"Things Aren't What They Seem"
by Geraldine Cook Davis
The entrance to Butler Psychiatric Hospital proclaims, "Butler Campus."
Now, who wasn't thinking with a straight head here? For goodness sake, the
bunch of us are here because we're fruitloops who can't find our boxes, not
because we're earning credits towards a degree.
So, I decide to take a walk "off campus," only I carry a day pass. The
pass, scrambled letters admitting me to the outside world, gets flashed at a
new nurse, preoccupied with an intern. Should I find success, I'll write
myself another.
I dress in watercolor yellows, a cheerful choice, don't you think? The
yellow pants, yellow knit top, and a swirl of yellow hues on a jaunty scarf
scream, "This chick wants an escapade."
Charlie ignores me, so intent is he on directing traffic. His facial
features frozen, he stands perfectly erect, the anal retentive that he is,
while his arms gesture traffic to the left, the right, to halt, to go. There
would be a hell of a pile up if he stood anywhere near the road.
Giving directions is a way for Charlie to exert his manhood, since his
wife verbally snipped him off eons ago. I know. We're in the same group
sessions. Supposedly, this is why the doc gives Charlie daily passes, except
on Sundays when he goes home to "the wife." Snip. Snip. I can imagine the
traffic load my pal images he controls on Mondays.
But, today is my day, and I catch the sight of a blue Oldsmobile at a
red light. The bumper sticker reads, IF YOU ARE A FRIEND OF JESUS, YOU ARE A
FRIEND OF MINE. I scramble into the passenger's side to hear a man's voice
bellow, "What the - - - ?"
"Hi, friend." I greet him.
"Get out of my - - -"
"Now, now, friend." I dust off a business card that a Jehovah's Witness
once gave me. It reads, "Jesus is love."
The man pulls his car to the curb. The stout fellow squeezes out of his
seat, open my door, manhandles my arm, and screams, "Lady, you ought to be
locked up," as he ejects me onto the sidewalk.
Overcome by giggles, I stagger to a lovely porch, sporting inviting,
white wicker furniture and a cheerful "WELCOME" mat in front of the door.
I sit in a rocker, thinking that things aren't what they seem, as I
invite whomever I please to join me for a cozy front porch chat.
Posted- December 27, 1999