The little things…
They’re all I have left.
I’m in the rec room, in a chair seated in front of the long, rectangle window. My reflection stares back at me through the double panes of glass and for the first time in a long time, I take notice in my appearance. Streaks of gray are weaved through my ebony hair. My cheeks are sunken in. There are dark circles under my eyes. And shallow canals of wrinkles imbedded my forehead. I continue gawking at my reflection for a minute and then I’m reminded of why I don’t care to look at myself anymore.
I tear my gaze away from my sordid imagine and what’s behind the glass.
Lush green trees.
Wildflowers.
Rolling acres of trimmed grass.
I can’t focus on all the beautiful things that are living when I feel like I belong with the dead.
I tried to die once and when I say “tried” I should say I failed because the staff found me before I could die completely.
They saved me.
They pulled me down from the rafters and removed the homemade hospital gown noose I had made from around my neck and brought me back to life.
And I hate them for it.
At one point, all I ever wanted to be saved and now I find it so strange that I ever hoped that that dream would come true. I also think it’s crazy that I thought that I’d make it out of Oak Hill when in reality that thought was a fantasy. This place is a blood-thirsty leech that feeds and feeds and feeds on you until you’re bled dry.
The funny thing is, I’ve been bled dry for years and I’m still here.
“Adelaide.” I hear a woman call my name, but I don’t answer her call. I stopped giving the staff members any social interaction years ago. Now, I only respond with grunts, sighs, or a nod of the head. The only time they seek me out is to give me my meds or escort me somewhere. I figure what’s the point in talking when there’s nothing left to say. Then my name is called a second time, “Adelaide.”
I glance over my shoulder and see two women walking toward me. One, a nurse, with short spiky black hair and a svelte physique and the other is a young woman who can’t be older than her early twenties. Keeping my eyes locked with the nurse’s, I sit up in my chair and pull my crème, knitted shawl tightly around my shoulders. I don’t respond until they are right next to me and even then, the only thing I say is, “Uh.”
The nurse’s thin lips quirk up into a tight smile and I notice that one of her front teeth is slightly crooked. “Adelaide,” she ushers the woman next to her toward me with her hand, “you have a visitor.” The nurse’s voice is full of joy and hope and I almost want to slap her.
I’ve been at Oakhill over twenty years and I’ve never once had a visitor and the fact that someone is telling me that I have one now almost seems like a cruel prank. I want to open my mouth and say something audible, but for a moment I forget how to speak. The nurse glances from me to the woman beside her then back at me again. “Well,” she says. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She leans in and whispers something into the woman’s ear that I can’t make out, but I watch the woman nod in the nurse’s direction as she turns to walk away.
A nervous feeling bubbles in the pit of my stomach and part of me wants to get up and leave the room. But there is another part of me that is mildly curious and wants to know who this strange woman is. Could she be a police officer? A new doctor?
I study her as she walks across the room and grabs a chair and I continue watching her as she slides the chair across the floor. She has long, willowy limbs. A petite waist. She’s probably around 5’5 in height. Her skin is pale and her face is heart-shaped. Her hair falls in golden ringlets down her back and when she walks, she walks with such grace that it’s like she’s walking on air.
“There,” she says in a soft feminine voice as she puts her chair next to me and sits down. I stare down at her legs and observe the way she crosses one over-top of the other. Then she asks, “How are you, today?”
I don’t make eye contact and my gaze has centered on the floor. Tan speckles on the crème tile blur in my peripheral vision and all I can do is shrug.
“Adelaide, could you look at me, please?” I nod because I know from the assertiveness in this woman’s tone that she isn’t going to buy into my silent treatment kind of behavior.
I make eye contact and suddenly I can’t breathe.
Tears well up in my eyes and I bl
ink several times while they rain down my cheeks.
The nervous feeling in my stomach subsides.
My fingers start trembling.
My nerves are shot.
I realize that I’m looking into my own eyes.