“Really?”
“Yeah. And you got a little better, but you had lots of moments like that.”
We sit in silence for a bit until I ask, “When did I quit taking my meds?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been telling you to quit for a few days, but yesterday it seemed like maybe I got through to you. I’d bet a million to one that that’s why you’re talking now. Full sentences.”
“But why can’t I remember anything?”
“I wish I could tell you. You know what, though? Maybe if you stay off that shit, it’ll come back to you.”
A patient shuffles past us and Joe and I merely look out the windows for a time. I don’t even have to ask to know that these windows are probably impossible to break. It wouldn’t make sense to put mental patients on a floor this high otherwise.
Once the fellow patient gets out of earshot, I ask, “So tell me how I can get away with not taking my meds again.”
“You know how the med nurse comes to your room with that cart and hands you a little cup with your pills?” I nod, but no, I don’t really know. I can’t remember how it works, but I can imagine it. “You pop them in your mouth like you’re taking them, but while your head’s back, you shove them in between your teeth and cheek with your tongue.” Lowering his voice, he says, “Like this,” and proceeds to demonstrate. “As long as you don’t have anything too big, it’ll work.” I nod my head, gazing into his beautiful blue eyes. “You don’t, do you?”
“Don’t what?”
“Take any huge pills?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“You must not. I’m sure you pulled it off. Why else would you all of a sudden be alert?”
God, how bad had I been before? Was it really just all the medication making me out of it? Is it simply remedied by not taking it anymore?
But why is my memory completely gone?
His words interrupt my thoughts. “If they think you’re not taking your meds, they’ll make you stick your tongue out to make sure you’ve swallowed them. What did you do with the ones you weren’t taking?”
I shrug, because it’s like he hasn’t been listening to me. “I’m telling you I don’t remember anything.”
“Shh. You don’t want anyone to hear that.” He looks around, almost paranoid, reminding me that we are in a mental hospital, and I wonder if he’s got heightened paranoia issues. Maybe that’s what’s going on with him—but what about me? He asks, “Nothing?”
“Nothing. There is literally nothing I can remember.”
“That sucks. I guess in some ways that might not be bad. Do you think maybe you’re blocking out some horrible memories?”
That thought hasn’t occurred to me. “Maybe.” I don’t like that idea at all, but it is definitely possible. What the hell kind of pictures are trapped behind the curtain in my mind?
Almost whispering, he continues talking, but he’s looking out the window. “You have to figure out a way to dispose of your meds. If they find them, then they’ll know you haven’t been taking them.”
“What about the ones I didn’t take already?”
“If it was me, I’d look all through my room. See if you hid them somewhere in there.”
“What are you doing with yours?”
“I work out a little of the hem on the bottom of my shirt.” He lifts his t-shirt and shows me how he’s managed to separate the threads. “Then I slide them in there. When I go to the bathroom in the morning, I flush them down the toilet.”
“Do you have someone watching you, taking you everywhere?”
“You mean like Rose does with you?” I nod my head and he continues. “No. But I don’t seem as helpless as you.”
“Helpless?”
“Anna, with the exception of today, you’ve been…what’s that word they use? Catatonic. The only time you seemed to even care about anything was when I’d talk to you. Even when you didn’t say a lot, your eyes told me you were listening.”
An idea shoots itself through my brain, making me shiver with realization. “They’re going to be able to figure out I’m not taking my meds if I’m that much different now. I don’t even know how to act like I was before.”
Slowly, he nods, clenching his jaw. Finally, he says, “Just don’t talk to anybody. Or, if you do, give ‘em one-word answers. And when a tech or a nurse is around, just stare off into space.”
“Do you know if I ever have sessions with a psychiatrist or something?”
“I don’t know. You do have group once a week.”
“Group?”
“Yeah, we all have different sessions, but you and me are in the same one. It’s on Wednesdays.”
“And I never said anything?”
“No, not really. There was one time. You’d been here for a couple of months but you hadn’t been to a group session yet, at least not that I knew of. They had you doing ECT and some other stuff first. You were in group, and you were trying to say something.”
This is a window to my past. “What did I say?”
“Jesus. I can’t remember. That feels like forever ago.” But I can tell he’s not done talking. Instead, he’s probing his brain. “You said something about cattle.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Cattle. Cows. That’s all I can remember.”
I have no idea why I would have said anything about cows, but I hope to find out sometime.
About this time, Rose walks by, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Doing okay, Anna?” I consider smiling but realize, based on Joe’s description of my former self, that it might be a bad idea, so I merely make eye contact and give her a short nod. The way she looks at me with a warm, sweet smile tells me she’s bought it. Then she looks at Joe. “What about you, Joe? Doing all right?”
“Yup. Better than a man deserves.”
Somehow, I doubt that.
3
Joe is now in some therapy session, leaving me alone with my thoughts. They’re cyclical, though, my thoughts, continuing to revolve around the one question I can’t answer—and if I wasn’t crazy before I entered this joint, I will most certainly drive myself there.
There are no answers in my head, nor will there be.
Which means I need to look outside myself.
I decide to explore my limited world. I realize before I start wandering around that even doing that I might give myself away, based on how Joe said I was a ”zombie” before, but I can’t just sit here acting catatonic while my brain is in a frenzy. I have to do something. Anything.
When I get up from the chair where I was sitting, I decide to stare toward the ground as I walk so I won’t accidentally make eye contact with anyone on accident. There will come a point where I’ll want to study people as well but, for now, I want to keep my head low. And even though it will drive me crazy, I need to move slowly. Based on reactions around me, I’ll adjust my behaviors as needed.
I haven’t seen the rec room yet, but I know it’s next to this living room area, so I begin shuffling in that direction.