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F: He walks down the windowless hallway, black leather shoes tapping along the tile. The fluorescent glare of the hallway makes his eyes squint as they adjust from the pleasant ambient light of the lobby. The nurse in front of him sways slightly; the skirt of her uniform twitches with each stride. His eyes are glued to her legs as they pass the thick and reinforced doors lining the hallway. No patients can be seen through the rectangular windows embedded into the doors. They continue to walk, she continues to sway, he continues to turn the thoughts over and over in his mind of places he would rather be, especially with her company. Halfway down, their feet stop and the nurse turns to him, a plastic container in her hands.
“No keys, no clipboards, no pens or pencils. No metal objects. No nail clippers, no nail files and no jewelry of any type,” she says.
“You say no to an awful lot of things,” he replies as he empties his pockets and flashes a grin to her.
“Rules are rules, Mr. Daenetri.” Her lips slip into a half smile. “But I will also need your belt.”
He laughs and drops a ring of keys, two silver plated pens, an engraved cigarette case and his wedding ring into the container. He takes his time undoing his belt and slides it out of the loops, twirls it around as if he were a stripper, and finally hands it over, letting his smile grow a little wider. The nurse’s smile begins to grow and she unlocks the door.
“You have thirty minutes, Mr. Daenetri.” She turns and begins to retrace her steps.
“Thank you, Alice.” He takes a breath and thinks of the conversations he has had with the patient in this particular room. Have any of them lasted thirty minutes? No. This case never shows any results, and the patient knows it. The patient’s husband had insisted on this meeting today, begging for her counselor to make some actual progress. Mr. Daenetri’s teeth begin to grind together. He had informed the husband that he had been trying the past year to coerce the patient into at least attempting to cooperate with the hospital, and then after a slightly heated discussion, asked the husband just how often he visited his wife. He smiles at the memory of the dial-tone calling out over the line. He reaches for the handle.
As he enters the white, cushioned room, he spots her in the corner. Mary sits there, wrapped up like a Christmas present, the straight jacket’s arms tied in a mocking bow. Her eyes flicker to his through the plume of red hair spilling across her face. Neither moves, speaks, or breathes. At last, the man breaks the silence:
“Mrs. Arnofsky, it’s time to go through the review again.”
“They’re not going to let me out. Why are you bothering me? Is it the money?” She laughs, her slender frame shaking.
“Mary, you’ve made some very good progress here, we can at least get your status dropped and you out of this wing and out of that jacket,” his voice calls out, almost convincing.
“This room is safe. This room is God.” Her eyes grow brighter and she continues, “and he thinks I’m just fine and dandy. Nope, nope. No review, no review.” A wide smile breaks out across her face.
“Mary, you have to listen to me, I’m telling-”
“Nope. Nope. Not anymore. I can deal with him from in here. I can be safe!”
“I’m telling you, we can get you moved to a lower ward and they will-”
“There’s no place for me down there in his reach. It won’t work. I’m staying!”
“Please will you just liste-”
“No. I’m not going to let him get at me again. Too many angels floating around…”
“Please,” his eyes begged her to regain her balance.
“Hope is all I have. I’m not going back. Not gonna be there again. Not gonna do it.”
She continues to babble on, her eyes dart across the ceiling in fear.
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