Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Writing 3

It was summertime when he was admitted. Whenever he told the story that’s the word he used… not committed. Committed reminded him of commitment and love and he certainly didn’t feel that way about the hospital, about Stacy, yes, but not about that place.

Packing, driving there and even entering the building didn’t bother him. It was when he walked onto the unit. Keys had to be used to open the door, and when it closed he was extremely aware that he wasn’t the one holding them. In his ears, the soft sound of the door clicking shut echoed like the clang of prison bars. He felt like an inmate and was stuck inside just like one.

There were a couple of sofas, two tables, and some chairs around. All of them colored beige. People were hanging out and even though everyone was looking at him his head wasn’t faced down and he wasn't focused on trying to memorize the pattern of the maroon industrial carpet beneath his feet.

He was looking at the windows. They were big and the length of the room. They reached to the ceiling, but what pulled his eyes to them was the mesh grill that covered them. Another reminder that there wasn’t a way out.

His heart was thumping in his chest really pounding hard and he wanted to get to his room as quickly as possible. He was scared, terrified, and wondering what the hell he had done.

Ted looked up as he entered their room and said, “Hello, you must be the new guy.” It was almost funny to hear that tired cliché. He felt like he should be in an office wearing a suit and shaking hands.

Danny just nodded his head and noticed that the windows were here in this room too. They weren’t as big and had brown curtains hung in front of them, but they were still covered with the grill.

“Freaked out? First time?”

Danny just nodded again. Angry that Ted knew what he was feeling, but also relieved that he wasn’t the only one who had ever felt this way.

Ted walked past him on the way out and said, “The bed by the windows is mine, your’s is against the wall, and that’s your dresser. There was one opposite the foot of each bed in a bland wooden color and made of heavy duty plastic. With a night table next to each bed of the same material.

“Scared. I’m scared.” Those words kept on going around in his head. He was almost glad to be feeling something other than the numbing blackness that filled him. But then he felt the tears starting to rise. The reason he was here.

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