Elizabeth Flock - But Inside I'm Screaming

“Fine.”

Before Isabel walks out of her doctor’s office she takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back, a posture meant to show determination. On her exhale, though, her shoulders fall forward and her body collapses into itself, deflating her defiance completely.

She retreats to her room, gathers up her shampoo and soap and heads to the nurses’ station.

“Yes, Isabel. What can we do for you?”

“I need to get into the sharps closet for a second.”

“Sure,” the nurse says while reaching for the big ring of keys attached to her white belt. Isabel follows her over to the closet. “What do you need?”

“Ah, well…I’m needing to shave, actually. I’ll bring the razor right back when I’m done.”

The nurse had started shaking her head halfway through Isabel’s tentative request. “Has anyone talked to you about shaving?”

“No.”

“If you want to shave you need to be supervised. It’s not as bad as it sounds. One of us has to be there when you do it. Did you want to do it now?”

Isabel had known that there was probably a rule about shaving, but she hadn’t imagined a nurse would have to watch her do it. She tries to seem unfazed. “Um, sure. Okay. If that’s good for you?”

“Yep. Let’s get your razor first.”

The bathrooms at Three Breezes are large enough to accommodate a toilet, a sink and a long, narrow plastic shower stall. Inside the shower Isabel lets the water get hot before balancing her leg parallel to the floor to begin shaving.

“Okay, Isabel. Here’s your razor.” Before Isabel can reach around the mildewed vinyl shower curtain, the nurse pulls it back altogether and cheerfully hands the Lady Bic to a horrified Isabel. She tries to pull the curtain closed to maintain a semblance of dignity but the nurse catches her wet arm. “Nope. It’s got to stay open while you shave. I need to watch you.”

“Never mind! Just take the razor and go!” Isabel yells, her face already burning in shame and embarrassment, tears about to flow. The nurse looks bewildered for a moment, but then takes the razor gently from Isabel and leaves.

M aybe sleep will make this day go faster.

Several hours after falling into a restless sleep Isabel wakes with a jolt of the kind of nausea that signals something tremendously important has been forgotten.

“What time is it?” she asks the first person she runs into outside her bedroom door.

“Eleven o’clock,” the orderly answers.

“A.m. or p.m.?”

“P.m.” His tone is sympathetic, as if she has just come out of a coma.

“Oh, my God, Keisha!” Isabel rushes over to the nurses’ station.

“Well, hello, Sleeping Beauty.” Connie the night nurse is on.

“Connie! Where’s Keisha? Did she leave already?”

“Nope. She’s still here. Ready to go. Her parents haven’t gotten here yet.” Connie exchanges a look with the other night nurse.

“Where is she? In her room?”

“Um, honey, no.” Connie sounds apologetic. “Keisha was supposed to leave earlier tonight before bedtime and so they gave away her room. We had a new arrival tonight and we needed Keisha’s bed.”

“So where is she?” Isabel is still waking up but is alert enough to know that something is amiss.

“The kitchen.”

Isabel turns the corner into the tiny kitchen. There, with her nappy head resting on her crossed arms sits Keisha.

“Keisha? I’m so glad I didn’t miss you. I fell asleep….” Isabel realizes that Keisha, too, has been sleeping. “Oh, sorry.”

Keisha sits up and Isabel sees that she is back in her street wear: the Nike swoosh emblazoned on her hooded sweatshirt, the baggy Adidas sweatpants in a matching navy blue. Keisha’s packed suitcase sits alongside her, as if she is at a Greyhound bus terminal. “Izzy—” Keisha smiles groggily “—what time is it?”

“It’s eleven. Your parents call? They running late or something?”

Keisha looks upset and defensive and Isabel wonders if Keisha’s parents are going to turn up at all. She looks down.

“Want to watch TV with me? We could just hang out for a while until they get here.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She stumbles as she stands up from the table, rights herself and follows Isabel into the living room. Sukanya is, of course, planted in the armchair that faces the television so Keisha and Isabel take the couch. Keisha curls up and resumes sleeping.

Isabel watches her and suppresses the urge to pet her, to pat her back, to reassure her that everything is going to be okay.

Keisha’s mother looks just like her but fat. She is hunched over a clipboard at the nurses’ station when Keisha and Isabel walk into the unit from breakfast.

“Mom? Mama?” Keisha runs up to her obese mother and gratefully throws her arms around her.

“Hi, baby.” Her mother seems weary and wary of her daughter. Isabel thinks she does not seem as happy to see Keisha as Keisha is to see her. “You ‘bout ready to go?”

Keisha is so elated her whole body looks like it is shaking. “Ready? I was born ready to leave this place. Lemme get my bag.” On her way past her sad mother, Keisha eyes the two men who appear to be accompanying her mom but she does not ask who they are. She runs back to Isabel’s room, where she had stowed her suitcase before leaving for breakfast.

Isabel is standing off to the side of the nurses’ station and is taking in the scene. As soon as Keisha bounds off, Isabel approaches Keisha’s mother.

“Mrs. Jackson? Hi, I’m Isabel Murphy. I’m a friend of Keisha’s.” She smiles, extending her hand.

“Hi there, sugar, how’re you?”

Why is she looking to these guys for permission to talk to me?

“Fine. Keisha’s so excited to be going home. She’s been talking about it nonstop.”

Who the hell are these guys and why are they looking me up and down…? Take a goddamn picture, it lasts longer.

Isabel pretends she has not seen Keisha brush past the two men without a greeting. “Are you guys friends of Keisha’s or something?”

No response.

Mrs. Jackson looks miserable.

The reporter in Isabel worries.

Finally, Keisha returns, dragging her bag and heading straight for the nurse on duty. “I almost forgot the sharps closet! I need to get my stuff from in there.” Because Keisha had been brought to Three Breezes involuntarily she does not have much in the way of belongings.

The two burly men move in to either side of Keisha. The nurse, on her way to check the sharps closet for Keisha, tries to whisper, “Can’t you wait until she’s in the parking lot?” but Isabel picks it up.

“Keisha? What’s going on? Who are these guys?” Isabel asks Keisha, who is still smiling.

“Them? Oh, I dunno. All I know is I’m goin’ home with my mama!”

“Oh, baby.” Her mother looks like she is about to cry. “Oh, my baby.”

“Why you cryin’, Mama? I’m comin’ home!”

“Keisha Jackson?” One of the two men steps forward; his patience has run out. “You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

As he is reading Keisha her rights in front of the nurses’ station, Mrs. Jackson begins to wail loudly and wave her hands in the air around Keisha’s head. Keisha is frantic.

“Mom? Mama, what’s happenin’?” she cries. “What’s goin’ on here? Why they arrestin’ me?”

Chaos erupts on the unit. The nurse who had, moments earlier, urged the police to wait to arrest Keisha, rushes over to comfort her. The police are loudly, as if on a dare, reading Keisha her Miranda rights while handcuffing her wrists behind her back. Mrs. Jackson is wailing and chanting “my baby” over and over again and a bewildered Keisha is asking everyone who catches her eye why this is happening. Ben has joined the fray and is peppering the police with excited questions about their guns.