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Adriana had suffered a lot of guilt for the words she's said to her sister that day. She figured that if someone made a cartoon of their lives, she would be the villain, the crazy cat to Beth's traumatized Tweety bird. It occurred to her what a sorry band of characters they made in real life—her father, agitated and bedraggled, as though he'd just got out of bed after a bad dream, and Beth, pale and shocked-looking. Then there was herself, a mental patient. The three of them, alone in the world.

Her father sat down on the edge of the bed and let Beth sit on the chair. She stayed as far away from Adriana as she could. Mr. Song decided not to comment on the hyperventilating—it was too much for him to broach the subject—and instead handed Adriana a note. “It's from Jazz,” he said. Adriana fingered it tentatively, then put it down. “I'll read it later,” she said. Meaning, she would read it in private, without the eyes of her family on her.

Mr. Song looked at Adriana's shoes by the locker. They were a worn pair of sneakers, no particular brand, that looked out of place on the dully waxed floor. Adriana cleared her throat. “The doctor is going to start me on medication,” she said. Mr. Song looked up at the wall, his forehead wrinkled. “It's an antidepressant,” she said. “I forget which.” Mr. Song nodded. Beth tugged at a strand of hair, chewing the ends. She reminded Adriana of a terrier.

Mr. Song looked like he was trying to make a decision. “Your mother was depressed once,” he finally said. “In fact, she was a patient in this hospital, once, many years ago. Adriana stared at him. Beth still had a glazed look. Mr. Song gazed down at his hands. “When you were born, Adriana. Your mother had postpartum depression and checked herself in here for a week. She was just—she just couldn't cope.”

Adriana pictured her mother, long haired and almost as young as she was now, wandering the corridors of this hospital in a johnny shirt. Smoking distractedly, trembling with agitation, she didn't talk to the other patients, but paced the halls until she was exhausted. She didn't belong here, she wasn't like the rest of these people. Her father continued, “After a week she packed her bags and told the hospital she was going home. No one tried to stop her from calling a cab. When she came home she found me in the kitchen—I was testing the temperature of a bottle of milk on my wrist, with you in one arm, wriggling and red. I was so relieved to see her.” Adriana nodded. She imagined her mother kissing her father hard on the cheek and taking the baby from him, the baby who looked up at her with dark, unseeing eyes. Humming a Slovak folk song, she sat down and looked at her husband. “Thank you,” she said. Mr. Song nodded, eyes damp with relief.

Mr. Song was listening, as though Adriana had just told him the story. “Your mother was glad to come home. She was glad to hold you and take care of you,” he said. Adriana didn't know how she knew, but she knew her father spoke the truth. At the bottom of her mother's anger there was something—a hurt of her own, a tender place protected by a thicket of thorns.

Mr. Song looked sad. “Your mother never took medication . When she left the hospital, she was done with all that.” He shook his head. Adriana didn't know whether he was shaking his head to say “No, don't take medication” or “No, don't do as your mother did.” Mr. Song continued. “She struggled, Adriana. She didn't have an easy life.” Adriana looked down. In her head, Adriana's mother stared at her, her eyes grey as stone.

Beth looked like she was going to fall asleep in her chair. Adriana didn't know how that was possible, after the revelation about their mother, but she realized that for Beth, who had just lost Aunt Penny, it was merely a story about someone she didn't know. Mr. Song rubbed a hand over his face. “I think, if the medication works, take it,” he said. Adriana nodded. It had never occurred to her that her mother had been depressed. The thought was like a lead weight.

Beth began to whimper. Adriana felt a pang of sadness for her sister, lost as a bird in a church. Adriana held out an origami crane to her, its wings slightly crumpled. Beth took it but continued sobbing quietly, knees curled up to her chin on the chair. Mr. Song looked sad too. He shook his head at Adriana, as if to say, I don't know what to do. Adriana went to Beth and put her arms around her, awkwardly. She didn't feel she had the strength to do more than that.

Mr. Song stroked his chin as he always did when he was nervous or sad, as if the goatee he'd worn when he was younger still sprouted there. Adriana could hear him thinking, this is my family, this is all that is left of my family—one sobbing girl and the other mentally ill. He shook his head again then stood up. “I… I'll be back soon,” he said.

Adriana, at a loss for what to do, began patting Beth on the back, like she was burping a baby. Beth eventually stopped crying and lay in the chair, legs stretched out, snot running from her nose. Adriana got the sense that she didn't care, that she'd given up, exhausted. “I hate it here,” Beth said, in a calm, almost matter-of-fact voice. Adriana didn't know if she meant she hated the hospital, the town of Dartmouth or life on earth.

Adriana handed her sister a Kleenex. Beth sat up in the chair and wiped her nose. She had cried as much as she could, Adriana thought, and now she was sick of crying. Adriana was sick too, sick of being sick. She sat back down on the bed, exhausted.

Beth was staring at her. Adriana smiled, weak and apologetic. “I know, I look like Aunt Penny, don't I?” she offered. Beth nodded. “And you look like my—like our mother.” Beth looked up at her, wide-eyed. Adriana could hear the abacus in Beth's brain, ticking over.

There was a soft knock on the door. Mr. Song entered, holding a tray of Styrofoam cups and cookies in individual paper bags. He sat down on the edge of Adriana's bed, handing her a coffee and a hot chocolate to Beth. They ate and drank, quietly, thinking their own thoughts. Mr. Song smiled, sad but satisfied that he had provided them with a meal that was more than tears.

After Beth and Mr. Song had gone home, Adriana sat back in bed, unfolding the note from Jazz. She was unsure of what to expect, so she prepared for the worst. If Jazz knew she'd attempted suicide, Adriana was pretty sure she'd be angry and upset. But it might be that Jazz only knew that she's ended up in the mental hospital because she was depressed.

The note was written on onion skin paper, as though it were an airmail letter. Adriana held it up to the window, and it glowed in the sunlight.
Hi Adriana
, it began,
I miss you, but I don't want to come to the hospital. You know I hate hospitals worse than fleas, dog dirt, and Oil of Olay mixed together. Please don't hold it against me.
Adriana couldn't blame Jazz. It wasn't exactly a laugh and a half in there, and Jazz wouldn't set foot in any hospital, anyway. Even when Jazz's grandfather was dying of cancer, she'd refused to go to his bedside; it was easier for her to go to the funeral, to view his corpse

I hope you feel better soon. I haven't been able to call. I've been busy is all.

Adriana knew Jazz would have called if she felt she had something to say—and she didn't blame her friend for not knowing what to say to her. Adriana wasn't sure she'd know what to say to Jazz either. She'd avoided calling her because she didn't know how to tell Jazz she'd tried to die by taking an overdose. The fact which loomed large between them, blocking the sunlight. Adriana was sure Jazz would be angry enough to kill her, if she knew.

She could picture Jazz, sitting at the kitchen table, gripping the phone in one hand and rubbing her brow with the other, as though she had a headache. Adriana felt her own forehead tense with the thought of having that conversation . Still, Adriana could have used the company, even just over the phone. She realized she felt like she was in a foreign country, one where she had no friends.

Adriana felt guilty about that thought. The other patients were as friendly as they could be given their situation. She let a curtain of hair fall over her face and her hands go limp.

The door to her bedroom opened a bit. Adriana looked up. It was Jeff, his eyes seriously dark. He slipped into her room and closed the door, putting a finger to his lips. Adriana felt a smattering of panic. What was he going to do to her?

Jeff whispered. “We're safe here. There's a layer of lead under the ceiling and walls which keep out the x-rays,” he said. Noticing Adriana looked unconvinced, he scratched the wall paint slightly. “Look,” he said. Sure enough the scratch revealed a dark grey colour, but Adriana didn't think it was lead. “This is the room where President Clinton stayed when the G8 summit happened in Halifax,” Jeff continued. I doubt that, Adriana thought to herself, trying to keep her panic at bay. “He had women come to stay with him. It was like one big brothel,” Jeff said, and his voice took on a hard edge. Adriana looked at him carefully.

“He was a fucking joke,” Jeff said. “But he was safe here.” Jeff sat down on the chair near the door. He looked exhausted. Adriana felt herself trembling. There was no way she could get out of the room without him stopping her.

Jeff's skin looked grey and his eyes glittered. In this moment he looked like an old man, but Adriana estimated he was about her age.

“Wanna play cards?” he asked, taking a packet from his jean pocket. Adriana wasn't sure what to answer, so she shrugged. “I know an Italian game,” he said, coming to sit on the edge of her bed.

He began dealing out cards and creating piles, all the while explaining the rules. Adriana couldn't follow them and her hands shook. Then there was a knock on the door and Fiona's head appeared in the doorway. Jeff jumped up scattering cards everywhere and put his hands on his head as if to shield it from something—radiation? Adriana wondered.

Fiona smiled, her eyes glancing from Adriana to Jeff. “You guys are playing cards?” Jeff nodded, but Adriana discretely shook her head no.

Fiona got the message. “Jeff I think Adriana is pretty tired. Maybe you could play cards tomorrow?”

Jeff said nothing but scrambled to gather all the cards and put them in their plastic bag. Fiona stood in the doorway until Jeff left, then sat down in the chair near the door. “Jeff likes his card games,” Fiona said, winking at Adriana. “He'll play anybody, whether they're sick or asleep.” Adriana smiled weakly. “You've got some new meds tonight,” Fiona told her. “Are you nervous?”

Adriana wasn't sure what to say. She was more anxious about the thought of the medication that someone was putting in her food than the official stuff. Fiona squinted at her. “What's wrong, hon?” She asked. Adriana put her face in her hands. Fiona, looking worried, came to sit at the foot of the bed.

“It's alright, you can tell me sweetie.”

Adriana thought of mentioning to Fiona about the drugs in her food, but instead she said, “Jeff is afraid of the weather. He was watching the Weather Network, and he's frightened.” Fiona squinted at her. “Don't worry about Jeff, darling. We're looking after him Are you sure there isn't anything else bothering you?”

Adriana wanted to shout and cry and throw things, but that was not the way she'd been brought up. In her family, it was her mother who was the angry and impassioned one and Adriana was the dutiful daughter. She shook her head at Fiona and rolled over, her face to the wall. Fiona got the message. “Alright, hon, I'll leave you be. But if you ever want to talk you know where to find me.” Fiona closed the door behind her.

Adriana felt lonely, as soon as she was gone. Her room seemed small and cramped and claustrophobic, its dull colours filling her with dread and loathing. She wished there was something beyond the four walls of this room to look forward to but, out there on the unit, it was just one sick person after another, one screwed up human being after another.

Adriana closed her eyes and slept. In her dreams, she got out of bed and somehow all her molecules dispersed and she filtered through the window like sunlight. Outside, she floated into the lone tree that stood on the north end of the hospital grounds, near the swing set. She hid in that tree, branches sticking through her, as though she were a cloud. Adriana felt safe in there, where she could spy on any humans that made their way across the back lawn, but she also felt terribly lonely.

Chapter 18

Adriana woke up after dark, groggy from too much sleep, her hair stringy and damp with sweat. She heard the nurse yell, “Medications”, so she knew she'd better get in line behind the others. There was Redgie, looking morose, and Marlene, dressed as usual in her red parka, though underneath she was wearing pyjamas and a pair of hospital slippers. Melvin was silent, glowering under his sunglasses. Jeff hung out at the back of the line, wearing an old tweed cap. He still had that haunted look, which made Adriana afraid for him.

Jeff turned to Adriana when she joined the back of the line. He tried to smile. “You must be someone special to get the room with the lead lining,” he said quietly so the nurse wouldn't hear him. “If you're a spy for them, believe me, I will find out.” Adriana stared at him. She wanted to scream that he was crazy, that everyone was crazy here, that she couldn't wait to get out. The line shuffled forward and Adriana said nothing to Jeff, merely turned away when he stared at her.

When he reached the counter in the half door that led to the medication room, Jeff held out his hand for the tiny plastic cup of pills and the cup of juice to swallow them with. He swigged the liquid and opened his mouth to show the nurse he'd swallowed the pills. But when he turned to leave, he stuck out his tongue at Adriana. She thought it was an obscene gesture at first but then she saw the meds, stuck to the bottom of his tongue and realized it was actually a gesture of defiance.

Jeff would go to the bathroom and spit them out, Adriana thought. But instead he walked past the washroom door to his own room, which he didn't leave for the rest of the evening.