Nurse Juay sees my expression and chuckles. She herself must feel the same way at times. Her gaze settles on apple and her eyebrows raise. She points at it and purses her lips. She wants me to eat more than this.
"Jordan, you've gotta chill sometimes," Brook sighs.
"I'm ok with Nurse J but you are not allowed to call me by my first name," she warns him. It is very easy to get annoyed by him but I really have no other options for friends.
"My apologizes," he says as he laughs.
I pick up my apple to calm the situation and take a bite. The raw, sweetness fills my mouth. My mouth tenses. The aftertaste of rotting water is what set me off of them. It hits me when I swallow. Apples are nasty and though my plan when I chose it was to push back the aggressive disgorging that I felt coming, this apple is making it come back rapidly. I put it down on the table with only one bite gone. Nurse Juay looks at my disappointed. She shakes her head and pulls out her clipboard.
"No, no," I say quickly, "I'll eat."
"I still have to log the apple," she says, keeping her eyes on her moving pen. The damage is already done.
"Where is Jamie?" She asks me.
"I don't know," I say, staring at the cursed apple.
"Did she wake up this morning?"
"I don't know."
I look up at her and she looks even more disappointed.
"Ana," she exhales, "you have to make sure your roommate gets to breakfast."
"Why?" I groan, "isn't that your job?"
She shakes her head. She pulls at her ponytail seeking to make it tighter. Her must have a permanent ring where she has kept it tied up. I turn away from her glare and look towards Brook. He has been silent for more time than I figured he could be. My heart leaps. He is in pain: eyes squeezed shut, fist clenched, leg shaking feverishly. I see from an outside view for the first time. I can see the pain wash through his brain. I know what he is feeling. His breath is short and shallow.
"Brook, I need you to breathe," I say softly. Harsh noises will make it worse. I need to talk quietly but still get the point across.
"Breathe in deeply." He starts to respond. I see his chest expand and weight falls off of my shoulders bit by bit.
"You are not drowning." I assure him, "it's just the voices. They aren't you."
His breath becomes steady. I can see his face begin to relax and his knuckles return to a faint pink.
He keeps his eyes closed through three more deep breaths. When he finally comes down, he opens his eyes gently. He is cautious and anxious about revealing himself again to the outside world. I understand exactly how that feels. I helped him. I understood him. Somebody understands the shit storm that goes through my head. I look into his eyes and for the first time, the green hits my soul. He looks thankful and relieved. A deep, subconscious revelation is passed between us.
"Thank you," he says in a small voice. He looks at me and his green eyes brand into my face.
"N-no problem," I sputter. I look down at the apple quickly. I need to get out of his gaze.
I look over at Nurse Juay. Her pen is dancing across her clipboard; this time, I am not angry to see it. Hopefully that witness account will reflect positively on me but still my head can't disconnect from the connection that Brook made through that attack. I feel way too close to him.
I clear my throat, get out of my chair quickly and walk away from Brook with the apple in my hand. I throw it in the trash harshly. My mind zones out and my thoughts begin to spiral. If he gets the same voice attacks as I do, does he also so the people? Obviously not my grandmother and mom but maybe his? I want to know. I want to get to know his actual condition. But at the same time, should I let myself do this all over again?
It's different.
He understands us.
I agree with the voices which scares me more than anything. Then again, I am learning how to control them so I honestly don't know if it's them or if it's my actual thoughts.
"Is there something wrong with the trash can?" Nurse Juay says from behind me.
"Huh?" I ask, coming out of my thoughts.
She points to the trash can and chuckles.
"You were intently staring at it."
"Oh. Sorry." I say embarrassed.
"Are you sure you are done eating?" She asks.
"Um, yeah."
She breathes out heavily and her disappointment returns.
"It's time for medications," she says, "but you don't have any so you can sit in the lounge with me while everyone gets theirs."
"Ok."
Each table gets up in skewed tandem and line up at the door. It takes all of three minutes to get every patient out of their seats and into line. They walk like cattle, stumbling to get their drug induced euphoria. I can see the appeal but at the same time, I count myself lucky for being able to skip that whole process. It seems more daunting than awarding when I see some of the elderly people here who talk to walls and stare at me for no apparent reason.
I walk behind them through the hallway until the line stops in front of the nurses' station. A tray has been spread on the counter with small dixie cups of antipsychotics. Each cup has a label on it with a patient's name. From a side view, I see my name on a cup. All that lies in it is my benadryl for sleeping. I count myself as one of the lucky ones.
Nurse Juay leads me around the line and further into the long hallway. The skein ends as a new room begins. Tables and chairs lay scattered across the floor. The room is completely empty but it shows signs of past use. A large bay window pours sunlight over the metal chairs, heating them in its track. I walk over to a table and sit. The metal is hot to the touch but once my hands adjust to the temperature, it cools. On my table, a deck of cards sits. I eye it, debating whether to play a game.
"Do you want to play connect four?" Nurse Juay asks, gesturing to the table next to me. The connect four looks a lot less abused than the deck of cards but I prefer to play games that depend on chance rather than skill. I lack skill in anything that takes an actual thought process.
"I'm good," I say. I reach out and grab the deck box. All 52 cards spill out in front of me. Each card looks just as desecrated as the last. I begin to sort the cards by suit and color. This sort of activity always calms my nerves even if they aren't that active in the first place — then again, when are they not active?
As I organize, a cacophony of babbles, chatter and fuss grows in the corridor. I look up as a band of newly medicated patients come into view. They gaggle in one by one through the threshold and sit in chairs throughout the room. I keep my head down, attempting to camouflage myself and make my demeanor unfriendly. This fails entirely as two men walk up to me and each take seats at the table.
"Ready to play cards?" A man with gleaming teeth and dark skin looks at me intently, "I bet I'll beat you at Rat Slap!"
"Yeah, count me in!" The other man says. This man sits in his bathrobe, pajama pants and slippers with his bald head shining in the sunlight.
They seem overly excited and though I can be a rude asshole, maybe they would be a good distraction from the impending socialization materializing around me.
"What are we going to play?" I say attempting to match their enthusiasm. Hopefully I can feign it until my appointment.
Only so many card games can be therapeutic. After my fifth hand of 'Rat Slap,' I want to slap the nurse who suggests 'Go Fish.'
"Oh come on," the nurse soughs, "it will be fun. You are up to see Dr. Simmons next."
"Can't I just go see Dr. Simmons now?" I throw down my hand of cards onto the table.
"You had a matching pair!" Bathrobe guy yells. He points at my strewn cards in pure excitement. I roll my eyes and right before my mouth opens to express my displeasure, the nurse walks around the corner. Her ponytail is messy as ever.