Brotherhood of Charles Chapter V: Mrs. Joy

Chapter V: Mrs. Joy

As I sat in the corner of the room, staring at the blank white walls, I wondered what I was going to do. I wanted to give up. Problem was, I had given up- last night- and now things were still going on. I couldn’t commit suicide; there was no practical way. I couldn’t take a break; these damn counselors saw to that with every five minutes I breathed. I couldn’t go to sleep; that would lead to being back in here, and I was so worked up now I knew there was no way I’d fall asleep. Two times in quiet time. On my first day. That sucked.

Why was I getting in trouble just as many times as Guy? I hadn’t killed anybody. Did our backgrounds make a difference- or our personalities? I wondered because he was angry, volatile; I was depressed, though perhaps also volatile. I didn’t think John or Roy liked me. I could swear they held something against me- I just wasn’t sure what.

What disturbed me was the fact that none of the other counselors had listened to me. Damn John. I didn’t see how they could trust him. I didn’t see how they could ignore everything I’d said, as though I wasn’t there. Some object. Not a human being, but an animal to keep under control. Damn this place. May it burn in Hell.

Not that that was a terribly realistic idea- though, if I had to choose, I think I could have easily put Three Rivers in Hell. Maybe it would be good for the people there.

I needed something in my life, something new, something to get rid of all this mess. The “voices,” as anyone else would call them, were taking me on a new road. I needed their help. No one here could do anything for me. That was clear. But then, could the spirits I talked with in my head do anything either?

I really wasn’t sure, but I knew I was on the edge of something- something I couldn’t describe, something I couldn’t see or understand, but something I desperately needed. Something that could solve this whole mess.

I wondered if religion had any of the answers I was looking for. Maybe this something I could feel myself on the edge of was religion. Maybe God was calling me.

I wondered if God could solve my problems. I wanted something to do on my own, though; I didn’t want to rely on these spirits, or on God, or on anybody. I wanted to be my own man. I wanted to be able to help other people, to be able to guide them. I wanted to be like Buddha, like Jesus, like Gandhi, like Mother Theresa, like the Dalai Lama or all those Buddhist monks. I figured they had to be happy. And they were always helping other people, people going through rough times like me. I wanted to be like that.

I heard them opening the door, and wondered how long I’d been in here. My head was spinning, and I was starting to feel a little groggy.

Roy stood in the doorway. “Come on, you’re done,” he said.

I staggered to my feet and followed him out of the adult ward’s quiet time room, then turned left past the reception desk and left again. There was one set of locked, steel double doors just before the classroom; Roy scanned his card to open them, and then we walked through. On the other side was a short hallway leading to a normal door. I walked through it and into a large classroom with a blackboard on the side of the wall to my left, and a dry erase board to my right. The door was in the middle of the wall, and several desks were lined neatly along the walls. The teacher, a neat red headed woman with a warm smile, looked up as I came in. She was dressed in a dark green skirt and a matching dark green jacket with a white dress shirt.

“Hello- is it Josh?” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“I’m Mrs. Joy. Your teachers haven’t sent anything yet, so you’re welcome to draw or read or whatever you like.” She had a southern accent, beaming eyes and a warm smile. It was refreshing to sit down in an empty seat, with no counselors in sight, and just relax. I remember wondering how the Hell she had wound up in here. She made me feel at home. I could tell I was going to like Mrs. Joy, as surely as I’d known I wouldn’t like John.

She sat down at her desk in the corner of the room by the blackboard and turned to her computer. She started typing away on it, but I was having the first of several moments in which I felt the keen desire to open up, to spill out everything that was inside me and get the help I needed because I was sick of keeping it all jumbled up inside.

“Do psychiatrists here think everyone’s crazy?” I asked.

“Don’t you talk like that,” she said to me with a small laugh, turning to face me. “I’m sure they don’t think you’re crazy.”

“They called what I hear voices,” I said.

“This isn’t a conversation you should carry on across the whole room, Josh,” she said. “If you need to talk though, you’re welcome to come up here.”

I came to the front of the room, and she pulled up a chair. “What’s bothering you?”

I hesitated. “I’m worried I might really be crazy,” I said.

“Listen,” she said. “Don’t you worry about it. Everything’ll be fine. Just because you’re mentally ill doesn’t mean you’re crazy. I’ve been depressed before myself. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No ma’am.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Yes ma’am,” she corrected.

“Yes ma’am,” I repeated.

“And feel it,” she said. When I looked at her in puzzlement, she grinned and said, “I’m just teasing you.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll get you to loosen up,” she said. “I did it to Ashley, didn’t I, Ashley?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Ashley.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

I told her.

“Nice little town,” she said. “My husband’s stationed there right now.”

“Your husband’s in the military?”

“Yes sir, yes he is. Has been most of his life, but now he’s just National Guard. And they wouldn’t call him in anyway. He’s too old.”

I laughed.

“You’ll like it here,” she said.

“I don’t….”

“Yes you will,” she said, nodding. “Won’t he Ashley?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“The counselors here are mean,” I said.

“No they’re not,” she said. “You’re just not used to them yet.”

“They put me in quiet time and wouldn’t tell me why,” I said.

Guy snorted from somewhere behind me, sounding a little dazed nonetheless. “Get used to it,” he said.

“That’s enough Guy,” said Mrs. Joy.

“They say it’s for the sake of treatment,” said Guy. “They say they taunt us for treatment. That’s what the woman I talked to said.”

“That’s true,” said Ashley.

“Hasn’t made me feel any better yet,” said Guy.

“Guy, get back to your work,” said Mrs. Joy.

“I can’t focus in here,” he said. “My mind’s gone.”

“You want to take a break?”

“Hallelujah!”

“Five minutes, okay Guy?”

“Sure.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mrs. Joy corrected.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good.”

I looked back to see Guy giving an explosive sigh and leaning back in his chair. I turned back around.

“How can you work here?” I asked her.

“What do you mean? I love it here!”

“Why?”

“All of you! I love my students. We have a great time in here. Don’t we, George?”

“Yes ma’am,” said George. “You’ll like Mrs. Joy. She’s really nice.”

“I can tell,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you too, George.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“You know I mean it,” said George.

“Thank you,” she said again, lower.

George smiled at her, then returned to his work.

“I need help,” said Ashley.

“I’ll be right there,” she said. “Josh, do you need to talk anymore?”

“No ma’am,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“Okay then,” she said, getting up. “Then why don’t you sit next to Ashley?” she said, walking toward Ashley.

“I’ll sit next to George,” I said.

“Josh doesn’t want to sit by me,” Ashley said in a fake whimper.

“Why’d he sit by you when he’s got me?” said George.

“Oh!” said Ashley as we all laughed.

And it was strange: in that hellish place, for one moment, I was happy.

“Ooh, she’s got an assignment on fact and opinion,” said Mrs. Joy, lifting a paper from Ashley’s desk.

I sat down next to George.

“Ashley’s a nice girl,” said George. “Fact or opinion?”

“Opinion,” said Ashley.

“Good,” said Mrs. Joy. “You want to do this together?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Ashley.

“Sure,” I said.

“Here we go again,” said George.

Mrs. Joy grinned, but this was not unusual: in the same way that John always seemed to smirk, Mrs. Joy always seemed to be grinning.

“I am the man,” said Guy. “Fact or opinion?”

“Opinion,” said Ashley.

“That’s a fact, and you know it,” said Guy.

“Mrs. Joy is the nicest woman in the world,” said Mrs. Joy.

“Opinion,” I said.

“Hey, I thought you were on my side?” she said.

“Sorry,” I said.

“I’m just kidding,” she said. “Loosen up, Josh, come on. Josh loves dancing, fact or opinion?”

“Fact,” said Guy.

“False,” I said.

“But doesn’t it have to be true to be a fact?” said Ashley.

“Nope,” said Mrs. Joy. “Why not, George?”

“Because if it can be supported with evidence, it’s a fact, and because facts are not always right or wrong. They change with the time, like how we used to think the Earth was flat and then it was a fact- and therefore it still is.”

“George is getting technical,” said Ashley.

“Okay, look at it this way,” said Mrs. Joy. “If it can be proven true or false, it’s a fact. If it’s something that you feel, it’s an opinion. You get it?”

“Can I try another one?” said Ashley.

“Okay. Who can think of another one?”

“Georgiana is a beautiful woman,” I said.

“George is a what?” said Guy.

We laughed.

“That’s false,” said George. “I am not a woman.”

“Ashley?” said Mrs. Joy.

“It’s an opinion,” she said.

“Yes ma’am. I think you’ve got it. You want to try these on your own or do you need more help?”

“I can do them on my own,” Ashley said.

“And you don’t want me to read them to you or anything?”

“No ma’am, I can handle them,” said Ashley brightly.

“All right, I’ll get back to doing paperwork.” Mrs. Joy sighed. “Are you sure you don’t need help Ashley?”

“Sorry Mrs. Joy,” said Ashley.

“All right then,” said Mrs. Joy. She grinned at Ashley and returned to her desk.

In that place, that hellish place, I had felt a connection to my fellow patients; and now, now I felt like I belonged. I didn’t know how long I’d be in here, but I hoped it would be a long time.

Something stirred in the back of my mind.

“Can I have some pen and paper?” I asked.

“Sure,” said Mrs. Joy. “Right over there on the bookshelf.” She nodded toward the back of the room.

I turned and saw a bookshelf at the back of the room. It had several books on it, mostly Great Illustrated Classics, and, at the top, a large stack of drawing paper, a large stack of wide-ruled notebook paper, a tin can full of pencils and a few erasers, a tin can full of markers and colored pencils, a bottle of white out, a pair of scissors, a stack of magazines, some tape and some glue. The magazines had obviously been ripped apart; any student would know it was for collages.

I took out two pens, a pencil and a stack of notebook paper. I sat back down at my desk and asked the spirits in my head, “Please teach me more.”

It was exhilarating, learning martial arts from spirits. Every word they told me, I wrote down with enthusiasm, and with the knowledge I would pore over that word for hours in the future. It was awesome. It was like refuge in a storm.

God first instructed me in kicking, during which he said to kick with the ball of my foot, to kick fast, and to raise my knee before I kicked.

After that, he introduced me to the spirit that was to be my principal teacher.

“This is Musashi,” he said, “your new instructor.”

“Hi,” said Musashi. “I am an angel, and I will guide you in your lessons from this day forward. God is often too busy, anyway.”

He took over my lessons then.

“What are you writing?” George asked me.

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s personal.”

“Do you like writing?” asked Mrs. Joy.

“I do,” I said.

“Why don’t you write a short story about something important to you?”

“I’ll do that sometime,” I said.

“Okay. Let me read it when you’re done.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Good,” she said.

“I hate this place,” said Guy.

“Comfort him,” said Musashi.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” I told him. “You’ve got the heart of a lion, man.”

“Thanks, you’re not bad yourself. I could hear that nurse shriek from your kick and I could hear you screaming right up till you’d been tranqed.”

“I was desperate,” I said.

“So was I. I’m sick of this place. But I don’t see how things are ever going to improve.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe if we like, turn to God or something….”

Guy grunted sarcastically. “I was born Christian, raised Christian, and still am Christian, but I haven’t seen much reason to give God much credit. He lets you wander around, stumbling into stuff, in the dark, till you die.”

“That’s not true!” I said. “God can speak to us.”

“Next you’ll be holding séances with Ashley,” said Guy.

“Séances? What?”

“Ashley’s Wiccan,” said Guy.

“She is?” I said, looking at Ashley.

“Yes I am,” said Ashley. “Do you know what a séance is?”

“No.”

“It’s when you try to contact a spirit. But I don’t do those.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I prefer automatic writing.”

Guy laughed. “You two are going to get along great,” he said.

“What’s automatic writing?” I asked.

“When you contact a spirit through writing,” she said.

“Awesome,” I said. This was what I needed to know more about. This could explain what had been happening to me recently.

“Well if you think it’s awesome I could teach you,” she said.

“I’d love to!” I said. I must have sounded pretty excited because the whole room burst out laughing.

“Are you done with your work?” Mrs. Joy asked.

“Yes ma’am,” said Ashley.

“Then you two can start now if you want,” Mrs. Joy said.

“Okay then,” said Ashley, turning to face me. “Can we get on the floor, Mrs. Joy?”

“It’s fine with me.”

“Then sit down on the floor, Josh; the first thing I’m going to teach you is how to meditate.”

“Can I learn how to do a spell or something?” I asked her quietly. “Like fireball.”

“Boy!” she said. “Wicca doesn’t teach things like that.”

“What religion does?”

“No religion, to the best of my knowledge,” said Ashley. “Although, there are references to druids calling down hailstorms of fire in mythology.”

“I want to learn to do things like that,” I said.

“Well,” she said, “why don’t you just start with what I’m going to teach you, and maybe you’ll be satisfied with that.”

“All right,” I said. But I wanted to learn how to make a fireball.

“First of all,” she said, “I think I should give you an overview of what you can learn from me.”

“Okay.”

“First of all, you can study meditation, then spell craft and divination, and somewhere in between there, worship and religious rites like on the sabbats or esbats. I can teach you how to prepare for a spell, how to perform it, and what to do after a spell. I can do divinations by tarot cards, automatic writing, psychometry and dream work. I can teach you all that, but we probably won’t get to more than one form of divination before I leave. There are many types of spells, but we’ll stick to the most common structure. When you get home, I want you to get Making Magick by Edain McCoy, all right?”

“Okay,” I said. “What will I learn from it?”

“Pretty much what I’m going to teach you. It will be a good overview.” She paused, but I didn’t answer. “Okay,” she continued. “You want to get started?”

“Yeah!” I said. I was excited.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to take you through the long version so you can get results, all right?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I want you to tense the muscles in your foot,” she began, and she led me through my entire body that way, starting at the bottom and ending at my upper head. At each body section or part, she had me tense my muscles while she counted to five, then release them. When we had finished, I felt very relaxed.

“Now I want you to visualize a pool of water in a forest clearing. Above is a night sky, around the lake is a forest, and in the little lake is a white glowing number ten. You know that when it reaches zero, you will be completely relaxed, in the deepest state of mind you can reach. Now see it counting down. Ten. Nine.” She went through every number between ten and zero. As she did, I visualized each number receding into the one below it. At first I was just relaxed, but as she counted downward, I wound up going deeper into myself. I felt at peace in a profound way. My mind was clear and at ease, a welcome relief from the stresses of a mental institution.

I took the moment she gave before continuing to indulge in the pleasure I got from being in an altered state.

“Okay,” she said. “I want you to visualize a white light descending from above into you. It spreads throughout your body, cleansing all impurities from your energy body.”

I felt even better when I’d finished with that. After that she ran through the technique behind guided meditation- visualize one thing that represents another changing, which represents the desired change in the student. She gave a few more examples- visualizing white space that thoughts dissipate into for clearing of the mind, which she had me do for a while; visualizing a fire burning unnecessary emotions; visualizing a crop field growing to represent the growing of an emotion within; et cetera. She had me design one of my own; mine was the visualization of a red energy ball soaking all my stress, anger and depression out of me into it.

“You look handsome when you’re meditating,” she said.

This startled me, and I opened my eyes. Her voice was not the gentle one I could remember from a few seconds ago, and I felt jarred. Looking around, I could see the others taking peaks at us between glances at their work. Guy stared shamelessly.

I could see love in his eye as he stared at her. Somehow, Ashley seemed not to notice.

“I think you’ll do really well if you keep at it,” she said, as though determined for me to answer.

“Thank you,” I said, and what I saw in her eyes scared me. I did not want her to get attached to me. I wanted her to love Guy because I loved Jessica. I would get her to go out with Guy. That way I could still learn from her everything I wanted to know without making her any closer to me romantically. It was strange; I’d been in the mental institution but a day, really half a day, and already I felt as though I had known these new friends of mine for a lifetime. Their support, their friendship, made the hellhole I was in bearable; further, it made it, at times, enjoyable.

I only realized we’d been looking into each other’s eyes too long for her not to take it in the exact way I so did not want her to take it when Mrs. Joy said it was lunch time.

I looked up to the door behind me, and saw Roy standing there.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s lunchtime you scoundrels.”

Guy looked vexed at this, but everyone else seemed to understand that this was not really anything personal- it was just how Roy acted. I did wonder how someone with training in counseling could possibly want to antagonize his patients. It was confusing.