase. They are lucky if their bikes aren’t stolen while they are busy copping drugs. This was a bad idea.

  A man with a burnt afro and red-rimmed eyes walks into our personal space. “Late night, satellite, nice bag of water”

  “Back off"! Michael wields a canister of pepper spray. The man doesn’t even notice, just keeps walking, looking for his next prey.

  “Michael, I know Chance is here somewhere, but he would be in his room staying out of this mess.”

  “This is fun, Ethan"! Michael is a kid on an Easter Egg hunt. “Now, why is it you don’t remember which hotel it is"?

  “They all sound the same. “ It’s true - most of the Hotels on Sixth street sound like some place fancy - the Regal, the Royal, the The Windsor, The Pontiac, The Balmoral Arms, The Whitaker, The Haven …none of them bears any resemblance to the fancy name. We stand at the Royal on Minna. I press the buzzer. The unpleasant Sikh man behind the counter looks startled anyone has disturbed his newspaper time.

  “Hi, we’re looking for Chance. Is he staying here"? I ask.

  “Chance Who"? Good question. I am surprised to realize I don’t know his last name, despite having shared intimate quarters with him for the last two months.

  Michael raises an eyebrow when I fail to provide a last name.

  “Girl, what in God’s name are you planning a trip to Mexico for if you don’t even know his last name"?

  “It’s just a detail; it never came up. He doesn't know my last name either.” We step outside the Royal and Michael shakes his head from side to side. “I swear, the sooner you can get off those meds the better you will be. Two months and he doesn’t know his goddamn last name. He could be a Getty, or he could be a gypsy, and you wouldn’t know.”

  “Lay off. He’s perfect.”

  Michael frowns, “I think you might be dick-ma-tized.”

  I should be angry, but the word is so absurd I just burst out laughing instead.

  *

  We take refuge from the abhorrent face of humanity inside Tu-Lan, an ancient Vietnamese restaurant whose menu boasts an amateur sketch of Julia Child. Legend states she comes to Tu-Lan whenever she is in town, Sixth Street notwithstanding. We order Vietnamese iced coffees, which come in the form of a tall glass of ice with sweetened condensed milk at the bottom, topped by a metal drip device that delivers powerful coffee in tiny droplets into the glass below. The drip process takes ten minutes, then it is ready to stir.

  Michael looks at me while he stirs and chats. “I think Chance is too good to be true. How is the sex"?

  “Um.”

  “You haven’t fucked? I keep forgetting you’re a Pisces. See it’s hard for us Scorpios to imagine a non-sexual love relationship. It gives me the creeps.”

  “We’ll have time in Mexico.” I wonder to myself whether this trip will be chaste torture or a fuck-fest. I bet on the former.

  We sip in silence for several minutes, the loud crashes and bangs from the kitchen punctuating the otherwise peaceful retreat inside of Tu-Lan.
/>   “Does he drink"? Michael is looking for the chink in the armor.

  “Not a drop.”

  “How did he land in the happy house with you"?

  “He tried to give a speech from the rotunda railing in City Hall.”

  “What was the speech about”?

  “Gay marriage, among other things.”

  “Gay marriage? He sounds insane.” Michael clucks his tongue. “That’s all he did to get locked up”?

  “Well, I'm not clear on all the details, but the cops thought he was trying to jump.”

  “Suicide? Bitch, you got yourself a drama queen. It’s a good match for you. Just remember, I’m as batty as they come, and I never tried to kill myself.”

  “He’s done with that.”

  “Yes, puss-puss, I wasn’t saying he was still suicidal. It’s just a darker form of mental torture, that’s all. I can’t talk to boys, and he wanted off the planet. It’s a big difference.”

  “I see aliens. Where would that fall on the spectrum"?

  “In between. Just be careful of his dark side, Ethan.”

  My iced coffee is just melted ice now, and I have to make a couple of embarrassing slurps to capture the last of the caffeine trapped at the bottom of the glass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - NO CHANCE

  Today is the day I announce to Janis my plans to go AMA (Against Medical Advice) on a trip to Mexico with Chance. The meeting is set for 10am, like all my meetings with Janis. Tomorrow I meet with Chance and we will catch our bus to San Diego to start our trip. I have over eight hundred dollars saved up, which should be more than enough for a month in Mexico. The Peso is in crisis - it dropped again today, so the dollar is magic paper there. While I wait downstairs for my meeting, the pay phone rings. Tony answers it and says it’s for me.

  “Who is it"?

  “Huh? I don’t know.”

  “Is it Chance"?

  “It’s a lady.” Shit. My mother.

  I go to the phone and lift the receiver to my ear. My mother’s voice is twisting my intestines from the inside.

  “Ethan, we need to go see your Grandma tomorrow.” Shit shit shit. How do I get out of this.

  “I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Tell them you can’t make it. I’m driving out to see Grandma Joe and I need you ready at 9 am outside Conard House.”

  This call couldn’t have come at a worse time. Whatever her agenda is, I can’t use work as an excuse. Even though I lost my job, and she doesn’t know, I’m furious at how she disregards my obligations. I swallow it.

  “Mom, you know I love you and I love Grandma Joe, but work is important to me.”

  “Bullshit. What kind of crap are you trying to pull"? She puts a razor blade in the intestine. I’m out of options.

  “Fuck off.” I hang up the phone, which rings again moments later. I can see Janis’ door is open now.

  “Hey Ethan, do you answer the phone"? Tony is hovering. “I need to use it.”

  “Tell the lady I am in a meeting with my counselor, and then you can use the phone.”

  I run into Janis’ office and close the door. She can see the look of distress on my face. Tony opens the door and leans in, “She really mean. She call me a name and tell me you have to talk to her.”

  I implore Janis with my eyes. She knows what’s happening without any further words. In long strides, she crosses the entryway.

  She talks into the pay phone. I can hear her using a calm, steady voice to talk to my mother. Her voice changes tone, and I can hear her say, “We don’t allow that kind of language with our clients here.” More silence, then, “He’s in a meeting with me right now, so you can’t talk to him.” I can see the infuriated dragon-like expression on my mother’s face when she hears those words. Janis leaves the pay phone receiver dangling and returns to the office, looking for a pen, paper and tape. She scrawls an “Out of Order” sign and tapes it to the phone, the receiver still dangling like a dead chicken head. From her office I can hear an angry squawking noise coming from the earpiece.

  “Tony,” she says, “use the payphone at the corner. This one is out of commission for a while.” Tony trudges a resentful path to the front door and slams it shut behind him. Janis returns to her office and asks, “Now, where were we"?

  This is the moment I have feared more than talking to my mother. Disappointing Janis is way worse, because I like her.

  “Uh, Hi Janis.”

  “Hi Ethan. Your mother is being the usual nuisance.”

  “Yeah, she’s kinda like that all the time.”

  “I’ll bet it was pretty scary growing up with her.”

  “Well, I’m used to it now.”

  Janis pauses and gives me that ‘therapy look’ where she’s waiting for me to say more. I don’t take the bait this time.

  “I have something different to discuss. Do you mind”?

  “Sure, Ethan, this is your time.”

  “I am going on that trip I mentioned.”

  “Mexico"?

  “Mexico.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Ethan! Tomorrow? Leaving early is Against Medical Advice, as we discussed.”

  “Yeah. I know it’s AMA. But it’s sort of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “You should know you are giving up support from the Mental Health System. You won't be eligible for a Co-op apartment if you go.”

  “Yeah but I need this. I need to get away from the mental health system.”

  Janis leans in and whispers, “I agree 100%, Ethan, I just have to say all this crap to make it official AMA. Don't you dare repeat that!”

  “I won't.”

  “It’s a big trip to take by yourself. Will you be safe”?

  “Yeah, well I’m going with Chance. Train trip.” I wait for her to chastise me about relationships in the halfway house, but she doesn't.

  “It’s a big risk. Still, you’re young; you have most of your marbles. You will be fine. But once again I am obliged to tell you your doctor won’t approve.”

  “Pablo Morales can suck my dick.”

  Janis grins and asks, “Will you bring your meds with you?”

  “Maybe Cogentin or Ativan. Not Lithium. Fuck that shit.”

  “I’m not a doctor and I can neither advise for or against your plan. Sorry, I have to say this stuff during these sorts of conversations. Go on.”

  “Yeah, I get it, no problem.”

  “You planned this trip all on your own. Are you sure you can handle Mexico on your own”?

  “Well, it was Chance’s idea.”

  “Who"?

  “Chance. Anyway, we bought the tickets a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Who’s Chance"?

  “Chance, my roommate.”

  “You mean Calvin"?

  This is strange. “No, Chance, my other roommate, the one you discharged last week. You must remember him. I saw him in this very room flirting with you right before he was discharged.”

  “Ethan, you live in a double room with Calvin. You were flirting with me a week or so ago, which was odd but amusing. You said you were bisexual.”

  “No, that was—“ Reality smacks me so hard, I see stars. I grasp at them.

  “Chance, He’s....not...”

  I can’t see Janis now, because I am overflowing with tears. I panic. I grab at a box of Kleenex like it could hold back the misery and loneliness I just uncovered. I look outside the door, and there stands Chance, waiting in the wings. He isn't real and he isn't going with me to Mexico. He grows blurry then vanishes as my eyes pour forth an ocean of despair.

  “Ethan, I can see you’re in distress. Would it be okay if I give you a hug"?

  I reach out like a mewling baby and bawl into Janis’ sweater.

  “He was so perfect! He was so perfect"!

  “Who"?

  “Nobody. Me. I made him up and believed my own lies"!

  Janis would need to ask a dozen questions to understand my distre
ss. Instead she just hugs me and lets me soak the shoulder of her sweater.

  He must be real. He must. I can’t stand feeling this alone for another second. I spend the rest of my half-hour crying and blowing my nose. Janis just lets me have my feelings.

  *

  I run upstairs to the room and look at my duffel. I got it at an army surplus store on Market Street. It is green canvas, with leather straps, and a dozen pockets inside and out. Piece by piece, I put my dirty clothes into the backpack. I take the blanket my Dad gave me and shove it into the backpack. I take my used booklet of 20-cent postcard stamps and shove them into my backpack. I take my bus tickets and shove them into the backpack. I take my whole crappy life possessions, of which there are precious few, and I shove them into the backpack. I open Grandma’s tea leaves and pull out the wad of cash, and I shove it in there too. I glance at the dresser and see the Capodimonte statuette of Chance on his Vespa. I fling it across the room where it shatters into a hundred pieces.

  I walk downstairs and out the front door, silent and unnoticed. I don’t know where to go. Michael G Page would just gloat and tease me, and would have nowhere to put me. My mother would just send me back to Conard House. I have nowhere to go. I walk down Fillmore past the fancy shops with expensive furnishings I will never afford. I cross Geary and I’m in the bad neighborhood now. I don’t care. Nobody approaches me. I must look dangerous.

  I cross McAllister Street and head into the Lower Haight. Wanda lives here with Sue. They can help me. Wanda and Sue got a new place on Laussat Street. It’s small, but maybe they have somewhere to stash me for a bit. I just need to be somewhere safe where I can cry and figure stuff out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - THE PINK SOFA

  Wanda opens the door and sees me and pulls me to her bosom. “Ethie, what happened"?

  “I…uh…broke up with my boyfriend and I need somewhere to cry.”

  “You can cry here all day if necessary. Here, come sit down.” She escorts me to a gigantic pink womb of a sofa. “Do you need some privacy? I’ll be in the kitchen doing a tarot reading with Sue.”

  “Hi Ethan"! Sue calls out from the kitchen. I try to answer back but sobs come instead.