Embellished Truth & Polite Fiction

It felt like an eternity until John returned. Carl lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and wished himself away from that little white cell.

He was walking along a freeway. It was hot and humid. The horizon was a blur in the thick heat wave that slowly undulated and pulsed as he trudged along. He blinked the dust away from his eyes and could see a small dot appear on the horizon. It took him a moment before he could even tell if it was moving or stationary. By the time he figured out that it was definitely not in motion, he could see that it was a vehicle.

Carl pushed just a little harder, looking down at the dusty road beneath his feet. Rocks and weeds tangled along the roadside and he wondered at how his tennis shoes could stay such a bright shade of red as he walked along such a dirty road. Red. He could not recall ever purchasing a pair of bright red tennis shoes. They stood out against the dull brown earth, odd and out of place.

A little more walking and he could see that the black spot had morphed into a small blue sedan that appeared to be abandoned on the side of the road. As the heat and sunshine swirled around it, making it look as though it were under water, he realized that both front doors were open on the vehicle. Carl found this quite peculiar and pushed just a little harder to reach it sooner, curiosity overtaking him and urging him on.

Reaching the vehicle, Carl peered inside one of the open doors, cautiously. He was clueless as to what he might find inside the car and was almost afraid to look. There was not a soul to be found for miles. He felt completely alone. It was just Carl and the car. The little blue car with the seats covered in blood.

Carl sat up quickly, trying to catch his breath. He clutched his chest and worried that his eyes would pop out of his head. All around him was blinding white. It took a minute for him to remember where he was. His eyes adjusted and his pulse slowed. It was almost as if he’d stepped out into bright sunshine from inside a dark room.

The bolt clicked in the door. The knob squeaked. John walked in just as Carl managed to regain his composure.

“Ready for lunch, sir?” he loved the way that John called him ‘sir’. Even if it was more of a nickname or term of endearment. It still felt good. Especially since everyone seemed to think he was off his rocker. It was nice to have someone express even that small amount of respect and care.

“Yeah.” Carl sucked in the air around him. Sterile and stagnant, yet still such a comfort. A feeling of dismay seeped in as he realized how familiar this place had become and how attached he had become to it.

John stood in the door way and waited. Carl rose on unsteady legs and walked toward him. He had the urge to run. He had the urge to hit John – not necessarily enough to injure him, but enough to stun him so that he could get past him and make way for an exit. But he didn’t even know which way that would be. And he knew all exits would be guarded. No. That would not work.

In the cafeteria, every flavor du jour of eccentric individual could be found. People that you thought might be a little off and people that were so obviously out there that you figured it was an act. But it wasn’t. And Carl had to remind himself that he was one of them. He wondered if anyone in that room really felt that they belonged there. He wondered what kind of experiences they’d had and what it was like to be inside their heads. He wondered if any of them felt crazy.

He took a seat at an empty round table and avoided making eye contact with anyone. A woman came and sat beside him just a moment after his body made contact with the cold plastic chair. She had long brown hair and huge green eyes. They stared at him, big and round. He did not look back at her, but he could feel her staring at him.

“What’s your name?” she asked. Her voice was surprisingly sweet. Carl supposed that it would be raspy and maybe a little deep, like one who’d spent years upon years chain smoking.

“Carl.”

“I’m Sara.” she answered quickly, stretching out her hand to him. He took it begrudgingly and gave a quick shake. Her fingers were thin and icy. “What’re you in for?” she asked.

Carl looked up at her now. What kind of question was that? This wasn’t a prison, it was a hospital. Right? He hadn’t committed some crime to end up in here, had he?

“Um..” he looked back at the table, feeling rather self-conscious and unsure what to say. “I’m not real sure.” he said finally, staring at the table and studying the fine lines of the fake plastic wood grain that covered the pressed particle board.

Sara leaned slowly back in her chair and eyed him suspiciously.

“I suspected as much.” she concluded, studying him with those big round eyes. They looked like great shining marbles set into her pale face.

Carl got up from the table, wanting to escape this stranger’s sudden interest in him and walked over to a nearby window. He looked out over the hospital grounds and gazed at the stone wall that ran along the perimeter of the yard. It was all a welcome sight for him. Looking out windows had become a treasured privilege for him during his time at Stalworth Institution. It didn’t seem fair, really. It seemed rather dumb that they would think cutting one off from all outside life and locking them in an empty sterile room would somehow improve their mental state.

The yard was specked with small figures dressed in white. He wished he could be one of them. If I could just behave myself.. he thought to himself. If I just knew how to do that… He sighed.

“I’d like to go out, too.” Sara was there beside him again. He looked at her, annoyed. She looked back at him with a very serious expression. “I’ve tried to kill myself 15 times.”

Carl didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell her that she obviously didn’t really want to die if she’d attempted suicide that many times and continued to fail. Who’s attention was she trying to get? But he figured that was not a polite thing to say to a crazy person. He just stared back at her.

Sara turned and stared out the window, her brown hair nearly shrouding her face. “I don’t know why I even try anymore.” she said, finally.

Carl suddenly understood. Not that he didn’t really understand before. But now he got it. He could relate. Somehow, he felt an unwelcome connection to her.

There they were, in the corner of the white room. He had no idea how they could have found their way in there. But there they were. He looked all around him at the white walls, the white ceiling and floors, the white door with its shiny silver knob and gleaming bolt. No windows, and furnished with only a bed. He let out a deep sigh as his eyes darted back to the corner of the room and rested on the pair of broken sunglasses.

Was Carl hallucinating? Maybe the doctors were right, and he really was crazy. Maybe he really was losing his mind. He stared hard, wishing he had telekinetic abilities so that he could make them move to him. Were it not for the straight jacket, he might get up and examine them.

Carl nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the bolt click in the door and the knob squeak loudly. The door scraped loudly across the floor as it was pushed open and John came in with his clip board, his white coat buttoned neatly up to his neck as it always was.

The noise hurt his ears and Carl wished his hands were free. What cruel torture – to keep a man in silence and not even leave his hands free to cover his ears.

“How are we doing today, Carl?” John said. Carl looked at him. He wasn’t really sure what to say. He’d grown tired of seeing John’s brown eyes staring down at him from his round black face. His equally round body had waddled across the room toward Carl so many times now that he’d lost track of the days. He was sick of being here and wondered when he could leave. But John’s voice was deep and friendly and always managed to offer comfort to Carl.

“Tired.” Carl said, his voice rasped through his dry throat. The sound of his own voice sounded unfamiliar to him now. He so rarely heard it anymore.

“Well, perhaps we can get you something to help with that.” John replied, glancing at the clip board.

Carl made a face at him. He hated the way they seemed to think that all his problems could be fixed with just the right medications. He hated it.

“What say we get you out of that jacket, Carl?” John said, sitting on the naked white mattress beside him. “You think we can do that today? You gonna fight me again?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” Carl answered. He looked down at his stockinged feet and tried not to imagine pulling off the socks and fashioning a noose to hang himself with. Why do I think these things? I don’t understand it… he thought to himself. “I promise not to fight you.” He wondered at his ability to really promise any such thing.

Carl wasn’t even sure exactly how he had ended up in the jacket this time. He could not recall what had led up to it or what he’d done to deserve it. He couldn’t even remember it being put on him. Just waking up in his bed and not being able to move his arms. What a rude awakening.

As John untied the jacket, Carl held perfectly still and looked again to the corner. The glasses were gone. He closed his eyes and breathed a deep frustrated sigh. They must be right. I am crazy.

Carl’s arms and shoulders ached and he sincerely hoped that whatever had happened that earned him the jacket would not happen again. He rubbed his arms and shoulders as John folded the jacket neatly and set it at the foot of the bed before picking up the clip board again and flipping through the pages of Carl’s chart.

Carl wished he could have a turn with the clip board. He would have loved to read what they had scribbled on those pages about him during the countless therapy sessions and group sessions. What did they say about him behind closed doors as they sat at the big mahogany desk and discussed his problems and symptoms. He wanted to know what was wrong. How to fix it. How to get out of there.

“How long have I been here now, John?” he asked.

“Three weeks, sir.” John answered.

“Really? That’s all?” Carl was a bit stunned. It felt as though he’d been in that place for months. He looked at his feet again and saw that there were no socks on them. What is wrong with my head? He was baffled as he ran his fingers through is greasy brown hair. He wiggled his toes and watched as the pale white digits waved back at him. They looked like someone else’s and he was struck with the sudden urge to peek under his bed and see who was there, sticking their feet out and masquerading their toes as his own.

“Where are my socks, John?” he asked.

“You’re not allowed socks, sir. Only slippers.” John answered.

“I like socks. I miss socks.”

John looked at him, confused. As though Carl should know why he was not allowed socks. He looked back at the clip board and chuckled.

“Soon enough, Carl. You’ll have those socks back soon enough.” he let the pages fall again and made a check mark on the top page. “You ready to go back to group today?”

“Yes.” Carl answered quietly.

“Ok, then. I’ll come back for you around lunch time. You can eat in the cafeteria today.” John stood up and picked up the jacket and made his way to the door. “I see good things happening for you, Carl. I think you’ll have a new room this week. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” Carl answered again. “Yes, I would.”