Across from Western, there’s a park. It was fairly undeveloped when I was there. There are farm buildings and down a short road is Woghop Lake with a road around it. The rest of the crop fields are covered with soccer and baseball fields now. In the late summer afternoons, the staff took the us to walk around the lake. A lot of my thinking was done there.
On the hill was the old state hospital building. It was vacant and unkempt—ravaged by time and vandals. It overlooked the farm buildings with a fine view of Mt. Rainier. I looked at it with a kind of fascination. What stories that building could tell.
The farm buildings, on the other hand, were in good repair. The story went that Western used to be self-supporting. The patients ran the farm, raised cattle, and grew their own food. In fact, it worked so well that they (the Omnipotent They again) discovered that patients weren’t leaving. They were too happy. So, in the wisdom of the time, they shut down the farm, and patients went back to being miserable and leaving as soon as they could get out. At least, that’s how the story was told to me. I certainly had no trouble believing it.
* * * * * * *
To look at my arm was to approach the pain from a distant shore. The adult me would tell anyone who asked. Most people did not ask. It was one of those oddities of life where anyone with eyes could see my scars, but nearly everyone pretended they did not exist.
It was hard for me at work. People with whom I would confide nearly anything knew nothing about my arm (or what did they guess?). The one person that did notice squirmed under the knowledge that I was cutting myself and felt powerless to make me stop.
The worst place on earth for me was at my grandparents. Years and years of unspoken issues made me feel like a traitor for having an arm that spoke so loudly. It was hard to keep my sleeves down all the time, especially in the summer, and my arm acted as the one voice that would not be silenced.
(I LOVE YOU. Thank you. IT’S OKAY. I know.)
* * * * * * *
(1972)
It was the smallest cut. I knew nobody would ever see it. I made a little cut on the palm of my hand with a piece of glass that I’d picked up somewhere. I talked to Carolyn, the counselor I had a crush on, about being upset.
It was the smallest cut. I knew nobody would ever see it. I made a little cut on the palm of my hand with a piece of glass that I’d picked up somewhere. I talked to Carolyn, the counselor I had a crush on, about being upset.
Carolyn said, “Well, at least, you haven’t cut yourself.”
Hard pressed to lie, I responded, “Well, actually…”
“Where?” Carolyn instantly wanted to know.
Shame over such a little cut prompted me to say, “I’m not going to tell you.”
“You don’t think we could search your entire body and find it?”
I knew full well that they could search my entire body, but I wasn’t at all sure that they’d find it. The prospect of them poking and probing me was not at all pleasant. I said simply, “I’m sure you could.”
Before the issue was fully explored, however, Carolyn was hot on the trail of another line of reasoning. “Well, you can’t stay in the dorm room anymore then. You broke the agreement. You’ll have to move out tomorrow.”
At this, I felt really sad. Never mind what was originally bothering me. The prospect of being alone again at the end of the hall was too much. Apparently, there was no appeal. Certainly, I wasn’t going to get any help from Carolyn. I walked slowly back to my room.
* * * * * * *
Carolyn beat me to the room to inform the other girls. I stopped in a sitting area to stare at the window until Carolyn left.
I was hurt and angry. Staring at the darkening evening outside, I willed the world to change. It didn’t. I imagined Kantor driving off down the road that I could just barely see. Driving away and driving away and driving away.
Anger and pain filled me up to overflowing. I had always wondered what the windows in this place were made of. Now, Sasifraz encouraged me to find out. I stepped up to the window and threw my fist at it. Nothing happened. There was a dull thud. The window reverberated like it was made of plastic. Hitting it did serve to reduce some of the tension in my body. I was able to wait patiently for Carolyn to leave.
* * * * * * *
Carolyn walked up the hall. In the darkness, she never noticed me. I waited another few seconds and walked to my room. Fists clenched, body tight, I walked in. I headed straight for the window by my bed and commenced testing its tensile strength as well.
Kim, one of the roommates, was over her bed in seconds grabbing my arm. (I wondered why it mattered since, obviously, the window wouldn’t break.) The other roommate sat frozen on her bed while Kim screamed for Carolyn to come back.
Everything happened very quickly. Karen came running down and helped Kim get me onto my bed. They both held me on the bed struggling and now consumed with rage.
“Wow, she’s really tense,” Kim observed.
“I’m surrounded by geniuses,” I thought.
Jerry came and started dragging me up the hall. Karen went and got the isolation room ready. “No, Jerry, no!” I pleaded. I felt I was in a nightmare.
Jolene, another girl, stepped out of her room to watch and shook her head at me. Jerry relentlessly pulled me up the hall and within seconds had me in the isolation room with the door shut and locked.
I turned around to look. I was in the isolation room with the bed. The room I stayed in when I first got to Western. I sat on the bed still overwhelmed with anger. A few minutes later, Karen unlocked the door and came in. She wanted to talk to me. “Do you hurt that much?” she asked.
A stupid question in my mind and one I didn’t know how to answer. I growled, “Go to hell.” Instantly, Karen turned and left locking the door behind her.
I walked to the window grabbing the chain link fencing and watched Kantor’s car drive away again. At that moment, I felt like I hadn’t gotten very far in Western. It’d been about a month. “So, this is what it feels like to be locked in this room,” I said to myself. “I liked it better the other way.”
* * * * * * *
(THERE I WROTE IT. Good job. CAN I HAVE SOME FANFARE, CROWD SHOUTING, OR APPLAUSE? Rather high expectations, don’t you think? HOW ‘BOUT SOME CHOCOLATE CAKE? GOT ANY OF THAT ON HAND? I’ll see what I can do.)
* * * * * * *
Sometime in the middle of the night, after I had fallen asleep, they came and unlocked the door. I awoke enough to hear it. By then, it didn’t matter any more.