WHAT HAPPENED
I saw my aunt, and she said she could go home definitely the next day, or at least within the week. That was a real comfort to me. The doctor was there and he gave me a list of things that she shouldn’t do. I said she doesn’t do anything anyway. He said she should eat these things, and go to this physical therapy, et cetera. I pointed out that it would be expensive to do that. Probably what would happen is she would do what she has always done, which is sit in her chair, tend her garden (which is not really tending anything), and eat oatmeal and eggs and shitty bread, and every now and then something fancy like a bologna sandwich or something equally vile for dinner. He looked at me over his glasses for a while and said it is impossible to say how long she will hold out, and gave me a bunch of numbers about the decrepitude of her organs, which apparently had all already failed. I asked him if he had bothered to have children. He said yes, he had children. I said why if this is the result. He said I beg your pardon. I said if it leads to this, where you’re a skin bag full of putrescent failing organs, and time passes quickly, it passes so quickly, and he knew that, then why have kids. He didn’t like that, and his tone changed. He told me some more bad things about my aunt’s condition, signed something with a real flourish, and went off.
WHAT HAPPENED
Well, then I went to the train, but my information I guess was bad, because it only runs during rush hour. It was raining and I would have gotten soaked, but I had my raincoat on, so it was okay, but my bag was getting wet and my shoes were soaked and I was pretty discouraged.
Then a taxi stopped and offered to take me for free since the driver was going home and lived in that direction. He was a young guy who had come there from Mozambique. He said he drove two shifts per day and slept in between. He showed me a picture of his wife, who is studying to be a dentist. She had monster buckteeth, which I guess if they are in good condition could be an advantage for a dentist, like an advertisement of some sort. He confessed that she was much smarter than he was, and so he would support her for now, but in the end, it was he who would be supported. I said that didn’t sound dumb. It sounded like a good deal for him. It is hard to stay awake, he said.
When we pulled into the drive and he let me out, he asked why was I going to visit a mental hospital, and then immediately he apologized and took back the question. No, no, it’s okay, I said, I sell medical equipment. I’m a rep for a company. Sure you are, he agreed, and I got out.
There was a new guy at the desk, and so I had to run through the whole rigmarole from the beginning. Eventually, I got the pass, and headed down to my mom’s room. I was wrong about the gazebo. She was in her room.
I was dreading that, because it had happened once before that I tried to visit her in her room and she freaked out because she doesn’t want anyone in there.
I think that’s the reason why she is usually at the fish pond. If she is in her room she won’t tolerate anyone she doesn’t recognize, so the hospital personnel mostly just stick her there to sleep. The rest of the time, I guess, it is fish pond, gazebo, cafeteria, bathroom, whatever. I don’t know all the rooms at the Home or I would list them for you.
I went to go into her bedroom area and she lost it. She was shouting for help, and I started crying. Then the nurse came, and it is lucky that my mom always behaves this way, because the nurse didn’t blame me. Give me a minute she said, we’ll take her to the bingo palace. I sort of curled up in the hall and waited, which was made even worse by the fact that my legs and feet and bag were wet. I was a real mess.
For some reason, my mom let this nurse woman calm her down and get her in the wheelchair, and then the three of us trundled along down to the bingo palace, which is a bizarre place. There are beans all over the tables, which I guess get used on the bingo cards. There are stacks and stacks of bingo cards. There is a stage with a podium. It is a pretty big production. The nurse had to turn on all the lights or none, so the whole huge room was lit, and she asked where we wanted to sit. I said, we might as well sit up there, so we sat on the stage where the bingo-caller sits.
Do you mind staying, I asked.
No, I don’t mind.
I think my mom has been getting fatter since being in the loony bin. She has always been as thin as a stick, but now she is pretty heavy. When I look at her, it makes me wonder if there is anything left there that comprehends me. These are not the hands that touched me, this is not the mouth that kissed me, and so on.
I cried a little more, and the nurse squeezed my hand.
People here, she said, think it is wonderful the way you are with her. Don’t think it doesn’t matter what you do.
I hate being pitied. I just hate it. That’s why I vowed to never mention anything about my parents to anyone, even if my aunt thinks it’s the wrong way to handle it. She isn’t always right.
Anyway, this woman is squeezing my hand and smiling like I’m a little saint, which you know is garbage.
Well, I got out of there pretty quick after that. I was dead right about Helen. She gave me as many drinks as I wanted, so I woke up with a blinding headache on her couch. Her cat was sleeping on me, and the morning sun was streaming through the window.
JAN
After school, Lana stopped me. She asked if I wanted to go roller skating, which isn’t something I would have done anyway. I told her I was going to go meet some guys to talk about setting fires. Most people would be astonished by a statement like that, but Lana was just like, oh, cool, well, call me when you’re done, maybe we’ll still be out.
Also, she gave me back the story that I wrote, and she told me I was a good writer, but I could tell she didn’t care about it. Good writer, like, one of those actual writers that nobody reads, one of the ones who leaves the good parts out. That’s okay. I mean, I don’t want to be the kind of person who writes just for fancy people or anything, so maybe it’s a comeuppance. It’s true, too: if she had really liked my high school writing, something would probably have been off. I mean in her head. I am realistic about things, don’t you think?
I went down to Simonen again, and as it turned out, I was late because I took the bus too far. When I got there, Jan was there, but Stephan wasn’t. He was leaning against a wall, smoking, and wearing a pretty roughed-up bomber jacket. He looked a little like an old cigarette ad in black and white.
Where’s Stephan.
I told him to go home, Jan said. He’s just a little boy.
That’s weird, I said. Why would you do that.
LATE
Next day, I wasn’t feeling very well, so I got to school a little late, and Beekman caught me sneaking around in the hall. I figured I was going to get hammered with a detention, but no.
He says, you weren’t in class this morning. I said, in a funny voice I sometimes use on my aunt:
Darling, you must forgive me for getting home at dawn. The boys and I were out whoring, and you know how that can be.
He did that adult thing where he pretended to laugh but didn’t really laugh. I hate that thing. It’s as if they want you to know that they tried to laugh, but didn’t laugh, at your joke. But they tried to—they want credit for that. My opinion about this is: if you didn’t laugh at my joke, you don’t get credit. It’s as simple as that. If you didn’t laugh, you didn’t find it funny. Why would I give you credit, which is essentially deciding we have a similar outlook, at least on this matter, if you are demonstrating if anything the opposite? In this case it wasn’t even a joke, not really. I guess I was showing off a bit.