Crazy

Lucinda had promised herself that this wouldn’t happen. That the reality wouldn’t overshadow the memories, and that making visits wouldn’t become a burden. She made a pact, walking through the square, confining hallway of the Manhattan Psychiatric Center that she would be happy to visit. But when she had hugged him, the bitter smell of chalky pills and alcohol made her stomach turn in circles. It was the smell of crazy.

Now they sat. Lucinda in the middle of the squashed bed,  and Walter on the wooden oak chair positioned in front of the single window, his large rear end pouring over the edges. Each one waiting for the other one to speak, to scream, to breathe, to break the silence that filled the room in which Walter had lived for the past nine months. He sat directly in front of the window, hungrily absorbing the filtered rays of sunshine. His eyebrows knitted tightly as the wind seethed harshly into his eyes, and pear shaped tears made intermingling paths that disappeared at his square jawline. He wiped his eyes quickly and blinked repeatedly, attempting to regain the moisture. Lucinda shivered, causing the rusted bed frame to squeal in resistance.

“Are you cold?” Walter asked, turning his attention away from the window.

“No, I’m fine,” Lucinda said, the left side of her mouth twitching in a smile. Her coal colored hair was styled in a bowl cut and fell right below her eyelids, continuously fighting with the curly long lashes that extended from her sea foam eyes. Reaching beside her, Lucinda roughly grabbed a thread that lay lifelessly on the off-white blanket and wrapped it tightly around her index finger, hues of red and dashes of purple slowly painting the fingertip. She moved her finger slightly and the thread snapped, tiny pieces of the intermingled fabric falling onto the scratchy blanket. Brushing the remains off the bed, Lucinda tossed her hair and turned towards Walter, whose attention was focused on the dancing light that filtered through the filmy, dank windows. A sharp, frozen breeze seeped through the cracks in the oak frame of the window, causing the floral curtains to pound angrily against the freshly painted walls.

“So, the doctors tell us that you can come home for Christmas.” Lucinda said, instinctively reaching for her engagement ring which was missing from her finger. That’s weird, she thought, looking at her hands, I must have forgot to put it on this morning. “Everyone misses you. And I miss you the most.” Walter sighed and leaned back in the wooden chair, which crackled in resistance to his weight.

“Lucinda...stop,” he pleaded, rubbing his temples, “please just.........stop it.”

“Stop what?” She asked, her foot starting to shake.

“Stop this.” He hissed, leaning towards Lucinda. “You know what I’m talking about.” His eyes were threaded with thin lines of red stabbing into his almond iris. Sharp breaths escaped his twitching nostrils in cadence to the flickering lights above. He’s crazy, she thought, “I wonder if I should call someone in here?” Lucinda often thought of the word crazy. She would let it swell on her tongue savoring the word through taste, smacking her lips together with each impending meaning. She would pair it with other words, seeing how it sounded. I’m not crazy, You’re crazy, He’s crazy. Sometimes, she liked to sound it out emphasizing different syllables. CRAYYzy. Crazzzeiy. But mostly, she would cry out the word, spitting it out in the middle of the night like an exorcism.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Walter.” She stated firmly. Walter sighed and shook his head in disappointment. He stood up and walked over to the only other piece of furniture in the room- a desk with crazy etched repeatedly into the wood. His fingers cautiously caressed the desk top, feeling the divots of the soft laminate. Paintings of people holding hands surrounded the desk in a half-rainbow and reflected an array of colors against the white walls.

“Lucinda, you need help.” Walter said, looking out of the window, the light that shone on him quickly disappearing and leaving him looking grey and cold. His words fell like a brick onto the smudged tile floor and resonated throughout the room. Lucinda suddenly felt dizzy.

“Well, Walter,” Her voice shook as she looked at her watch, “I have to be going home and...um....work on some...work.” The large divot in the middle of the bed seemed to consume her like quicksand, and a pained creaking escaped the metal as Lucinda fought to get up. Her stomach bubbled over in nausea which burned her throat.

“Do you want to walk me out?” She asked, swallowing.  Walter slowly nodded his head, and put on his wool cap and vinyl coat which hung on the chair.

Lucinda quickly walked through the hallway, and Walter ran to catch up, his shiny pennyloafers reflecting the balls of florescent bulbs buzzing on the celling. They passed room after room, sounds of moaning and laughter jumping into their ears and disappearing with every passing second. The smell, oh God the smell, of crazy seeped into Lucinda’s nostrils like fire with every breath. Walter’s lips kept smacking against each other, but all she heard was the squeals of metal carts carrying pills. She passed the front desk, and knocked over a metal vase filled with fabric flowers. A tall, jangly man stood up in confusion and picked up a black, plastic phone. Lucinda didn’t want to breathe anymore, she didn’t want to think. She was almost there, to the sliding glass doors.

She felt a strong hand on her forearm.

“Lucinda, sweetheart,” A big lady with burning red hair smiled down at her, “Where do you think you’re going?” Lucinda backed away from her, but the red-head’s grip remained pasted onto her skin.

“I’m leavin....” She stopped herself. “Wait. how do you know my name?” The big lady looked at Walter who shook his head.

“Wait a second,” Lucinda said loudly, “what’s going on?” Two men in white came from behind the desk, and one held a straight jacket loosely in his right hand, the buckles scratching against the tile floor.

“Come on, sweety,” the woman said, pulling Lucinda away from the doors, “Let’s take you back to your room.” More people slowly swarmed around her like bees around honey, circling her tightly.

“What? I don’t live here,” She screamed, “I’m not crazy!” Lucinda slid out of the guards grip and grabbed Walter’s coat.

“Walter...Walter...” She pleaded, heaving, “tell them. Tell them I’m not crazy. You’re the crazy one, remember?” Walter stared at her, expressionless. His eyes were a star-burst of blue threaded with dashes of green. Lucinda hadn't noticed it before, but they were beautiful. In his glistening balls, Lucinda saw herself. She saw her hair, tangled into black dreads. Her own eyes, fixated on the reflection, seemed to grow red, a deep burning dread bubbled deep within her chest and spilled over into her mouth.

And then she remembered.

The warm summer night Walter and her fought against the backdrop of the white noise. She remembered their bellowing yells reverberating throughout the house, exiting from the windows and stirring the neighbors. She was not fit to be a wife or to be living on the constantly rotating earth. No one lives forever. Lucinda had held a cold knife against her warm white flesh, and there was a scream, her scream. Red and blue lights flooded the street. Walter’s tears had dropped onto her stone cold face as she told him, “I don’t care, I hope I die, I don’t care”.

“No...no...” Lucinda whispered to Walter, slowly walking backwards. Her breath had become shallow and raspy. “I’m not crazy.” Her voice hiccuped in a forced laugh as attempted to wake herself. “You’re the crazy one, Walter.” She shook her head up and down, assuring herself it was true.

“You’re the crazy one.”