I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but I want to break out like Assata tells me. I’ve been here long enough to know that these colorless white walls and intrusive observation window don’t make me feel safe and assured like the doctors said. The doctor that doesn’t know me aside from my emergency room file and what the EMTs relayed to her. The same doctor who probably just sees another lost little Black girl. Another wild and angry Black girl who only expresses herself through anger and sin. Just another Black girl who can’t be fixed, but medicine can “normalize and alleviate.”
Looking at the security guard, I gauge whether my 5’3 frame can withstand a blow from him enough to just get his keycard. He’s tall. He’s big. Any other day he would intimidate me. But his bloodhound sleepy eyes tell me that maybe he’s too tired to even notice or stop me if I tried. Part of me wants to take advantage of such an opportune chance, yet another part starts overthinking and wondering. What if my grand escape costs him his job? He’s working hard for a reason, maybe a family to support, or thousands of debt to repay or better yet maybe he just wants to keep his head above water. I look at him again, and decide that I will escape. Just not here.
I look around the rest of the little rectangle box room I’m being kept in. I glance over at the Asian girl who can’t speak English, but anxiety and hopelessness transcends language, so I can read through her body language. I look at the young Spanish boy who doesn’t seem as desperate for an escape or a way out, maybe here is safer than home for him. I look at the nurses on the other side of the window. I wonder what goes through their minds when they come here. Do they struggle with the same problems? I wonder if they ever look into the eyes of those of us on the other side of the window and create stories for us that aren’t told in their files?
No they probably just discuss what’s for lunch and the latest work gossip. We’re just patients. The ill are physically well, but are broken and bleeding but toned everywhere else.
“AUGHHH! I need my meds! Please tell the nurse to bring out my meds!,”
We all look to see where this loud, demanding, slurred, proud and cocky voice was coming from. She was dressed in the same clothes as me but something about her told me that she was not the same. Her comfort ability in the cold, steel rooms with beds told me she’s been here before and she’ll be back again and again, Her request for meds tells me she came here for a reason. Not to necessarily to get better, but to get what she needs to make her feel better. Her slowed and sloppy walk across the room toward the observation window, this accompanied with her sweaty blonde hair and eyes that look like hollow blue holes in hell made me think of that singer that was married to Kurt Cobain.Something Love. But this girl looked like she hadn’t loved herself or been loved the right way in along time.
She begins to tap and tap and tap on the glass until the security guard says, “Stop doing that and have a seat. The nurses can see you.”
She replied ,“I need my meds, if they can fucking see me then why aren’t they getting my meds. I need to be given a bed. You guys are acting like they’re all full. I need to be admitted NOW!”
She continued to cause havoc, knocking the trash can over and screaming. It wasn’t until a nurse came that she finally began to calm down.
“What’s the issue? Why re you disturbing everyone in here?” said the nurse
“Who am I disturbing? Are any of you disturbed? Because if you are blame it on these assholes!”
We were all waiting for what the nurse was gonna do. Was she gonna make an example out of No Love Cobain or was she going to find the meds so that her screaming and yelling and tantrum could be subdued as if she was preschooler upset at daycare. Then another nurse came in through the door, hands gloved, scrubs crisp and syringe in hand. I thought you only saw this in the movies, or maybe you do because what hospital advertises their methods of sedation for out of control patients.
I wasn’t the only one that caught a glimpse of the pointed, shiny silver needle that was coming her way. No Love quickly turned around and started to make her way back to her cold, steel bed.
“Hey, come here let’s take a nap,” said the needle-hand nurse.
The angry and hostile blonde turned around and screamed, “No, I don’t want to go to sleep, fuck off bitch!”
She then threw her blanket at the nurses and made it into her room. They followed along with the security guard, who lumbered along, obviously still tired and upset that he had to leave his comfortable seat.
When they came out of the room, the plunger on the syringe was all the way down and the barrel was empty. We didn’t hear any “fuck yous” or demands for meds in the hours that followed. I like to think that she got medicine all right, just not what she was expecting.
As I continued to wait in that little rectangle room with my new acquaintances, I couldn’t help but think to myself what would make that girl want to be here. God only knows what kind of person wants to be admitted to a place like this. Why would you want to beg for a bed here? And she was so bold, so fearless on that.
It confused me on why I, the person who was so desperate to leave, contemplating an escape, didn’t have her boldness, which she used to stay. Honestly, any bed they might think they have for me, I would benefit from seeing her take. I couldn’t wait till someone came in here, a nurse, a doctor, a social worker, Jesus, anyone to tell me I could leave.
A nurse walks through the locked electronic doors with what could be dinner or maybe lunch. My perception of time has been lost. No clocks, no watches, no windows to even know if the sun is still shining bright enough to give me hope that I’ll get out soon. She hands me a tray with hospital chicken, hospital vegetables and hospital rice. I eat it because I don’t know just in case I leave here a little late, at least I won’t have to buy food. It tastes like what the walls look like, what the facial expressions of everyone here makes me feel. Woeful. Glum. Defeated. Maybe the hospital chef gave up just like I gave up on myself and ended up here.
After I eat, I’m tired but I won’t sleep here. I will not give in and make myself comfortable somewhere that I have to leave, have to get away from. I know I don’t belong here because even though I might be another lost little Black girl. Another wild and angry Black girl who only expresses herself through anger and sin, I do not belong in here. I am the only little Black girl, and that alone tells me we don’t go here, we don’t end up in places like this. Where the walls are white and controlling as the patriarchy sucks all the love and happiness out of us and then tells us we’re just angry and hostile.
That’s exactly what I feel like this place is doing to me, sucking the last bit of happiness I was hanging on to by the world’s thinnest piece of thread. Now I’m just the emotionally hollow little Black girl stuck in a box. Stuck behind walls that won’t allow for me to be seen. Stuck voiceless and envious of the loud white girls that can make their demands and have them met. Stuck with the other minorities who are bearing the weight of a white society on their backs, who are also under the control and will of white people.
It is when I’m making these connections and thoughts that a social worker walks in and says my name. I look up, trying not to show the glimmer in my eyes that I will finally be freed. Finally be able to leave.
“Hey, we found you a bed temporarily in our geriatric wing. It’s only for tonight and then you’ll be moved to another wing that’s more appropriate.”
