But Inside I'm Screaming by Elizabeth Flock
Isabel watches the obviously heavily drugged new girl stagger back to her room.
“Did you see Nick?” Kristen had become too impatient waiting outside.
“Oh, um, no. I was just talking to that new girl…the one who’s in Keisha’s room. I haven’t gotten to the dry erase board yet.”
Kristen is already off, wandering the halls for her secret beau. Isabel watches her make way for Cindy, who is also wandering, weaving uncertainly.
“Hi!” the new girl calls after Kristen. “Have you seen my baby?”
Kristen does not even glance over her shoulder.
“Everyone, this is Cindy.” Larry speaks loudly to get the group’s attention. “She is joining us for the first time today.”
“Hi, Cindy,” Melanie chirps.
Cindy smiles groggily. “I was wondering if everyone here has seen my baby.” She looks down and seems surprised to find that her own fist is clutching her cherished photo, crumpling it. She stares into her lap and appears to will her fist to release the picture—to no avail.
“Why don’t you tell us a little about your baby girl, Cindy,” Larry suggests as he settles back into his chair, crossing his arms against his chest.
“Her name is Angel,” Cindy dreamily considers the assembled group.
“Where is she now, Cindy?” Larry asks.
“Now?” Cindy seems confused by the question.
“Where is Angel now?”
“Hmm,” Cindy’s thinks. “Let’s see…” As her mind trails off, she turns to gaze out the window and then upward toward the sky.
“Cindy?”
Isabel studies Cindy’s tangled hair, her bad complexion and her pudgy arms.
What a whack job.
“Yeah?” She slowly turns her head back toward the sound of Larry’s voice and then appears to remember the question. “Oh, yes. Angel. She’s in heaven now.”
Silence.
“How did she get there?” Larry asks. Isabel shifts in her seat without taking her eyes off Cindy.
“Huh?” Cindy seems bewildered again.
“Do you remember what happened last week?” Larry hints.
“Last week…”
“You were found holding your baby in a plastic bag. Do you remember that, Cindy?”
Ben moans and Melanie starts to cry. Cindy contemplates the sky again.
“Angel suffocated to death, Cindy. Maybe you could tell us a little bit about that,” Larry says, continuing to prod his new patient. She seems incapable of listening.
“You with us, Cindy?”
“Not really.” She smiles at Larry.
“Okay. Well.” He looks at his fingernails. He surveys the room and then he takes in a deep breath and releases it.
Congratulations, whack job. You’ve rendered our fearless leader speechless.
“Did you kill your baby, Cindy?” Ben startles the group with his angry question. He is glowering at the new girl.
Cindy cocks her head to one side but continues to stare at the sky.
This is like Wimbledon, everyone looking from Ben to Cindy and back again. No, it’s a courtroom—Ben’s the prosecutor, Larry’s the judge.
“I’m talking to you, Cindy!” Ben shouts. “Did you kill your baby?”
Objection, your honor!
“Ben, let’s calm down a bit, okay?” Larry stands up and walks across the room toward Ben.
“I can’t calm down, Larry.” Ben’s face is the color of a Christmas scarf. “I just want to know. Did she kill her baby?”
Larry hesitates and then turns abruptly to address the newcomer.
“Cindy, Ben is asking you a question.”
Overruled. The witness must answer the question.
“Angel belonged with other angels,” Cindy says softly, her eyes never wavering from the clouds. “I wanted her to be with the other angels.”
“What the fuck does that mean, Larry?” Ben demands. “Does that mean it’s okay for her to kill her baby?”
“Beyond the obvious reason, why is this touching such a nerve with you, Ben?”
“Because it just is, Larry. Does she think it’s okay to kill her baby? She doesn’t even seem upset about it. She thinks it’s okay to kill her baby or something. What’s going on?”
“Cindy? Would you like to talk to Ben, here? He’s got some questions he seems to want answers to. Can you help us out?” Larry tries again to pull Cindy back from outer space.
Cindy whispers, “I just wanted her to be free.”
“What about the baby’s father?” Ben asks, his voice cracking. “Did you even think about him? What about the baby’s father?”
“Okay, Ben, that’s enough,” Larry cautions.
Cindy crosses her arms and slowly rocks her body back and forth in her chair. Ben is steaming; the group is spellbound. Cindy starts to suck her thumb.
“Let’s move on,” Larry says as he pulls an empty chair into the middle of the circle. “Ben? Why don’t we talk about what you’re feeling right now. What if you direct what you have to say to Cindy to the chair instead.”
“What I’m feeling right now?”
“Yes.”
“Pissed off. I feel pissed off, Larry. I mean, this girl comes in and talks about killing her baby like it’s okay to do that, you know? Doesn’t that piss you off?” Ben addresses the rest of the group.
“Doesn’t anybody else see that this is fucked up?” he asks again.
“I do.” Tear-streaked Melanie throws support to her friend.
“Ben, in this group we try to talk without judgment,” Larry says. “Can you see that you’re passing judgment on Cindy right now? Maybe we can instead figure out what bothers you the most about Cindy’s situation. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I guess,” Ben sulks. “It bothers me that she didn’t want her baby. That she thought she could just throw her away or something. Like trash.”
Cindy is gazing at Ben.
“A baby’s not trash, Larry! You don’t throw a baby away just because it’s not easy for you! You can’t do that.”
“Does that remind you of anything, Ben?”
With the back of his hand Ben wipes away the spittle that invariably forms in the corners of his mouth.
“My mom used to say that she wanted to throw me away and start over. She used to tell me that all the time. That if I wasn’t careful she’d just throw me out with the trash. I didn’t mind it so much when she hit me, but the trash thing, that killed me. I used to be so scared about that, you know? I used to pray that I’d get really big so that I couldn’t fit into a trash bag. One summer? One summer I grew. I got, like, six inches taller. I was so relieved. I knew then that I wouldn’t fit in the bag. Even one of those big Hefty bags for leaves and stuff? I knew I wouldn’t fit into that. Until that summer I really thought she’d do it. Throw me out.”
Ben hangs his head. Larry puts his hand on Ben’s giant shoulder. In the corner of the room Melanie is sniffing. Cindy’s eyes are dry.
“Medication time!” the nurse calls down the corridor two hours later.
Within minutes the ragged group forms an uneven line in front of the pill station.
“I hate this,” Kristen mutters to Isabel.
“Why?” Isabel looks at her and wonders about Nick.
Kristen holds her hand up to Isabel’s ear and whispers behind it. “It’s poison, you know. They’re trying to poison us.”
“What?”
“Come on, Isabel.” Kristen becomes impatient. “Don’t play dumb. You know they’re poisoning us. They don’t want to have to bother with us. It’s Darwinian.”
She used to seem so normal.
“I read this article about how the pharmaceutical companies try out new drugs on mental patients without telling them. That’s what’s going on here. That’s why they’re always so nice to us at medication time. They don’t want to piss us off or we’ll refuse to come. Why do you think they watch us swallow the pills?”
Isabe
“Kristen?” The nurse calls.
“Here!”
“Hawaiian Punch or Crystal Light?”
“Hawaiian Punch, please,” Kristen answers sweetly.
As the nurse hands her a Dixie cup, Kristen turns and throws Isabel a conspiratorial smile.
She’s not swallowing. I knew it.
Isabel watches Kristen closely. It looks like she is washing the medicine down with the punch. But Isabel steps out of line and watches Kristen duck into the bathroom around the corner.
What a freaking cliché.
Fifty-Two
“Isabel? Ted Sargent again. I’m told that you are under the weather and I’m sorry to hear that. However, we do need to schedule a meeting sooner rather than later. I understand you don’t feel well, but business is business. So please call my assistant, Deborah. We’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
“Isabel, it’s John. I’m not gonna lie to you, kiddo. Sargent wants to reevaluate your contract. I’ve tried talking to him, but he’s a shithead and won’t listen to reason. I’m calling you because he keeps calling up here looking for you and people are starting to ask questions. My advice? Fuck him. But you may want to make it easier on yourself and return his call. I thought you should know it doesn’t look good. Fuck. I hate this phone call. Call anytime. Bye.”
“Hi, this is a message for Isabel. Isabel, this is Jack Cartwright with ‘Page Six’ of the Post. I’m hearing a lot of rumors about you and your future at ANN, and before I write anything up I wanted to speak with you. Hear your side of the story. You know the drill. Give me a call. I’m at 212-555-8765. Thanks. I need to hear from you by the end of the day. Deadlines, you know.”
“Isabel, Michele again. Sorry to keep rambling on your machine but I thought you should know that this guy from the Post is calling people here in the newsroom and asking questions about you. I’m not saying anything, but he did ask to speak with me. Thought you should know. Call me. Bye.”
“Yeah, Eagle One, this is Eagle Two. Checking command post. Looking for signs of life. I got your back, soldier. You know that, right? I’d take a damn bullet for you. Okay, that’s a ten-four.”
“Isabel, what is this shit? I just got a call from the Post asking me about our divorce! What the fuck is going on? Have you filed? This is totally fucked up. Now I can see why you won’t return my phone calls. Payback’s a bitch, right? Well, two can play that game. I’d suggest you call me back before I retain a lawyer and sue you for libel. You want to screw me? Well, come and get it. Try me. You better call me back. I’m going to go before your shitty machine cuts me off. You have it programmed to do that or something? I wouldn’t put it past you.”
I’m offended by that. My answering machine is top of the line.
Fifty-Three
Isabel starts running every morning. For thirty minutes she follows the road that loops around the grounds and within days she is jogging it twice. The running is cathartic, a way to sweat out the toxins of the cigarettes smoked the previous day; a way to escape the commotion in the unit; a way to regain her focus on the outside world. Sometimes, if she starts early enough in the day, she happens on deer, grazing on the dew-soaked lawn. She stops and watches the graceful creatures, feeling a sense of magic, as if they are symbols of good luck.
“You’re looking well today,” Dr. Seidler remarks with a trace of surprise. Isabel walks in, still sweating from her run.
“I’m feeling pretty good, actually,” Isabel answers. “Just being able to run again, to sweat even, is really helping me.” That and a few shocks to the brain.
“How do you think it’s helping you?”
“I just feel better. I can’t explain it.”
“You know about endorphins—I certainly think you’re feeling that—but I think it’s also a healthy way to get back in the game, so to speak. To get back into a regular routine…”
“Yes.” Instead of staring off into space, as she often does during their sessions, Isabel focuses on her therapist. She feels like she is seeing Dr. Seidler for the first time.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
Isabel waits a beat and then answers. “I was thinking that up until now you’ve looked kind of blurry to me. Like when you look through a camera and something’s just a touch out of focus. But today I’m getting a clear picture. It’s weird.”
Dr. Seidler smiles and sits back in her chair. Isabel relaxes, too, and eases back against the sofa cushions.
“That’s a good sign, Isabel. That’s a very good sign.”
Fifty-Four
“Wa-hey, there! Beautiful day for a run.” The gardener smiles broadly at Isabel as she approaches the flower bed he is weeding.
During runs, Isabel practices deep breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. She enjoys concentrating on the mechanics of the run: feeling her legs move back and forth, pumping her arms in concert with her legs all the while conscious of her breathing technique. She also thinks about her mother’s advice: love yourself. The words float above her every step: love.your.self.love.your.self.love.your.self.
“It’s a great day!” she calls back to him.
“That’s right. Ev’ry day’s a lovely day.”
Love.your.self.love.your.self.
Fifty-Five
Kristen crosses the deck of the smoker’s porch with a smile stretched across her face.
“You’ll never guess what I’m doing tomorrow,” she says to Isabel, who is tilting her head back to soak in the warm sun. She shades her eyes so she can get a better look at Kristen.
“What?”
“Guess!” Kristen is beaming.
“Oh, for God’s sake, just tell me—I’m no good at guessing games.”
“I’m going to visit my brother! I got a pass to go to Long Island and he’s sending a car here to pick me up. A Town Car. You know—one of those limo wannabes? It’s coming to pick me up in the morning and then it’s going to wait for me all day and bring me back at night. It’s all arranged. Can you believe it?”
Isabel closes her eyes, lets her arm fall back down and resumes sunbathing. “No, I can’t believe it,” she says wearily. “Good for you.”
“That sounded real sincere.” Kristen is miffed at Isabel’s lack of enthusiasm. “What’s wrong with you? By the way, Melanie’s on a mission to steal your mattress so you better watch out.”
“What?”
“Melanie’s big kick today is that her back hurts because her mattress is old. She thinks it’s a conspiracy against Jews, that you have a better mattress than her. I’m just warning you.”
“Whatever.”
“Wanna know a secret?” Kristen asks. “Can you keep your mouth shut?”
It takes all Isabel’s energy to tilt her head back upright and shade her eyes once more. “What?”
“I may not come back tomorrow night.” Kristen is gleeful. “My brother’s cool. He’ll back me up if I tell him I don’t want to come back here.”
“Aw, Kristen.” I do not have the energy for this. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“What’re you, my mother all of the sudden? Just be happy for me. This is what I want to do. They’re always telling us to be ‘true to ourselves—’” she takes a long drag of her cigarette “—I’m just following doctor’s orders.”
Kristen looks pleased with herself.
“Okay, first of all I’ve never heard them say ‘be true to yourself.’ And second of all, I know you aren’t taking your meds.”
Kristen looks like Isabel slapped her. Isabel stretches her legs out in front of her so they can get some sun.
“What?” Kristen recovers and tries to act as if she has no idea what Isabel is talking about.
“Look, I won’t tell anyone your little secret.” Isabel is too tired to continue much longer.
Kristen hardly
“Kristen! Someone’s here for you!” Ben hollers down the hall toward Kristen’s room. He sees Isabel turning the corner. “Isabel, did you know Kristen’s got a day pass?”
“Yeah.” A part of her knows Kristen is caught in a downhill spiral and wants to reach out to help her, but the other part feels beleaguered. I have to concentrate on saving myself…I can barely do that…I can’t save Kristen, too.
“I wonder where she’s going.” Ben is excited about the flurry of activity Kristen’s day pass has inspired. “Do you know where she’s going?”
“Long Island.” Isabel answers Ben over her shoulder as she signs herself out for a walk around the grounds so she won’t have to be confronted with Kristen’s smug determination to ruin her life.
“Walk,” she writes in the taped-off square next to her name. Then she fills in the time: “9:00,” even though it is 8:55, buying thirty-five minutes of freedom before she has to check back in.
Isabel turns abruptly and leaves the unit when she hears the sound of Kristen’s door shutting and footsteps coming toward her.
Outside it is muggy and overcast. Coming from the freezing air-conditioned unit into the sticky air feels, at first, like sinking into a warm bathtub. Isabel rubs her bare arms as she follows the path to the parking lot. There, idling silently, is Kristen’s sinister escape module. The windows are tinted so Isabel cannot get a look at the driver, but as she walks past she glances into the car through the clear glass of the front windshield. The driver is staring directly into her eyes. It unnerves her so she quickens her pace up the gentle slope of the driveway.
Isabel knows Kristen is right behind her so, to avoid the awkwardness of a furtive farewell, she breaks into a light jog around the corner and out of view of the road she knows they will take.
On cue, the car slowly turns the corner and gently makes its way over the speed bump that separates the unit’s parking lot from the main driveway. Isabel watches the car pick up speed then slow down at the front gate, pausing for oncoming traffic.