Lesley Kagen - Tomorrow River

I do now.

The hospital is looming at the end of the long hedge-lined driveway. A wrought-iron fence with pointy tops surrounds the property.

When we pass through the gate, the sheriff orders Doc Keller to “get out the papers.”

The loud crack his opening bag makes is painful.

When the car comes to a halt in the circular drive, I look out the window at my new home. The three stories of ivy climbing the redbrick walls. The two turrets. From the outside, the hospital looks like a fairy-tale castle, but on the inside, I know it’s more like a dungeon that smells of people who have got no way out.

The sheriff opens his door and the yellow light goes on inside the car. I can see the back of Doc Keller’s bristling neck coming out of his rumpled shirt collar. “Please keep lookin’ after my sister, won’t you?” I lean forward and ask him. What will become of my dear, confused twin? I will not be able to braid her hair and rub almond cream on her back when she can’t sleep. Who will sing musical tunes to her?

Sheriff Andy Nash offers to help me out of the car like a real gentleman. I do not take his hand. How can he sleep at night? Bought and paid for by my father and grandfather to do their bidding. When he tries to put his arm around my shoulders, I shake him off and say, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He smiles slightly and points to the ornate front entrance. “This way.”

I look up to the starry sky one more time. It’s fitting that I can see Cassiopeia so clearly this evening. She is chained to her throne for her haughtiness.

The hospital reception area is beige and well furnished. Magazines are stacked neatly on the tables. A strong, flowery spray to hide the hospital smell is lingering in the air. Nothing has changed since Papa made us come here to visit Gramma Ruth Love when she was confined for her treatments.

At the front desk, we’re greeted warmly by a lady named Cindy, who has her hair in a French twist and bright pink lipstick feathering around her mouth. She’s the same woman who signed us in every Saturday afternoon before we went up to Gramma’s room. I recognize the watch she’s got pinned to her blouse. Cindy winks at me and says, “Nice to see you again, sugar,” when the doctor passes her the papers.

“Come with me, Shenny.” The sheriff points to the elevator. He’s got a job-well-done look on his face. He must be as relieved as my family is to get rid of me. I can’t really blame him. I never have been nice to him. When the elevator arrives, Andy Nash says to me, “You go on up. There’ll be a nurse. She’ll take you where you need to be. The doc and I have some unfinished business to attend to.” I step into the back of the car and he reaches his brown uniform arm in and presses number three, the top floor on the panel. Has the gall to say, “Good luck,” as the door slides closed.

Somebody has drawn a heart on the dull elevator wall. There’s a phone number, too. And a Roses-are-red-Violets-are-blue poem written in ballpoint, the last two lines smeared like somebody changed what little of their mind they had left. When the doors slide open, a girl who doesn’t look all that much older than me is standing erect and waiting. She’s got on a crisp white uniform, her haircut is in a pageboy and she’s on the bony side. Her name tag says-Alice.

“Hello, Shenandoah,” she says, taking me firmly by the arm down the long corridor. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

The hospital floor is speckled browns. The bare walls are green, nearly the same color as Woody’s eyes. Above the sound of Alice’s squishy shoes, I can hear pitiful crying, and some laughing, a desperate kind.

“Here we are.” Alice halts abruptly in front of one of the room doors. She will strip my clothes and put me into a gown that’s as coarse as a sack. I remember how it was with my grandmother. Medicine dripping into her purple veins a drop at a time. Her begging us to untie her. Not looking at me, Alice says, “The nurses wanted me to tell you that we’re all very sorry. We had no way-”

I think of the sheriff downstairs looking so pleased with himself. “You’re just doin’ what you’re told. Same as everybody else.” I know what my room will look like. A metal bed and table. One wooden chair. A nicked-up chest of drawers. No books. No mirror, so I can’t break it and cut my wrists. No Woody to snuggle with at night, her heart beating steady between my shoulder blades.

Alice twists the knob and I wait until the door swings fully open before I look at my dismal future. The nurse has made a mistake. She’s brought me to a room that’s already occupied. “There’s somebody in here,” I tell her. In the dim light I can see the end of a bed and the shape of legs and feet beneath the sheets. I try to turn away, feeling like we’ve intruded upon the saddest of times, but Alice says, real emotional, “Go on in.”

“I don’t want to…,” I try saying, but I’m feeling too spiritless to put up a fight.

I peek my head around the room corner and can see the rest of the woman lying on the bed. Her honey hair is fanned out on a pillow. Her thin arms outstretched in welcome. The smell of peonies perfumes the air.

“Hello there, pea,” she says softly. “I understand you’ve been looking for me.”

M ama?

I must have inherited Gramma Ruth Love’s insanity. I am having a delusion the same way she does. The hospital doctors are going to electrocute my brain the same way they did hers. Thinking of those treatments makes me want to run and run, but Nurse Alice stops me with a small, but firm hand.

I step closer.

It’s not just Mama in this delusion. Sam is in it, too. My messed-up brain has him not sitting down in the jail after being arrested by the sheriff. His long legs are stretching out from the wooden chair next to the bed. His baseball cap is on his head and a leather book open in his lap. We could be at the Triple S, except it’s Ivory, not Wrigley, sitting at his feet.

Woody is not at E. J.’s the way she’s supposed to be either. She is by our mother’s side, smiling like she hasn’t for months and months. Big and bold and joyous.

I ask my twin delusion, “I… is it… Mama?”

Woody nods.

“I… I…” I want to throw up.

Sam asks, “What are you waiting for?”

“Come here, honey,” Mama says. “Don’t be scared.”

I don’t care if she isn’t real. I go to her side, take her hand in mine, kiss her arm that is jutting out of the hospital gown like an early spring branch. I bury my face in her hair. It smells like a garden, deeply earthy and luscious. She feels awfully warm for a dead person.

“I… you’re… your life isn’t over?” I ask, repeating what Papa told me. “You’ve not passed away?” I am still not sure. “Have you?” I might’ve died and gone to Heaven.

Mama pats the bed and I lie carefully down next to her. It is her, but not her. Not how I remember her anyway. She is as delicate looking as a piece of blown glass. She strokes my cheek, and says, “You have been so brave. So independent.”

The nurse who is still standing at the door, says, “Do you need any help getting ready, Laurie… I mean, Mrs. Carmody?” but then she throws her hand to her mouth and runs off. I can hear her shoes for a long time.

Sam stands and says to all of us, “I’m going downstairs to tie up a few loose ends. Take it easy on her, Shen.”

“But…,” I say, still unsure, shaky and like I’m seeing all this through a kaleidoscope.

“I’ll answer your questions soon enough. Help your mother get her things together, please. I brought some clothes.” Sam points behind the door where they’re hanging. It’s a pale yellow blouse and pleated tan slacks, exactly the kind that Mama would like. Simple and to the point-not frilly. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”