Pt. 3
nighttime in the unit means fuze beadz, television, and nervous breakdowns. it means hearing the black-haired girl throw her fists against the door as if they were quivering sticks of dynamite. it means no one leaves the multipurpose room. it means everyone is allotted four chocolate chip cookies because too much of the luscious cocoa bean will make us harder to handle. so i gather myself and ask to walk down to the nurses' station to get my rice cookies, the ones my mother brought because she doesn't trust hospital food to be gluten free. i never understood this part of the day- the part where you're allowed to go behind the nurse's desk and get whatever you want. i can't shave my legs without leaving the door open, or use a knife to cut my meat, but if i want to get "something" i'm welcome to go "find it." what an odd misplacement of trust. what a peculiar way to convince someone they're trying to be helped.
on the first night, technically the second, we watch television and it's too loud for us to hear ourselves think. but we can't make out the actors' words. i feel ill, inevitably poisoned by some mindless prescence of gluten, and ask to go lie down. on that first night, ross didn't ask any questions. he was so rigid with anger. and the black-haired girl was just trying to escape, and maci was bored with the blank walls and washed-out optimist posters. so i went back to the room, which was hardly my room, because my stuff had only been in there for an hour or so. fearing her fight-or-flight instincts (which mostly lean toward flight,) the nurses had switched mine and kelly's beds. they moved her away from the doors and toward the nurse's desk for keen observation.
i laid down and fell asleep in the thick heat of the room, barely covering myself with the oppressive cotton blankets. i felt sick. when i woke up, it was dark, just after curfew i guessed, and maci was trying to sleep. i kept my body still against the mattress and thought of all the ways i could escape. who was i even turning into? who do i think i am? the metal screens on the windows told me i was a prisoner, an animal, who's lack of being understood was an incurable disease. so i planned it out. it's easier to run down the hall without your footies on, and the cold smacking of desperate feet on a linoleum floor sounds like heaven. there's a person who comes to pick up the laundry after we fall asleep. i know this because inbetween crying and heaving and sniffling that first night, i could hear the sad wagon rolling down the hall, it's trembling wheels creating soft thunder. the person has to press a button to open the doors, and all it would take is a swift pitter patter and then sprint through the wedge between the door and the waste cart. it would be so easy, with only three other doors to get through. three doors to moonlit cherryblossoms, and home.
on the first night, technically the second, we watch television and it's too loud for us to hear ourselves think. but we can't make out the actors' words. i feel ill, inevitably poisoned by some mindless prescence of gluten, and ask to go lie down. on that first night, ross didn't ask any questions. he was so rigid with anger. and the black-haired girl was just trying to escape, and maci was bored with the blank walls and washed-out optimist posters. so i went back to the room, which was hardly my room, because my stuff had only been in there for an hour or so. fearing her fight-or-flight instincts (which mostly lean toward flight,) the nurses had switched mine and kelly's beds. they moved her away from the doors and toward the nurse's desk for keen observation.
i laid down and fell asleep in the thick heat of the room, barely covering myself with the oppressive cotton blankets. i felt sick. when i woke up, it was dark, just after curfew i guessed, and maci was trying to sleep. i kept my body still against the mattress and thought of all the ways i could escape. who was i even turning into? who do i think i am? the metal screens on the windows told me i was a prisoner, an animal, who's lack of being understood was an incurable disease. so i planned it out. it's easier to run down the hall without your footies on, and the cold smacking of desperate feet on a linoleum floor sounds like heaven. there's a person who comes to pick up the laundry after we fall asleep. i know this because inbetween crying and heaving and sniffling that first night, i could hear the sad wagon rolling down the hall, it's trembling wheels creating soft thunder. the person has to press a button to open the doors, and all it would take is a swift pitter patter and then sprint through the wedge between the door and the waste cart. it would be so easy, with only three other doors to get through. three doors to moonlit cherryblossoms, and home.