MEMOIR
Witch Black & Baby BlueTHE DEEP SOUTH 30 October 2009 |
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Chaos everywhere in the five county area and by the time I creep into the last ER I've had more than my fill of manic-depressives and opiate suicides gone awry. I drop my gear and sift through the patient fridge for a Gatorade G2.
"No Grape?" I ask Jody, the nurse.
Swiping her name tag, she ducks into the doctor's lounge and returns with a purple drink.
"Thanks," I say, twisting off the top. "So what you got?"
"Well," she sighs, puffing bangs from her eyes. "By the time she got here she'd already shucked off all her clothes and throwed them out the cop car window. Then when they dragged her through the double doors she stripped off the sheet they wrapped her in and shouted "I AM THE ARK OF THE COVENANT - do not touch meeeeeeeeeeee...." Jody claws up her fists and screeches the last line.
"Alright then," I respond, pulling deeply against the grape.
"Bed nine," she grunts, tossing over the chart. "Took six of us but she's in four-point restraints and a hospital gown. For now."
I knock against nine's wall and pull the curtain back. The girl is mid-twenties maybe, with witch black hair, baby blue eyeshadow, and a face ravaged by acne scars. She's upright in bed, latched at the wrists and ankles and scowling me down with the cackle of the damned.
Jody's on my tail. "Wanna see this," she clucks.
I stride forth and offer my hand. She flinches back and pulls against the straps. "I do not shake hands with the devil's son," she says with disgust.
Jody lets out a whoop and leaves the room.
I pull a stool over and sit by the bed. The patient turns her head slowly towards me, as if rotated by gears. "You," she commands. "Look into mine eyes and know what it is to be loved."
I slide in. We lock eyes. "OK."
She stares intently, like trying to bend metal with her mind. God's love, I think, Try not to smirk. Monster be nice.
A minute seems endless when you are staring into the eyes of a stranger. The monster is me, I consider, toying with those acutely psychotic. Love of God, I recall. Be nice, be kind, do no harm.
Time crawls and two minutes pass slowly as the waters beneath the Silver Creek Bridge. She moves closer. Her breath is hot and faintly smells of SweetTarts. Peace of God. Mercy, I pray. Lord, let the straps hold.
Three minutes, four. Silence, save for the soft hum of florescents and sirens far away. Closer still, she comes, until our faces nearly touch. Enough. There is a sadness. Leave. Go. I cannot fathom. No. Stay.
The emerald of her iris flickers in the light. Somehow I know the hell she has been through. Stop the melodrama. I want to tell her that we are all so damaged. The darkest heart hopes for beauty still. But sometimes there's just no words. Somebody's baby, somebody's sister, somebody's friend.
"Anna, c'mon." I say softly.
She looks away, as if staring through windows only she can see. "You can go now."
Her gown is torn. Imprints of the buckles and leather mark her arms. "Is there anything I can do?"
She shakes her head. I stand to leave.
"Juice," she says quietly.
"Juice?"
"Juice."
"That it?"
She shrinks into herself and in a tiny voice asks: "Do you have any extra underwear?"
There is no rush to speak in jails and emergency rooms. Words can breathe. Questions linger. It's never awkward.
"Juice. Underwear. See what I can do." I turn to go. At the door she calls out to me.
"Hey mister."
"Yeah?"
"So. Do you feel any more loved now?"
Sometimes the job is a blessing, other times a curse. Sometimes it's sport, other times all too serious. Sometimes I know why I'm here, other times I don't have the first damn clue.
"Yes ma'am," I reply. "I do."
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Original Comment Thread Below:
60 Comments »
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-10-29 23:47:12
Thanks to my true friend
waterbucks
who insisted I write the full story
after a two line Tweet.
This word count
is for you.
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Comment by waterbucks
2009-10-30 06:59:38
Six hundred and Sixty Six!
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-10-30 01:51:59
That poor, poor girl. You’re no monster, J.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 08:48:29
We are all
part monster
part baby
part lover
part fiend
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Comment by Gina Frangello
2009-10-30 17:22:57
Amen to that, JMB.
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Comment by David S. Wills
2009-10-30 23:00:31
We are indeed. Although we differ by percentages…
Comment by jmblaine
2009-10-31 08:02:36
Sometimes
I’m 151 proof
monster
Sometimes
Reply here
Comment by Kimberly M. Wetherell
2009-10-30 02:03:23
Gorgeous and heartbreaking.
Yes, you are loved indeed.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 08:49:16
Thank you
I am loved
and now & then
I can even
receive it.
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Comment by Megan
2009-10-30 03:06:11
If this lovely little piece of prose came from a tweet, maybe Twitter’s good something after all. Happy Halloween, fitting it’s all saints day since the work you do is very saintly even when it does not feel that way to you. Grape G2 is my favorite too.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 08:52:37
It has its uses I imagine
It is a good writing exercise
in being concise
All Saint’s Day!
That should have been in the title.
I never feel like the Saint though
only mostly
the Devil’s rebellious
teenage son.
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Comment by Robin Antalek
2009-10-30 03:24:41
Breathtaking and Heartbreaking…
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 11:00:23
Thank you
Robin
it was confusing too
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Comment by Irene Zion
2009-10-30 03:42:09
So many lost souls
and so few
who
care
(But some)
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 08:54:12
We are all lost
and wandering
and hoping
for the right way
home
I am feeling
my way
through the dark
will you
take my hand?
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Comment by Irene Zion
2009-10-30 13:40:21
I would
but
I am
blind
there are many
of us
lost
in the dark
searching
for a
hand
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 14:30:13
Follow my voice!
Together we can
find our way home
Reply here
Comment by Ducky
2009-10-30 04:54:25
That was you?
A minute seems endless when you are staring into the eyes of a stranger. (YES!)
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 08:58:20
I’m really feeling
the Ducky Love
lately
no, really.
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Comment by Ducky
2009-10-30 09:48:26
Love is the answer. As The Great One wrote.
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 11:01:07
It’s the Question
too.
Reply here
Comment by Ducky
2009-10-30 04:57:48
Years ago, I volunteered to teach art at the mental institute out here. Five year old girl was in for stabbing to death both her parents with a butcher knife while they slept.
Of course, she was the first patient I wanted to meet, so what does that say about me?
We’re all crazy.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 08:57:23
We are,
in our own way
Sometimes being around
insanity
makes you feel sane.
Sometimes.
Your hook is in
write me the story
of that little girl
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Comment by Ducky
2009-10-30 09:51:01
Not sure I even know what it means anymore - sane / insane - but I’m not compelled to define anyone anymore, myself included. We just are what we are.
And I sure am glad you are what you are.
And you write what you write.
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 11:02:17
And all
the quackers said
“amen”
Comment by Ducky
2009-10-31 21:15:06
Amen.
Reply here
Comment by Matt
2009-10-30 06:56:58
This kind of made me miss working in an ER. My second night on the job, we had one of these (a 19 year-old boy) and it took eight of us to get him into the four-points. These poor kids.
Such a harsh world, to crack open so many people.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 09:00:47
Matt.
They crack me open
too.
You make this crust you know
but I’m so sensitive
I can never maintain it
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Comment by josie
2009-10-30 07:14:11
To pour love into the eyes of the devil’s son, surely she is the Ark of the Covenant. There is such beauty here, on both sides, it’s hard to see the tragic. That wild and constrained looking at the devil’s son, she offers love… and tht you pulled up a chair and met her gaze instead of throwing off the notion… heck, I feel loved just reading about it. And I love you both.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 09:03:20
Ooh, see I never thought of that.
Symbolism.
I wasnt being noble, I was like
“What the heck.”
God is
so subversive.
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Comment by josie
2009-10-30 07:17:12
“Monster be nice”
I’m thinking I need that on a t-shirt.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 09:05:12
It was a throwback.
When I worked at the haunted house
scared kids could get a ring and
say the magic words
“Monster be nice”
and it would cower us down.
Unless they were being smart-alec with it
then while the one in front cowered
another would pounce
from behind.
Pounce, I say.
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Comment by sheree
2009-10-30 08:43:33
Excellent writing. Wishing you and your lovely wife lots of quiet moments together. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long winter for your line of work.
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Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 09:07:31
Well thank you.
Indeed ours is a
very quiet life.
Disclaimer:
I went back to part-time long
ago in mental health.
I basically do it for the human interest
these days.
I actually see maybe three or four people a week now.
boo…..
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-10-30 08:47:18
I long for magic and sometimes feel certain there is none
and just about the last dying point
Magic appears.
Or simply magical thinking?
That’s the question.
At some hypnotic point I seemed to understand
that this girl had taken a lot of verbal abuse in her life
and she sort of gave in and said “You want insanity? I’ll give it to you.”
You see there’s still humanity in there and it breaks your heart.
I wanted to tell her I cannot understand
but yet hey, we are all
so damaged.
But I couldnt find a way to say any of those things other than bring her some juice.
I hope that’s enough, I hope that when Jesus said
“Did you share your food? Did you give anyone a drink? Someone who was cold - did you bring them a blanket?”
that he was saying this is what true religion really is.
I know if you have to provide a commentary on what you really meant in a story
you didn’t write with enough clarity and thought
but I’m trying to learn.
Thanks for locking eyes with me
and not looking away.
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Comment by josie
2009-10-30 11:13:59
The story is incredibly clear, JMB. What you seem to miss is what you actually gave. It’s the same thing I see in all your crisis stories- uncommon respect. I see it and I’m always shocked and awed by it. That’s the gift you give. (how’s that for clarity?)
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 09:08:04
candy-ass hack.
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Comment by waterbucks
2009-10-30 11:21:59
I know, right?!
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Comment by Phat B
2009-10-30 09:51:44
Purple Gatorade is the best. Rain, G2, Tiger, doesn’t matter. Go purple and you’ll never be disappointed.
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 11:05:31
I am Purple
like the puddles
from Prince’s Rain.
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Comment by Phat B
2009-10-30 11:29:22
“Mmmmm I want me somma’ that purple stuff” — Dave Chapelle
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Reply here
Comment by Zara Potts
2009-10-30 10:37:12
Your words fortify me, JMB.
They are like nourishment for the soul.
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 11:06:22
“So I ate the little book
and it was sweet.
But once in my stomach
it turned sour.”
-Revelation
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Comment by Irene Zion
2009-10-30 13:43:37
age
age will do that
sweet things
turn
sour
bitter
sinister
stay young
my
advice
to take
or
to leave
(Comments wont nest below this level)
Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 14:31:50
“I will restore
your youth
like the Eagle”
Psalm 91
Reply here
Comment by Rich Ferguson
2009-10-30 10:42:15
The heart was really beating here, my friend. Beating loud and clear, and bursting right out of the story. Yep. You and your words are truly loved.
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Comment by 1159
2009-10-30 11:07:28
ah Rich.
Kindness is always in your eyes
& mischief.
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Comment by Peter Schwartz
2009-10-30 17:03:59
This is what I call writing with balls. This sucked me in faster than a _______ (lol) and kept me there: creeped out, but a little bit haunted, too. Thanks, mate.
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Comment by jmblaine
2009-10-30 18:42:16
Writing with balls.
If I ever get a book out can I put that on the blurb?
That’s awesome.
PS.
Your picture is supercreepy!
We’re in league
\with Diablo!
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Comment by Megan DiLullo
2009-10-31 19:55:50
JMB,
I sleep better at night knowing that you are in this world.
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Comment by jmblaine
2009-11-01 09:50:25
Really?
Are you just saying that?
I’m trying to decide
if that’s a good thing.
Sometimes I
don’t sleep
well
knowing I am in
this world.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Megan DiLullo
2009-11-01 18:06:26
Yes really.
I don’t always sleep well, knowing that I’m in the world, either. That’s why it’s important to have other people around, for perspective.
I meant every word.
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Comment by Marni Grossman
2009-11-01 16:39:52
I can’t fathom the patience it takes to be you. To do your job. And then to come home and write it so beautifully.
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Comment by jmblaine
2009-11-02 10:03:10
Marni
I have no patience.
I’m here learning to write and its a slow process.
I try to be poetic when I really need to be clear but I’m working on it.
Any beauty or patience or - anything that goes right - is by Divine intervention or cosmic accident.
What seems like attention is usually confusion, what seems like listening is either not having a clue what to say or being preoccupied with where I am going to eat after I leave.
You get the point but thanks for the kind words.
I’m trying to be more honest…
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Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-11-01 21:36:57
Terrific piece. I belatedly wish you the best in the waning hours of All Saints Day proper.
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Comment by jmblaine
2009-11-02 10:03:48
Hey man thanks, I feel a turning point coming on - we’ll see what happens.
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Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-11-02 12:56:39
I could use a turning point. Well, I could use one if the point turns good. Here’s hoping for us both.
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Comment by Megan DiLullo, Erika Rae, and Lenore Zion
2009-11-03 22:14:42
Sorry I’m late to this. It’s been a week.
I think the line that was most powerful for me was that her breath smelled of Sweet Tarts. Spoke volumes right there.
You don’t mess around when you write, do you?
Fabulous.
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Comment by Erika Rae
2009-11-03 22:16:25
Dang it. That was me in the comment above. Messing with logins.
How did I miss this one? Holy dynamite, friend, you really do have a calling. You’re like a whisperer.
You make me miss that inner peace, the calmness and serenity I only ever used to lure animals to my hands, but you use to heal the damaged. I lost it somewhere in middle school, and I’ve yet to recover it.
You do amazing work, and your writing is pretty damned amazing too.
A whisperer.
Hmm. I feel more like a nervous wrangler
trying to lasso the wind.
I don’t change clients
but they sure change me.
Thanks for your kind words.
I feel more loved
after reading this.
You
are
much
loved