For the first few days I worked on settling in and getting something out of the groups, while I champed glass waiting to see our therapist. I did see a psychiatrist—a tall guy with a face like a rumpled-up sheet and a gravelly voice like Henry Kissinger’s, only without the accent—for an anxiolytic. The Serax he prescribed for me shaved a tiny sliver off the anxiety.
Most of the groups were much like those run at Del Amo, except for two. One of them, called Ropes, was only held twice a week. That was so you could recover for a few days before doing it again. Ropes was the Outward Bound for multiples, and it was run by a soft-spoken, gray-haired guy named Jeff and his assistant, a young energetic woman with kind of a Wayne Newton haircut, named Samantha, who said to call her Sam. The first time we did Ropes, Jeff and Sam led a group of us outside, had us put on rock-climbing harnesses, and tried to get us, one at a time, to climb up a telephone pole—the one outside my window—while everyone else in the group shouted encouragement.
While you were climbing, Jeff and Sam had you tied to a rope that was slung up through a clip attached to what looked like the frame for a huge swing set, which was higher than the pole so you wouldn’t go splat when you jumped or fell.
Once you got to the top, if you did, you had to stand there with nothing to hold on to while Jeff and Sam asked you a bunch of questions about your commitment to getting better and pumped you up about how brave you were to come all the way to Texas to this hospital and how you were made of strong stuff for climbing up that pole. And all the while you’re trying to balance and keep that goddamn pole steady and not have something bad happen in your pants or jump off before they said to. And then they’d tell you all right, go for this trapeze, which hung about ten feet in front of you, and you’d jump for it, and it was sort of like being in the circus except you didn’t have tights and there was no music. If you missed it, they just lowered you down slowly. But if you caught the bar, you were supposed to hang there while everybody cheered and said great things about you. And then you’d let go when you were ready, and they’d bring you back down to earth.
Now climbing a telephone pole, standing on top, and jumping for a trapeze may sound simple, but it wasn’t. For me or for anybody in that group. It wasn’t even hard. It was almost impossible. Actually, for some people it was impossible. And nobody who went before me caught the bar, although Edie touched it, which was pretty impressive considering she was no bigger than Mickey Rooney. Then it was my turn.
Inside it sounded like this: What the hell’s going on here? What’d you get us into? Hey, why are we doing this? We’re in the hospital. I don’t know why we’re doing this. Well, fuck you. Get the fuck down from here! I’m scared. He’s scared. Somebody look out for him. I’m scared, too. Look out for her, for all the young ones. What the fuck are you doing, Cam? Shut up! Fuck you! Hey, stop arguing and keep your eye on what you’re doing. Jesus, don’t let go. Holy shit, I’m on top. Whoa, this thing’s waving. I want to jump. Cut the rope and jump. I want to die! Hey, somebody get Switch to the Comfort Room! Right now! Don’t look down. Oh, shit, he looked down. I told you not to look down! Oh yeah? You wanna take over? Goddamn I’m shakin’ bad. Listen to what that guy’s saying down there. Tell him what he wants to hear so we can get outta here. Shut up, I’m trying to listen. Okay, jump for the fuckin’ bar. No wait, not yet. They didn’t say jump yet. Okay, okay, jump. Don’t miss it. I think my heart’s gonna burst. We’re gonna die right now. Fuckin’ jump! Okay. Yaaaahhhh!! Jesus, he caught it. We’re hanging here. We are? Don’t look down. Shit, he looked down. I’m gonna have a heart attack. Wow, we’re up high. Yeah. High. We’re up high. Quiet, that guy’s asking him a question. Listen, Cam. Tell him what he wants to hear. No, listen to what he’s saying. We made it. We’re brave. We did it. We did? Yeah. Okay, he says you can let go now. Let go of what? The bar. You’re hanging onto the bar. What? Look up. You’re hanging onto a bar. I am? Oh Jesus, I am. How’d we get here? You don’t know? No. Well just let go and see what happens. Is this it? Are we gonna die? No, we’re on a rope. What? Look at the rope. Oh, we’re hooked up? Yeah. That’s good. Well, let go. I can’t. Fuck it, just let go. Okay. Yaaaahhhh!!
* * *
I was first in line for a Serax after Ropes and was pretty damn useless even after it kicked in. About an hour later, Bart and a good-looking psychiatric nurse named Denise, who had a southern accent you could get paid for, were sitting on a couple of chairs at the end of the hall, talking. I was way out there somewhere, buzzing like a plane over Bremen.
Denise had a clipboard on her lap with my chart on it. She smiled and said, “So, how did Ropes go?”
“No problem,” Bart said. “By the way, what the hell was that all about, anyway?”
“How’s that?” It sounded like “thayat.”
“I mean, what was that all about? Putting him and those other people through all that shit, climbing and screaming and puking.”
Without a second’s hesitation Denise said, “Yer not Cameron, are yew?”
“Hell no,” he said, “I’m Bart.”
“Bart, do yew know where yew are?” She could have blown out a candle with the “where.”
“Texas, right?”
“Mm hmm. Do yew know where yew are in Texas?”
“He’s in a psychiatric hospital somewhere near Dallas.”
“That’s true, but Ah didn't ask where he is, did Ah? Ah asked where yew are.”
“What’s this, a trick question? Am I gonna win a toaster?”
“Nope,” she said straight-faced, “it just sounds to me like yew don’t feel connected to him being here, the way yew said that, that’s all.”
Bart smirked, “I’m not. He’s the nut. I’m just a part of the cracked shell, like Per and Dusty and Leif and the rest of them.” He waved it off. “You think I wanna be here?”
“No, Ah can tell yew don’t. Most people don’t.” Denise paused a moment. “Do yew realahze that Cameron’s a patient in a psychiatric hospital?”
“Yes,” he said, annoyed. “I realize that.”
“Then do yew realize, Bart,” she pointed a long-nailed finger at him, “that yew are also a patient in a psychiatric hospital?”
Bart shook his head. “I’m not a patient in a psychiatric hospital,” he said, doing the hitchhike thing. “He is.”
“Bart,” Denise said, continuing to press, “If Cameron is a patient in this psychiatric hospital, then so’re yew. Yew are also a patient in this hospital.”
Bart straightened up in his chair. “I told you, Denise, I’m just along for the ride. I am not the patient.”
“Well, yes yew are, too,” she said nodding. She pointed at him again. “Yew ... are a patient at Charter Hospital in Plano, Texas, one that specialahzes in treating Dissociative Ahdinity Disorder.” Bart sank back down in his chair, squirming a little. Neither of them said anything for a minute. Somebody paged Dr. Somebody over the intercom. Then Denise said softly, “Do yew think he’s suffering, Bart?”
“Oh yeah,” Bart said, looking serious now. “He’s suffering. He’s a bag of shit.”
Denise glanced down at the chart. “It says in his fahl that his main goal here is to work on denahl.” She looked up at Bart. After a few seconds she said, “It sounds to me like yew got some a yer own.” There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment while Bart thought that over.
Then a smile crept across his face. “You know, Denise,” he said. “You’re pretty crafty.”
She didn’t bite for the charm and kept on pushing. “Bart, y’all are gonna have to start working together if yer gonna git better. Let me ask yew something. Does Cameron think he’s here alone?”
Bart shook his head. “He knows we’re here ... but I guess he thinks he’s doing this all by himself.” He looked at the glass door next to him and touched the big sheet of plexiglass covering it. Still looking at it, he said, “So I’m a patient in a psychiatric hospital, huh?”
Denise nodded. “Yup.”
“Then I’m a dick,” he said to himself. He turned to Denise. “Uh, I mean a jerk. Of course we’re all patients in this hospital. Per should be hearing this.”
“Per?”
“He’s one of the main people in the system. Listen to me. Talking about our system. Like it’s a stereo.” Bart shifted in his chair, rubbed his chin a couple of times, and folded his hands in his lap. “You know, Denise,” he said, “none of us likes this one bit. And we’re all scared. Me, too. I was duckin’ out, leaving Cam in the weeds.” He shook his head slowly, talking to himself, “I am truly a dick.”
“Don’t be so hard on yerself, Bart,” Denise said. “Everybody is keyed up when they come into a place like this. Yer doin’ good.” She paused for a second and then said, “I think the Video Therapy group on Thursday would be perfect for y’all.”
That was the other group that Del Amo didn’t have. My plane passed out of the clouds and there was a mountain coming up fast in front of me.
“It’s where different alters git recorded on videotape, like in a TV interview. It might be helpful fer yew to be one of those alters who gits videotaped, Bart.”
Bart nodded and a grin crept over his face. “I always wanted to be in pictures. I’m a natural. Thursday, huh?”
“Mm hmm,” Denise said. “Thursday. Want me to make a note that y’all’d be interested in doing that?”
“Sure. If we’re in this together we should do it as a group, right? I mean, there’s a bunch of us.”
“Ah figgered. Ya think Cam’ll be wantin’ to do that? Maybe he’s listenin’ now. Ah don’t know y’all’s system.”
Bart nodded. “Oh, he’s listening, all right.”
Nyowwww crassshhh. Whup! Whup! Whup! Plane down! Videotaping alters! Whup! Whup! Whup!
“Well, good then,” Denise said, slapping the chart. “Ah’ll make a note that y’all’d like to do that. It’s not written in granite, though, so don’t feel like ya just committed to somethin’ ya can’t git out of. Y’all just chew on it awhahl. Talk about it amongst yerselves. And with yer therapist, when ya git with him.”
“When’s that gonna be? We’ve already been here three days.”
Denise looked down at the chart. “Looks like tomorra mornin’ you'll be meetin’ with Dr. Sawyer. You’ll like him. Well,” she said, standing up. “Ah got ta go. Good talking with ya, Bart.” And she walked off down the hall.
Bart looked out through the plexiglass at the empty courtyard. Inside I lay crushed in the twisted flaming metal.
Medddiiiiic!!