Chapter 7

7

PORTER

J ust as Gina had promised, I was moved from my locked room to a shared room on the first floor. One of the orderlies, Brad, showed me around.

"This is the game room." He gestured to a room populated by couches, sporting half a dozen large screens where residents played somewhat dated video games. In one corner was a space for low-tech entertainment like cards and chess. Two older residents sat facing each other across a chessboard. "This is the cafeteria." We passed a smallish room full of round tables. It was empty at the moment. "This is the gym." He paused at a closet-sized space that boasted two treadmills and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A set of free weights was crowded into one corner.

I noticed none of the rooms had doors. None of the dormitory rooms had doors either, so when Brad dropped me off at mine, I discovered that I would have no privacy for the remainder of my stay. I had no luggage with me, nothing to unpack or settle into my new digs.

There were two cots in this room, which was almost exactly the same as my old room. Instead of a toilet, there were some shelves with generic reading material, including the twelve-step book and a Bible. I sat down on one of the beds and looked at the wall for a moment. There was nothing interesting in here, so I decided to flex my newfound freedom by walking around the common area.

There was a nurses' station in the middle, staffed by competent-looking men and women. Gina was nowhere to be seen, so I moved on. There were a few closed doors on this floor, and when I peeked through the safety glass, I could see group therapy sessions, people sitting in circles on folding chairs. With nothing better to do, I decided to take advantage of the "gym."

I squeezed inside and selected a treadmill. I picked a 5k setting with hills and started off. There was no television or music to keep me company, and after thirty minutes, not only was I bored, but I was also sweaty. I moved on to the weights. After more than a week of atrophy, I could feel the difference in my muscles. Hauling lumber would be difficult when I finally got back to work. I decided to visit the gym every day if I could. At least it would give me something to do.

I drifted into the game room next and found an open console. My choices were Atari games or Super Mario Brothers . I guessed that the more modern games were off-limits due to violent content. That or they didn't want us online trying to score dope from someone halfway around the world. The game took me back to a time in my childhood that had been alright. I remembered having sleepovers at Mike's house and playing Super Mario Brothers . It had been old even then but still a classic.

At noon, the residents got up in unison. "Lunch," one of them explained. I turned my console off and followed, wondering if lunch would be the same white sandwiches that I had in solitary. It was. I might thank this treatment center for saving my life, but I wouldn't have good things to say about the menu.

We were free to choose our seats in the cafeteria, so after I gathered my tray, I picked an empty chair and sat down. A handful of recovering addicts looked up at me with sallow faces. One woman smiled, her teeth blackened and her hair whisper thin. Another man moved his juice closer to his plate, as if I would steal it.

"Hello," the woman said.

"Hello," I greeted her, focused on my own meal.

"Where're you from?" she asked.

"Singer's Ridge."

"Where?" Her voice had a screeching quality that made me want to wince.

"It's a small town," I explained.

"Oh." She sniffed.

"Ever been to Miami?" one of the other addicts asked.

I turned to look at him. He was younger than me, with holes in his ears so big that the lobes draped halfway to his shoulders. I shook my head.

"I been," the woman said.

"I'm just stuck in Nashville 'cause I got stopped for a DUI," the younger man explained.

I shook my head, sympathizing with him. This treatment procedure was one hell of a punishment for driving drunk. Then again, drunk driving killed innocent people, so maybe the bastard had it coming to him. Either way, I decided I didn't really care to know a whole lot about any of these strangers. I ate my meal in silence and excused myself as soon as I could.

Gina found me in my room, lying on my bed, reading the Bible. She peered inside, looking for me. My heart thrilled with that one little revelation. I knew she was assigned to me and probably checked in on all of her patients, but the fact that she was, at the moment, looking for me took my breath away. I sat up immediately, putting the book down.

"Find anything good to read?" she asked from the entrance.

"Just the Bible." I gestured to the open book on my pillow. "I guess it's called the ‘Good Book' for a reason."

She sat down on the bed opposite mine, smiling as if we had a running joke. "And what is that reason, do you think?"

"I don't know," I said, warming to the topic. "It has a lot of sex and violence. If video games are out of the question, then the Bible ought to be off-limits."

"Be careful," she teased. "There's a lot of support for what we're doing in the religious community."

"I meant no offense." I held my hands up, changing the subject. "How are you doing?"

"Oh." She took a swipe at a stray lock of hair, brushing it out of her eyes. "I've had better days."

"What happened?" I wanted to know if anyone had been hassling her.

She seemed to know exactly what I had been thinking, because she shook her head. "It's not that. It's not any one person. It's just that two nurses called in sick today, so I'm having to pick up extra rounds. And… there was an incident in the locked ward. I can't give you any details."

"Were you hurt?" I asked bluntly.

"No," she said. "No one was hurt."

I relaxed. "Is this dangerous work?"

"It can be," she admitted, "but we have protocols and cameras, and help is never far off."

"Okay." I let it drop. She wasn't my girlfriend or my wife. I had no responsibility or even ability to protect her.

"Can I show you around?" she asked.

I nodded, already forgetting Brad's half-assed tour.

"You don't currently have a roommate," she said, standing up.

I exhaled in relief. This entire time I had been dreading meeting the person who would share my space, even for a few nights. I didn't want to wake up with their stale breath in my face or witness any uncouth nocturnal rituals. It was rude of me to condescend toward addicts, me being one of them. But I knew better than most how intrusive people could be, and I wasn't looking forward to sharing a room.

"That may change in the next day or so," she cautioned me.

"Of course," I agreed. Beggars couldn't be choosers. I wouldn't say anything negative about anyone they wanted to put in here. But I would allow myself a private celebration over one night roommate-free.

Gina led me out of my room into the common area. "If you get a visitor, you can sit with them here." She pointed to a corner of the room with comfy chairs offset by circular end tables. "If you want to write a letter, you can ask at the nurses' station."

"Do people really write letters?"

"Yes," she assured me. "It kills some time, and it's cathartic in a way. You can get all your feelings out on paper in a way you can't on a phone or an email."

"When do I get my phone back?" I wondered.

"When you leave," she answered apologetically. "It's just too much of a risk."

"You wouldn't want us contacting our dealers," I agreed.

"Speaking of." She turned to face me. "Have you given any thought to how you're going to handle that when you are released?"

"Well, I'm not going to call him," I said.

"Are you going to erase the number?"

"Yes." I accepted the challenge.

"And delete the address from your GPS?"

I opened my mouth to agree but couldn't help playing devil's advocate. "I already know how to get there without the GPS. But seriously, I plan to keep busy. I'll have my hands full at work, and I'll need to clean my room. That'll occupy me for a couple days. After that, I can pick up some extra shifts to minimize my downtime and start looking for an actual apartment."

Gina nodded. "That's good. We're going to give you some numbers you can call. Even in the middle of the night."

I knew exactly one number I wanted her to give me, but I knew it was inappropriate to ask for it. I searched for pockets to thrust my hands into, but the scrubs had none. Instead, I threaded my fingers together behind my back.

She continued the tour, pointing out the rooms with doors. "These are group therapy rooms."

"Why don't the other rooms have doors?" I asked.

She flashed that beautiful smile and said, "You know why the rooms don't have doors."

I could imagine closing my bedroom door and making out with her, feeling her soft breasts fill my hands. She could sit on top of me, her graceful legs draped across mine. I would slide my hands up from her hips to her waist to her chest, tracing the hourglass curve of her figure. I would run my thumbs across her nipples and watch them peak beneath the fabric of her shirt.

I smiled, thinking that was probably only one of the reasons there were no doors. Was it my imagination, or did I catch her smiling too? She turned away before I could confirm her reaction, but something in the way she moved made me think she shared my inclinations. I would have to be careful. I couldn't be the first patient to misinterpret her affection. The last thing I wanted to do was make her uncomfortable.

"Will I have to continue the group meetings?" I asked to clear the air.

"Yes." She turned back to me, without a hint of impropriety. "There's a schedule here." She led me to a whiteboard posted between the two rooms. We looked for my name together and found it: P. Hayes, 2:30. "You've seen the game room and the gym?"

"Yeah."

"There will be a group med check as well three times a day," she explained. "You'll all line up at the nurses' station."

"Great." I flashed a smile.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." I shook my head. It was hard to explain that I didn't want her to see me in my pajamas, lined up with the rest of the crazies, asking for pills. But the reality of the situation was that I was a patient, and she was a nurse. We were on two sides of the medical divide, and I would prove nothing by being noncompliant.

"Well, I have to continue my rounds," she excused herself.

I had to say something before she left, something witty and attractive that would ensure a second visit. I had no idea how the staff worked around here or whether she would still be checking up on me. Now that she didn't have to bring me my medications or check my vitals, would she even come around? I had one shot to impress her and a million things working against me.

"Thanks for taking the time to show me around," I said, opting for a simple expression of gratitude.

"You're welcome," she said cheerfully, before moving away and disappearing into the nurses' station. She gave me no hint of friendship beyond the professional courtesy allotted to all her patients.

I sighed, looking at my wrist as if I had ever worn a watch. I scanned the walls for a clock and, finding one, discovered I had fifteen minutes left to kill before the group session. I picked a chair and sat down. With no phone, no book, and no one to talk to, I just sat, waiting. It was an odd experience. I had always spent my time high or trying to get high, working or getting ready to go to work. I had never just sat still before coming to this place. It wasn't altogether a bad sensation; I realized there was more going on in my brain than I gave myself credit for.

I thought about Mike and Dillon, how they had cabins in the mountains. I wondered if I could score something like that for myself. Maybe I could invite Gina to visit. We could grill up some chicken and veggies and make a night of it. Before I had gotten any further into the daydream, the doors opened, and a dozen patients shuffled into the common room. I stood to take my place in the group therapy room.

I didn't think I was going to get any visitors, but I was wrong. Leave it to Mike to be more invested than a friend should be. Years ago, he had taken the fall for me, bought drugs to try and secure my freedom from the dealers who were after me, and gone to prison for it. The one stand-up thing I had done to repay him, helping to rescue his wife, seemed so far in the past. I hadn't expected anyone to come, but I was grateful he had.

I had been in the low-risk area for a couple of days and had gotten to know some of the residents. A few of them weren't so bad. I sat through a few card games and had a regular table to eat my meals at. They put me with a roommate who snored, but he didn't jump up on the bed at midnight and declare his allegiance to Satan, so I couldn't complain.

Gina had been by to see me a few times, just enough that I couldn't tell if she was interested or not. She was consistently friendly and open, sharing more of her personal life than I thought she usually shared, but I couldn't be sure. She smiled affectionately but never touched me, not even a pat on the back. I was beginning to think I would leave this place without ever resolving the sexual tension between us. I had to play the part of the drug user, unavailable for romantic relationships. She had to play the part of the professional nurse, friendly and caring but reserved. If there was more to it, I couldn't tell.

She came to get me in the gym. I was doing push-ups in the narrow space, getting creative with the method. It was just a game, just something to stay occupied. I put my hands as far apart as they could go and still support my body, rocking from side to side as I pressed up and down. I didn't realize I had an audience until the exercise was over and I put my knees down.

She clapped appreciatively. "How many of those can you do?"

"Eleven," I answered, coming to my feet and brushing my knees off. I didn't mind her watching. Of all the people who could have caught me flexing my muscles, she was the one that might pay dividends.

"You have a visitor," she said.

I brushed past her, through the narrow space that was meant for a door. In that moment, when we were both confined to the four-foot entrance, I could smell the soap she used. It was a lemon-vanilla scent, clean and wholesome. Our chests were centimeters apart, so close that I could feel the aura surrounding her. Just one more inch and I would be able to enjoy the swell of her breasts against my skin. Her chin was tilted up, her eyes following me as I moved. Our lips passed close enough to kiss—if only I had the abandon to do as I pleased. I slipped free, removing myself from her presence before her proximity became intoxicating.

She inhaled sharply as I passed, giving me hope that she felt the same as I did. The moment over, I left her behind as if she had just been a messenger delivering a summons and not the person I most wanted to see. Walking over to the visitors' area, I found Mike in one of the chairs, a Styrofoam cup in hand.

"Mike!" I took the rest of the distance in stride, thrilled to see him. I thought I had this whole thing licked, that I was going to make it through treatment without any friends on my side but seeing my oldest and closest friend waiting for me was almost too much. I swallowed the tears before they could emerge and clapped him into a big hug. "You came?"

"Of course I came," Mike laughed. "Did you think I would leave you out here in the big city on your own?"

"How's Tammy?" I asked, taking a seat.

Mike sat back down, taking a swig off the cup in his hand. He winced.

"It's bad," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I don't know if you could call it coffee."

"They call it coffee," I countered, "but I don't know if it is."

Mike laughed. "Tammy's fine."

"How's the lumberyard? Have you been by?" I wondered, eager for any information about the outside world.

"I haven't been back," he admitted. "But I'm sure they're doing fine. How are you doing?"

"Thirteen days clean and sober," I answered.

"That's great."

I shook my head.

"It is great," he insisted. "You have to give yourself time and celebrate each small victory."

We caught up for the hour that was allotted. At the end of the visit, Mike stood, reaching out for my hand. I allowed him to pull me into another hug.

"Thanks for coming," I said.

"You'll be home before you know it," Mike said.

"Listen." I stepped back, rubbing the base of my skull. "I'm sorry for the time you spent in prison."

"Hey." Mike stopped me right there with a wave of his hand. "We're even. Remember?"

"Yeah, but—" I tried.

"But nothing." He refused to allow me to apologize. "Without you, who knows what would have happened to Tammy."

"Without me, you wouldn't have been in that situation to begin with," I argued.

Mike opened his mouth to contradict me but then closed it. "That's true."

"So, I'm sorry." I wondered why I had dug this hole for myself.

"Forgiven." Mike smiled, shaking the whole argument off.

Brad came over to break up our reunion. "Time's up."

"See you soon," Mike promised.

We parted ways with a friendly shake. I looked around the room for Gina and found her at the nurses' station. I smiled, and she smiled back. Whatever else was between us, she cared about me. However many other patients she had or whether this was all just a job for her, the truth was that she cared. That meant a lot more to me than even Mike's visit.