Case
When Margie arrives she's wearing a blue-and-white stripety shirt with her red leather purse slung on one shoulder. She's got this way of sticking her neck out. It makes her look like a slouching turtle. Those big glasses don't help. She's got a turtle's neck, too: apt to stretch, quick to tuck the head down when it seems appropriate to be demure.
Anyways, she comes in looking alarmingly colorful after days and days of gray solitary. Margie's not usually an inspiring sight, but today she looks like an absolute butterfly. I could write her a poem right here. Just compose it on the spot and serenade her. She'd grip her old turtely neck and fall right over if I sang to her. I haven't said a word in years.
There are no windows in this room. Why is obvious—they don't want you to try and break the glass and kill yourself. That's not the point. It's the same as detention back in high school. They want to drive you so crazy with boredom you "be good." Let me tell you, I hate that phrase, "be good." Like it was something you could be, like a butterfly or a turtle. I've never seen a good in my life. I've met lazies and borings and stuckups but I've never met one good.
They told me she was coming about two weeks ago then reminded me every day up to this morning. "Your aunt wants to see you, Jimmy. Won't that be nice?" Won't that be nice. If they think I'm dangerous enough to be put in solitary I don't see why still the baby talk.
She sits down and crosses her legs. She's got spindly old lady legs with lots of popped veins. The skirt's a little shorter than she's used to. It looks new.
"Hi, Jerry," she says, going for chipper. Jerry, ha ha, our little joke. My name is Harry. I can't remember why she calls me that anymore. It was something that happened a long time ago.
I give her a measured blink. There's no use working myself up for this meeting. I tell myself I am saving my energy.
Margie taps her foot uneasily. She still does not know how to respond to my silence. Noone does. The other inmates leave me alone, even. Most of them are pretty vocal and I think something primitive in them understands that you should leave strong and silent Harry alone. He'll rip your arms off. That's what they say. But I've never actually done that, to be fair. I've broken a few arms, yes, and I blacked somebody's face—that's why I'm in here this time—but I've never actually done that.
There's a fly buzzing around in the room. It lands on her head. She swats it away impatiently.
She opens her mouth and starts to talk to fill up the vacuum created by my silence.
My cousins came down to visit. One of them's pregnant and going to have twins. Isn't that lovely.
I was going to buy a new sofa for when you come home WINK but I decided sea foam won't look good with the pink walls. Too bright. Don't I think it's too bright.
Why am I talking about this stuff. Jerry, why don't you talk to them. Tell them what's going on. I know you are in there. You can't fool me with that blank stare. I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on you you were special. Don't think this is going to set you back SMILE.
There are a lot of great men that have been in asylums for a little while. Because they were more sensitive than other people SCRUNCH.
I mean their senses were keener. They perceived more SMILE. You know. Like that one gentleman. What was his name.
Don't you be discouraged. You know we all love you back home. This doesn't change a thing. Not a darn thing CLAP.
The fly lands on the door handle and begins to clean itself delicately, making little fly noises like coughs and ahems.
That was supposed to settle it. So she leans over and touches my knee. I look up at her briefly. It's enough to send her flying back into her chair.
"Oh, Jerry, why won't you let me help you? It could be so nice!"
I begin to pick at my nails. It helps sometimes when she gets emotional. I hope that someday she'll realize I don't care. I watch that fly.
"You could come home, and we could move to that place beside the sea you like so much. That house we rented with the oyster shells in the back yard. And the seagulls. You liked the seagulls, Jerry. You can't tell me you didn't. And nobody would ever bother you again. And I could love you."
Now her little lip is quivering and that makes the folds of her turtle-neck shake too. She looks like a shivering turkey.
"Jerry, I understand. I understand you. Only I can understand you. I know how you feel." With this last announcement she begins to cry.
The fly is done cleaning itself. Now it just sits and waits.
"You must feel so horrible, trapped in here every day. Having to talk to those nosy doctors. Awful. Jerry, come home. Tell them you want to come home."
I do not answer. This makes her wail. The guard's face appears at the door.
"Ma'am?"
Margie wipes her eyes and turns her face away, blushing. "It's nothing, officer. Just an old woman getting emotional with her nephew." She tries for gushing: "He's improved so much!"
This is ludicrous. I've gotten more sullen than her last visit. I'm getting bored. I wonder what her turtley neck would feel like under my hands. I lift them experimentally. She lifts her little purse and her feet at the same time like a puppet. Then a smile breaks out on her face.
"Jerry, do you want a hug?" She makes the motions to stand up.
I let my hands drop and I grip the bottom of my chair as hard as I can. The fly recommences winging its way around the room
Margie sits back down, taking a deep breath. "I got a little emotional there." A little. "Of course you can't come home yet. The doctors haven't figured out what's wrong. They're not nosy. Forget I said that, Jerry. The doctors are here to help you. Don't forget that. Be nice to them Jerry. Be nice to me. Be good."
My hands raise up again. I can't help it.
"No, I don't think I will hug you, Jerry, but thanks for offering." She gets up.
I clap my hands hard, smearing fly guts all over my palm. They look just a little bit like chocolate pudding and taste just a little bit like grass.
Margie looks at me curiously as she leaves. I can tell she wanted a taste. Her escort takes her back to her room on the lower level. So much for a visit.
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