Day Seven: "I used to be a bad bitch, but now the government is after me!"

It took a while for the trazodone, benadryl, seroquel, and hydroxyzine to kick in but I fell asleep around 2am, after pacing the halls and tracking the clock at the Nurses station. Michael is yelling at me again to come to breakfast, and I sit with Kayla to enjoy our powdered eggs, decrepit sausage, and hash browns triangles. 

Then, a rare quiet moment in the dayroom. It’s after breakfast and everyone is elsewhere. Kayla and I chat and I advise her to sign a 5 day release. I was right that she is a model, and she’s excited to get back to work and school. I am still drowsy from the pills but I’d rather be drowsy during the day than not have slept at all at night. After Kayla leaves to sign the form, I realize how nice it is being alone in a quiet room. 

Through the tops of the windows I can see a slate gray sky - it looks like it might rain, which means that it must be somewhat warm outside. 

A young blonde woman marches into the dayroom around 10:30am, holding a basket of paper and art supplies. “Group time! Group time!” she chirps and starts rearranging the tables into one long table and assembling chairs around it. “Who wants to paint with watercolors this morning?” I don’t see how painting is going to help my mood, so I go to the nurses station to see when I can finally go home.

“It looks like you’re out on Friday morning,” the nurse says, eyes fixed on her computer screen. “We’ll set you up with a meeting with your case worker tomorrow to prep you for release.” Two more sleeps - Wednesday and Thursday night - before I leave. I worry that the excitement alone will keep me from sleeping. I immediately call Victor and my family to let them know I’ll be out by 10am on Friday. 

Everyone is bored so Michael starts making up a song. He beatboxes a low baritone melody as he pounds one fist the wall and uses his other hand to tap in syncopation. Kennon improvises a rap with the rhythm – something about karate and busting out of chains. 

Some guy in a black sweatshirt stole my dinner, apparently, and the nurses apologize profusely. Honestly, I’m not really that hungry at 5pm so it’s not a big deal. To make up for the inconvenience, I get a double portion of gummy salisbury steak that sends me sprinting to the bathroom with diarrhea exactly 30 minutes later. When I get out of the bathroom I see I have a new roommate. She doesn’t acknowledge me. 

After dinner, Kayla channels a renewed sense of energy into reciting verses from the Holy Bible (one of the few books available in the dayroom, alongside Shakespeare’s Hamlet and the children’s book Chika Chika Boom Boom). She’s flipping through the book and I recognize some passages from the Old Testament. 

“I can’t believe this is the reading material they give us here,” Kayla laments. “This shit is so misogynistic and violent. We don’t need any more violence in our lives!” she exclaims as she dropkicks the Bible out of the dayroom. It lands on the hallway floor and glides a few feet before coming to stop. Now she realizes this can be a game. 

“How far can I drop-kick the Bibbel?” Kira asks, laughing. From now on I will only refer to the Holy Book as “the Bibbel.” Anytime she says it I crack up. 

Kayla gets bored of kicking the Bibbel and starts doing laps around the dayroom. “You know I used to be in track and cross-country in high school? And I was a cheerleader? I used to be a bad bitch, but now the government is after me!” she picks up the pace and her curls are bouncing off her shoulders. A nurse comes in and tells her to sit down. 

“I will not sit down until racism, hypocrisy, and imperialism come to an end,” Kayla pants as she sprints past the nurse. 

“Kayla, you need to calm down and have a seat, please.”

“What are you gonna do, give me the booty juice? You gave me that the first day I got here and how much good did that do us, Nurse Mary?” she winks at the nurse and changes tack down the hallway, flinging a phone off its hook as she runs by. 

Before bedtime, a new girl enters the villa: she’s got blonde curly hair, lip filler, perfectly laminated eyebrows, and she smells like peppermint. Her name is Sarah and it’s a shame I only get to spend the next two evenings with her. Sarah tells me that she was at Thorek Hospital for about a week before coming to Montrose.

“Ugh, Thorek - that place is so ran through,” I say. “I had to go there before coming here last week.”

“I know! It’s so bad. You know how they have that FBI 1-800 number on the TV all the time because that Nancy Guthrie - that newscasters mom - went missing? So I had a phone call one day and I decided to call that 1800 FBI number! I told the FBI that Thorek sucks, and it needs to be shut down, and I’m being held hostage and the food is terrible. And they wouldn’t let me have my skincare products!” 

Sarah mentions that along with her favorite serums, lotions, and creams that she has in her bag (that they won’t let her have), she’s also got a whole pharmacy in her purse - uppers, downers, in-betweeners, “whatever you need to blast off or get back down to earth,” she says.

We spend the rest of the evening discussing the nuances of our favorite skincare and makeup products, and I see the nurses are listening to us.  

When I return to my room I see my roommate is already asleep. This one is also quiet and sleeps through the night.