Entry 29 (1972)

Of course, Sally Lou could have had an abortion.  Abortions had been legalized in Washington state.  But, Frobisher was a fatalist.  If his lover had gotten pregnant, he wasn’t about to take things into his own hands and change it.

(YOU NEVER TOLD ME FROBISHER WAS A FATALIST.  It never came up.  SOMETIMES, YOU FORGET TO TELL ME THE MOST CRITICAL FACTS.  Ah-huh.)

Immediately, the debate came up over whether or not they should get married.  That one took a little longer to resolve.

* * * * * * *

(1987)

(29, 29, ENTRY 29.  What are you babbling about?  HELLO AND WELCOME TO THE DAY IT HAPPENED.  What happened?  WAIT AND SEE.)

  *  *  *  *  *  * *

(1972)

I got up that morning like any other morning.  I dressed and rode the public bus to school.  Unbeknownst to me, Kantor was still hot on the trail of the hospital.

Later in the morning, I discovered Kantor had called in the district psychologist.  Kantor told me they were busily tracking some place for me to stay.  (INDEED.)  I didn’t quite know what to think.  But having finally gotten some action, I figured it was better to ride the wave than fight it.

* * * * * * *

(1987)

(OK, SO I HAD A GOOD REASON FOR NOT WRITING ANY MORE.  What was that?  I’M ANGRY.  DEEPLY, UNREASONABLY ANGRY FOR WHAT WAS DONE TO ME.   There’s only one way to get it out.  I KNOW.  I KNOW.  I HAVE TO WRITE.)

* * * * * * *

(1972)

Long about noon, Kantor said they found a place.  I didn’t ask where as I was still operating on the assumption that I was going to a general hospital for three or four days.

There was some confusion about how I would arrive at this place, and Kantor offered to drive me.  (You can imagine my excitement about that kind of attention from Kantor.  I was thrilled.)

Apparently, this place was located in Tacoma.  (Where?  YOU KNOW.  WASHINGTON, THE STATE.  Oh, yeah.)  We departed in the early afternoon.  It was about a forty-five minute drive.

* * * * * * *

That trip is etched in my mind forever.  It was the first time I had ever been in Kantor’s car.  It was the first time I had ever been alone with Kantor away from school….

(OH PLEASE, ALLOW ME….)

I remember the drive, the roads we took.  I remember Kantor said there was a low wall around the place.  We slowed down near a school with a chain link fence to determine if that was it.  I was trying to decipher the place as much as she was with a lot less to go on.  I remember finally coming to a low stone wall and knowing without having to be told that this was the place.

Breaking the stone wall was a wrought iron gate which was open with a sign near it that read, “Child Study and Treatment Center.” (Later, I learned this was part of Western State Hospital.)

Peering at the sign, Kantor said, “This is it,” and in we drove.  I was not at all certain what “it” meant.  I knew I didn’t like the sound of it.  (Rather sterile, if you ask me.)

* * * * * * *

We made our way to the administration building and were shown into a waiting area.  I was becoming more and more silent.  I waited while Kantor went in to speak to whoever it was she was speaking to first.

An older teenage girl came bouncing into the ad-building.  She was grinning from ear to ear and talking to anyone who would listen.  “I’m getting out today.  This is my last day.  I’m so excited to be getting out.”  Ramona Tuttle.  I would never forget that name.

I listened for a long time to Ramona banter back and forth with another person.  My initial misgivings about the place were about to be confirmed.  Still hoping to maintain the illusion of a three or four day visit, I asked Ramona through clenched teeth, “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Oh,” Ramona responded lightly, “nine months.”

“NINE MONTHS!”  Every alarm that my system had to offer went off.  Nine Months!  There was no way to say that phrase and lessen the impact.  I was in big trouble.  I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten into it, and I wasn’t sure how to get out.  As a length of time, Nine Months simply could not be minimized.

Sasifraz, who’d been silent up to that point, snickered.  “You’re right, Bird One.”  (He loved to steal lines from I Never Promised You a Rose Garden.)  “You’re in big trouble, and I may not be able to get you out of this one.”  (Of course, he would never add that he’d done just as much as I had to get me there.)

* * * * * * *

Everyone in The Mark felt the alarm waves sent out by me.  Lucifer was sitting on his bed talking to Brenda when he felt it.  A pained look crossed his face, and Brenda asked what was wrong.

“I’m not sure.  I just felt anxious all of a sudden.”

“Maybe, you’d better look for the source.”

Lucifer mentally grounded himself and went off in his astral body to talk to Marty.

The anxious waves grew.  Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his focus.  “God, Marty, you’re not gone are you?”  With that thought, Lucifer felt even more panic.

He came back to Brenda.  “Be patient, Lucifer, the answer will come to you.”  Brenda was a great believer in self-teaching and wouldn’t say more.

* * * * * * *

They called me into the meeting with Kantor.  Present were the director, Dr. Sherri Van Pattern, and a staff person, Claudette.  I knew that it was a do or die situation.  I just didn’t know which was which.  Sasifraz pretended to coach me, but I didn’t feel at all trusting of his judgment.

Van Pattern started, “Joceile, Kantor has told us some of her perspective of what is going on with you, but we’d like to hear it from you.”

Nothing in the woman’s demeanor encouraged me to trust her either.  I didn’t know what to say.  I looked at Kantor for hints but didn’t really expect help from that corner.  How could I ever know if I was really crazy or not?  I decided to tell part of the truth as a test.  At least, maybe I could get that settled once and for all.

I told them about arm cutting—that I had to do it every two weeks and each cut had to be worse.  At that, Sasifraz was having a fit, and I didn’t tell them any more.

They sent me out front and caucused for awhile.  “You told them too much.  If they keep you, it’s because you told them too much.”  Sasifraz was his old peppy self.

“I had to tell them about arm cutting.  I have to know if I’m really crazy.  Besides, that much they already knew.”

“You told them too much, J.  It’ll be your fault if they keep you.”

Van Pattern called me back in.  I could feel it was bad news.  I thought my luck had run out.  I had told them too much.

“Well, Joceile, we’ve decided to keep you here.”  Van Pattern rattled on some more after that, but I had stopped listening.  My heart had stopped.  I had only one question to ask.

Finally, Van Pattern ran down and asked me if I had any questions.  For the second time that day, I asked, “How long?”

“What?”  Van Pattern wasn’t sure what I was referring to.  (Dense, isn’t she?)

So, I asked again, “How long are you going to keep me here?”

To which Van Pattern replied those immortal words, “Well, dear, that depends on you.”

“Big help, lady,” I thought.  Three or four days were definitely out.

* * * * * * *

It was late Friday afternoon, May 19, 1972.  Everyone wanted everything wrapped up by five o’clock.  There was some confusion about my father needing to come down and sign some papers.  Unfortunately, it was nothing that would stop them from keeping me.

I felt demoralized.  Where else would I go?  I followed Claudette to the ward that they cutely called “Hilley Cottage.”  She showed me to my room and tried to make polite conversation while she helped me make the bed.

I answered in one syllable words.  Kantor probably came and said good-bye.  I barely noticed.  I just knew I was being left here.  Finally, I was left alone long enough to stare out the window in my room.  “So, this is it,” I thought.  I gave the chain link fencing over the window a half hearted tug.  It didn’t move.  I knew I wasn’t going anywhere either.

Where would I go anyway?  The last person in the world I trusted had just left me here.  If Kantor had left me here, here I would stay.  There was no place else left to go.