"I hate this place. I just want to go home. I'm in a man-made hell. SERIOUSLY!" I hiss.
Sitting in an almost deserted corner of the hallway, I bend my knees and place my face in the palm of my hands. I want to do anything but listen to the environment that surrounds me. I hear her walking down the hall once again. Her heavy footsteps are already beginning to make me angrier. The thud, thud, THUD, of her squeamishly brown hospital socks triggers me from yards away.
Eyes puffy and red, I sneak a peek through the spaces between my fingers. Oh it's her alright. Milk carton in hand, she's headed right towards us.
Far from sheepishly I glare at her and begin my rant, "she needs to stay away from me. I swear every single time I'm having difficulties she finds me. It's like she has this... This.. Tracking device and I have a beacon shouting "Lindsey's having trouble! Lindsey's having trouble!" Every. Single. Time. You're MY staff and she needs to learn to stay the hell away. I wonder what she'll have to say to me today. Am I going to get yelled at for showering in OUR shower once again? See this is why I can't handle it here. I mean. If she wasn't as old as my grandmother I would punch her in the face."
I take a breath and make eye contact with my staff. "Don't look at me like that Joe. SHE'S the one that makes ME feel like this. I didn't ask to feel this way. I don't friggen do it on purpose." The continued disapproving look on his worn down face tells me I should stop talking. I unwillingly oblige.
She's made it to our feet. Fantastic.
"I'm going for a trip on the Mayflower this September," she begins with a raspy voice completely ignoring me and focusing entirely on my hired staff. "You can come with me. You and Greg. I'll let you bring your wife. We're going to discover America."
I roll my eyes. This is the thousandth time I've heard this and yes, it's getting old.
She continues, "we'll have turkey, and milk, and eggs, and cheese, and bread. All sorts of food."
Joe looks at her sincerely which makes heat rise to my face, "Why thank you Diane. I feel honored that you'd--"
"Oh. My. God. Are those brown leathered shoes you're wearing?" She frowns down upon Joe and before he can answer, "this is NOT okay! Those are the ugliest things I've ever seen. You are NOT coming with us on our voyage. It will just be Greg and me. Humph. I cannot believe you would betray me like this."
To my surprise I have must force myself to stifle a giggle. I was unsuccessful and she spins towards me. Pointing her old bony finger right in my face she spits, "What the hell are you laughing at?"
"I don't know Diane. Maybe it's the fact that you walk up and down the hall all day with a bottle of friggen milk in your hand, yet you claim you're a "vegan-vegetarian? Are you aware that TURKEY is a meat. Vega-effing-tarians, DO. NOT. EAT. MEAT!!!"
At this moment Joe pulls himself up and stands in-between us. "Diane maybe you should move on." The way he speaks is sympathetic. The tone of his voice contradicts what his long pony-tail and small hoop earring would suggest of his actual behavior.
When she starts speaking again my mind instantly strays from the admiration I have for Joe, to a stomach clenching hatred I feel towards most of my fellow patients. Diane above all.
"How do whales have sex Joe?" Diane questions in a serious tone of voice.
I begin, "what the fu-" Joe cuts me off and nudges Diane in the direction of the nurses station.
She shuffles down the hallway, unwashed gray hair in all. As Joe turns to me and apologizes, I hear what I believe to be her closing remark for the evening.
"It's the craze across America. Little boys are getting sodomized. It's all over the news."
I have no more words. A rush of guilt runs through my veins. I mouth, "I'm sorry."
Eyes puffy and red, I sneak a peek through the spaces between my fingers. Oh it's her alright. Milk carton in hand, she's headed right towards us.
Far from sheepishly I glare at her and begin my rant, "she needs to stay away from me. I swear every single time I'm having difficulties she finds me. It's like she has this... This.. Tracking device and I have a beacon shouting "Lindsey's having trouble! Lindsey's having trouble!" Every. Single. Time. You're MY staff and she needs to learn to stay the hell away. I wonder what she'll have to say to me today. Am I going to get yelled at for showering in OUR shower once again? See this is why I can't handle it here. I mean. If she wasn't as old as my grandmother I would punch her in the face."
I take a breath and make eye contact with my staff. "Don't look at me like that Joe. SHE'S the one that makes ME feel like this. I didn't ask to feel this way. I don't friggen do it on purpose." The continued disapproving look on his worn down face tells me I should stop talking. I unwillingly oblige.
She's made it to our feet. Fantastic.
"I'm going for a trip on the Mayflower this September," she begins with a raspy voice completely ignoring me and focusing entirely on my hired staff. "You can come with me. You and Greg. I'll let you bring your wife. We're going to discover America."
I roll my eyes. This is the thousandth time I've heard this and yes, it's getting old.
She continues, "we'll have turkey, and milk, and eggs, and cheese, and bread. All sorts of food."
Joe looks at her sincerely which makes heat rise to my face, "Why thank you Diane. I feel honored that you'd--"
"Oh. My. God. Are those brown leathered shoes you're wearing?" She frowns down upon Joe and before he can answer, "this is NOT okay! Those are the ugliest things I've ever seen. You are NOT coming with us on our voyage. It will just be Greg and me. Humph. I cannot believe you would betray me like this."
To my surprise I have must force myself to stifle a giggle. I was unsuccessful and she spins towards me. Pointing her old bony finger right in my face she spits, "What the hell are you laughing at?"
"I don't know Diane. Maybe it's the fact that you walk up and down the hall all day with a bottle of friggen milk in your hand, yet you claim you're a "vegan-vegetarian? Are you aware that TURKEY is a meat. Vega-effing-tarians, DO. NOT. EAT. MEAT!!!"
At this moment Joe pulls himself up and stands in-between us. "Diane maybe you should move on." The way he speaks is sympathetic. The tone of his voice contradicts what his long pony-tail and small hoop earring would suggest of his actual behavior.
When she starts speaking again my mind instantly strays from the admiration I have for Joe, to a stomach clenching hatred I feel towards most of my fellow patients. Diane above all.
"How do whales have sex Joe?" Diane questions in a serious tone of voice.
I begin, "what the fu-" Joe cuts me off and nudges Diane in the direction of the nurses station.
She shuffles down the hallway, unwashed gray hair in all. As Joe turns to me and apologizes, I hear what I believe to be her closing remark for the evening.
"It's the craze across America. Little boys are getting sodomized. It's all over the news."
I have no more words. A rush of guilt runs through my veins. I mouth, "I'm sorry."
Sorry for hating Diane? But why? Crazy people drive other people crazy, pretty much by definition--so, not much to like in that. Or sorry for adding to Joe's load?
ReplyDeleteNot the usual piece to come across my desk, that's for sure. I think you do a fine job at scene and dialogue, particularly the portrait of madness that's Diane, but, as I say, your own part is a little fuzzier.
And I appreciate a piece this much out of the ordinary.
ReplyDeleteBut, much as I appreciate it, don't think for a second that it's necessary to hang yourself out like this to get along in ENG 162. Plain-jane, white bread, and everyday also work--anything focused on with intensity and desire can work.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the appreciation and I understand I should maybe not get so personal. I just got into this momentum writing this, and I sometimes have an easier time getting good work out of things that mean more to me than not.... Or work I like, because I RARELY take pride in my pieces.. If that makes any sense. After all, yesterday was very difficult for me writing wise. I had serious writers block.
ReplyDeleteI'm a little curious as to how my part is a little fuzzier. Just wondering if you could elaborate for future writings. Thanks!
Your attitude to Diane is clear enough but it's not clear why Joe is particularly the figure of respect he is or why exactly, as I said, the narrator was sorry in the end.
ReplyDeleteI don't mind if you want to be personal and even confessional--just saying it's not necessary. There are writing courses where the teacher is little better than a peeping Tom, insisting on self-revelation as the only token of what the teacher might call 'authenticity.' I know better.
Sometimes it's easy to find that revealing material as it is often close to the surface, but that doesn't mean you should let the panic of incipient writer's block force you to use it.
ReplyDeleteUnless you genuinely want to, of course.