Miriam Toews - The Flying Troutmans

Everything in life, except her kids, made her impatient. She had tried to do a million things. She’d wanted to be a documentary filmmaker and then a painter and then a tiny-ceramic-figure maker. None of it panned out. She’d be full of enthusiasm at first, full of big ideas and energy and drive, but it would all gradually evaporate and disappear. She could never maintain the momentum or the concentration or the confidence she needed to get anything done. She’d fight with the people who were helping her get set up or she’d hate what she had created and destroy it in a spectacular way or she’d get it into her head that everything was so damn futile, anyway, why bother, what’s the point, what difference does it make. And then she’d go to bed for four months. Cherkis was supportive at first; he believed in her abilities and he loved her. He’d run around trying to get the supplies she needed, setting up a darkroom in the house, building the heated studio in the backyard, making the meals, cleaning the house, doing the shopping, while she attacked yet another project with gusto and then threw her arms in the air and shit-canned it for something else…or nothing.

I threw my cigarette into the pit and went back inside. The phone rang again. It was the hospital.

Who am I speaking with?

Uh, Hattie?

Are you family?

Yeah.

Logan was staging some sort of sit-in in the waiting room, refusing to leave until he saw his mom, and they were wondering if I would come and get him.

I had to call a cab again because Logan had taken the van. When I got there he was lying on his back in the grass outside the front entrance of the hospital. I guessed they had managed to kick him out of the waiting room. There was a plastic Safeway bag next to him. I pulled the headphone off one of his ears.

What are you doing? I asked him.

What are you doing? he asked me.

They called and said you weren’t going to leave until you saw Min. And you missed your first class. The school called too. And the neighbour guy is keeping your hatchets and you shouldn’t take the van if you don’t have a licence. Plus you were really drunk last night and Thebes and I had to put you to bed. Is this all normal or what? I’ve been here like seventeen hours. I sat down beside him on the grass.

I have some stuff for her and I wanted to give it to her, that’s it, he said.

What stuff?

Yogourt and some other stuff, he said. We decided to try going back in. We took the elevator to the sixth floor and banged on the locked glass doors to the psych ward. A nurse buzzed us in but with the very least amount of enthusiasm I have ever witnessed within the helping profession. She might have been brandishing a switchblade behind her stacks of patient folders.

Yes? she said.

Hi, I said. My name is Hattie Troutman. I’m Min’s sister. And this is Logan, her son. We were here yesterday when she was admitted and Logan would really like to give her a few things. They’re not flammable or sharp.

Visiting hours begin at 4 p.m., she said.

I know, I said. And then didn’t know what to say after that. I know, I said again. But can you make an exception just this once? He’s come all the way out here. He’s got yogourt and—

We provide our patients with meals, she said. We don’t need family to bring food from outside.

Yeah, I know, but—

You can leave the bag with me and I’ll give it to the patient after rounds. Logan started walking down the hall towards Min’s room. Excuse me! said the nurse.

He deked into Min’s room and disappeared, and the nurse got up from behind her files and flew after him. Bernie, the “good stuff” guy, saw her running and got up from his desk and followed her, and I followed him. Logan was sitting in a chair next to Min’s bed. He was hunched over her and wiping away tears with the rim of his hood. Min was asleep or looked that way anyway. Jeanette, her bald roommate, was there too, standing next to Logan and gently rubbing his back. She was still wearing her Superman T-shirt and her dark shades but this time she was also wearing pants.

Hey, buddy, she whispered. She took really deep, loud breaths. Hey, buddy. Things will work out.

She was a crazy, institutionalized superhero but still she was probably somewhat correct, and I was touched by her concern. Bernie and the nurse talked about their strict policies and the need to respect those policies and a bunch of other things that I wasn’t really listening to, although I repeatedly told them that I understood. I asked Bernie if I could speak to Min for a minute alone. Logan said he’d go back to the waiting room.

I put my face close to Min’s and told her again that I loved her. I told her what I had told her so many times when we were kids. You’ll be fine, I said, you’ll get better. I promise.

She opened her eyes and looked at me, but she didn’t say anything and she didn’t smile.

I told her I’d be right back. I just wanted to talk to her doctor for a minute. As I walked towards the door I heard her whisper my name, so I went back to her bed and said, Yeah? And she asked me please not to come back.

What? I said.

She mouthed the word sorry and then closed her eyes, and I just stood there staring at her.

But, Min, I said, I want to see you. That’s why I’m here. I want to be with you.

She opened her eyes again and whispered, No, Hattie, please don’t come back here. And don’t bring the kids, it’s too hard.

And that was it for her, no more talking, so I left.

I told Bernie I wanted to talk to Min’s doctor. He said Min’s doctor was busy with other patients at the moment. I told him I’d wait. Logan slowly, silently raised his middle finger to Bernie’s back and said, Good stuff, as Bernie walked away.

Hey, don’t, I said. I told Logan to take the van and go to school. Oh, and if anybody asked, to say he’d had a doctor’s appointment. Keep our stories straight. I’d get the scoop on Min and meet him at home.

I thought you didn’t want me driving without a licence, he said.

Yeah, I know, I said, but just be careful. Stay in your lane, don’t speed. Take your hood off. I reached out to pull it down, but he moved his head back and smiled.

Don’t, he said.

Keep the music down, too, I said.

Fine, said Logan. He bent over, reached under his chair and grabbed his basketball. He spun it on one finger and then threw it against the wall, against a What is Schizophrenia poster, caught it again, yanked his headphones up around his ears, and slid on out of there. The nurse behind the desk reminded Logan that this was a quiet zone, and he threw his ball gently against the elevator down-button. The doors opened, and he disappeared.

Min’s doctor told me that she was psychotic, entirely out of touch with reality, and it wouldn’t make any difference to her if she had visitors or not. It makes the family feel better when they visit but it does nothing for the patient, he said. In fact, I’ve found it distresses the patient more.

Are you sure? I asked him.

Uh, yes, he said, I’m quite sure. Anything else? he asked.

How long will she be here? I said.

Hard to say, he said. As soon as she begins to participate in her own care we’ll have something to talk about. But that seems a ways off.

I imagined a nice long, fireside chat with this guy. There were so many things I wanted to ask him, but he had torpedoes to issue and other brains to jump-start and he’d given me enough face time. He smiled awkwardly, tapped his pen on his chart twice and began to walk away. I grabbed his arm and said, hey, thank you, have a great day, I’m sorry, and then he was gone.

When I got back to the house, Logan was there watching TV. And school? I asked him. I held out my hands.