Psych

The man behind the counter stared at me as he waited for a reply. I was in a daydream. Lost in his brown eyes. I thought about asking for his number along with a double double. But I smiled and handed him the change. He looked at me once, and then again as he noticed my gaze had not broken from him. Have a great day, miss. I nodded and walked away, feeling his eyes glued to my butt.

I  hate hospitals. The floor beneath me looked like it was littered with the footsteps of the ill. I know, I know, How can you tell? It’s a hospital. Of course it was littered with the footsteps of the ill. Disgusting. I saw a hand sanitizer dispenser and I shivered with the thought of how many hands had met it. I dared dispense the alcohol onto my skin. I rubbed my hands together, fiercely. Better, I thought. I walked up to the Adult Mental Health Psychiatric Ward. There was a set of large doors, left unlocked. Ten meters past, there was another set, also unlocked. They slammed abruptly behind me. The third set of doors were locked and had a small window on it. A note placed over the window on the other side of the door, in messy handwriting, read, Please knock for entrance.  I didn’t have a chance. A lady dressed in purple scrubs, with a dark brown messy bun, eagerly opened the door with a smile. Now, I couldn’t tell if she was a nurse, or a damn patient. I’m here to see Morgan Taylor, I said, meeting her gaze. She shrugged her shoulders and pointed to the door behind her. I walked over. My uncle, dressed in a surgical gown, a face mask and white rubber gloves, greeted me and immediately asked where his burger was. With a sigh I handed him a bag and we sat.

He did not remove his gloves to eat, which resulted in my pure disgust toward the man I am immediately related to. In disbelief, I drew my attention to the man seated behind me. He was facing the television. Sucked into Star Trek. The TV was so loud, I could barely hear the thoughts in my head. My uncles hair was beginning to grey from what used to be the most beautiful red hair I had ever seen. It looked as if there was hardly any life left in him. His face did not look as I remembered. Sunken in, and nearly yellow from all of the drugs he was putting into his body. I am not a doctor, but when your skin yellows, it usually means your liver is about to give out… or is in the process of. He picked up one of his burgers and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. One bite. Thank you, thank you kindly. He said with mayo spilling out the side of his mouth. I turned away, because I couldn’t stand to watch him chew. He gulped his coffee. He got up from the table, and wiped his mouth. He began to pace. I need something. How is school going, hays? You’re going to be a nurse? They like me here. He assured me. I can put in a good word for you. He must have been having some sort of episode because the things he was saying did not make any sense to me. He sat himself down in the chair, with a loud sigh. The doctors are making me wear these gloves. So I don’t infect anyone. He pulled out a large bag of Q-tips from his jean pocket. Q-tips are important. He shoved one in each ear and began to twirl them. Ugh, I turned my nose up in disgust. Must you do that here?

AAHHH Much better. He placed the wax filled cotton tips on the table. Morgan, why are you doing that here? He sat up, and picked his nose. I began to stare out the large window behind him. The light made his hair seem colorless. With the grayness in his hair, it made his face also look grey. I mentioned how loud the television was, Morgan removed himself from the chair and turned the volume down on the TV, after asking the mans permission. The man in the chair facing the television gave Morgan a blank stare. He turned to me, shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to lower the volume. He sat himself back down, Is that too quiet? He politely asked the man in the chair. The man did not respond. Morgan turned back to me, as if he was talking to me. His sarcasm reminded me of myself. I couldn’t sit there any longer. I removed myself from the chair, and gazed out the window. With my thoughts still briefly on the man at the coffee shop. I wondered about how he viewed our lives intertwining for a split second. Or if he had even thought of it. Probably not, as people in customer service seldom recall their customers. My thoughts entered back into the room where my uncle sat. I began to recall things of my childhood. I felt so horribly that he ended up here. His girlfriend is now dead, and he is finally committed to psych to get the help he so very desperately needs. I wanted to ask about Lisa, but I didn’t bother. Morgan sprung up and insisted it was time for me to leave. I’ll walk you to the desk, he said. Follow me. Behind him I walked. The nurse with the messy brown bun buzzed open the door, and let me out. I looked behind me as the door slammed. Wondering how he would manage in there. I remember when it was me, left behind in psych. Watching my family walk out for the night and leaving me behind with all the “crazies.” I felt like I didn’t belong there. I walked out the doors, and to the main lobby, past the coffee shop. The man with the brown eyes was still working at the counter. I stopped for a moment, to admire one last look at his face. He moved his eyes up from a customer he was serving, and met mine. I felt air escape from my lungs, as if it was the first time I had breathed before. Hmm, I thought. I almost went to tell him I forgot something, his number. But I ignored the urge and paid for parking. I left.  

Author's Note

Names were changed due to privacy reasons of my family.

Reviews

[SuspectGray]

A sad and very realistic account, from memory I suspect. The diversions to the counter guy reflect how our minds really work. I think you are a strong story teller and get the emotions down OK. Perhaps pump up the descriptions more (like the mayonnaise dripping out). By that I mean "describe"...don't "tell" if you get the difference.