0 comments/ 1768 views/ 0 favorites Every Other Sunday By: ktfa1 I always sleep on my own side of the bed, even when Mike isn't here. I never use his pillow, either. For as far back as I can remember, Mike and I have shared the same bed. Mom pushed the bed against the corner of the room, and I sleep on the outside, so he won't fall out of bed. She didn't need to, because Mike never moves a muscle in bed. Sometimes, I wake up in the night and see Mike staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open and lying in the same position that he fell asleep. I remember how strange it was to sleep alone for the first time. I wasn't scared to sleep alone. In fact, now that Mike isn't here, I don't have to save him from the pile of toys that turns into a monster when Mom turns out the light. Mike knew that the monster was just a pretend game that we played, but he still acted like he was really scared. When you get older, it's important to have your own room, or at least your own bed. For one thing, it means that you can have a friend over to spend the night. I've had lots of friends sleep over since Mike went to stay at Fairview. My mom and dad talked a lot about Fairview before they took Mike there to stay. Mike doesn't live at Fairview, but now he stays there. Home is where you live and not where you stay. Even though Mike only lives at home on every other weekend, this is still his home. Dad said, "We're lucky that Fairview excepted him, because they have lots of doctors and nurses and they have lots of things for him to do with people like him." When they first took Mike to stay at Fairview, Dad said that the main reason was because Mike wasn't getting any smaller and Mom wasn't getting any younger. He said that it would take a huge load off my mom, who still had to take care of my little sisters. Kim and Kelly are twins and five years younger than me. My oldest sister, Jackie, is married now and can't help my mom anymore. Terry and Cathy, my older sisters, are going through their teens. Cathy's teens have been a little harder on everybody than Terry's, but that's a whole other story. The first time Mike came home from Fairview was really hard on everybody. One of the rules for new patients is to have no visitors or phone calls for a month. They said it was to help him adjust to his new "environment." I had to look it up in the dictionary. It said that environment was "the circumstances, objects or conditions by which one is surrounded." That sounds to me like it could mean anywhere you are, like home or school or even jail. Now, everyone keeps saying how well Mike is adjusting to his new environment. I'm not so sure about that. If last Sunday was an example of Mike's adjustment, I don't think it's going well at all-not one little bit. Practically the whole neighborhood was gathered outside our house when Mom drove up with Mike. I can't remember ever seeing him as happy as he was when my mom and I helped him into his wheelchair. His big blue eyes were shining; his smile as broad as can be as he called everyone by name and announced that he was home. Ross and WeEtta, John and Bernice Hurt and everyone said their hellos and told him how glad they were to see him. My dad asked him if he'd given him his allowance lately. Mike was shy and embarrassed when he told Dad that he hadn't. Dad reached into his pocket, pulled out a handful of change and gave it to him. Of course, Mike's little fingers don't close enough to hold it all, so Dad told me to hold it for him, then Dad told me to take him to the store. Before we left, my dad turned to me. "Don't forget, Pat, that's Mike's money, so make sure that he spends it, not you." Then, he said that he was just kidding and offered the men a beer. They were talking about his new car as I pushed Mike down the street to the liquor store. I don't mind pushing Mike to the store, but I hate it when we get there. He never tells me what he wants to buy, so I have to keep asking him, "Do you want a Snickers, Mike? You've got enough money to get a Snickers and a Milky Way." Dad always gives him enough money to buy anything he wanted, but he never seems to care about buying anything, so I always end up spending his money for him. My dad never understood that the sixty seconds of attention that he gave him was worth more to Mike than all the nickels and dimes in the world. The only time he would ever say anything in the store was when Doc was working. Doc was a real nice man who never got mad when kids would hold up candy and ask him, "How much is this?" He was called Doc because his last name was Dockamus. Everyone liked him because he was nice to everyone, but he was especially nice to Mike. He never bought him candy like some of the other men do; he just talked to him and he always remembered Mike's name. Nobody could remember the names of every kid who came to spend their allowance, but he always knew Mike's. One time, just before Easter, Doc asked Mike if he was making Easter eggs. "Would you bring an egg in for me?" he asked. Mike asked him what color he wanted and Doc said green. I knew that Doc was only kidding Mike, but when we got home, I told Mom about Doc and his green egg, so we decided to make him one. We even helped Mike write "To Doc" on it. Then, we put plastic grass into a strawberry box for the egg. We took it down to the liquor store, and gave it to him. Well, Doc was so surprised that he tried to give us some candy for free, but we told him no thanks, we'd promised to give him an egg for Easter and so we did. I've never seen a man so happy to receive something so simple as an Easter egg. That was the last time we ever got to see him, because early one morning, Doc was at the liquor store by himself and a man shot him and killed him. * * * * * * * * * * Anyway, we spent Mike's allowance on candy and started for home. I hated to use Mike's money, but I used twenty cents to buy two cokes at The Pink Spot so we could spend a little time with each other. Sometimes, it's hard to think of things to do; I think it's because we're bigger, now. If he's asked me once, he's asked me a hundred times why The Pink Spot has arches like McDonald's. I tell him for the hundredth time that it used to be a McDonald's, but now it's called The Pink Spot. "That's why the arches are pink instead of gold." Twice a year, The Pink Spot has a new owner. They always have the same Grand Opening Special-a hamburger for only a dime. Everyone in West Fullerton comes out for the ten-cent burger. There's always a long line, because the new owners can't make them fast enough. But when the special ends, the burgers cost twenty-three cents again. The only people that buy them are the two ambulance drivers with the hair that looks like Elvis Presley. The owners go out of business and someone else takes over. Then, we all eat ten-cent burgers again. The Armstrong Nursery is the last store where the parking lot ends and the big vacant lot begins. For the hundredth time, Mike asks me where they keep the babies and for the hundredth time, I tell him that it's not that kind of nursery. "They don't keep babies here, Mike, they sell plants." "Like Dad's roses?" he always asks. "Yeah, Mike; just like Dad's roses." Once, I took him through the nursery, so he could see that there weren't any babies, but he still asks me every time where the babies are. We get about halfway from the nursery to the traffic light when I stop pushing Mike's wheelchair. I show him the spot where the weeds have been cleared and the dirt is leveled and packed down right up to the sidewalk. "Hey Mike, do you know what this patch of dirt is for?" Mike just sits there with his head down. He's waiting for me to tell him, but I decide to make him work for the answer. "What do they always put here at the beginning of every summer?" Mike sits and waits for me to tell him. "What comes after the third of July?" All of a sudden, he looks back at me with the kind of smile that only my brother can and says: "The Fourth of July?" "That's right; so what do you think they're going to put right here?" "A fireworks stand?" I put my hands on his shoulders and say, "That's right, a fireworks stand! They'll have Roman candles and fountains and sparklers and pinwheels! Mike is beaming, now. He says: Remember the time the pinwheel came off the ladder? I laughed and said, "Don't they always fly off the ladder? Either that or they don't spin at all. Then, everyone laughs at Dad!" "And Pat, will they have ole Smoky Joe?" "Well, that depends; if it's a Red Devil stand, they'll have good ole Smoky Joe, for sure. But if it's a Freedom fireworks stand, they'll have Smoky Pete. Would you mind if we have to get ole Smoky Pete instead?" Mike smiles and scrunches up his shoulders like he does when he hears some really good news and says: "I like good ole Smoky Pete, too!" "Me too, Mike. They both have those cigars that make everything all smoky. Mom hates both of them, doesn't she?" Mike giggles and I do an impression of Mom. "Land sakes, Jack Messick! Why did you have to light that nasty old thing? It smells horrible!" Mike giggles as I push him all the way down to the stoplight. I don't have to tell him to press the button to change the light to green. I always tell him that he has to hold the button down for ten seconds or it won't work. I figure that it's good for him, because the button isn't easy to hold down and he can practice counting to ten. He doesn't know that all you have to do is touch the button and the light will change in twenty seconds. But the best part is crossing the street. Even though the light is green, Mike always holds out his arms like he's the one that's stopping the cars. It always makes me laugh, but he can't see me and I don't laugh out loud because I know that he takes his job very seriously. Once we reach the other side of the crosswalk, I turn him around so he can let the waiting cars go again. * * * * * * * * * * When we got back to the house, we could see Dad and some of the other neighborhood dads sitting around on the front porch. This is usually a good thing, because they let me sit and listen to them talk. I don't really understand most of the stuff they talk about, but I'm not stupid. I know that they tell dirty jokes when Dad sends me into the house to bring someone another beer. I like Ross Corey and John Hurt a lot. John Hurt is a tall man with silver hair and a red pickup truck that is exactly as old as me. He's a plumber who's just waiting for his retirement so he can move back to Kentucky and buy a farm. Bernice Hurt is very nice, too. She makes me laugh because she's the only one that ever calls me 'Patrick Gordon.' I like Augie Clays, too. He's a truck driver. One time, he let me and Susan Clays ride with him. It took all day and it was really neat to ride in that big sand and gravel truck clear out to the desert. We stopped at Irene's Coffee Shop for breakfast. Irene's was all by itself in the middle of nowhere! I liked Irene so much that Augie stopped there again on the way back. Irene's lemon pie wasn't as good as my mom's, but she was so nice that I told her it was wonderful. Dad and the men were still gathered around our front porch when I pushed Mike up the driveway. Don Waltz lives next door to the Clays.' We don't see him very often, but it always means trouble for me. I'm not saying that he's not a nice person or anything. It just seems like he's mad about something all the time. It's bad enough that he drinks a lot more beer than the other dads, but today, he was drinking a high ball with my dad. I don't know why Dad offers him a high ball when he comes to our house. Everyone knows that my dad likes bourbon better than beer. I've never seen my dad get drunk-not ever, but I think he likes to get other people drunk. Anyway, it's always trouble for me. Don always has something he wants to teach me, something he thinks I really ought to knowDad always let's him talk to me until I hear those birds fluttering inside my head and making it so I can't see right. The thing that scared me the most was the idea that my dad was letting Don do this to me on purpose. I wondered if he knew how it feels when the bird wings (I just call it that because I can't describe the sound) and how it makes it hard to see.) They stop talking and say hello to Mike. Mike raises both arms up in the air, like he always does and says, "I'm back! I'm back from the liquor store!" "What did you bring me?" Augie asks. Mike doesn't know how to answer that kind of question, so he waits for another. "Did you bring us any Beer Nuts, Mike?" "I doubt it. I don't think his brother likes Beer Nuts; do you, Pat?" Before I can answer my dad, Don Waltz says to me, "What team are you playing on this year, Pat?" "Pat doesn't play baseball anymore," Dad says. "He'd rather watch TV and eat his brother's candy." He turns to me and says, "Make sure that Mike gets some, too." Then, Dad pats me on the head and tells me that he's just tormenting me, but it makes me mad that that he would accuse me of taking Mike's candy, even though Mike doesn't even want it. I start to say so, but Ross crunches his beer can and says, "Hey Jack, how about another round?" My Dad doesn't even look at me when he tells me to get Ross another beer. "Hey Don, you look dry over there. Are you ready for another? Pat, take Don's glass with you and bring him another high ball." When I come back with a beer for Ross and another drink for Don, I see that they're all talking to Mike about the barbecue that we're going to have. "Your dad says he's cooking ribs tomorrow. Do you like ribs, Mike?" Augie asks. Mike smiles and says yes. "And baked beans and potato salad?" "Yeah!" Mike giggles and scrunches up his shoulders. Just as I'm about to hand the beer to Ross and the drink to Don, Don Waltz asks Mike, "Mike, what time do you have to go back to..." Don never finished his sentence, because Ross stood up and accidentally knocked the beer and the highball out of my hands. The glass broke and the beer and the bourbon flew everywhere. Of course, my dad started to blame me, but Ross says, "Jack, that was my fault. You know how I get after two beers." His little joke made my dad forget he was mad at me. Then Ross says to Don, "Come on, I need to get that post digger from you, anyway." They all thanked my dad for the beers and left me to clean up the broken glass. Ross Corey put his hand on my shoulder and said to Don, "I'll meet you in your garage in a minute, Don. I'll take Pat and get him some gloves so he can pick up that glass without cutting himself." So I walked across the street with Ross and waited while he fished a pair of gloves out of a cupboard in his garage. As he handed them to me, he said, "Make sure you check those for spiders before you put them on." I told him thanks and start back across the street. I was just about at the end of his driveway. I gave the gloves a good shake and stared in surprise as two quarters fell out of one of the gloves and rolled into the gutter. Ross likes to play tricks, so I turned back to look at Ross to see if he had that little smile on his face, but his garage door was closed. I looked up and saw WeEtta Corey. She was standing behind her crystal clean window. When she saw me, she smiled and waved. WeEtta doesn't hide behind her curtains like Bernice Hurt. She just stands there and watches everything. She always looks so happy and peaceful, looking out of her living room window, smiling and waving at anyone she sees. Every Other Sunday Pt. 02 "Are Jackie and Tom coming to the barbecue?" "Yes, Mike; turn your head and hold still." "Will they bring Eddie and Stevie?" "Well, of course, they'll bring the boys. Hold very still, now. I'm going to trim your sideburns." Whenever Jackie and Tom come to our house, it's like having a cyclone land in the driveway. They have strollers and high chairs and Tom is rushing around and talking really loud. This is funny, because all the kids and noise at our house used to drive him crazy before he married Jackie. Eddie and Stevie are fun, because they're too old to be called babies and too young to be called little boys. You have to be careful with Eddie, though. Eddie always tells you that "I'm a beeeeg boy!" * * * * * * * * * * "And Betty Lou and Louie, are they coming?" "Yes, Mike. Now, hold still; we're almost finished." I listened to Mike talking to Mom while she gave him a haircut in the garage. I didn't need to listen, because Mike had been asking the same questions ever since he got home. He always does that. Once he knows that something good is going on, he never stops asking the same questions, over and over again. "How about Jim and Gladys, are they coming, too?" "We'll see, my mom says, "It depends how Jim is feeling." Jimmy Rokie is one of my Dad's best friends. He worked with my dad until he got sick. My dad always said that no one ever worked as hard as Jim Rokie. Now, he has a lot of heart attacks and strokes, but he is still very nice. When Jim is around, I always feel peaceful, like I do in church when I know that God is there. Mom says that someday, the angels will come for him and we won't be sad, because we'll know that he'll never have to be sick again. Gladys Rokie works for Thrifty Drug, just like my dad. She used to work in my dad's store, but now she doesn't. I was too little to remember that and I can't imagine Gladys working for Dad. Gladys says what's on her mind. She doesn't care who it is, not even my dad. Gladys Rokie and Betty Lou Murren are the only women I know that can tell my dad, right to his face, that he's full of shit, pardon my French. That's something Betty Lou says when she curses. After a little while everyone at the party starts saying it. Betty Lou doesn't work for Thrifty's. She works for Linbrook Hardware. She is a great big woman. We never say fat; we always say that she's heavy, because we love her so much. She's so big that she can float in a swimming pool and not sink or anything. She can smoke a cigarette or sip a drink without getting out of the water! Her husband, Louie, works for my dad. He runs the liquor counter and he hates it when he has to make ice cream cones. He doesn't mind when it's a kid, but he can't stand it when some "A-hole" raps a nickel on the glass counter when he's taking care of someone that's buying a lot of booze. Louie drinks more than anyone I know. I don't know why he drinks so much. Mom says he has to work for my dad because he drinks so much. Cathy says he drinks so much because he has to work for my dad. He never argues with my dad, not even when Dad tries to make him. Louie just agrees with him, but Betty Lou sure doesn't. She's not afraid to tell my dad off and she doesn't care who hears it. * * * * * "Come on, Mike, let's go get you bathed and dressed before everyone shows up." "Are Joyce and Woody coming, too?" "Yes Mike, Joyce and Woody are coming, too." "Will they bring Jodie?" "Well, of course. Don't you want to see Jodie?" Joyce and Woody have known my family since before I was born. I was too little to remember, but they had a baby that died and Joyce was sick for a long time. They gave her some kind of therapy and she's fine now. In fact, Joyce is just like a mom to me. They live in Anaheim in a house just like ours. Only now, they have a swimming pool in their back yard. They let us come over whenever we want and go swimming. Woody is a big guy with lots of hair, but not on his head. He is very nice, but very quiet. All of the Rupert's, including Jodie and her big brother Don, are very quiet. But they are always good to me and my brother and sisters. When my dad starts an argument, they just don't say anything. The only thing Woody will argue about with my dad is church, because he goes to church while my dad plays golf. * * * * * * * * * * I was still sweeping the patio when Cathy brought Mike's wheelchair outside. Cathy is the only one with the patience to clean every spoke, every bolt until the chrome shines like new. "Are you going to work your magic on Mike's chair?" I followed her over to the side of the house, where she planned to hose it down before she got out the chrome polish. "Take a look at this." I looked at the place where the spokes cross together and saw what looked like some kind of gray liquid that had dried hard onto the wheel. "It's here, too," she said, "And here and here and here." "What is it?" I asked. "I think it's food; food and other stuff." "Why would there be food dried onto his chair?" "I think it's from the shower," she said as she turned on the hose. Her lips were tight and she wouldn't look at me when she answered. "I think he sits in his wheelchair when they give him a shower." * * * * * * * * * * We all had so much fun that day. Jodie was there and we all played with Kim and Kelly and even Eddie and Stevie until they were ready for a nap. One thing about girls; girls are always good at making up games to play and my sisters' are the best. They can make up a game out of anything. Cathy is the best at thinking of ways to make Mike a part of the game. She kept him busy and out of Mom's way while she and Joyce made the salads and baked beans and boiled the ribs for Dad to barbecue on the grill. Cathy parked Mike between the two orange trees and we pretended that Jodie was the princess on the other side and Mike was the dragon that held her captive. The game was to rescue the princess without letting the dragon touch you. If he touched you, you had to fall down and pretend that you were roasting to death. Once I finished my turn at roasting to death, I had to go start the charcoal so my dad could barbecue the ribs. This became my job, once Mom had taught me how to carefully pour the gasoline into the Campbell's tomato soup can. Then, you have to pour it very slowly and evenly on all of the briquettes. I did this, hoping I wouldn't roast to death twice in one day. It's very important to count to twenty five before you strike the match. If you light it too soon, the gas will make a huge flame and scare the shit out of you, pardon my French. If you wait too long, the gas soaks into the charcoal and makes the ribs taste bad and there's nothing that burns Dad's fanny more than having his ribs taste like gasoline. We used to have one of those electric things that heats up like a branding iron. You stick it in the pile of coals and wait until they catch fire. It worked pretty good until it melted the extension cord that plugged into the back porch light. Now, the branding iron doesn't work and neither does the porch light. Once I got the fire going, the men stand around the barbecue, smoking and drinking until my dad tells me that the fire is ready and to bring out the ribs. The kitchen is so hot that I can barely breathe. Mom uses hot dog tongs to take the ribs out of the big pot and piles them on a platter. I take the ribs out to my dad and then I have to go back to get "Jack Messick's Special Secret Barbecue Sauce." Dad lets me stand around with the men just long enough to show me how good he is at barbecuing ribs, then he told me to go ask Gladys if Jimmy can have sauce on his ribs. I decide that I should ask Jimmy instead. After all, he's a grown man, even if he does have diabetes and has strokes and heart attacks. Jimmy Rokie can decide whether or not he wants sauce on his ribs. I find Jim and Gladys sitting under the big orange tree with Betty Lou and Jackie. "Uncle Jimmy, Dad wants to know if you want sauce on your ribs." "I don't know if I should, Pat. I ate some celery last night." This is a game that we've played ever since I was old enough to talk. It was a long time before I knew he was only fooling. "Were you eating celery in bed, Uncle Jim?" "Well, Pat, you know that's where I eat my celery." "Did you dip your celery in salt, Uncle Jim?" "I used so much salt that I had to fill my belly button twice." Gladys was laughing so loud, she made Mr. and Mrs. French's dog start barking. When Jackie explained to Betty Lou how Jimmy once told me that God made belly buttons so you could eat celery in bed, Betty Lou started laughing, too. We laughed until every dog in the neighborhood started barking and we had to slap Betty Lou on her back because she laughed until she started coughing. * * * * * * * * * * "That was wonderful, Jack," Tom said. "No one makes a better rib dinner than Jack Messick," agreed Louie. "Hold it right there!" Gladys said. "You didn't enjoy your dinner?" my dad asked her. "Of course I did. It was wonderful, but I'm sick and tired of hearing everyone compliment Jack Messick for standing in front of a barbecue grill for thirty minutes!" "I'll second that!" said Betty Lou. "Jean bakes the beans, makes the potato salad and the cole slaw. Let's not forget that she makes the corn on the cob, pre-cooks the ribs and starts the charcoal, just so you can stand there and smear on the barbecue sauce that she made. The same ribs that Jean had to go to the butchers' to buy!" "Betty Lou is right. Jean always does the work while Jack gets the credit!" Mom looked kind of embarrassed and said, "Well, Joyce did more than her share in the kitchen and Pat started the coals." If my dad was caught off guard by Aunt Gladys and Betty Lou's attack, he sure wasn't showing it. "I've always given Jean credit for being a good wife and mother. Just let me say this and then I'll shut up before we start an argument. I'll admit that Jean does most of the cooking, but let me remind you women who's hard earned money paid for this meal!" "Jack Messick, you're a horse's ass, pardon my French. Jim, we should probably get started for home. Jean, thank you again for a lovely dinner." "A horse's ass. Now that's something I'd like to see Jean boil before it gets smeared with barbecue sauce! Jean, that was a wonderful meal, just like every meal we've ever had over here. Wake up. Louie, we should probably get going, too." It was then that all of the fun, all of the good food and good company came to a crashing end when my dad said, "Jean, you should probably take Mike back now. I don't want you driving through that construction in Fountain Valley in the dark." Suddenly, I felt Mom's lips to my ear and she told me to go get Mike's sweater and his clothes from the day before from the bedroom. They were already loading Mike into the car when I came out with his sweater. It seemed like everyone was talking to Mike at once. Joyce and Woody were telling him that the pool water was getting warmer by the day. He'll have to come swimming next time he came home to visit. Gladys gave him a big, smacking kiss that left a big red lipstick blotch on his check. She invited Mike to come to their house and pick avocados from their garden. Jackie told Mike about all the work that Tom did in their back yard. He's got to come over and see it for himself. I stood on the porch holding Mike's sweater and listened while everyone promised Mike such wonderful things to do the next time he came home for a visit. "Where's Pat?" said Dad. Everyone turned to see me standing on our front porch. When Betty Lou moved away from the car, I could see Mike's face. His eyes were wild, like a horse trapped in a burning barn. His eyes were wild with fear and dread. He held his arm stiffly to the open door of the car, as if he could stop time by not allowing the door to close. His eyes met mine and I could see in his big blue, terrified eyes that I was his last chance. I was his last hope. I could see in his eyes that he was holding on to the belief that his brother could make all of this go away. Make this all go away and sleep beside him in our bed tonight. His eyes. His eyes that faded behind heavy lids when my dad said, "Hurry up, Pat. Mike's waiting on you." But I knew that Mike wasn't waiting on me. Mike wasn't waiting on anyone. Mike knew that he'd been betrayed once again. Mike had come to believe that the past thirty hours wasn't a dream. Mike knew that the two people he loved and trusted the most were about to tear him from his dream and return him to his nightmare. Every Other Sunday Pt. 03 "I'll be so glad when they finish this roadwork...this is all going to be houses in a few years...Close your window, Pat...the dairy farm is coming up...Next time you come home, Mike, it'll be daylight savings time...won't it be nice to go swimming at Joyce and Woody's?...Do you want to spend the Fourth over there, or would you rather go to the block party at Mr. French's house...We'll have to go to Thrifty's and get you a new swimming ring..." Mom chatters nonstop all the way to Fairview State Hospital. She talks and talks and every once in awhile, she'll ask Mike a question. It's always about something fun that we have planned for his next visit. But Mike isn't talking. Not a bit. Not one word. He sits like a stone and Mom doesn't seem to notice. She just keeps talking and talking and talking... * * * * * * * * * * "Here we are," she says. We turn into the driveway and follow the fence that separates the hospital grounds from the golf course. "There's your little friends, Mike. They've come out to welcome you back." Mike doesn't look up, but I can't help but gaze out at the hundreds of cottontail rabbits gathered on the other side of the fence. They look so free, so happy, as if they don't have to worry about owls or coyotes or the poison that the people at the golf course put out to get rid of them. We park outside Mike's ward and I take Mike's wheelchair out of the trunk while Mom talks to him quietly. I don't know what she says to him and I really don't care. Mom holds the glass door open for me as I push Mike inside. I can't help but retch at the smell, a combination of piss and Pine Sol. I breathe through my mouth and try not to think about it. We come to the end of the hall and turn into Mike's ward. I don't know where to look, where to rest my eyes. There is no place to look and not see twisted limbs lying on the bare tile floor. Four dozen mangled, twisted, drooling, grunting, diapered, howling, crying, laughing bodies. Bodies with heads too big or legs too small. Four dozen "ward mates" staring up at a television mounted in the top corner of the wall. This is the day room. I turn my eyes to the left and see the ones they call "the profound cases." Three dozen beds full of twisted, contorted, sleeping mummies, just waiting for their Lord and Savior to finally come and take them to a much better place. Terry taught me how to look out and see everyone and everything all at once without really seeing anything. Cathy told me to look into each and every face. She told me to smile and say hello, even if they do nothing but grunt or drool. She said that God is in all of us. Cathy said that if we show ourselves to them, they will see God and we will see Him, too. I try to look at them the way Cathy does, but sometimes it's just too hard and I do like Terry and look at everything and see nothing. I feel so uncomfortable, so confused. All I can do is lean over the back of Mike's chair and make him promises of all the neat things we'll do together when he comes home again. But Mike doesn't answer. Mike doesn't say a word. He just stares at his shoes until a nurse calls to us from the far end of the ward. Suddenly, Mike comes to life. "Julie! I'm back!" He throws his arms in the air, like he always does when he's glad to see someone. "Hi Mike; it's good to see you! Did you have a good time?" "Julie, the Fourth of July is coming!" "Yes, I know. Would you like to help us decorate the day room?" "Good-bye, Mike! I'll see you in two weeks," Mom says. But Mike doesn't hear his mother. He's forgotten about his brother. The handles of his chair are wrenched from my hands as he pushes himself forward to meet Julie. * * * * * * * * * * Mom talked all the way home. I sit and stare out the window while she chats on and on about how much better he is now when he goes back to Fairview. "Did you see how happy he was, once he got back to his ward? They told us he would be happier there, once he got used to his new environment. But he still likes to come home and have a nice dinner with everyone...and the Fourth is coming up...and then all the birthdays...Terry's and yours...and then his...and Jackie and then there's the grandkids' coming up, too...it'll be alright." I'm not so sure. * * * * * * * * * * I'm not so sure about anything as I lay on my side of the bed. I'm not sure how I can leave him in that horrible place without at least saying how I feel. I'm not even sure how I feel. I can do a lot of things that I couldn't do before they took him there. I wonder if my mom really believes that Mike is better off now. Maybe she'd rather have him home. Mom can also do things that she couldn't do before she had to spend so much time with Mike. I wonder if maybe Mom and the rest of us enjoy not having to take care of Mike all of the time. I wonder what it would be like if Dad wasn't around to make all of the big decisions, like whether or not Mike has to stay at a state hospital. But most of all, I wonder if Mike forgets about me when his visit is over and we take him back to Fairview. I wonder if he ever stares at the ceiling in the dark and cries.