Two nurses cut through the dining room as if a tornado or maybe Bigfoot were not far behind. Anxiety gathers in their wake. Heads swivel, but no one moves until one of the aides, a big guy heavily tattooed, calls for attention. “Listen up. Nice and easy now, we’re heading on over to the Therapy rooms.”
Underpants Man calls out, “We haven’t had dessert yet.” Only Underpants Man is bothered about missing a fruit cup.
To prevent chaos, to see to it that no one goes rogue, two aides are posted at each corner of the dining room.
Bunny, Josh, and Andrea are corralled into the Music Room. Andrea asks Patricia if they can switch rooms. Patricia is the aide who took Bunny’s shoes. Andrea cocks her thumb at Underpants Man and says, “I can’t be locked up in here with him. I’ll go crazy,” to which Patricia says, “You already are crazy.”
Andrea threatens to report her and Patricia says, “Go ahead. Who are they going to believe? You or me?”
It’s one of the many disadvantages to being mentally ill. You are automatically in the wrong because you are wrong. Everyone knows that crazy people have no sense of proportion and often they are delusional and paranoid. Andrea mutters “Fuck you,” and backs down.
There are not enough chairs to go around. Bunny, Andrea, and Josh sit on the floor, and Josh says, “Let’s hope no one is claustrophobic. I once got trapped in an elevator with a claustrophobic. I think it’s how I wound up here.”
“Good one,” Bunny says, and she thinks of Elliot, how he always says, “That’s funny,” instead of laughing. It occurs to her that maybe it’s not an affect on Elliot’s part; maybe he can’t laugh, the way she can’t laugh and Josh can’t laugh, either. Then all attention turns to the door as it opens wide enough only to allow the Music Therapist to slip through. “No way am I singing-along,” Bunny says. But the Music Therapist does not go to the piano. She, too, sits on the floor, her back against the wall. She could easily be mistaken for one of the psychos, the way she wraps her arms around her legs, her chin on her knees, rocking like a cradle. The obese girl who, that morning, poured maple syrup on her cornflakes, stands up and says, “I demand to know what is going on.”
A month or so before, although Bunny wasn’t here to witness it, she’d heard that they were herded into the Therapy rooms when Edward took off his clothes and went racing naked through the halls. It took nearly an hour before they got hold of him long enough to inject a sedative.
Time passes. Some of them fall asleep. Andrea nibbles at her thumbnail, the one painted orange. The other thumbnail is a ghastly shade of lime green, and Bunny tells her, “You’re messing up your manicure.” Andrea takes her hand away from her mouth, assesses the damage done, and then resumes nibbling. Josh is talking to himself but not so loud that Bunny can hear him. The Music Therapist has recovered well enough to ask if they would like to have a sing-along, but no one says yes, and then Ella opens the door, and tells them, although not in these same exact words, that the coast is clear. Activities will go on as scheduled.
Andrea stops at the door to ask Ella what happened, and Ella says, “There’s nothing to worry about, hon.”
Holding up her hands to show Ella her jelly bean fingernails, Andrea says, “It’s my birthday.”