She rose to her feet, ably assisted. “What part?”
“Behavioral Health. Don’t worry. They’re great people.”
chapter
6
Hi, Mandy. I’m Bernadette Nolan, from Health and Human Services. How are you?”
Mandy squared up the deck of cards she was playing with, set them aside, and stood to shake hands. Bernadette, a young lady with fiery red hair in big, beautiful curls, took the only other chair, on the opposite side of the table. She did it so professionally, as if she’d said “Hi” and “I’m Bernadette Nolan” to a zillion souls before this, maybe at this very same table in this very same little room with no windows except for the one in the door.
Mandy answered, “I’m clean,” which was about all she could say for sure. The Behavioral Health Unit had loaned her soap and shampoo for a shower and a toothbrush and toothpaste for her teeth and took them back when she was finished so they couldn’t become a means to harm anyone, including herself.
“You look great,” said Bernadette, opening a valise and pulling out a writing pad and some forms.
Right.Clean, but with no way to fix her hair and wearing nothing but hospital scrubs and another pair of those one-size-almost-fits-all slippers. Mandy sent a message with her face: Oh, comeon! She thought better of it and stowed the look, but not before Bernadette saw it.
“Go ahead. Say it.”
Mandy looked into those friendly green eyes. “ Ilook clean. Youlook great.” And Bernadette did look great. Nice jacket, cool jeans, slick pumps.
Bernadette nodded, even chuckled. “I’m the one in the civvies and you’re the one in the scrubs.”
“Right on.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“How should I feel? You weren’t locked in your room with a camera trained on you. You didn’t have to take a shower with Nurse Baines watching you. You got to fix your hair this morning and pick out your own clothes. You even get to wear a bra because nobody thinks you’ll use it to hang yourself.” Mandy, you’re getting angry.“But you do look great. And I like your lipstick.”
“Thank you. It’s called Deep Blush.”
“It goes with your complexion.”
“So how do you usually fix your hair?”
“Oh, straight, with combs and sometimes a clip. I have some headbands, they’re kind of a trip—hey, I made a rhyme!”
Mandy had no grudge with Bernadette and Bernadette was sweet enough. They talked—maybe a little testy at first, checking each other out—but they got on a roll, and every once in a while Bernadette would jot a note on her writing pad or circle an item on a form. Mandy settled within herself that Bernadette was only doing her job; it wouldn’t be fair not to like her.
“So,” Bernadette finally said with a little clap and rub of her hands, “let’s do the questions and the games. What’s my name?”
“Bernadette.”
“Do you remember my last name?”
Mandy had to work a bit. “N … Nolan?”
“Right. And you know where you are?”
“Behavioral Health, Spokane County Medical Center.”
“And what year is it?”
Mandy had to think about that one. It depended on who you asked, so she asked, “Is it 2010?”
“That’s right,” Bernadette answered, but she jotted something down. “And when were you born?”
“January fifteenth, 1951.”
It was fun watching Bernadette trying not to react. She looked at Mandy and smiled, studying her a bit. “Do youthink it’s 2010?”
“That’s what I’m told and that’s what I’m seeing.”
“But you were born in 1951.”
“That’s right.”
“That would make you …” Bernadette had to work it out on her pad. “Fifty-nine. Are you fifty-nine?”
“No, I’m nineteen.”
She chuckled. “Does that puzzle you at all, your being born in ’51 but you’re only nineteen?”
Mandy threw up her hands. “I am completelypuzzled!”
“That’s good. That’s actually very good.” Jot, jot. “Okay, I’ll give you three words: cadillac, zebra, purple. Can you say them back to me?”
“Cadillac, zebra, purple.”
“Can you count backward from one hundred by threes?”
Oh-oh.Mandy and numbers didn’t get along. She counted down as far as fifty-two before Bernadette let it go.
“What were the three words I gave you?”
“Cadillac, zebra, and purple.”
“How about the days of the week? Can you say those backward?”
Mandy felt nervous about that one, but they tumbled out just fine.
“Got a favorite TV show?”
“Carol Burnett. And Daddy and I always watch Gunsmoke.”
“On DVD?”
“Uh … no, Channel Four.”
Jot jot. Hopefully she jotted something positive.
And it went on and on.
“Spell the word worldbackward.”
“Explain what happened yesterday. What do you think should have happened?”
“Can you tell me my name again?”
“Can you name the last four presidents?” Jot jot.
“What were those three words again?”
“Can you give me two different definitions for the word right? How about the word bit? How about left?”
“What do people mean when they say ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss’?”
Mandy had no trouble answering the questions and doing the thinking, but it was getting tedious. She never thought to pick up the deck of cards; she just noticed she was shuffling them as she spoke.
“What do you think people mean when they say ‘When the cat’s away the mice will play’?”
Brrrriiiip!Riffle shuffle on the table. “When the authority figure is absent, people push their boundaries and see what they can get away with.”
“What about hallucinations or delusions? Have you experienced anything like that?”
Brrrrrriiiip!Riffle shuffle off the table, hands in the air, like a skilled cardsharp. “You mean, besides thinking I’m living in 2010?”
“Well, aren’t you?”
Fffffoooot!Waterfall, the cards cascading through space from her raised right hand into her waiting left. “You think I’m living in 2010 and think I’m from 1970. I think I’m living in 1970 and think I’m living in 2010. That’s the difference.”
Jot jot. “Wow. Does that scare you at all?”
“Very much.”
“Do you feel afraid right now?”
Ribbon spread, the cards spread out across the table like a long ribbon, perfectly lapped and spaced. Mandy had to pay attention to the cards for a moment, it looked so good. “I’m making lemonade.”
“Excuse me?”
Mandy gathered the ribbon, squared the deck, and looked Bernadette in the eye. “What do you think people mean when they say, ‘When life gives you lemons, make lemonade’?”
Bernadette nodded. “Got it.” Jot jot.
“Daddy told me that.” She spread the cards into a ribbon again, all facedown except for two in the middle faceup, the king and queen of hearts, side by side.
“You’re very good at that,” Bernadette observed.
“Daddy showed me.”
“You must practice a lot.”
“Sure.”
“Do you ever feel the need to do something over and over until it’s perfect?”
“Practice doesn’t make perfect. It makes better. Daddy told me that, too.”
“How about worry? Do you worry a lot?”
Not until yesterday, she would have answered, but her eyes were locked on a memory: Daddy in his Gonzaga T-shirt, sitting with her in the kitchen, teaching her how to shuffle a deck of cards and do a ribbon spread. She didn’t ask for the emotion; she didn’t even expect it, but now her throat was tightening up and tears were filling her eyes.