Date: Sat, 24 Feb 1996 03:34:43 -0600 (CST) From: "sara karon" A Funny Thing Happened On the Way To Freedom Copywrite Reserved, Catherine Odette Part 1. Introducing Tall Jim I don't actually remember meeting Tall Jim. I guess it seems like we'd always lived together; he on the west wing, me on the east wing. When the day room was quiet, his deep baritone sounded almost amplified as he asked for the millionth but far from the last time of this day, "Are you mad at me?" He asked this question of everyone who lived on the ward, of everyone who worked on the ward, and of everyone who visited the ward. When the ward door got unlocked, someone was going out or someone was going in and some invisible wheels in Tall Jim's head got unlocked too. So visitors to the ward got asked sometime during their time on the ward, "Are you mad at me?". Head nurses doing their daily walk up and down the east wing and their daily walk up and down the west wing got asked. "Are you mad at me?". Family members stopping in to say "hi" and drop by with some candy for a loved one got asked "Are you mad at me?". After the extra guards finished subduing some 'wayward' patient, they got asked, "Are you mad at me?". The administrators visiting for a minute on inspection tours, somebody's outside shrinks, social workers needing papers signed, kitchen workers wheeling in the food trucks, maintenance guys in their green clothes, everyone got asked, "Are you mad at me?". First he asked was the simple questions: How is it out? Is everything ok? Did you drive here? Simple, seductive, harmless questions he asked meaning to set you up so you would answer the really important question, "Are you mad at me?". Tall Jim had full privileges and could go outside whenever he wanted. I'm sure he asked everyone he met out there if they were mad at him. I'm sure that why he was still here years after we first met. Tall Jim was very tall. At six five he easily towered over most everyone on the ward, guards and patients alike. Mostly a gentle giant kind of guy, his size meant he could hurt someone if he wanted to. He didn't. He very simply couldn't. He was always preoccupied with the idea that he had done something wrong. Most of the time Tall Jim's mouth hung open just a little. Not gaping so flies could zoom in there. Not drooling like he wasn't paying attention. Just open a little so he could kinda taste the air, or check out the mood, just enough so he could be ready in case someone new came around - someone he might want to talk to. Most of the time his eyes ran all over the room, seeking some unknown person or some unknown object, maybe seeking an answer or maybe seeking some magic or perhaps seeking a way to fix every person and object and thought in the exact position they were in right now, so that he could rest his busy eyes. Tall Jim's eyes worked hard to always know everything and if things would only stay put he could know everything and control everything. When the answers to unasked questions eluded Tall Jim, he would join the army of people pacing. His long legs moved him faster than other pacers, but the great satisfaction of getting back to the day room first held no meaning for Tall JIm. Part 2. Introducing Nancy Rumor had it that Nancy had been determined to become a nurse and had let nothing stand in her way. It showed in the way she did her job: she did her job to perfection. When she checked inside your mouth for unswallowed pills, you really knew you had been checked. If you were on 15 minute checks, she found you, talked to you and let you know that you could not loose her, no way, no how. Nancy had only one flaw that we knew about, but it was kind of a funny one. New patients told lont-time veterans stories about how Nancy would help herself to the goodies your parents or friends brought for you. Nancy would sit with you for a while, and if you were out of it at all you would never notice the slight distraction she tried to hide. Her brow was wrinkled in concern for you, her hands were quiet in her lap. Her mouth was tightened to a frown as you told about the fight with the police when they were bringing you in. She seemed to care so much about you, you were relieved because she didn't seem brutal or cruel. After a few minutes, your time with Nancy was up. She would reach right past you, her hand magically changed into a determined claw, aiming right for the box of treats on your bedside table. Before your mind took in what had happened, two of your treats were in Nancy's mouth and she was telling you that she would talk with you again soon. A third treat was in Nancy's hand; she would eat that as she left your room. Nancy had a problem that seemed silly to you. You wanted desperately to get out, but Nancy only wanted a few pieces of your candy. No big deal. Part 3 Tall Jim noticed me in the seclusion room. Maybe because he was tall enough so that he could always see in, he noticed and then acknowledged me. He didn't knock on the door or anything like that. That would have been dangerous for him. We didn't chat. He didn't try to pass me notes. There was nothing concrete that transpired. But as he walked, back and forth, back and forth, as his long legs took him quickly from one wing to the other and back, his eyes would find me inside that room. I was soon to end my long, long, overlong stay in seclusion, but I didn't know how soon, and so this simple and mild acknowledgement was a precious moment of connection that would pass almost immediately and loose its meaning almost as fast. We weren't friends in any traditional sense, but for the remaining time we shared an address, he could always bum a cigarette from me and he knew it. Months passed and I was now in the process of discharge planning. I would be out in 3 months. Genuine freedom was close at hand. I was getting out! So many feelings ran around inside of me. I was really going to get out this time. The staff, this talk, talk, talk version of staff, wanted to talk about how it was for me to be getting out. I worked hard to keep the excitement to a minimum, tried to be nonchalant as thought it was not a big deal. Not too happy, not too sad, I had to be just right. Well, through the years, I had built up a few resentments. Some of the staff had been cruel. Some of the staff had been brutal. Some of the staff seemed to want to kill me. Some of the staff didn't give a shit if I lived or died. And so, one morning, without any sort of warning, an idea was hatched. I didn't even need to figure anything out or calculate how to make it work right. This plan was hatched full grown and ready to work. On Monday, when the cigarette carton arrived, I pulled a pack from the box, saved the bag the carton had come in and waited in the day room for Tall Jim to come by. When our eyes met, I held out the pack of cigarettes for him to notice. He approached me, his long legs making the trip easy and quick. I held the smokes toward him and said, "Please. Please. Get me some dogshit in this bag. Get me some dry dogshit in this bag." He recoiled from me for a second. Then, with the easy acceptance of a ward mate, he reached for the bag. I didn't have to warn him not to talk about the bag or the stuff inside it. He was as smart as anybody about the rules of survival. He passed it to me in the day room and it was mine to deal with after that. The only comment that passed between us was mine: "Are you mad at me?" I asked Jim. His head slowly shook 'no', as his smile widened, showing huge, nicotine teeth. It was a wild smile, full of wicked things. I hid the bag deep behind the broken radiator, the one closest to my bed and let it dry for another several weeks. Step one of my plan was in motion. I had a deep and glorious secret to keep now. Five days left of my incarceration. I was holding my secret tight to myself. I was smiling too much. I headed down to O.T. and requested a cookie mix. I needed experience cooking for myself I said. I wanted to cook and that was very good behavior. As the chocolate chip cookie batter smoothed out, I slowly added the dry bits that had been hidden in the radiator. Crumbs were now mixed throughout the batter. All those lumps, all those chocolate chips. I guarded my cookie surprise all day. No, I said, I was saving them for later. When Later came, I laid them out in plain view as I made my preparations for sleep. The smile on my face was dangerously big, but I couldn't help my self. I pretended to sleep, breathing deeply and noisily, my heart beating fast and loud in my ears. I imagined heavy wieghts on eyelids to keep them from flying open. When Nancy came for rounds and took the first few cookies, I had to smash my face into the pillow to hold back the laughter. In the morning, the dish of chocolate chip shit cookies was gone. I hurried to throw on some clothes and almost broke speed records getting to the nurses station. There was the plate. My special plate of chocolate chip shit cookies with only 6 or 8 cookies left was sitting in splendid innocence in the staff room - and morning report had not yet finished. That meant that the night staff had had many cookies but left some - enough I think - for the day staff. Now I could be excited about leaving. Now I could smile or laugh to my hearts content.! Catherine Odette @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ __/ \__ @ It's not my revolution if it's not accessible! @ \ / \ / @ @ /_\__/_\ @ slkaron@facstaff.wisc.edu @ \/ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@