Michael Ford: Suicide Notes

I’m not crazy. I don’t see what the big deal is about what happened. But apparently someone does think it’s a big deal because here I am. I bet it was my mother. She always overreacts.

They weren’t going to tell me—you know, about the mental ward thing—but I found out when Goody left my chart next to the bed while she went to get something at the desk. Someone should tell her that you really shouldn’t leave something like that lying around if you don’t want someone to look at it.

Anyway, I just happened to pick up the chart, because that’s what I do when someone leaves something around and I want to know what it is, and right there on the top of the first page it said psychiatric ward. At first I figured it was someone else’s file, but then I saw my name. Let me tell you something, seeing your name and psychiatric ward on the same piece of paper isn’t the best way to start your day.

When Goody came back she saw me looking at the file and the smile plastered to her face finally disappeared. “You’re not supposed to be looking at that,” she said, like I didn’t know and would apologize.

“This is a psych ward?” I said, trying to read as much as I could before she grabbed the folder, which she did about two seconds later.

“It’s time for your medication,” she said.

“Uh-uh,” I told her. “Not until someone tells me why I’m here.”

“I think you know why you’re here,” she said, giving me that look people give you when they know you know what they mean.

“I’m not crazy,” I said.

“Nobody said you were crazy,” said Goody, her smile returning. Suddenly she was all happy again, like there’d been a momentary blackout in her reception and now we’d returned to the regularly scheduled program.

“That file does,” I shot back. “It says it in big letters.”

“Take your pill,” she said, ignoring me. “You’ll feel better.”

“No,” I told her. “I don’t even know what it is.”

Goody smiled, which was starting to get on my nerves. “It’s a sedative,” she said.

“So you’re drugging me?” I said. “Why? What the hell is going on here?”

Goody took the paper cup she was holding out to me and put it back on the tray by my bed. “I think maybe you should talk to Dr. Katzrupus.”

“Catwhatsis?” I asked her. “Cat Poopus? What kind of name is that?”

“Katzrupus,” she said again. “I’ll get him.”

She disappeared, taking my file with her, which she totally should have done the first time, because then we wouldn’t have had this problem. At least not right now. After she left, I stared at the cup with the pill in it. It was a small red pill, round like a ladybug. I almost took it, just to see what it would do, but I didn’t want Goody to think I thought I needed it or anything, which I don’t.

Goody came back a minute later with some guy. He was short, with really wild black hair that was about three weeks past needing to be cut, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days either. He seemed way too young to be a doctor, and at first I thought he was some kind of student doctor or something, like I didn’t even rate a real one.

“I’m Dr. Katzrupus,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Why am I in the nuthouse?” I asked him, staring at his hand without shaking it.

“You’re not in a nuthouse,” he said, taking his hand back and pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’re in a hospital.”

“Right,” I said. “The nut ward in a hospital.”

“It’s a psychiatric ward,” he said. “And you’re in it because we’re concerned that something might be bothering you.” He spoke in this really calm and casual way, as if he was telling you what he had for dinner. For some reason, that really bugged me.

“Something might be bothering me,” I repeated, mimicking his voice. Then I laughed. “Why would something be bothering me?”

Cat Poop got this weird look on his face, like he didn’t know what to say. I just kept staring at him.

“Are my parents around here somewhere?” I asked. “’Cause if they are, I’d really like to go home now.”

“We need to run a few tests,” he said. “And, no, your parents aren’t here.”

I thought it was kind of weird that my parents weren’t there, and I wanted to ask where they were instead of being with their kid in the hospital, but I didn’t. “I’m not so good at tests,” I said instead. “Especially pop quizzes. Could I maybe have some study time first? I wouldn’t want to bring the curve down for the whole class or anything.”

He looked at me for a second. Then he said, “I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

After he left Goody came back with this other guy who I swear to God was a vampire. He took what seemed like three gallons of blood out of me, test tube after test tube of it. After the fourth one I started to feel really sick.

Finally, the Human Leech and Goody went away with his tray of tubes and a woman came in. “I’m Miss Pinch,” she said. I swear. I’m not making it up. I don’t know what it is with the names around here. I’m not sure this isn’t all a dream, because in the real world people just aren’t named things like Nurse Goody and Miss Pinch and Dr. Cat Poop.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” Miss Pinch told me, pulling a chair up beside my bed.

Turns out that was the understatement of the year, unless to you “a few” means eight thousand and sixty-two.

“Have you ever taken Ecstasy?” Miss Pinch asked me, smiling and cocking her head like a bird. An irritating, nosy little bird.

“No,” I told her, and she made a check mark on the folder she was holding.

“Methamphetamine?” she said. When I didn’t answer right away she added, “Crystal? Ice? Tina?”

“I know what it is,” I told her. “And no, I’ve never taken it.”

She made another mark. And she kept making marks after every question and answer. Cocaine? No. Check. Alcohol? No. Check. Marijuana, GHB, snappers? No, no, no. Check, check, check.

I kept answering no to everything, because I really haven’t ever done drugs, and she kept looking at me like maybe I was lying just to get her out of there. So finally I said that yes, okay, I’d smoked pot a few times, and that seemed to make her happy. Like it’s not possible that there’s a kid on this planet who hasn’t smoked pot. Moron.

“How about glue?” she asked me.

I nodded, and she lit up like a Christmas tree. At least until I said, “I used to eat paste. In kindergarten. Bad habit. I totally gave it up, though. I swear. It didn’t mix with the apple juice so well.”

I have to say, I was a little disappointed that she wasn’t madder than she was. Maybe talking to crazy people all the time makes you kind of immune to it. She just kept asking and checking. After we went through every drug known to science, Pinch said, “Now let’s talk about sexual activity.”

“Let’s not,” I said, giving her the same big smile she was giving me.

“Have you ever—” she started to say.

“Seriously,” I said, interrupting her. “Let’s not. It’s none of your damn business.”

“I’m only trying to help you,” she said, still smiling.

“Well, you’re not,” I informed her. “You’re just pissing me off. Now go away.”

She stared at me.

“Seriously,” I said. “Get out of here. There’s nothing wrong with me. I answered your stupid questions about the drugs, and I’m not telling you anything else because there’s nothing else you need to know. So either go away or else sit there while I take a nap, because this is the last thing I’m saying to you.”

She snapped her file shut and stood up. “I’ll just get the doctor,” she said.