Sara went passively to her first shock treatment. She had no idea where she was going, having only a vague idea where she was. There were a few times during the day when she seemed to be on the verge of orienting herself and experiencing a degree of mental and emotional clarity, but then she was given another dose of Thorazine and the cloud of numbness once again descended and enshrouded her, and her limbs became heavy and an unbearable burden, and the pit of her stomach burned and ached with exhaustion, and her tongue was so thick and dry it stuck to the roof of her mouth, and attempting to speak was an unbearably painful ordeal, and she would strain to try to formulate words, but she couldnt summon the energy necessary to unglue and move her tongue; and her eyes felt like two huge thumbs were pressing down on them and she had to lift her head back to see, and then it was as if she was looking through a veil that made everything hazy, and so she would just lie in bed numbed, confused, nodding off to sleep… then waking periodically and sleeping again… constantly feeling sick and, from time to time, struggling to sit up, but unable to, and so they would lift her up and put some food in her mouth and it would dribble out of the corners because she just couldnt swallow, and she would try to tell them to stop, to let her do it, but she couldnt speak because of drug induced inertia, and so her words came out groans and they grabbed her and forced the food down her throat, holding her nose and keeping her mouth closed, forcing her to swallow, Saras eyes being forced open with terror, mute terror, while inside her heart beat thunderously in her ears and thudded against her chest, and she was unable to even mutter a prayer for help and the more she tried to tell them not to do that the more annoyed they became and they shoved the food in her mouth, cutting the corners of her mouth and her gums, them slamming their hands over her mouth and nose and Sara would feel, again and again, like she was suffocating and she tried to swallow as fast as possible but her system just didnt seem to have the energy it needed to swallow, and she fought to get the food down so she could breathe, and the harder she fought the harder they pressed against her, and held her down in the bed until they finally left in disgust, and Sara tried to curl up in a little ball and disappear, and after a couple of days she cringed in abject terror when she heard the food truck approaching.
Dr. Reynolds frowned at her chart as he stood by her bed. You are not cooperating Mrs. Goldfarb. His voice was shrill and his tone threatening, and Sara tried to lift an arm, to raise herself, to tell him, to tell the doctor how she couldnt move, how she couldnt talk, how she felt like maybe she was dying and she was frightened, and she looked at him with eyes that pleaded and begged, her mouth opening, but only inarticulate noises coming out, and he continued to stare at her, You may think that this type of behavior will get you special treatment, but we do not have the time to cater to individuals. He snapped the chart closed and turned sharply and walked away. When he handed the chart to the nurse he told her to schedule Sara for shock treatment the following morning. Sara went passively. She was hoping, in her semicomatose state, that they were taking her to something better, maybe that nice young doctor that talked to her and got her a glass of tea. Maybe she would see him and he would make it better. She was strapped in the wheelchair and her head kept falling forward as she was pushed along corridors, down in an elevator, along more corridors, from time to time attaining a glimmer of consciousness and remembering that she hadnt had any breakfast that morning and feeling happy that she did not have to go through the ordeal of eating that morning which gave her enough energy to think there might be some hope, that maybe she was going to see that nice young doctor and her head would fall forward again and then she was being lifted on a table and her eyes blinked open but she couldnt recognize anything and she started to tremble and shake with fear as faces passed by her, blurred, and there were lights, and she didnt know where she was but something told her she should not be there, a strong feeling fought through the drugs telling her it was a matter of life and death that she get out of that room and away from those people whose faces seemed to be unformed or hidden behind something and she tried to resist, but was unable to and strong hands stretched her out on the table and strapped her down and she could feel her throat start to close and her heart threaten to explode and something was attached to her head and something jammed between her teeth and people were talking and laughing, but the voices were a blur and it seemed like there were many faces leaning over her and she could feel her eyes opening wider as they looked, peered, and she could hear laughter and then the faces seemed to recede and drift away in a haze and suddenly fire shot through her body and her eyes felt like they were going to burst from their sockets as her body burned then stiffened and felt like it would snap apart and pain shot through her head and stabbed her ears and temples and her body kept jerking and bouncing as the flames seared every cell of her body and her bones felt like they were being twisted and crushed between huge pincers as more and more electricity was forced through her body and her burning body arched and slammed itself down on the table and Sara could feel her bones snapping and smell the burning of her own flesh as barbed hooks were thrust into her eyes yanking them out of their sockets and all she could do was endure and feel the pain and smell the burning flesh unable to yell, to plead, to pray, to make a sound or even die, but stay locked in the torturous pain as her head screamed AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhh…
The silence was awkward, and the chatter selfconscious, as they rode to Big Tims. Tyrone had made the arrangements and was thinkin of the dope theyd be havin in a few hours, not thinkin of nothin else much as he wasnt really personally involved in what was comin down. Marion was apprehensive. She was alive with many emotions, but they had gotten off before they left the house so it was all tolerable and everything was possible. She knew she could, and would, do whatever had to be done without any problem. Her only concern was that she didnt get burned, that Big Tim would give her dope like he promised. Sheeit, you doan have to worry about that. Big Tim never cop out. He tough but straight. Marion nodded and continued taking quick pokes on her cigarette thinking of holding that dope in her hand, her dope in her hand and she wouldnt have to worry about being sick in the morning.
Harry sat in the corner glancing out the window from time to time, and at Marion, trying to figure out what sort of attitude he should adopt, wondering how he should look and sound, what he should say… and what he should feel. Shit, he felt relief. They were going to get stuff without having to scuffle those cold ass streets… but that didnt sit just right. He didnt like the idea of Marion ballin this dude. Fuck it, whats the big deal. He sure as hell wasnt the first guy she ever balled. If she had to turn a few tricks to— No! No! She aint no fuckin hooker. Shes just getting some shit man. And anyway, what the fucks wrong with a chick ballin some guy? Thats her business. Shes free. Just like the rest of us. Free to do anything she fuckin wants man. Whats this fuckin Victorian horseshit? A lot of broads fuck their bosses and thats straight. They dont think thats rank. Shit! Fuckem! Right where they eat. They dont like it they can go piss up a fuckin rope. You do what has to be done. Thats all. Harry reached over and started rubbing the back of Marions head, Its alright with me and if they dont dig it thats their fuckin problem, it sure as hell aint mine. Marion turned her head slightly and glanced at Harry, out of the corner of her eye, for a second, then continued to look ahead, looking through the glass partition and the windshield of the cab. She felt Harrys hand and wondered if she was supposed to do or say something. Was she supposed to feel something about Harry? Was she supposed to feel sorry for him? for her? Was she supposed to regret something???? She had vague feelings of regret, but they had nothing to do with going to see Big Tim. She briefly wondered what the feelings were about, but she didnt pursue the thought and it vitiated by itself as she was aware of the feeling of apprehension and the even stronger feeling of impending security.