One of my adult self’s favorite fantasies (when I was angry) was of having a gun and pulling the trigger—pointing it to my temple and pulling the trigger. I didn’t own a gun. I didn’t know where the fantasy came from until one day I thought about him. He was holding the gun, pointing it at my temple, and pulling the trigger. Suddenly, I knew he’d done it to me. I could feel him. I knew he’d done it, because I would have if I was him.
It fit like a glove. He opens up the gun and takes out all the bullets. My terrified dark eyes follow his every move. He puts one bullet back. He spins the cartridge. It’s not hard to fool kids. He knows where the bullet is, but I don’t. He says it’s the purest form of gambling—maybe I make it, maybe I don’t. He points it at my temple and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He pulls it again over and over knowing my fear and wanting to “accidentally” kill me.
Now in my fantasies, I do the same thing—knowing my pain and waiting for the bullet to hit home.
* * * * * * *
(OF COURSE, I DON’T BELIEVE A WORD OF IT. No? IT’S REALLY JUST A NASTY STORY I MADE UP. Really, why? FOR DRAMA. Oh? YEAH, SOMEDAY I WANT TO DO IT TO HIM.)
* * * * * * *
(1972)
Click. Jingle. Jingle. One of the first things I noticed about the staff at Western was their keys. I quickly picked out the more insecure of the bunch. One woman on morning shift wore her keys around her neck and played with them incessantly. I imagined that she wanted no confusion in anyone’s mind about who was staff and who was patient.
I knew. The jingling was nothing more than a constant irritant. Patients don’t forget who’s who.
* * * * * * *
For the first two weeks, I didn’t have my own counselor. I was told that it was an interim period to see who I got along with the best. I felt frustrated knowing that two weeks were wasted right off the bat. I was unusual in that ultimately I was given two counselors that both worked swing shift. It had quickly become apparent to the staff I almost always got upset in the evenings. This way at least one of my counselors would always be around.
For that first week or so, it was neck and neck between Jerry, the runaway watcher, and BK, Carol’s counselor, as my first counselor. By the second week, Karen was hired on and was a foregone conclusion as my second counselor.
By the end of the second week, I chose Jerry over BK as my primary counselor. I wasn’t sure who to go with having more than a grain of mistrust for both of them, but Jerry seemed more accessible. In the months ahead, I’d discover there probably was no right choice.
* * * * * * *
Frobisher’s daughter called. She called frequently and always seemed a little tense on the phone. She had heard that Sally was pregnant. She mostly wanted to verify the information and wish Frobisher luck. Feeling neglected by Frobisher herself, she wanted to know if he was really excited about having more children.
Frobisher assured her that he was quite happy. His daughter hung up satisfied but unconvinced. Frobisher himself was unsure how he felt. His daughter’s unspoken words were that he’d never taken care of her or her brother. What made him so sure he could do better now?
Frobisher wasn’t sure if he had the answer. It made him squirm. That night he went out and got drunk.