The Brotherhood of Charles Chapter Two: Institutionalization

Chapter II: Institutionalization

Dr. Clellum’s office was fragrant. She had lavender in little glass dishes practically everywhere, as well as a glass jar of tootsie roll pops and an oil burner, which was currently on. I could hear the music from the lobby fade as I shut the door and sat down on the couch. It was a comfortable couch, and it made me feel good to sit there. I actually felt somewhat at home. I was feeling good, and all my troubles seemed distant. I could barely imagine cutting myself as I had two hours ago, right after school. It occurred to me that it was 6:00, and I hadn’t started my homework yet. Oh well. Not like I was in the habit of doing it anymore anyway.

“How have you been?” she said as she sat down in her chair. She offered me a lollipop, and I turned it down. Then she looked at me as though expecting an answer different from the usual evasion I always gave, like, “Good, I guess,” or, “Okay,” or “Oh, I’m hanging in there”- and I wondered if she somehow knew that I was going to give a different answer this time.

I shrugged, unsure of whether or not I really wanted to come out with this. I felt like all my problems were behind me, and it was difficult to imagine going back down again. Plus, I really didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t like to think about it, and it’s hard to involve the mouth without the mind.

“School going okay?” she said finally.

“Not really.”

“What’s wrong?”

I realized I had lain down on her couch, and sat up quickly.

“You can lie down if you want,” she said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

I thanked her, and lay back down. The smell of lavender was strong in my nostrils, and very comforting. So was the scent of the oil. It seemed to be a higher place where I was safe from the tribulations of my life. For the moment, my cutting seemed distant, and yet it was also the thing that was most on my mind.

“So what’s been going on at school?” she said, getting a lollipop out for herself.

“It’s not really school,” I said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I wondered if she knew how hard it was for me to say this. She was gazing steadily at me, but I kept my eyes floating around the room, from the little bookshelf to the glass jar of tootsie roll pops to the window- everywhere but her. I could hear a clock ticking behind me. I realized I was fidgeting with my hands, and forced myself to stop. “I’ve been really depressed.”

“I thought you might be.”

“You did?”

“M-hmm. I want to thank you for trusting me, Josh. Could you tell me why you think it is that you’re depressed?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want to talk about it?”

I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

I was nervous, but I went on: “I get so antsy. I get to the point where I feel like if I don’t do something I’ll go crazy. It’s like I’m going to explode.”

“What do you do?”

I shrugged again, avoiding her eye. “Wait it out.” I wondered if she could tell I was lying.

“Do you ever feel the need to punish yourself?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

She made a note on a clipboard.

“I’d like you to consider taking some medication,” she said.

Oh crap.

“I’m going to talk to your parents about it- I think it would help you out.”

“No,” I said desperately, “you can’t talk to my parents about it. What happened to confidentiality?”

“I’m not breaking it. Most psychiatrists wouldn’t tell you they wanted to put you on medication, they’d tell your parents- but I want you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

I looked at her. I said yes, but I had never trusted her less.

“Good. Now, if you want, there’s a hospital you could go to for three days or so, to adjust to your medicine.”

“Hospital?”

“Yes, sir. There would be other people like you there, for similar reasons.” Her voice was casual, but with a measure of wariness behind it.

“It’s not crowded, is it? I went to summer camp once in Greeneville, and we had to sleep like a dozen in one cabin.”

“It’s not like that,” she said softly. “Do you want to go?”

I thought a moment. Something didn’t feel right. I didn’t remember ever being told about places in hospitals for people going on medication. I still had misgivings.

“I want to think about it,” I said.

“All right Joshua, that’s fine. I’ll discuss it with your parents, and they can help you decide.”

“It will be my choice, right?”

She was looking me in the eye, her face neutral and careful, masking something I did not fully comprehend. “Probably, as long as you’re safe. Have you had any thoughts of suicide?”

A red flag went up, big time. “Not really- well, a few,” I said, “but I’d never go through with them, and they’re rare.”

“Cutting?”

“Ma’am?”

“Have you had any thoughts of cutting yourself?”

“I… I’ve thought about it, but never gone through with it.” I felt guilty lying to her, but I was beginning to lose the trust she’d built up.

“If you ever do cut yourself, I want you to call me,” she said, taking out a card and handing it to me as a magician would produce a scarf. I tilted upward slightly to take it and held it in my hands a minute. I could see the neat cross-stitched paper cardboard and the cute little green lettering with a picture of a mind in one corner.

“Thanks, sure thing,” I said, shoving it into my pocket. As I got comfortable on the couch again, I thought of a more honest response: No chance in Hell.

A cloud must have passed over the sun because the space in front of me where the sunlight from the window hit the floor grew dark.

“Have you ever seen anything that wasn’t there?” she said softly.

I was shocked. What was she, a mind reader? “No,” I said.

“It’s okay if you do,” she said. “Lots of my clients do.”

I nodded. I remembered I had wanted help. “I’ve been hallucinating, yes,” I said quietly.

“Now that wasn’t too hard, was it?” she said softly.

“I also feel a presence, and sense it calling my name sometimes,” I said. “It’s in the back of my head. Like a thought, except it feels like it’s from outside of me.”

“What does it want you to do?”

“It wants me to listen more,” I said. “It wants to help me.”

“How does it want to help you?”

“Well, like sometimes,” I said, “sometimes it’ll encourage me when I’m down. It tells me to pick my chin up, reminds me everything will be okay.” My heart started racing. “It says it’s the voice of God.”

“Do you believe it?”

“I, I don’t know. I guess I want to know. Am I going crazy, Dr. Clellum?”

“I wouldn’t say you’re going crazy,” she said. She hesitated. “I want to thank you for opening up today, Josh. It means a lot to me, and I’m very proud of you. Drop by again if you need to talk, but our time’s up and I’ve got a patient waiting- unless you need more time?”

I shook my head. I felt like I’d been smacked over the head with a steel pipe. “No, ma’am. I’ll be okay.”

As I walked outside, Dr. Clellum called my mom in. She had her in there a full five minutes.

On the drive home I was on the verge of tears. Mom looked worried. But then, she always did these days. I wondered when this beast I was fighting would give up and die. I had the sensation that I was a warrior, fighting in a classical war against the forces of the dark- and the price of failure, the prize of victory, was my soul.

I was keenly aware, above all now, that I was on the verge of losing my sanity. But then, Dr. Clellum hadn’t seemed to think that I was losing it. She’d said I wasn’t crazy. But I wasn’t sure I trusted her anymore.

On the way home, Mom said in a tell-tale voice, “Are you doing all right, Josh?”

I froze. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Dr. Clellum’s worried about you.”

I looked at her. Her face was as full of lines as an old woman’s, lines that I swore hadn’t been there before. I wanted desperately to reach out, hug her, tell her it would be okay, that I was fine, not to worry about me- but I wasn’t sure any of that was true.

“So am I,” she said finally.

“I’m all right, Mom,” I muttered.

“Are you?”

I didn’t answer.

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Josh?”

I stared out the front window at the houses passing by. We were on an empty street, except for two kids playing catch with a football up ahead. As we passed by them, I wondered when the last time I had played like that had been.

“Josh?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “Listen, don’t worry about me.”

She looked at me, and her face was so full of sorrow I couldn’t return her gaze. “Then look me in the eye,” she said, voice trembling, “and tell me you’re okay. Tell me nothing’s wrong. Tell me you’re not depressed, that nothing’s bothering you, that you’re doing okay, God damn it, I want to help you.”

I looked her in the eye. “I’m not sure you can, Mom,” I said. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about me.”

“I want you to be honest with me,” she said. “Dr. Clellum thinks you’re not honest with her.”

“She said that?” I said, but Mom continued.

“I can understand that, but I’m your mom for Christ’s sake. Why can’t you be honest with me?”

This didn’t even feel real. My mind was zoned out. That happened to me sometimes. When I was in the middle of a stressful moment, something that would have ordinarily scared me, I would go blank and be only half-aware of what was around me. It was times like those that I didn’t want to believe were really happening; times like those when the most dramatic emotions I’d have were small. Sometimes in retreating from the world around me, as I was describing, I would laugh. I think that scared Mom sometimes; I would laugh while Dad was yelling at me and chewing me out, and as strange as it seems, it was a pretty good defense mechanism. When I took everything to be a joke, nothing mattered, nothing scared me, and I had one of my rare moments at which I was actually fine.

This was not one of those moments- not yet.

Mom sighed, slapping the wheel. “I know this is hard,” she said, “but why don’t we work through it together?”

We were on our own street now. A minute more, and I’d be free.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said.

“Then tell me what’s wrong!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just, everything gets to me- little things. I can’t stop being pessimistic. And then that makes me do badly, so it becomes pretty easy to be more upset.” I laughed. “Kind of stupid, isn’t it?”

“If you know that why do you still do it?”

I laughed, retreating further into myself as my laughter took on more heart. “It’s all right, Mom.”

As we pulled into the driveway, she locked the door. “Your dad’s mad, I should warn you,” she said. “He saw your Calculus test.”

I nodded, unlocked my door, and walked across our lawn to the steps to the house. They were yellow, cracked concrete, and damp from a recent rain. I nearly slipped on them as I walked up, trying to open the door. It was locked.

The air was humid and warm, with the charge that comes before a storm. Another South Carolinian spring. A rain drop hit me, and I looked up. The sky was overcast, even black in some areas. Like my life.

I knocked on the door. I heard Mom come up beside me.

Dad opened the door, his eyes blazing. “Did you even study for that test?” he roared.

I laughed. “No, and you know what, I did great, especially for someone who didn’t study, don’t you think?”

“This isn’t funny,” he said, grabbing my arm as I stepped aside.

“What’s really funny is you’re grabbing my arm like you want to hit me, and it’s my test.”

“Eric,” Mom said, but Dad couldn’t be stopped.

He hauled me up close to him, and that took the humor out of me as I looked into his face. “If you don’t shape up, I’m going to give you a beating. I specifically told you to study for that test, and as I recall, you said you were going to. What happened?”

“I…. I got busy.”

“Doing what?”

Suddenly I didn’t care anymore. Screw it. Whatever happened, happened. If he wanted to hit me, let him. “Let me go, Dad, and I’ll think about telling you.”

He let me go, pushing me toward the big blue leather chair. I knocked up against it, and turned to go to my room.

“I’m not through with you yet!” he shouted.

“Then stop yelling and maybe I’ll listen!” I shouted, rounding on him.

He glared at me, then said calmly, “I’m trying to help you.”

“Yeah, well helping me doesn’t involve shouting at me in my book, Dad. I could use a little peace in my life. I don’t have anywhere to turn to anymore.”

Mom looked up at that, but I didn’t care. I turned and walked to my room. Dad swore several times behind me, but he didn’t try to stop me.

“No, Eric, don’t swear,” I heard Mom say as I closed the door to my room.

I sat back in my chair beside one of the windows. All this was a mess. I needed something to clear my head up a little bit.

With a quickening heart beat, I picked up my phone off my dresser and dialed Jessica. It rang four times before she picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jessica, it’s Josh,” I said. All my bad feelings were melting away at the sound of her voice. It felt so good to talk to her.

“Hey Josh,” she said sweetly. “How have you been? You seem really down lately.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more upbeat.”

“Josh…” Her voice trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“It’s not about appearances, all right? I want you to be happy. I swear, you always say you’re happy, but every time I catch a look at you alone you look like you want to die. You should see your own face, Josh.”

I couldn’t believe it. Not her too. “Jessica, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” she said, her voice breaking. “You think we’re all blind, don’t you? Well maybe I am, but our friends aren’t. Mike says every day you come to school there’s some strange mark in your arm, like you were cutting yourself or something. Have you been cutting yourself, Josh?”

“No,” I said.

“Josh!” she said in a drawn out, heartbroken moan.

“Look, I don’t want you to worry about me,” I said.

“Yes you do though! If you didn’t want help you wouldn’t be seeing a psychiatrist….”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Josh!” she repeated. “My baby sister sees the same woman. She saw you there.”

I swallowed. “It’s my parents’ idea. I didn’t want to go.”

“I should have figured.”

We paused.

“Look,” she said, “we’ve been dating a year now, right?”

“Anniversary’s on prom night,” I said, suddenly feeling a little lighter of heart.

“Look,” she said, “when I first met you, you were always free, bigger than life, doing crazy things like jumping off the second floor at school, or challenging guys twice your size to a boxing match because you thought it would be fun, then doing it again even though you got your ass kicked. You were always happy-go-lucky, kind of crazy, but now… now every time I look at you you’re looking down, or there’s some cut on your arm, or you’re getting snappy with people that really aren’t giving you all that hard of a time. You were a good student! What happened, Josh?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I said. Then I said, “I wish I did,” at the same time as she said:

“I don’t even know you anymore, Josh.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Of course you still know me. I’m still the same guy.”

“No you’re not. I want to help, but this is hard on me. I can’t take it much longer, Josh. Jeremy’s saying he wants to get back together, and all my friends think I’m fighting a battle I can’t win with you. Josh…”

“Yes Jessica?”

“I can’t do this anymore. Can we take a break?”

“No, Jessica,” I said desperately. “I love you.”

“I know, Josh,” she said, her voice breaking. “But I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried helping you… I’m sorry, Josh.” She sniffed. “I have to go.”

“Wait, Jessica,” I said weakly.

“No, I have to go, Josh,” she said. “Goodbye.”

She sniffed, and then hung up. I held the phone close to my ear till the voice in the phone had said, “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again.” After the beeping came on, I threw my phone across the room. It sailed through the window to the sound of breaking glass.

I panicked. What would Mom and Dad do if they found out I’d broken my window? I was so upset I didn’t care anymore. I went to behind the curtain where I kept my steak knife hidden and started tearing it along my flesh, breathing heavy with the sobs I wanted to give, but that would not come to relieve me. I cut around toward my wrist, when I heard footsteps in the hallway. I couldn’t do this to Mom and Dad. I’d have to wait till they were gone. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard on them if I waited. I’m sorry, Mom, I thought. I can’t do this anymore, either.

The door flew open, and Dad burst in, swearing. “Did you break some glass in here?” he bellowed.

He looked at me and knelt down, saying, “Give me that.” When I didn’t, he grabbed my wrist and twisted it. The pain felt good, so I didn’t care, but it somehow did loosen my grip, and he took the knife away.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed as he looked at my wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Mom came in, a phone in her hand.

“Should I call Dr. Clellum?” she asked.

“Please, Mom,” I whispered, looking up at her as she stared down in horror, dropping the phone.

“No,” said Dad, and in that brief moment I wanted desperately to believe that they were going to let the whole thing wash over. “Call 9-1-1.”

“Dad?” I said.

“Yes, Josh?” He looked stern like always, but now there was pain in his eye.

“I don’t want to go to jail.”

“You won’t, son,” he whispered, and hugged my head to his chest. And then I heard him start to cry.

“They’re busy,” Mom said. “I’ll call Dr. Clellum. I think she can handle it.”

She dialed again, and I found comfort in my dad’s arms. I started to cry at last myself, feeling the release come on. It was going to be okay, I told myself; I was going to be fine. Everything would work out. But even then, I didn’t believe it.

“Hi, Dr. Clellum,” she said. She paused. “This is an emergency, actually.” She paused again. “I need you to see my son. He’s been cutting himself- badly.”

I realized for the first time that I was bleeding a lot more than I usually did. I’d cut myself pretty deep this time.

“Okay. Thank you, Dr. Clellum. We’ll be right over.”

I heard her hang up. “All right, Eric, bring him in the car, will you? Dr. Clellum’s waiting for us at her office.”

“Can I trust you to walk on your own?” said Dad.

“Sure,” I said. It was my last attempt at the sarcasm/yelling status quo. It didn’t work very well.

He helped me to my feet, and I walked past Mom. As I did, I could see tears in her eyes. She walked behind me, rushing past me in the living room to open the big black door to outside. I walked down the steps, and nearly fell again. I was scared. What was going to happen?

Mom led me to the car, and opened the car door for me, too. Dad came out from behind the bushes lining the stairs to the front porch, and got in on the driver’s side.

“Thanks,” I heard Mom mumble to him as she climbed in beside me.

It didn’t quite register in my mind why Dad was sniffing the whole way there, why there were tears dripping into his lap. I thought he hated me. I halfway thought I might hate him. But right then, I couldn’t- I felt lousy. I wondered if I’d been wrong all this time.

Mom hugged me the whole way to Dr. Clellum’s office.

As we climbed out of the car, it was dark as night could get. Mom held my hand the whole way across the yard to the door at the top of the stairs. I could hear her sniffing in the dark as I opened the door, but even in the faint light of the inside, I could not see her tears. I wanted to believe they weren’t there, but I couldn’t.

Inside, Dr. Clellum was waiting.

“Okay,” she said. “Tell me what happened.”

Mom sniffed. There was a lamp on; that was all. We were sitting in the chairs of her waiting room, masked in half-darkness. I noted with a very slight satisfaction that the blood on my arm didn’t show up as well as it had in my room. I was sure that if Dr. Clellum didn’t know what had happened, she wouldn’t notice the cuts on my arm. I had faith in the fact that most people were fairly unobservant. Mom and Dad had never noticed my cuts before now; of that I was pretty sure.

Dad told the story calmly; the tears in his eyes were gone. “I heard something break in his room, and it took me a minute to realize what had happened, but I was sure it was his window. When I got in, he was lying on the floor cutting himself with a steak knife. I think he may have meant to kill himself. He was awfully close to his wrist.”

“What do you want to do about it?” said Dr. Clellum.

Dad looked speechless for once, and then Mom said, “We were hoping you could tell us the appropriate action.”

“All right,” said Dr. Clellum. “I’m going to leave it up to Josh.”

“Really?” I said, feeling my eyes light up. “I think I should get a good night’s sleep and….”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Dr. Clellum. “I’m going to give you a choice. Either you can go on medicine, or you can go to a hospital like we talked about earlier today.” She hesitated as I considered, saying, “The hospital would take care of you, people would check on you, and it would be like summer camp for three or four days.”

“I won’t have to go on medicine if I go there?” I said.

“No,” she said, “you won’t.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “Medicine scares me anyway. I’ll go to the hospital.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Hammonds, do you want me to come with you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mom. “That would be very nice.”

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go then.”

We walked outside to the sound of crickets chirping. It was raining lightly. I could see the moon as clouds passed to let it show; it looked brilliant, beautiful, serene. Everything I wanted to be. Everything I feared I would never be again.

It was a long drive, and I fell asleep. I woke up to car doors opening. It must have been midnight. The sky was much clearer. I got out, and Mom hugged me. So did Dad.

“I’ll wait here,” said Dr. Clellum. “I already faxed in the information before you got to my office. There shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“Thank you, Dr. Clellum,” said Mom.

“Mom,” I said, “If I don’t like it in there, could I come out?”

“We’ll take you out if the psychiatrists say it’s okay,” said Mom.

We turned to face the walkway. The place looked expensive. Nice, trim bushes; a few good trees; a fresh-cut lawn; brick walls; a large glass entranceway. We walked down the sidewalk leading to this entrance, and pressed on the door to go inside. A little bell rang, and a small blond woman dressed in scrubs came out from behind a large oak counter.

“Can I help you?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mom. “I’m here with Joshua Hammonds.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “Right this way.”

She started to walk toward two great locked doors, but I said, “Wait.”

She stopped, turning around. “Yes?”

“Wha….” I didn’t know what I wanted to say- just whatever it would take to get out of this place. “Is this a medical hospital?”

“This is a mental institution, dear,” she said.

“Wha- no!” I wheeled around, walking out toward the door, my whole body trembling. “I’m not going into a mental institution. She said this was a hospital!” I wheeled back to face everyone else and kept backing toward the door.

“Is he going to be okay?” said the small blond woman.

“Joshua!” said Mom. “You’ve got to come willingly, or we won’t be able to take you out if things get rough.”

I was panicking, but not so bad that I couldn’t understand reason. I stopped. “I want to talk about it,” I said.

“Sure,” said the nurse. She led us into a little room with one door leading into the reception room. She opened the door for us and stood to let us in, calling over her shoulder, “Sonya! Take over, will you?”

“Sure thing,” said a voice behind me.

As I walked inside, I saw a few chairs and a small desk. The floor had the same purple carpet as had been in the lobby, and the ceiling was like the ones at school. I thought the chairs were nice- very comfortable.

“Listen,” she said. “This doesn’t make you crazy, it’s just a place to get away from stress for a week.”

“A week?” I said. “Dr. Clellum said it would be three or four days!”

“Well, I suppose that’s possible, but it’s not likely. Most of our patients are out in a week or a little longer.”

“I can’t stay past a week. I’ll miss prom.”

“I’m sure the psychiatrists will do everything in their power to get you out of here before prom. Now listen, everyone likes it here. Some things to expect, some of the patients don’t like the food because their medicine makes it tasteless. We have a very structured day, and counseling three times a day. You’ll have some time in the gym, some class work from your school, and some time in the rec room.”

“What’s that?”

“Rec is short for recreation. It’s things like painting. Yesterday they made tapestries; sometimes they just play video games.” She paused, eyeing me carefully, I wasn’t sure why. “Now we do get to watch TV in here, but what you can watch is monitored by the counselor on duty. I’ll tell you now some of the patients call it prison, but everyone likes it here, and I’m sure you’ll get along fine. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“I think that pretty much covers it, thank you,” said Mom.

“All right then,” she began, but I interrupted her.

“Wait. What about… I mean, can I leave if I want to?”

“Your parents put you in here for cutting, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then unless the counselors begin to suspect suicide, your parents can take you out at any time. But don’t worry! We have fun here.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?” She stood. “Right this way then.”

We walked out of the little room to the two big doors at the end of the reception desk. She scanned a card through a little slot on the side, and a green light flicked on. She opened the doors, and we passed through. We were in a hallway, with two little rooms on either side. We continued walking, reaching another locked double door with a card slot for her to scan her card through, which she did. The doors clicked, and she opened them.

“Why are all the doors like this?” I asked.

Holding the door open for us, she said, “It’s just a precaution. Just in case someone tries to break out.”

“Has anyone, ever?”

“It’s confidential,” she said, shutting the door behind me and my parents. “That’s another thing I should have told you. Everything in here is confidential- between you, your psychiatrist, and whomever you choose to tell.”

I was beginning to feel better.

At the end of this hall was another reception desk, with a hallway leading off to the right towards a door leading outside. To my left was another hallway with many doors leading to a large common room, all of which I could see as I stopped at the reception desk. At an angle behind the reception desk was a hallway with more doors, leading to another common room.

I realized my parents weren’t behind me, and turned with a feeling of slight panic. They were standing at the door with the woman.

“Parents aren’t allowed beyond this point,” she said.

“Mom,” I said, “Dad. I love you.”

“We love you too, Joshua,” said Dad.

“We love you too,” repeated Mom- and then they disappeared behind that door with the little blond woman.

An overweight black woman came out from behind the desk with a Polaroid camera.

“We have to take your picture for our records,” she said, and positioned me beside an Easter bunny. “We keep up whatever’s in season,” she explained- “even a little late. We’re about to put a sun up. You’re the very last person to use this.”

“Easter Sunday was two weeks ago,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “That’s why you’re the last.” She flashed me a smile, and everything was okay for a minute. She moved my arm around the ears of the Easter bunny, saying, “Hold it there.”

She took a quick step back, then clicked. A photo came out, and she waved it in the air a minute, then showed it to me. It wasn’t a bad picture. Kiddy bunny, though.

“When’s your birthday?” she asked me, retreating behind the desk with the picture.

“May 18,” I said.

“Ooh! Seven more days.”

“And graduation’s the 20^th,” I said.

“Well congratulations to you, grad,” she said enthusiastically, typing something into a computer on the desk. A minute later she came out from behind the desk and led me down the hall.

“Now I want you to understand that from this point on you are not to touch anyone. If you do, you will be punished, so no hugs, no handshakes, nothing of that sort, okay?”

“Okay- but why?”

She stopped by one of the wooden doors, and so I stopped, too.

“Policy. You’re not wearing a belt, are you?”

“No.”

She looked at my shoes. “Give me your shoes,” she said.

“What?”

“Your shoes. You could use your shoestrings to hurt yourself, hang yourself or something like that. Policy. Give them here.”

I took them off.

“I’ll have someone put some sandals in your room for you,” she said. “Now, another thing- in the morning, you’ll need to be up by 7:30, and you start breakfast at 8:00. We have a structured day, and we’ll expect you to keep up with it. You’ll be told some of the other rules in morning group, and there’s a phamplet in your desk. Now you’re getting your own room, so be grateful. Good luck.”

She put the key in the lock, and opened the door for me. I stepped inside. She shut it behind me, and I tried to open it to thank her- but it wouldn’t open. She fumbled with the lock on the outside, and I asked her through the door, “Why am I locked in here?”

“Policy,” she said. “Now go to sleep.”

I groped for the light switch and cut it on. There was a pitch-black window at the far end, two beds, and a desk with a chair and a lamp in between the two beds. A dresser was at the foot of each bed, on the other side of the room. Everything looked nice. I undressed and cut off the light, wondering what I was supposed to wear for a week- or a little more. And how I was ever going to get out of here.