Medicine Man

It’s not polite to stare. Ask me. I’ve been stared at a lot ever since The Incident.

My favorite place – relatively – is the ground level. All the offices, dining hall, rec room, TV room, all sorts of rooms are located on this level. Basically, it’s a hub of activity and is the loudest of all the levels.

It’s where I hear the name Simon Blackwood for the first time.

I’m in the dining hall, waiting in line for a breakfast of watery oatmeal and cut-up fruit when I hear it. The name, I mean.

It comes out of one of the nurses talking and keeping an eye on the long breakfast queue. For some reason, these lines are a breeding ground for meltdowns, so they always have someone watching them. I have yet to see it, though, and I pray that it never changes. Just the thought scares the fucking crap out of me.

“By Blackwood, you mean, The Blackwood?”

“Yup,” says one of the nurses as I trudge my feet past them.

“Oh geez. Like I needed more problems in my life. I bet he’s got a huge ego.”

“I know.”

“Ugh. I don’t wanna deal with him. I was only now getting adjusted to the long hours they put me on two weeks ago. Why’s this Simon Blackwood coming here? Is it permanent?”

“Who knows? Beth is super hush-hush about it. Which I don’t understand, by the way. We’re the ones who have to deal with him, not her. She’s gonna be locked up in that big administrative office of hers, while he’ll be roaming around the floor as if he owns the place.”

“Exactly! Why are the nurses last to know about these things?”

“I don’t know. Like we don’t matter, right?”

Then they start bitching about the fact that they were last to know the changes in their yearly vacation days. As if nurses aren’t overworked as it is.

And just like that, it’s over. The topic of Simon Blackwood.

A little thing about me: I’ve overheard a lot of conversations in my life. During family gatherings and at school. I’m an expert eavesdropper. I don’t do it intentionally. It’s just that I’m kind of invisible and a weirdo, what with my pale, almost translucent skin and silver hair. People don’t notice me or don’t take me seriously if they do notice me.

So they talk and, well, I’ve got ears. So I listen.

Generally, I forget about these conversations as soon as they occur. Not this one, though.

Nope.

It sticks in my head.

Not the conversation itself, but the name.

I don’t know why. I’ve never heard it before. I don’t know who it belongs to, except that whoever he is, he’s coming here. And Beth, the administrator, isn’t telling the nurses about it, and they are pissed.

Whatever.

Time to forget it and move on. So I do. Move on, I mean.

I don’t forget though. I remember the name for some very strange reason.

Floorboards creak under my bunny slippers as I get my breakfast and walk over to the table by the large windows. They overlook the gray skies and the wet grounds.

Ever since I got to this place, it’s been raining every day. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of making me even more miserable.

It’s no secret that I hate the sun; I burn too easily. Rain’s my only respite. I love the rain. I love the water droplets crashing into my body, sliding down, clinging to my skin, washing me clean, making me new.

It’s raining now, more like drizzling, and I wish I could go outside and feel it, but I can’t.

I put my tray onto the Formica-topped table and plop down on my seat. Plucking a strawberry from the fruit bowl, I pop it into my mouth.

I’m sitting next to Renn Deschanel, my red-headed neighbor.

She was the very first person to talk to me the day I arrived here two weeks ago. She saved me from the creepy stare of a guy who lives on the other side of the hallway and is here for some sort of addiction. I don’t know his exact diagnosis though.

At the time, I was panicked, angry and completely devastated that my own family thinks that I’m crazy enough to be locked up. I thought they’d believe me when I told them that I didn’t need to be here.

Anyway, Renn as usual, is staring at her crush of the week. Her crushes come and go, and she has a type. Silver fox – her words, not mine. This week, it’s Hunter, one of the techs, who’s probably closer to her dad’s age than hers.

I shake my head at her. “What’s the damage?”

She sighs. “I’m guessing at least twenty-five years. He’s like, a couple of years younger than my dad. I can’t believe I didn’t notice him before. Like, this guy’s been around forever. How did he not catch my eye?”