2015-08-21
471
Well, if there’s one thing I’m sure of in life, it’s that I really don’t like this solitary confinement thing.
I mean, who would? For one, it’s very, very, very boring. So boring no words could ever sum it up. Ever.
I can’t help but wonder if this is supposed to be a punishment or something. I’m assuming it is because of my little incident in that conference room. That really didn’t go the way I wanted it to. For one, I ended up in a completely white room with padded walls. That was definitely not in my original plan, I assure you. And two, I definitely hadn’t planned on throwing my hand through a window. In the split second in which I made that decision it seemed like a fabulous idea.
It was not a fabulous idea.
It hurt.
In fact it still hurts. It doesn’t help that it was my right hand either. I am only just realising now how much I use my right hand. I am also just realising how it takes only milliseconds from when I make the slightest movement of my right hand for the pain to flare up.
The bandage starts from halfway up my arm, covers my wrist and knuckles but stops just before the end of my fingers. It’s quite peculiar to see just the stubs of my fingers poking out from under this thick and heavy bandage. It almost looks like I have a club on the end of my arm. A white club that smells like disinfectant and medicine, but a club all the same. I like to pretend I’m a superhero and my superpower is the ability to shoot big white clubs from the end of my hand.
Yes, it is very easy to get bored in here.
But here’s what I don’t understand. This is a mental institution, right? As far as I’m aware and concerned, a mental institution is supposed to help and improve the mental health of its patients. Why then do they have solitary confinement? If anything’s going to send someone crazy it’s a stark, white room with no windows and doors. Oh, and don’t forget the complete and utter solitude. I haven’t seen anyone in days. Or is it weeks? There is no sense of time at all in here. So yes, I think the purpose of having a solitary confinement room in a mental institution is definitely NOT proactive at all. If anything, it’s designed to make people crazier.
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I wonder why they chose white? Whoever’s idea it was, it wasn’t a very good one. The white is so disconcerting. I mean, the only colour in this place is my black hair. It’s funny, this place is so white, a single strand of my hair stands out like a guy in the girl’s locker rooms. I think it’s the white walls and floor that sends people crazy. Imagine if it was a pale pink or a pale blue. It could be quite relaxing. But no. They had to use white.
I climbed off the bed and onto the floor. I lay down on my back, eagle spread, and stared up at the ceiling. There weren’t even any marks or screws up there for me count, either. Now I really think they actually do want to make people crazier by putting them in solitary confinement. I always need something to do. I need to draw. Or at least look at something and think about it. In the days, or weeks, that I’ve been confined to this prison I have thought every single thought that could possibly ever be thought about every single thing in this room.
Yes, I’ve even thought about sex. I don’t think about sex very much. I don’t actually know what it’s like. I’ve never had it before. It’s not that it doesn’t appeal to me. It’s just that I have bigger worries on my mind that far surpass the simple human urge to have sex.
I wonder where the door is. There is a slot at the bottom of the wall opposite me where they can pass in food but it’s tiny. My club hand would be too fat to fit through. The padding on the wall makes it impossible to distinguish any breaks or gaps in the wall. Maybe next time they feed me I’ll ask when I can come out. Or I could just ask the room. I know they can see me. There is a tiny camera hidden in the corner above the toilet. Well, it’s supposed to be hidden. But I know it’s there. I wonder if they can hear me?
I stood directly in the view of the camera and started talking. I talked about my hand and how much it hurt and how a few painkillers wouldn’t go awry. Then I asked what day it was. I told the camera I was completely baffled as to what the time was and how long I had been in here. Then I requested to come out. I even promised I would never go where I shouldn’t go again. I crossed my heart in front of the camera to prove it.
No reply.
Stupid pricks.
From then on I decided the only way to get some attention was to do something drastic. I had given up talking to the camera at least 10 meals ago, which I assumed was 5 days. Now, I decided, I was going to starve myself. The tray was slid in through the slot at the bottom of the wall and I took it. But then I took the cup of water off and set it over in one corner. The plate of food went into the other corner. The flimsy plastic utensils that snapped when you looked at them went in the middle. Then I waited for the next meal. When it came I sorted everything into its respective corner and then used the two trays to have some fun. I stood up and set one foot on each tray and then tried to ‘ski’ across the room. It didn’t work very well because the room was only a few paces long, but there was potential.
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It wasn’t long before I had enough trays to start building a castle.
But I didn’t get to play architect for too long. I was starting to feel really light headed and my stomach ached. I climbed ungracefully into bed and passed out straight away.
When I awoke my room was bare. Damn them! They took my fun and my building blocks. Well, I guess you’re not supposed to have fun in solitary confinement.
The next time a meal slid in there was a nice little note to accompany it. It read: ‘Eat or we will force a tube down your throat to eat for you.’
That note simply screamed MARKMAN! She was such a sarcastic bitch sometimes. Plus she the only one who would know how to make me believe her threats.
She must still be pretty angry with me.
I don’t understand why though. It must be a girl thing.
I found out where the door was, too. Unfortunately, I didn’t find it myself. I was lying on the floor, minding my own business when a whole section of the wall suddenly disappeared. The way the external light flooded in and silhouetted the people was a scene for the movies. I’m telling you, it was perfect. All they needed was the smoke and it would be Oscar worthy. Man, I wish my eyes had cameras. They obviously didn’t appreciate the artistic beauty they had just created. They just told me to get up and come with them. I went peacefully. I was just happy to see another human. I was so sure they had forgotten about me.
Based on the way they were gripping my arm I assumed they assumed I would try to run away as soon as I got clear of that blasted room. Well, to be honest, I was thinking of it. But it wasn’t worth the effort. And besides, I was pretty sure I was on my way to see Markman. I had been waiting to confront that evil woman for ages now. I’d had a lot of time (and I mean a lot) to think about the whole conference room incidence. I also had a lot of time to reflect back over my water polo dreams.
In other words, it meant I’d had a lot of time to think about Michael.
It’s funny; I actually care about this kid as if I know him or something.
My thoughts were interrupted as we arrived at Markman’s office. I had never approached her office from this direction before and was surprised. One of my escorts knocked courtly on the door. I rolled my eyes. Jeez, I would’ve just barged my way in by now. Once Markman invited us in I suddenly realised I was nervous. Maybe I was a little worried about this. You know, just a little bit.
“We have a lot to discuss.”
I made the mistake of looking in the direction of the voice.
Oh jeez.
That look!
This was every ‘Gerard Glare’ ever thrown at me rolled into one and multiplied by about seven hundred. Wait, make that seven hundred million.
She pointed to the chair on the other side of her desk. As I slowly made my way over she dismissed my escorts. I suddenly didn’t want them to leave. I needed witnesses to my death!
“How did you get the code to the door, Gerard?” Markman’s tone indicated that she was dead serious.
I shrugged and she stood up angrily. “Did you threaten one of my staff?” she demanded.
“No.”
I think my voice calmed her down a bit. It is rather tranquil. I could be a singer if I wanted to.
“Did you blackmail one of my staff into telling you the code? Or ask them to ‘forget’ to properly close the door?”
“No,” I replied in complete honesty.
Markman’s original fury had simmered down quite a lot now. “Did you get the code from another patient?”
“No.”
“Did one of my staff threaten you or blackmail you? If something is going on Gerard, I need to know. That’s the only way I’ll be able to help you.”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Then how did you get inside the door, Gerard?” Markman said, exasperated and completely baffled.
I understand that she’s confused. My brain is a pretty amazing thing. Why else would they be after the secrets in it? I don’t expect Markman to understand.
“I went up to the door and I entered the code. 64593. That’s the code. That’s what it’s always been. I don’t know how I know. I just knew the code. I entered it and the light went green and it let me in. I just knew it was 64593. It’s always been that.” I thought that was a pretty fair explanation.
Markman sat down heavily in her expensive leather desk chair. “I don’t understand you. I just don’t understand you,” she said simply, looking at me in pure amazement. “Why you had to come to me, I don’t know. What did I do to deserve this?”
“You cheated in your senior physics exam,” I offered.
Markman looked up sharply. “What?” she said suspiciously.
I really hate repeating myself. I sighed. “You asked what you did to deserve this and I said that it was probably because you cheated in your senior physics exam.”
The silence was chilling. You could hear not just a pin drop, but probably even a hair.
“Oh and I suppose you just ‘know this’ then?” said Markman in a strangled voice.
Well...yeah! No, I took a wild guess. Of course I know it. I know things. I’m right though, aren’t I?
“I know things,” I provided astutely.
“Oh! You know, Gerard, I’m starting to think that it’s not you that needs protecting from the world. I’m starting to think it’s the world that needs protecting from you.”
I frowned. I didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
She shook her head, dismissing the statement. That made me angry. She can’t say something like that and then not elaborate on it. I looked fiercely at her, infuriated. I’m so sick of not being told anything. I’m not a kid anymore. It’s always ‘you don’t want to know’ or ‘you don’t need to know’. Yes, I fucking want to know! Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked the fucking question in the first place. You think I don’t want to read my files? Of course I want to read my fucking files, they’re my fucking files!
“You never tell me anything!” I snapped.
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“Yes I do,” she replied, defiant.
My heart leapt. This could be my chance. I sat forward eagerly. “Who’s Michael then?” I said impatiently.
My hopes faded within two milliseconds of asking the question. Why I bother to get them up anymore I don’t know. But when she gave me her answer I lost it. I couldn’t handle hearing that again. Not after two fucking years of hearing the same thing.
“I can’t tell you.”
Yes, that was it. The same fucking four words I have been hearing my whole life. She said the words to me again; just after she defended herself against my accusations that she never tells me anything.
In anger, I slammed my good hand down onto her desk. Markman jumped and eyed me cautiously. “Why can’t you tell me?!” I shouted.
“Because I can’t,” she replied.
“I’m not making him up! He’s real!” I insisted. I had been worried that maybe, just maybe, he was just a boy in my head.
“I believe you, Gerard. He is real.” She made it sound as though it was intensely painful for her to admit that. “But I can’t tell you who he is.” Now she was ending the conversation with that air of finality she possesses.
However, her reluctance to tell me anything made me realise that something big is going on with this kid. And I knew I was smack bang in the middle of it. I just needed to know what it was that I was in the middle of.
“But why can’t you tell me?”
Markman shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. I hadn’t noticed before, but she looked positively exhausted. She had dark rings under her eyes and her face was very pale and taut. I wonder if this had anything to do with me.
“I can’t tell you, Gerard, not because I don’t want to but because I’m not allowed to. I think you and several other people could benefit from this information but I am not at liberty to reveal anything to you.”
Ohhh, she’s not at liberty to reveal anything! Oh well that makes it alright then, doesn’t it? I bet some big bad man came down from Mario Land and told her she wasn’t allowed to tell poor Gerard anything.
“Since we’re on the topic, how’s your hand?” Markman asked weakly.
What the fuck? We are not ‘on the topic’. Being ‘on the topic’ is like talking about school resuming after the summer break and then asking what college Jonny got in. We were talking about something completely different.
But, about my hand...it hurts! It’s really, really hurts. A little morphine would be appreciated. But I didn’t say any of that. Instead I sat back and folded my arms defiantly across my chest. If she’s not going to talk to me for weeks or months whilst I was in solitary confinement, maybe I’ll stop talking to her again. It’s not particularly hard. I did it for two years, no probs.
“Don’t start this again,” Markman warned.
Oh yeah? Try me.
She knows me way too well. Good thing I know her just as well. I narrowed my eyes and stared at her defiantly.
“How much pain are you in?”
Great, start with open-ended questions. That’ll get me talking for sure. I ignored her. She ignored me and left me to rot, or at least go crazy, in a tiny white room for weeks; I think I deserve a little payback.
I studied my fingernails. They were quite damaged. I had gnawed at them quite a lot recently. I think I had chewed all my fingernails away within the first few hours of solitary confinement. I really hate being bored. It was going to take a while for them to grow back properly. I could vaguely hear Markman talking in the background, but I couldn’t hear her! Just like they couldn’t hear me.
One thing she said did seep through to me and it filled me with dread.
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“I’ve started you on Clozapine.”
It wasn’t a question or a threat. It was a mere statement. But oh shit. Shit shit shit. Fuck fuck fuck. There is no way I am going for a blood test every week. I lunged forward and grabbed the nearest pen and paper. In huge, angry capital letters I wrote: ‘I DID NOT CONSENT!!’
I even added in two exclamation points. I know from past experience two exclamation points or underlines are often effective. On Ray anyway. Once I finished I realised it wasn’t going to be as effective as I hoped it would be. For one, I think it was near impossible to make out my writing. I never was very good as writing with my left hand. I would kill to be ambidextrous right now.
She shrugged and I just realised how fucking infuriating it is when someone shrugs at you.
“I didn’t need your consent, Gerard. I’m your doctor; I’m allowed to prescribe whatever medications I believe will benefit you most. In my medical opinion, Clozapine is the best drug for you at the moment.” She was taking pleasure in my dread and fear. She really is a corrupt bitch. But she is good as reading messy writing. I’ll grant her that.
I wrote: ‘I won’t take it.” Well, rather I wrote something that resembled those words.
She smiled. “You’re already on it. I believe you’re due for your next blood test on... Wednesday. Today’s Monday,” she provided helpfully.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, shit! Now I’m going to dread the coming Wednesday. I’ll never be able to live a day normally again. They will be constantly plagued with the fears of needles piercing my arms and taking my blood. I felt my blood pressure begin to rise.
I was panicking. I was scared. I haven’t been this scared since the roof collapsed and I thought they had found me. I can’t stand needles. Needles really, really stress me out. I didn’t realise it, but I had broken out in a cold sweat. I clenched the arms of the leather chair tightly, fully aware that my arms were shaking.
The metal tips. I could see them now. The hollow metal tip poised over the vein in my arm, waiting to be plunged in and dug about.
I hunched forward, my sweat-soaked back peeling away from the leather with a wet ‘slurp’ sound. Markman came over to me. She seemed pretty concerned. She’d better be concerned! She’s the one sending me into this panic attack.
I hunched over even further and threw up violently all over the carpet. Markman didn’t react very much. In fact she actually turned away and started mucking around with her blackberry.
I launched myself out of the chair, the vile taste of vomit and bile still in my mouth. I didn’t know what to do. It was like the whole ‘hand through window’ situation again. I didn’t think. And because I didn’t think I grabbed the nearest object I could find. It was an antique vase and it would smash into a hundred millions pieces. In one movement I could shatter $150,000 on the ground.
Markman stood perfectly still. I don’t think she wanted me to smash her $150,000 vase on the ground either.
“Before you destroy my things let me tell you one thing,” Markman said softly and evenly. “After what happened in the conference room in front of the Health Minister I feel I should warn you. You are this close,” she held up her fingers for me to see. Her thumb and index finger were formed to make an ‘O’. It was typical of what a parent would do to warn a misbehaving child. I squinted at her fingers and realised sickeningly that her two fingers were pressed tightly together. I had no more chances. I wasn’t close, I was there. “You are this close to Greenwood, Gerard. Please don’t take this as a threat, Gerard. This is the best warning I can give you. Be good.”
My stomach dropped and so did the vase. But instead of breaking it landed harmlessly on the carpet with a dull thump. My escorts had returned and took me, gently this time, by the arm and slowly began to lead me out. I twisted around to look at Markman. I didn’t understand. She couldn’t be serious. I couldn’t be close to going to Greenwood. Greenwood wasn’t the kind of place a guy like me goes. I looked back at her desperately, silently pleading. I just needed her to say it wasn’t true. I couldn’t leave here. I couldn’t go to Greenwood.
I hadn’t done anything wrong.
But everyone knew Greenwood was place for the insane. But not just the insane.
The criminally insane.
I haven’t done anything wrong.
***
I thought they were taking me back to solitary confinement but instead I was admitted into the infirmary. I had been here a few times, but I had never spent the night before. It was so peaceful. It was empty, for starters. I got to choose my own bed as well. It was nice to get that little bit of control back.
The nurse was a young man who looked to be fresh out of university. He was too cheerful but at least it meant he wasn’t a hardened old devil who followed the rules to the letter. He offered to bring me some food but I declined. I was still very nauseous and I made the mistake of looking around when I walked in. Who the hell puts syringes in glass cupboards for everyone to see?
I curled up into a ball under the heavy blankets, feeling sleepy but also wide awake. I hugged my V-Bag to my chest hoping I wouldn’t need it. I like that they classed it up a bit by calling it the V-Bag. Sounds much better than vomit bag, that’s for sure.
Then I made the mistake of thinking. I had avoided thinking about this one thing for so long. In fact, before, I actually lied when I said I thought every thought that could possibly be thought in solitary. I physically prevented myself from thinking about him.
When you’re stressed or sick you find you can go days without thinking of things. It’s another one of the human brain’s mysterious things. It’s a tad like how memories work. It’s why when people get stressed they forget simple things like basic hygiene or how to laugh. It’s the same if you’re ill. You forget your sister’s birthday or that the dog was due to be vaccinated. However, when you’re extremely bored things are a little different. I think I need to come up with a completely different concept on what happens when a person is extremely bored.
For a long time in solitary all I thought about was when I was going to get out of there. I thought about other things but they were all benign. It took all my brain power to keep Frank from being even a benign thought because it was more than possible for benign thoughts to take over and become the dominant thought. All it took was a little emotion.
Trust me; I have plenty of emotions that centre on Frank. I knew that once he was in my thoughts, he was impossible to remove.
Not long later, even though I had fought so hard not to, I fell asleep thinking about Frank.
***
I awoke the next morning after the first peaceful night of sleep I’d had in a long time. Well, it wasn’t exactly peaceful but it was deep. Even though my subconscious was flooded with thoughts of Frank, white walls, Michael and Greenwood I didn’t dream, which was brilliant. In other words, I slept like a log. Not that logs sleep or anything.
When I opened my eyes I saw the sun. I saw the early morning rays flooding in through the reinforced glass windows. I never thought I’d be happy to see the sun but I was. I really didn’t realise how much being in solitary affected me. Usually I don’t let these things affect me but this really did. I also never realised how much I needed the routine and regularity of my normal day.
I am never going to go through that door ever again.
The nurse came in and changed the dressing on my hand. No longer did I have my club hand. Now it was just a mummy hand. Once he was done he took me back to my regular room where I could get changed. He told me to make my way to breakfast when I was ready.
Oh jeez. Breakfast. Food. People. Routine.
I couldn’t get changed fast enough. I changed out of my solitary clothes. All they consisted of were long sleeved shirts and long pants. Oh and they were painfully white, did I mention that? In fact I think it’s fair enough to say they were unnaturally white. I suspect they overdid it on the bleach. I tossed them on the floor. I decided the cleaners could pick them up. I know that’s selfish but I am a selfish person.
I noticed Frank’s bed had been moved. I didn’t know whether to be upset or to get offended. I crouched down in the corner where his bed normally was and ran my finger across the floor. The dust I collected on my finger was at least a few weeks deep. He had been gone for a long time. They had either fixed his normal room, or he’d been transferred.
I prayed it wasn’t the latter. I don’t think I could handle that right now.
I needed to talk to him. I wanted to talk to him.
I think I missed him.
Which is weird because I’ve never missed anyone before.
I wandered into the cafeteria, hungry and forlorn. It was still pretty early so the room was fairly deserted. Ben and Zach were here and two other people I knew only by face.
Ben and Zach both looked at me when I entered. Zach nodded at me and Ben smiled. I nodded back but didn’t smile.
I don’t smile.
I smirk and sneer and sometimes grin. But I never smile.
We looked at each other for a moment then I broke eye contact. I walked slowly past them toward the counter. I grabbed a box of cereal and poured the contents into a bowl. I didn’t spill a flake. I am extremely precise when it comes to my cereal pouring. I poured the milk over the cereal and grabbed a spoon. Cornflakes took exactly three and a half minutes before they started getting soggy from the milk. But that’s pretty good for cereal.
On my way back past Ben and Zach’s table I stopped. There was someone sitting at my table. At my table.
How dare they.
I stalked over to the table and sat down, glaring furiously at this boy. I guessed he was 18 years old. Who does he think he is? Hasn’t someone told him that this was my table? MY TABLE!
I folded my arms, affixing him with a defiant angry stare. He seemed completely unperturbed and actually smiled at me.
I cringed. His teeth told me everything I needed to know. He had the teeth of a heavy smoker and a very heavy user. I glanced at his fingers. Nicotine stains littered them and his fingernails were practically dead.
He saw me looking at his fingers and graciously held them out for me so I could see them better. I raised an eyebrow in repulsive disbelief. He smiled again and held out a hand.
“I’m Bert,” he introduced.
“Why are you in here, Bert?” I replied listlessly not taking his hand.
A cheeky grin spread across his face and he leant in close. He beckoned for me to lean in. His eyes were so wide and bright I could have sworn he was high right now. Once we were conspiratorially close he laughed in my face. I flinched and was about to pull back when he spoke in a very strange voice.
“He’s a little bit like Godzilla. I call him Godzilla. But he’s scarier.” Bert was whispering urgently to me and twisting his hands together painfully.
I sat back. Looks like poor little Bert took some bad mushrooms. I know the first rule with taking mushrooms is to always have someone to with you when you come down. I’m guessing Bert overdosed on the Magic Mushrooms and had a spectacular hallucination about Godzilla like monsters coming to get him. When he came down, no one was there to tell him it wasn’t real so his brain still believes Godzilla is after him. It is extremely easy to manipulate the brain and trick it. I know.
“Hey, Bert, let’s make a deal,” I said encouragingly. He smiled again and nodded. I indicated to the table. “This is my table. Yes, my table. If you ever sit here again I’ll tell Godzilla where you are. Okay? That’s our deal. Keep away from the table and I won’t say a thing to Godzilla. Okay? Good.”
Bert’s smile faded and he looked positively terrified. He swallowed with a loud ‘gulp’ before nodding feverishly. He stood up and darted off, shooting me a scared look as he went.
Haha. Gosh I’m an ass. Haha, it was funny though.
“You’re an asshole.”
Normally when someone says that to me I don’t care. I laugh and agree. But when it was coming from Frank, it really hurt. I looked up at him standing on the opposite side of the table. His face was black. He slammed his tray down angrily on the table.
“Why did you say that to him? Did you think it was funny to terrify him? Are you on a power trip?” Frank glared accusingly at me.
For some reason I didn’t dare say I did it because he was sitting at my table. My heart ached. I didn’t want Frank to be angry with me.
“How dare you? Are you really this shallow? You are looking for a power trip, aren’t you? Is that the only reason you’re friends with me?” Frank was shaking but I couldn’t determine if it was from anger or fear or if he was about to burst into tears.
No, no, no. None of this was going right at all. Yes, I was on a little power trip. But it had nothing to do with Frank. This is a bad dream. Frank couldn’t be angry with me. Oh please don’t be angry with me.
Frank sat down and slid his tray out of the way. He leant forward across the table. I could see him clenching his teeth together. “You’re just friends with me because you know I would be easy, don’t you? You know I’m a weak little baby. I’m perfect for you and your big ego. You know I don’t fight. You know I gave up too soon. You know I’m so weak and pathetic that I didn’t even fight to the end. You know I gave up. That’s convenient for you, isn’t it? It’s so much easier when they don’t struggle. But that’s me. I barely even struggled at all. I just let them do what they want. You know it’ll be the same for you, don’t you? You know I’ll let you do what you want. I’m just a pitiful, useless little boy who didn’t fight and gave up way to easily.”
I felt like I was about to explode. I was. My body was going to explode. I would become pink mist and the little bits left of me would go flying all over the cafeteria. Little bits of Gerard would plaster the ceiling and cover the tables. But I knew one part wouldn’t be destroyed. The one part that triggered the explosion would survive. It will explode out with everything else. But it will stay intact. My heart will land in front of Frank. Frank stole my heart a long time ago when he first entered the TV room. I guess, when I explode, it’s only fair I give it to him.
Frank got up and went to sit next to Bert. I could see him comforting Bert, like they were really close friends. I hugged myself tightly. I so badly wanted to explode. How could Frank think of me like that? I would never, ever touch him or do anything like that to him. How could he possibly compare me to the two men who put him in here?
I picked up my spoon. My cornflakes were waterlogged. There were definitely no survivors. I guess three and a half minutes had passed.
I wish I could die like my cornflakes.
I wish I had a three and half minutes spoil time.
***
I moped around for the rest of the morning. Frank disappeared straight after breakfast and by the afternoon outside time he still hadn’t reappeared. I hoped he was okay.
Ben only had to ask me once to come outside today. I only went outside because I wondered if I could somehow contract poison oak and die from it. The sky was dark and threatening rain. It suited my morbid mood.
I wandered outside; Frank’s words constantly running back over themselves in my head. Surely he didn’t think of me like that? I thought about apologising to Bert but talked myself out of it. It wasn’t about Bert. Yes, it was mean to say that to him but what’s done is done. The poor kid is on a constant trip, there’s not much I can say to comfort him.
Why does no one ever tell me everything? I knew there was something more to what Frank said. I knew what he said couldn’t have been triggered by me being mean to Bert. I’m mean to everyone. I’ve been mean to Ray around Frank and he’s never batted an eyelid. Something had upset Frank. I didn’t want him to be upset. I wanted him to happy.
I am ashamed to say I have never been outside before. I don’t know why. That’s what’s so sad. I don’t know. I know so many things, but I couldn’t tell myself this one simple thing. It was like a large courtyard. To one side was half a basketball court paved with rubber. The lines had long since faded from use. I didn’t know how to play basketball. Again, another thing I don’t know. I walked off the paved area and onto the grass. The rest of the courtyard was covered in soft, green grass. I guessed it hadn’t snowed in a while because the grass was quite lush and overgrown in some areas.
I sat down in a particularly overgrown patch of grass against the fence. It was less of a fence and more of a wall. They disguised a wall as a fence. They are pretty damn good at disguising this prison. Just because there are no bars on the windows doesn’t mean I’m not onto them. I ran my fingers along the wall, carefully feeling the surface. It was smooth and even my extra sensitive fingers couldn’t find many blemishes in the surface.
My attention was suddenly grabbed by an argument taking place just by the door. Magda, the slightly overweight nurse was attempting to deny Bob his bandaids. From what I could gather, she refused to give him the second packet.
I knew she couldn’t stand up against Bob for long. He’s so fucking charismatic and persuasive. He could sell condoms to the Pope. Hell, he could even persuade the Pope to turn gay.
Sure enough, a moment later Bob was walking breezily toward the recently severed tree stump in the corner of the yard, behind the basketball court. I got up and followed him. He approached the stump and knelt down next to it. He started talking but because he was facing away from me I couldn’t hear his words. I moved closer.
“Hello, Gerard,” he said kindly.
“Hello, Bob,” I replied awkwardly.
“They cut this tree down because of you,” he said opening the first packet of bandaids. When I didn’t reply he turned around and sat back on his heels. He knew I had no idea what he was talking about. “When you disappeared Ray told everyone you escaped.”
My jaw dropped in disbelief.
Bob nodded sadly and continued, “Ray said you climbed this tree and escaped over the wall. The next day they chopped it down. They didn’t want to give anyone else any ideas.”
“I didn’t escape,” I objected.
“Of course you didn’t. This is Ray were talking about, remember? But either way, Percy’s life is slowly ebbing away. I’m just trying to make it little easier for him.”
Bob turned away and ran his fingers over the wood. I couldn’t help myself. “Who’s Percy?”
Bob patted the tree stump. “This is Percy. Or what’s left of him.”
I could’ve walked away then, shaking my head and wondering why I was stuck in this place with these people. But I stopped when I remembered Frank’s black look. Maybe it was time I stopped being such an ass to people.
I knelt down next to Bob and gently laid my hand on Percy. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know whether to direct my apology at Bob or Percy so I settled for saying it to both.
Bob nodded approvingly and handed me a box of bandaids. I grinned when I saw the little cartoon images of Mr Bean on the plasters. I glanced at Bob’s box. He had cats.
Bob took a good look around checking if the coast was clear. “I bought extra supplies today,” he whispered and pulled tube of antiseptic cream from his jacket pocket. He smiled at me and popped the lid. He squeezed a little bit onto his finger and applied it to the severed surface of the tree. I ripped a plaster open and carefully placed it over the area where Bob had rubbed the cream. Bob nodded approvingly and moved on to the next spot.
“He was so sad.”
My head snapped up and I stared at Bob in astonishment. “Frank?”
“They wouldn’t tell him where you were. All he had was Ray and his predictions. Before Ray decided you had escaped he told Frank you had been transferred. When you didn’t come back by the end of the week, that’s what everyone believed. He was so angry at you for abandoning him. You were gone for a long time, Gerard. He got angry at you this morning because when he is really, really sad, he gets angry.”
My heart gave a qualm. “But I was back, shouldn’t he be happy?”
Bob pursed his lips. “I barely know Frank. Maybe you should ask him?”
“He hates me now.”
Bob raised his eyebrows and then rolled his eyes. “He’s been looking over here at you for the past ten minutes. I don’t think he hates you.”
I looked around earnestly and saw Frank sitting on the edge of the paved area fiddling with a blade of grass. I saw his head start to move, as if he was about to glance up and I hastily averted my eyes. I started to sweat but didn’t know if it was from nervousness or anticipation.
Bob’s gentle voice pierced through my daze. “Get you fucking foot off the flower, she’s driving me insane.”
I took a fleeting look down at my feet and was surprised to see a yellow flower squashed under my left shoe. I guiltily removed my foot.
“Just stick a plaster around her middle. Shut her up.”
I stared at Bob in shock. He handed me one of his cat bandaids. I had used all my Mr Bean plasters on Percy. In a daze I wrapped the plaster around the flower’s middle. Bob smiled at me again. “Yes, Gerard, I hear voices, but I’m not crazy. I hear the voices of nature. I hear the flowers, the grass, the leaves, the trees...everything. It’s a gift. I love my gift. However, flowers are annoying. They think because they’re the prettiest aspect of nature they’re the best. They’re all girls,” he added exasperated.
I stood up unsure of whether to go over to Frank or to let him come to me. If I went to Frank he could get angry at me again. That really wouldn’t be good. No, no, not good at all. I started to walk back to my spot in the overgrown grass by the fence.
“Gerard?” Bob called.
“Yeah?”
“Tread lighter on the grass.”
A huge grin spread across my face. I decided it was much nicer to NOT be an asshole to everyone. You learn something new every day. Who would’ve thought that nature had a voice? As I thought about it I tried to set my feet down with a little less force.
“Gerard?” Frank addressed me urgently.
I was determined to get in first. I spun around all thoughts of grass welfare gone from my head. “Frank,” I said firmly. “I want you to know I would never, ever touch you or do anything like that to you. I –.”
“ I know,” Frank whispered wretchedly. “I didn’t mean it. I thought you were gone. It was all building up inside and I was angry. I didn’t mean it,” he repeated his lip quavering.
“I believe you.” Even though I had been angsting over it all day I knew it would all be resolved.
I hoped it would all be resolved.
“I know you would never do anything like that. You’re good. You’re so good to me. Good man. Good person.”
Frank was speaking fast and feverishly and breathing heavily. I led him over to the privacy of the fence. It was deserted on this side of the courtyard. Everyone was playing basketball, it looked like. Something was wrong with Frank. I had sensed it this morning. Something was eating him up inside.
“Frank, what’s wrong?”
Once I spoke those words Frank looked so relieved my heart pained for him.
“Promise me.”
“Promise you what?”
“Promise me you will never tell anyone? You can’t tell anyone. No one. You can’t write it down anywhere. You can’t speak it. You can’t tell another living soul. Including Markman. You can’t tell her. You have to promise me you will die before you tell her this. Promise me, Gerard? Promise. Please promise me.”
My stomach leapt up into my throat.
“Is it something really bad? Frank? Why can’t you tell this to Markman? Is it about her?”
“Promise me, Gerard!” Frank cried. “You can’t tell Markman! If you tell her, she will tell my parents. And if my father ever finds this out it will just confirm everything he’s ever said about me. Okay? If he finds out, it’ll be my fault. Please promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
Frank couldn’t have sounded more hopeless or desperate. I nodded. “I promise.”
Frank nodded and paused to inhale deeply. He rubbed his eyes furiously. “It’s bad, Gerard. I don’t know what to do. It’s a sin. But I know you won’t judge me. You won’t judge me?”
“I won’t judge you,” I confirmed sitting forward on my knees and locking eyes with Frank. He was kneeling opposite me, our knees centimetres apart.
He nodded and kept swallowing. He reached up to tug on his hair. “It’s bad,” he wailed.
“Tell me,” I urged. I wanted nothing more than to envelop him in my arms and hug him tightly. I just wanted to hold him so close and tell him he was safe. I just wanted to protect him.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t think. It doesn’t make it alright, does it?” he pleaded.
“Tell me!” I was practically begging now. I just wanted to put Frank out of his misery.
“It’s bad,” he said again nodding wildly.
“Nothing’s so bad that you can’t talk about it.”
“I – I – I – I – I –I....” he stuttered. “I – I think....” He paused to gaze in my eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Gerard. But, I think, I think....”
The silence was so painful and distressing. I really think I am going to explode. Any second now. Pink mist coming up.
“I think I’m gay,” he blurted out. He downcast his eyes, ashamed.
I started and let the news sink in. I thought back to what he had said at the beginning.
And if my father ever finds this out it will just confirm everything he’s ever said about me. Okay? If he finds out, it’ll be my fault.
Oh my god. Frank believed that being gay meant rape suddenly became alright. If his father found out he was gay he would blame Frank and claim Frank was asking for it. Nobody thinks men can be raped. If I ever meet either of those men I will fucking kill them. I swear.
I was still staring deeply at Frank and he suddenly jerked his head back up. His eyes were swimming with tears. It was my turn to take deep breaths. I slowly reached out and gently set my fingertips down on Frank’s knees. He didn’t react at all.
I took a moment to think before I spoke. “I guess,” I said slowly speaking to Frank’s knees. “I guess we get to go to Hell together then.” I let my eyes roam upwards again.
Frank’s mouth fell open slightly but he quickly shut it. He shut his eyes for a second to compose himself and I took the opportunity to keep talking.
“But, Frank, it’s not a sin. It’s not bad. And it never makes it alright.”
Frank’s eyes snapped open and for a moment I was stunned. The look in his eyes was complete and utter relief. It was as though he had finally had a chance to give himself the reprieve he so desperately needed. We stared at each other for a very long minute and I felt his gaze slice through me. It pierced straight through the wall I had spent so many years building around myself. He stared straight into my very soul.
Now normally I’m not the kind of person to believe that ‘your eyes are the window to your soul’, or any other bullshit like that. But right now, it didn’t seem like bullshit. In fact whoever discovered that was a fucking genius. He must’ve been pretty fucked up too. But that’s okay. Sometimes it’s okay to be fucked up.
A moment later, as if on cue, the skies opened and the rain started to fall. I guess even the clouds have tears they can’t hold back.
