The 14 year old me drummed my fingers methodically on the day room table. I was making patterns of seven: three fingers down, then four fingers; four fingers, then three; and changing the pattern to five fingers down, then two; then two down, and five. It was a habit that I had since I was much younger. (It was later in my life that I discovered seven was the number of change. I had just thought it was my favorite number.)
It was the morning after the night before (how convenient). The next day of the night of the movie and isolation. I was trying to figure out what to do with myself. Later, I mentioned something about bleeding last night in isolation to Carolyn. Carolyn said unsympathetically, “Yeah, I heard you picked a scab.”
I dropped the subject but thought, “If you only knew.”
It was after dinner that day when I found myself in a cozy little discussion in the Berg Hall day room with Carol and her counselor, BK. I was mostly listening to their tales of the bizarre behavior of current and past patients. They told me stories in a friendly, conversational way. I thought perhaps they were trying to reassure me about my own behavior the night before.
BK was turning a ring around her ring finger and told me she was married. Carol and BK laughed about when Carol first came to Western and smeared peanut butter in her sheets and jumped in. They laughed about Mary C. taking a shower with her clothes on and thinking that she was the virgin Mary. (The connection was lost on me.)
All the while, I listened and nodded believing every word they told me. Later in the conversation, they started laughing at a joke between the two of them. I wondered what they were laughing at. They told me that it was all very funny and that they had made up absolutely everything they had told me.
I felt myself go tight. It was as if I had begun to relax only to get the rug pulled out from under me. I turned red. I felt humiliated. As no words came to me to say to help make me feel less embarrassed, I got up and swiftly left.
Sasifraz was in a tizzy—absolutely raving about what a fool I was to trust them—any of them. At that particular moment, I ceased caring. I had nothing left to loose. No action could get me in more trouble than I already felt. I started yelling at Sasifraz out loud within earshot of others.
Naturally, the counselors did not take well to this behavior. After some feeble attempts to calm me down, they put me in isolation again.
A part of me knew what a sad chain of events it was—that perhaps on any other day, I could have taken the teasing. But, on this particular day, something snapped. I couldn’t even hear what the counselors said as they were pushing me through the door and locking it behind me.
“I must really be crazy,” my rational part said, “to get locked up two nights in a row.”
* * * * * * *
“Welcome to the Iron Gates of Hell,” Damian, the Enunciator, stepped forth and gave a little bow. Sasifraz, the Iconoclast, gave a little nod. I watched and listened in isolation.
“You are welcomed here,” Damian spoke clearly, “as a guest of His Imminence.” He bowed reverently in Sasifraz’s direction. There was a brief murmur in the throng. “He brings you here as your guide and His guest. A tour is in order,” Damian gestured to the guards, “Your indoctrination will begin.”
Thus began the invitation that Sasifraz extended to all his captives. I was no exception.
* * * * * * *
(1988)
The me of thirty years old sat and contemplated my fate. At that moment, in those times, it felt very hard for me to live. I felt that there was no answer. My memory was wrong, or I was dead. Something inside died long ago.
When I tried to unravel the memories—sorting possible truth from blatant fiction—the story fell apart like dominos knocking each other over. The truth left and I was never even born. My body screamed. It did not let up. It repeated endlessly from my very cells. “It is true! It is TRUE!”
Because my mind had no place to put such a truth, I struggled relentlessly to resolve the dilemma.
* * * * * * *
(1972)
Just as he winked out, Alfer Centurie made a monumental discovery. He caught Sasifraz’s eye as I was being led away. He noted the star configurations above Sasifraz’s shoulder. It was as if he made a connection that he had known long ago. Sasifraz and J lived on the planet that he’d been looking for and only recently discovered. Dust. They lived on the planet Dust. Alfer Centurie felt that finally he could do something about the situation that had been plaguing him. He had a plan.
* * * * * * *
Lucifer dreamt quietly. He was a boy again playing in the water at the coast cabin that his parents had. He was only twelve but had fallen in love with a beautiful woman—Arabeth. Together, they danced and played in the water. It was night time, and the moon shown brightly.
Arabeth made Lucifer feel relaxed and nurtured. In the morning when he awoke, he felt he’d met another being—one whose purpose was focused on healing as opposed to Martineau who always focused on learning. Lucifer wanted to get to know Arabeth better.
(So would I.)