Hank flattened his finger to the touchscreen, copied the address, switched apps and pasted it in. 1 hour, 35 minutes. He groaned, pressed play on the radio and drove on. Horns blared and voices droned on.
The green farmland of New Jersey blurred beside him on the freeway. It was springtime and the trees were in full bloom, adding splotches of pink, yellow and white to the land. Mostly though, he saw pines, oaks and generic trees. Who knows what all the tree breeds are? They soil the ground with their nuts without care or thought of what the earth wants.
As his Toyota chugged on, Hank thought of the last time he had seen Florence. She had impulse control issues and had been slurring her words by the end of the evening, legless on vodka and Red Bull. They found a cabana in the backyard of an old home in the neighborhood. The couple that lived there were clearly out of town, leaving one hallway light on upstairs to ward off intruders. Hank and Florence had no intention of going to in the house, simply needing a quiet, dark spot for coitus.
The experience had been electric, if fleeting. Florence seemed as though on ecstasy, unable to keep her voice down while Hank was nervous, not accustomed to taking such risks. But it certainly made a good story to tell friends. The Red Bull had kept her awake for hours afterwards, talking and tugging on his cheeks while Hank drifted in and out in the summer night heat.
Cut to one year later and here Hank was set to meet with Florence again. She had been coy in her messages. “What are you doing in New Jersey?” Hank had asked. “I’ve been here for a few months now.” “OK. I’m driving through, would be great to see you.” “Great! Can you meet me here?” with the address attached. “Sure, I’ll be there in 90 minutes.” “Perfect, I’ll be able to meet then. Come to the front and ask for me.”
Finally, Hank pulled up to the gate where the synthetic GPS sent him. This couldn’t be right. No, no, no. The sign read Trenton Psychiatric Hospital. Ok, Florence, very funny, Hank thought, about to call her on the joke. He stopped himself before sending the text. Thinking back to her previous behavior, he erased the message and said instead “Are you sure this is the right address?”
“Yes, come in. Ask for me.”
He had a growing sense of unease. But, thinking it through, he either needed to let this gag play out or be supportive of someone who was having a hard time. Perhaps she was even an employee here.
Hank approached the front desk after parking his car in the visitor’s lot. “Yes?” asked the middle-aged woman behind the desk, blinking up at him from behind glasses with a gold chain hanging behind her neck. “I’m here to see Florence.” “Last name?” Hank hesitated. He didn’t know it. “I’m not sure I know it. She just texted me and told me to ask for her.”
The woman sighed, squinted and clicked through the screen. “I see. Yes. Please sign in there and we’ll fetch her.” Fetch her? Hank thought. Was she a dog he was coming to pick up and foster? “Ok then.”
Five minutes later, he was led through a doorway deeper into the bowels of the place. These were pristine bowels. Lots of fiber to keep the thing cleaned out. A slight chemical stench hung in the air, but otherwise the hallways looked nicer than other hospitals Hank had visited. Artwork on the wall, mostly landscapes, some abstract. Nice carpet on the ground. He saw a few patients in regular clothes who nodded at him. Some of the younger women glanced twice at him.
In a room with a camera in the corner, Hank entered with the nurse and saw Florence sitting on a couch playing with her phone. She waved and exclaimed, “Hank! It’s so good to see you. Thanks Daisy, I’ll take him from here,” winking to the nurse who smiled at her.
They hugged and Hank sat on the couch. “So, Florence, I have to say this is unexpected.”
“Is it though?” she asked laughing, flipping brown hair over her shoulder. She looked the same, wearing jeans, sneakers, a loose turtleneck top. She even had on small earnings and was wearing light makeup.
“I guess I just have never visited someone in…. in a place like this.”
“Well don’t worry, they’ve got me on some good medicine to keep me subdued.”
“Is that right?” Hank was afraid to laugh.
“Relax, buddy. It’s not like I was committed here. I came of my own volition with the full support of my parents. Financial support that is. And I’ve made loads of progress. Set to leave in at the end of the month.”
“So only two more weeks then. That’s great.” A moment of silence before Hank spluttered, “Can I ask? Why… what happened?”
“Oh, nothing big. You know, little things in life can wear you down. That coupled with my mental…. handicap and it was bound to happen at some point. If I’d had proper care back home maybe it wouldn’t have gone down like this. But I can’t control that.”
“Well the digs aren’t bad,” said Hank, smiling for the first time.
“People tend to think that what they see in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest — padded walls, straight jackets handed out like electric shock treatments — is what it’s like being in a psych ward, but in reality, psychiatric hospitals are much less exciting than that. Plus, I guarantee I’m higher than you right now. It’s all worth it.”
Hank gave a genuine laugh at that one. They talked for a while longer. She told him about the rules around boundaries, private space, how some of the people who ended up here were rich or famous. Her experience of having a psychotic outbreak leading to a serious change in her judgement of reality. The usual mumbo jumbo.
Finally, she paused and looked at him fiercely. “Remember the last time we saw each other?”
“Yes, that was quite a night.”
She grinned, for the first time looking a little unhinged. “That was one of the best nights of my life.”
Hank was surprised but recovered. “Can’t say I hated it.”
“We had a lot of fun.”
“Well who’s to say that has to stop?”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t gotten laid in months Hank. Months! It won’t take long.”
“Are you…” he stopped himself.
“Yes, dummy! Besides, haven’t you always wanted to have sex in a psych ward?”
“Can’t say the thought’s crossed my mind until just now.”
“Well, let me make your new dream come true.”
Hank gestured towards the camera, “And that?”
“We’ll give ‘em a good show. The folks like me here. It won’t be an issue.”
Despite himself, Hank was aroused. “You sure the medicine won’t stop you?”
“Let’s find out,” said Florence, pulling off her turtleneck.
Half an hour later, Hank walked out of the place into evening sunlight. His legs were wobbly as if he’d just run a marathon. He made it to the car, found a Red Bull and chugged the thing in one go. Was he going to end up here someday? There could be worse things. Inside, Florence was lying on her bed, wondering if she was ovulating. She hoped so.
This blog post brought to you by Red Bull. Don’t drink it, unless you want end up a nutter. Email me your thoughts: patrick@patrickchristman.com