Call Me Crazy (7 page)

She glances over to me and gives me a small smile. Her eyes are clearer than they were the last time I saw her and that is a good sign. I take the seat across from her
and look out the window. I wait, letting her decide if she wants to talk. She is usually more apt to open up if I give her time to gather her thoughts instead of bombarding her with my own. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, the sound reminding me of a deflating balloon. Maybe it isn’t as good of a day as I thought.

“Bly tells me you got a job,” she finally says.

I nod. “Yeah, out at a ranch. I’ll be mending fences, cleaning horse stalls, that kind of thing.”

She reaches over and pats my leg. “You have always been so responsible, more than you should have to be.”

I cover her hand with mine before she can remove it. The touch brings back childhood memories of a time when it was more common for her to pat me, or hug me; a time when my mom took care of me and not the other way around. I push the memories away, refusing to let them get me down.

“I’m doing fine mom, it’s good for me to work. It keeps me out of trouble.”

She smiles at me and it’s one of her real smiles, one of the ones that lights up her face and I can see the beauty that she once was. “You wouldn’t know how to get into trouble, even if it chased you like a demon and beat you over the head.”

I laugh. She is right. I’d never had the urge to be wild, or rebellious. It was never appealing to me to drink and be out of control or date random girls and use them as many guys I knew did. What was the point? Where would the fulfillment in that be? I wanted more out of life. I wanted to really live, to experience things that alcohol and random lovers couldn’t give me. My grandmother says that I have an old soul and that is why I long for things that most guys my age
do not. I don’t know if she’s right, but I do know that there are times when I wonder if I had ever been a kid because I had never felt like one.

“How are you mom?” I finally ask. My hand still covers her own on my knee and I feel her grip tighten.

“Today is better than yesterday and the doctor thinks the meds they have started me on are going to be a good fit.”

“That’s good news,” I tell her with a reassuring smile.

She nods and slips her hand out from under mine.

“I think I’m going to go lie down now. Dr. Stacey has said that initially the medicine will make me tired, so usually I have been taking a nap about this time.”

I help her stand and walk with her back to her room. It’s small, square, and has a simple twin bed with a grey blanket. The walls are a light tan, I think in an attempt to make it feel less clinical. There is a sink across from the bed and a small dresser next to it. There is no mirror, and I notice that the bed is bolted to the floor as is the dresser. Apparently MPF takes no chances to ensure that a patient will not be able to use anything in their room to harm themselves.

“Thank you for coming today, Trey,” she turns and hugs me quickly. Her hugs are always quick as if she can’t stand the physical contact. I stopped being offended by it once I realized that I wasn’t the only one she refrained from hugging.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay,” I tell her as I step back and watch as she nods and then closes the door.

I don’t know how long I stand there staring blankly at the door. Part of me wants to go back in, pick my frail mother up and take her home where she can be surrounded by her family, but the rational part of me knows that is not what is best.

As I finally turn to go I feel a slight tingling on my neck, the kind a person gets when he knows he is being watched. I slowly turn my head, attempting not to alarm my admirer. Just as I make a full one eighty, I see pink hair darting around the corner. I grin to myself; apparently I’m not the only one who is curious.

“I find myself replaying the scene over and over in my mind. Fi
rst I bump into him, then I realize who it is and my mind seems to lose all rational thought as I imagine flinging myself into his arms. Then I have the intense desire to crawl into a hole, worried that he is able to see the freakish obsession I already have with him.”

~Tally

Candy and I sit at our usual spot, poking at the stuff on our plates that they attempt to convince us is food. I’m almost convinced that at any moment it’s going to grow legs and walk off my plate, all the while giving me the finger for even attempting to eat it. After my hasty retreat from our encounter with Trey I had been subjected to Candy’s endless sexual commentary on my future relationship with said guy. The most important thing to know about Candy is the more annoyed you get with her antics, the more she will provoke you. So naturally I did the responsible thing and ignored her―not. No, instead I had a perpetual shade of red coloring my face, complete with burning ears, which only served to encourage her more. I will admit that, though it was quite embarrassing to listen to an old, crazy lady divvy out details that I did not need, it was educational. But there was no way in hell that I was confessing that to her.

“All I’m saying is that if you were ever going to experiment and explore your feminine wiles, he is the piece of meat you should gnaw on.”

Her words hit my ears as I’m taking a drink of water and I choke trying not to spew it from my nose. This is what I’ve been dealing with all day. You would think that I would know better than to try and eat or drink while she was on a roll.

“I think you have scarred me for life,” I say, nodding my head vigorously. “Yep, uh-huh, I’m pretty sure that I will never be able to look at you in the same light again, and there is a strong possibility that I will never be able to have a normal relationship and will become and old spinster reading trashy novels to get my kicks.”

Candy freezes in mid bite, her fork stopping just in front of her lips. She stares at me briefly and then erupts into robust laughter. I frown at her as I try to figure out how my words could possibly be
that
funny.

She sets her fork down and wipes the tears from her eyes that the laughter has evoked.

“Oh honey, if you think I get my kicks from trashy novels then I have not given you near enough education today.”

I groan and slam my head down on the table. Encouraging her was so not what I was going for.

“Is there even the slightest chance that you might possibly refrain from attempting to sexually enlighten me for the rest of the night?” My words come out muffled because my head is still pressed to the cold table top. I refuse to look up at her and give her any more ammunition, be it shocked eyes or flaming red skin.

“Fine, I’ll give you a reprieve,” she grumbles.

I let out a sigh of relief, thankful, no matter how fleeting it may be, that she has waved the white flag of peace.

“So, are the ‘rents visiting any time soon? I have new material I want to use on them,” Candy grins shamelessly.

“Okay first off, where on earth did you learn to speak like that, and second, I don’t think you need to subject my parents to any more of your
material
. They are still recovering from their last run in with you.”

Candy purses her lips at me and she lets out an annoyed laugh. “Why do you always feel the need to make lists of your questions and comments?”

I blow air out of my mouth making my cheeks puff out and fanning the wispy hairs around my face.

“It keeps things concise,” I explain, then growl as I realize that she has totally turned the tables on me. “Your turn.”

“I watch
My So Called Life
, even though it’s over a decade old, it’s still very relevant,” she tells me with a shrug.

“Great,” I say rolling my eyes. “Just what we need is you watching a show about a messed up teenager hell bent on drinking herself into oblivion
, in an attempt to fit in, while constantly trying to sleep with the elusive guy who continually treats her like crap.”

“Oh, good, so you’ve watched it.”

Once again I have successfully backed myself into a corner. I stand and pick up my tray as I shake my head at my own nonsense. Only I could act indignant to a crazy lady who watches a teen show that I have indeed seen every episode of.

“Wait!” Candy yells behind me as I hear her chair scrape against the floor in her haste to follow me. “I haven’t told you what my new material is.”

I look back over my shoulder as I dump the untouched contents of my tray into the trash. Candy’s eyes sparkle and her lips turn up in amusement, at herself no doubt.

“Though I am dying to know what embarrassing things you plan to impart on my parents, maybe we should just cut our losses for the day.”

Candy knocks her tray against the trash can clearing off any remnants of dinner and carelessly tosses it on the already too full tray cart. “I was going to tell them to stop being insufferable asses.”

“Well in that case,” I bow dramatically, “impart away my roguish partner in crime.”

“You better remember you said that when your mom has her panties in a wad and your dad’s face is turning eggplant purple from his need to blow a gasket.”

~

There’s no moon out tonight. No soft beam of light penetrating my window and illuminating my tiny cell. That’s why it’s quiet, I remind myself as I stare out of the glass into the dark night. Dr. Stacey has talked with me about the moon and how it affects mental disorders, the pull of it and the chaos that can result from it. At first I thought she was feeding me some major BS, but after being here for over two months and seeing the difference in the patients, feeling the difference in myself during the full moon, I now know she was telling the truth.

On the night of a full moon it is anything but quiet here. The unadorned hallways that gleam with the reflection of harsh florescent lights are full of pacing bodies. Like deranged zombies they pace and I wonder if at any moment they are going to begin tearing into one another, ripping flesh from bone. Dressed in the signature light green scrubs that compliment no one and wash out every complexion, most mumble incoherently while others cry out, seemingly lost in their own private anguish. The usual number of nurses on duty is doubled and syringes are filled and ready with a sedation drug for those who lose control. I pace those nights as well, only not out in the open with all the others. I pace silently in my room as my mind fills with disarray. My skin feels too tight and I tingle all over with a sensation of ants crawling across my flesh. I scratch my arms and legs until I bleed and though I tell myself that I will be okay, I have this overwhelming sense of doom as the room closes in on me and the air grows thick.

The memories fade as I feel my body respond to them. My breathing was shallow and the world around
me suddenly felt small. I move slowly to my bed and lay down. My body is as rigid as a board and when I blink it feels like sandpaper is glued to the inside of my lids scratching my eyes each time they close and open.

This is the hard part. I never know when times like this will hit. I can be floating along having a pretty decent day and then like a bolt of lightning the world around me lights up and then plunges into darkness. It’s not as bad as it had been before the medication, but it was still too much.

“Keep breathing Tally, just keep breathing,” I mutter to myself over and over. It has become my mantra after my first panic attack while at Mercy. I had passed out because I had literally stopped breathing.

Now here I lay, struggling again to keep air moving in and out of my body, wondering how on earth I’m going to make it to morning. I search through the anarchy in my brain, seeking out a positive thought to grab onto, a life raft to keep me a float and finally I see it. Rather, I see
him
. Trey, his firm jaw, straight nose, high cheek bones and eyes that really see me. Gradually my lungs open up and cool, refreshing air rushes in. My back leaves the mattresses briefly as I gasp like a corpse coming to life. I want to question how the mere thought of a guy I just met could possibly bring me down from a rapidly brewing panic attack, but as confusing as it is, it’s too precious of a gift to waste on wondering. So instead I close my eyes, shutting out the night around me and allow myself to dream of possibilities.

~

Morning comes much too soon, although I imagine I only feel that way because of the dreams that I had last night. Never have I wanted to stay asleep so badly, to stay in the world my mind had created, uncaring that it isn’t real. Instead, I’m sitting here in my group therapy session listening to Paranoid Pete, Candy’s nickname, tell us about how certain he is that the government has put a bug in his room. He is convinced that ‘they’ are watching and listening to him. When patients say things like that, I realize why Candy always skips group. If she were sitting here right now, she would have Pete clawing at his own skin, convinced that a beetle like creature has been implanted in his body, administered of course, by a top secret department of the United States government because they know he was abducted by aliens and they want to make sure that he hasn’t been impregnated by one. And, unfortunately
, as hilarious as that would be, poor Pete would probably never recover. Very few do after an encounter with the disastrous storm that is Candy Bush.