This ain’t no disco

A series of vignettes about what is seen, what is felt, and what is remembered.

Names have been changed.

Jeremy’s Scar

During my first couple of days in the hospital, I met a lot of people and missed a lot too.

Jeremy always introduced himself as Carter. Jeremy Carter. Like Bond, James Bond. He locked his eyes to mine to gauge my reaction. I didn’t know how to respond, but he would roll his eyes and just turn away.

Jeremy was quiet, from a different background than mine, and carried scars deeper than most of us could imagine. He had scars on his face and arms from a terrible assault he had to endure. Few of us wore our experiences on the outside, favoring instead to bury them deep inside, but he didn’t have that choice. He carried his pain both on the inside and out. Jeremy has a special place in my heart. At a vulnerable moment at this new place, he stepped up.

Kids were making fun of me and asking me if I ever had been with someone, did drugs or any “fun” things. I was naive. They started calling me names and mocking me. I froze not knowing how to escape this onslaught.

In one clear moment, his words rang louder than all of the mocking: “Enough. Stop it!” Everyone got quiet. My eyes were watery, but he nodded at me, and I left the room.

I don’t know what happened after that, but I was never mocked again. We were never really any closer than that, but I know someone had my back.

Knowing Jim Morrison

One day, early on, someone came up to me and asked if I wanted to read or write some poems. I said that would be great. He introduced himself as Jim Morrison. We went to his room where he had 5 or 6 notebooks filled with his work. It was amazing to me to read such creativity. Jim and I got along well, sharing our stories and ideas for poetry.

A few weeks went by, and I called out “Hey, Jim”. Others in the dayroom looked at me strangely. He looked back and smiled. I looked around and asked what is going on? He laughed, as did everyone else, “Hi I am Ben” he said. “Don’t you know who Jim Morrison is?” I said no. I didn’t feel foolish I didn’t know who Jim Morrison was. I felt foolish that I didn’t know who Ben was.

Three months later, the first song I heard in the Grey Buick Skylark that drove me home from the hospital, was by the Doors. I knew by then the name of their lead singer, thanks to Jim, or uh, Ben.

Kate’s Letter

Kate was a good friend, we rose from innocence together to become full-fledged teenager, with all due activities and responsibilities therein. Her and I were at the mall together on the Sunday before I was sent to the hospital. It was a nice day with a good friend.

She sent me a letter about a week after my intake date. Included in the letter, Kate gave me her cheerleading photo with a note on the back. It included, “I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.” I kept it and cherished it. I put it on my bulletin board and looked at it daily, a reminder of a friend on the “Outside”. However, after I left it was tucked away with other materials from my days in the hospital—intake form, bye-bye book, psych analysis, discharge paper, and Kate’s photo.

Recently, I pulled those materials out for the reflective pieces in my blog. I looked at the picture and read the note on the back. I wondered what was going through her mind when she wrote it. I don’t remember what she may have meant by it, but it showed a shared time and shared experience.

I will write more about Kate later on. She stuck with me during my stay, and we found a way to talk to each other on the pay phone, without anyone being aware, at least, until they caught us red-handed.

The New Girl

There was a new girl on the unit. A bunch of us welcomed her and sat in a circle while we asked her why she was in and trying to discover other things of interest. She said she was from my hometown. I told her I lived there too. She asked where in town? I explained the rough area where I lived. She said she lives near there too. I said what street, she said Maple. I got very focused and interested. Do you live by the Kowalskis? She smiled and said, “Yes across the street!” We were now just focused on each other, waiting on the next word that would indicate how close we could be on the outside. I tried to winnow it down a bit, and asked, “Near Ryan Smith’s house?” She almost jumped up, “Ryan’s my brother!” We had a good laugh. Laura and I would spend a lot of time together during our stay. Eating breakfast and lunch together but being prohibited from dinner because of rules.

She and I went to the same high school, and after we were both out, kept up our friendship for a while. She was older than me, and we lost touch after she graduated.

Years later, I ran into Ryan. I asked about Laura. He said she is doing well and that she remembers me. It made me happy she was doing well.

The Quiet Room

Yeah, the strapped bed was in River hall. I was taken there one day when I was really angryThey injected me with something after carrying me to the only quiet room that had security straps. They attached them to my wrists and ankles. Worst off, they made me cut off a friendship bracelet that was special to me. I don’t think about this quiet room visit with remorse. They only had my best interest at heart.

However, I am still mad about the friendship bracelet. I don’t know why they had to do it. Even now, it seemed like a cruel action.

This ain’t no disco

Tim would often hum Life During Wartime by the Talking Heads — the verse, “This ain’t no disco, this ain’t no party, this ain’t no foolin’ around.”

Not to me, but just to himself, as if it was all part of a day’s work. I would hear those lyrics when he escorted me to the quiet room after I had acted out in some way.

I ended up liking Tim, though I didn’t at first. One day he took us to a large room upstairs. He let the boys run around to Pink Floyd being played — I think The Greatest Dance Tunes album — . The record player turned loud in what seemed like a dinner or dance hall. We all just ran around, tackling each other, and listening to the music when we rested.