Existence(49)

“You feeling better today? I hope so, Pagan, because I’m missing you like mad.” I smiled at the warmth his voice always caused.

“I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Leif. I went to see a psychiatrist.”

“What is that? Are they giving you medicine to fix it?” His voice sounded panicked.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. I’m having trouble functioning normally due to the trauma we all experienced.

You all handled it normally. I didn’t. It could be a chemical 147



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imbalance; they’re not sure. But I’m going to be in a psychiatric center for a while. They’re supposed to be able to fix me here. I’m not going to be able to keep my phone but I can have visitors.”

Leif seemed to be taking a deep breath. “So I can come see you? How long will you be there?”

“Yes, you can, and I’m not sure yet.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you, Pagan. I’m so sorry.” His voice sounded full of pain and guilt.

“Listen to me, Leif. I’m dealing with this because of things that are wrong with me. What we saw just triggered it.

I’ll get better.” I needed to hear that lie as much as he did.

After reassuring him several more times I hung up and left my phone on the passenger seat of the car. My overnight bag was all that was left in the back seat so I grabbed it and headed up the stairs to my new home, at least for now.





* * * *

The pale yellow room I’d been assigned contained one small round window overlooking the beach. I’d hugged my mother goodbye downstairs thirty minutes ago. I reminded myself I was doing this for her. It would help her deal with her fears of my being crazy. And being away from my bedroom, where so many memories of Dank existed, would help me find a way to live without him. An older lady stood outside on the sand with a bag of what looked like sandwich bread, throwing it into the air while seagulls circled her head. Either she wasn’t a local and didn’t realize that was a really good way to get pooped on, or she was a psychiatric patient who was too mental to care about a little bird poop.

I turned away from the growing flurry of hungry birds and studied the small room at least half the size of a regular bedroom. Considering this place held twenty-five patients at one time, and ten nurses and two doctors, the rooms couldn’t 148



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be too big even if the house was a really large two-story. A single bed sat in the middle of the room with a small, round, white table holding a shell-covered lamp. One single oval mirror hung on the wall over a dresser with three drawers. A very small closet, only large enough to hang up fifteen items and hold three pairs of shoes, was on the opposite wall. I was only allowed one hour in my room during the day. I could use it all at one time or spread it out throughout the day. It was their way of keeping patients surrounded by other people. Seclusion bred depression was their rule of thumb around here.

I glanced over at the small alarm clock they’d left on the round table. I had used up ten of my minutes in my room. I needed to go walk around and be seen so I would have time left to come back later. I walked into the hallway and closed my door behind me. The small key they’d given me was in my pocket and I locked my door. Apparently, there was cause to worry about theft with some of the patients. You weren’t allowed to bring anything of value with you but those suffering from personality disorders would take anything and I needed my clothing. I’d only been allotted a small amount and I needed what I had.

A door opened up down the hallway and a girl with bushy, brown hair and large round glasses stared at me, and then quickly slammed her door shut. I heard the lock click behind her. She was easily startled and frightened. She must be someone truly suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD as they referred to it here. I stared at the other closed doors wondering if everyone on this hall had the same disorder. If so it was going to be loud at night with the screaming caused by nightmares.

I walked down the stairs to the main living area, or what they referred to as the Great Room. It was where the televisions played sitcoms and board games were set up on tables. There were no computers or internet available for patients. A nurse smiled at me brightly as she walked by with 149



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a basket full of snack foods.

“We’ll be eating our afternoon snack soon. Hang around in here and you can get something to eat and meet some of the other patients. We have several your age.” Meeting teenagers with psychiatric disorders wasn’t really appealing to me. But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I walked to the double glass doors leading out onto the front deck.

“You won’t be able to open them. They lock them. You know, for us crazies who may take a wild notion to see if we can fly. Although, I figure the sand isn’t going to kill us when we hit.” I turned around to see a young girl with bleached blond hair that I guessed was probably shoulder length. She had it pulled up in piggy tales on top of her head. She wore bright red lipstick, which stood out against her pale skin.

“Thanks.”

She shrugged. “No problem. If you want to go outside and enjoy the beach you can get a nurse to go with you. They like having an excuse to go outside.” I remembered the lady outside earlier feeding the birds. She’d been alone.