Elizabeth Flock - But Inside I'm Screaming

Isabel’s frantic eyes search the map bolted to the door of the subway car.

Jesus, how do I get out of here?

The train lurches back and forth as it snakes through the underground canals. Isabel hangs on to the strap above her, but with each jarring motion her arm pulls out of her shoulder socket. Instead she grips the greasy bar in front of her.

Focus. Focus. Once I get downtown what line am I going to take?

“Next stop, City Hall. City Hall next stop.” But the announcement is warbled and all Isabel can pick up are the words stop and hall.

The train slows as it pulls along the dimly lit platform. City Hall signs are emblazoned every few feet along the way.

When the doors open Isabel gets off the train and feels herself jostled by the other passengers hurrying to get off before the doors close and the train heads across to Brooklyn.

For a few moments, Isabel stands completely still, clinging to her purse.

What do I do?

The platform empty, she follows signs for the exit. Her footsteps echo as she carefully makes her way through the darkened tunnels to the turnstiles. The smell of urine and cigarettes increases her sense of frightened isolation.

Nearing the end of the tunnel Isabel sees sunlight streaming down a dirty staircase. She breaks into a run.

The sun makes her bare arms tingle after the dampness of the underground corridor. She hails a cab and gratefully climbs inside.

“Central Park West and Ninety-sixth, please.”

“It’s so good to see you, Isabel!” Mona presses her hands together in a prayer position and beams at her patient.

Isabel takes one step into her therapist’s office and bursts out crying.

Mona guides Isabel toward the couch. Silently, she strokes Isabel’s back and waits for her to speak.

“I can’t do it” is all Isabel can squeak in between breaths. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Okay, first take a few deep breaths,” Mona says. “Deep breath. Good. That’s good. Now. Can you tell me what happened?”

The words come tumbling out. “I got so turned around. I got lost. Everything’s so crazy here. I used to love this city. I knew my way around backward and forward. I’ve forgotten everything. I don’t belong here anymore. I shouldn’t have come.”

“I can imagine how scary this must have been for you. Keep in mind, you’ve been at Three Breezes for about a month. That is quite a different, very controlled environment. New York can be overwhelming to anyone, Isabel.”

Isabel’s heart slows down with each deep breath. Mona’s voice soothes her.

I’m okay. I’m okay.

“The bottom line is, you made it!”

“So now it’s a triumph simply to arrive at my destination?” she sniffs.

“Yes. For today, for what you’ve been through these past few weeks—it’s a triumph.” Mona motions to the Kleenex, which Isabel dutifully uses.

“Do you want to talk about Three Breezes?”

Isabel vehemently shakes her head as she blows her nose.

“Well, we have to start somewhere—so I wonder, have you been able to think about the Alex question? Why you’ve stayed with him?”

They had worked on it nearly every session for months before Three Breezes as if it were a riddle: why—how—does someone stay with someone who hurts her?

Isabel looks up from the balled-up Kleenex in her hand. She remembers her mother’s words: you have to love yourself, Isabel. Suddenly it is clear.

“Because I hated myself…” She trails off for a moment and then begins again. “I didn’t hate myself because I stayed with him. I stayed with him because I hated myself. How could I have expected anyone to treat me well when I wasn’t treating myself well?”

Isabel let the words wrap around her like a fluffy hotel robe. For a brief flash she sees her life as an outsider would see it.

“That’s it.” Isabel hears a rushing sound in her ears. “I figured it out. It’s so simple.”

“It’s a beginning, that’s for certain,” Mona smiles. “The big question is do you still hate yourself?”

She looks Mona straight in the eye. “No. I don’t believe I do.”

The sound of a breakthrough.

“ Can you tell me where to find the information booth?”

“Huh?” Isabel turns her head to the voice.

The tall German college student is standing too close to Isabel and is speaking loudly.

It’s like two Seinfeld episodes in one: a close talker and a loud talker. Who was the close talker again? Come on, you know this. Close talker. Close talker. Judge Reinhold!

“The information counter. Can you tell me where to find it?”

Isabel stares at him.

“You do not know.” The German answers for her and moves toward a commuter smoking just outside the entrance to Grand Central.

Isabel snaps awake.

“In there,” she calls after him. “Down the steps, in the middle of the room. You’ll see a round clock on top of it.”

“Thank you,” the German replies as he pushes through the heavy doors into the terminal.

Isabel waits a beat and follows him in, scanning the huge departure board on her way down the steps.

Once onboard the train she collapses into a vacant seat by the window and closes her eyes until the conductor enters the car collecting fares. Without hesitation Isabel pays with exact change.

She sleeps the entire ride.

“Where to?”

“Three Breezes Hospital, please,” Isabel answers the cabdriver.

“Going to visit someone?”

“Yeah,” Isabel replies, embarrassed to admit her connection to the place.

“You got it,” the driver says, turning onto the road that leads to the hospital. “To the Nut Hut.”

Isabel pulls the folding chair up to the phone in the unit kitchen.

“Hi, Isabel. Goodman here. I’m calling to see how you’re doing. Haven’t talked to you in a while. I don’t know if you’re checking your messages, but in case you are I wanted you to know that we handled the, uh, situation so you don’t have to worry. I’m still not sure whether you got the message I left a couple of weeks ago, but in case you didn’t, I wanted to let you know everything’s fine. I spoke with HR to make sure your leave of absence forms got through. They got them so it shouldn’t be a problem. Call me, though, if you can. Bye.”

“Isabel? Hi, it’s me. I know I’m not at the top of your list to call back but I wanted you to know how sorry I am. I’ve been calling you and I keep getting the machine. Are you out of town? I thought this time I’d leave a message in case you’re picking them up. Um, I want you to know I’m getting help. Just like you said to do. I’m getting help. Don’t write me off, okay? Please?”

“Damn. The machine cut me off. It’s me again. I know you don’t believe this but I love you, Isabel.”

“Isabel, this is Ted Sargent. We would like to have a meeting with you at your earliest convenience. Call my assistant, if you would, to set up a time. Her name is Deborah and she’s at extension 5421. Thank you.”

“Isabel? Hi, it’s Michele from work. Um, I just wanted to give you a heads-up that Sargent was up here looking for you. Not to worry you but he looked pissed. After I told him you were on sick leave he went into John’s office and they shut the door for, like, ten minutes. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Isabel, this is Deborah, Ted Sargent’s assistant. He asked me to call you to set up an appointment to meet with him and someone from Human Resources. Please call me at 5421. Thank you.”

Isabel hangs up the pay phone and fixates on the square metal numbers on the keypad. The longer she stares the fuzzier the numbers become.