It was another autumn morning at the Oaks. The skies were gray and rainy. The trees were bare, and the grass lay wet and dormant. Jason U. sat waiting for Ms. O’Connor to say something. “Why are you here?” finally, she said, shuffling papers in a drawer.
“They said that I ran from the cops- that’s a lie. I don’t back down. A punk looks at me the wrong way, and it’s on.” Jason said, sounding monotone. “I don’t care for cops- it’s the truth. They’re such a joke- criminals with badges,” he said and continued his litany of “beefs.”
Jason shifted position on the wide, worn-out seat. “Believe me! I know the sound of bullets,” he bragged, glad to have an audience. Ms. O’Connor listened attentively but kept her gaze down.
“You see, when it comes down to it, most people fall into two groups, givers and takers, strong or weak,” Jason said.
“Is this guy antisocial or just a cynical narcissist? Ms. O’Connor thought. “I’d better check his rap sheet.”
Jason was in his late thirties but seemed older. No longer athletic, his broad shoulders and big hands revealed his gladiator past; he bore a large scar down his left temple like a medallion. His pace was no longer brisk; his left limp now marked his pace.
Jason impassively looked around. His eyes were dull, with an exhausted, distant gaze. Yet, years ago, he might have been considered a wild, handsome guy, but his past glory had faded long ago.
“What’s up with this guy?” Ms. O’Connor wondered.
“Jason, just wait a moment while I read this,” Ms. O’Connor said. Her demeanor was controlled, stone-faced, and official.
“Jason Unterlack, Caucasian male, six-foot-three inches, two hundred sixty-nine pounds. Aka, Sleek, Lefty, and Ice. Charges: Assault on a Police Officer, in the third degree. Resisting arrest in the first degree and eluding the police across the state line, in the first degree.”
“Look at this bitch, trying to be tough. I mean, she looks good, but too uptight, a boring fuck for,” thought Jason of Ms. O’Connor. “Oh well, let me just entertain her. Maybe she got a sense of humor.”
“One time, I was in bed with another man’s wife, when suddenly the guy came home. We panicked. I rushed, grabbed the clothes on the floor, and, naked, jumped out of her window. The only problem was, I took her clothes!” Ms. O’Connor did not find it funny.
Finally, Ms. O’Connor pulled her gaze up. “Jason, how was life for you as a child?” Ms. O’Connor said.
“I never needed anything,” he bluntly replied. “My parents were good; they even sent me to private schools. I did not care for school.”
“So, how do you end up in the system?” Ms. O’Connor dared to ask.
“You know the system is rigged, right?” Jason replied, giving her a disapproving look.
“Each time they said I did something, I got stuck with a Public Pretender. But, you know, I tried to play along. I even joined the service. But when you have your own mind, the system finds a way to bring you down.”
“Jason, we have to stop,” Ms. O’Connor said, “We’ll continue tomorrow.”
II
Jason remained with the U.S. Marine Corps long enough to become proficient at killing. In the end, his military record stated, “Dishonorably discharged.” Like tumbleweed, then he traveled a long ride across the country, “Free,” and often intoxicated with “whatever I could get my hands on.”
“I think I have a magnet for punks,” Jason said. Ms. O’Connor seemed distracted after she had placed her chair near the door. “What do you mean?” she said.
“Before I got locked up here, I was at a bar in Erie, PA., minding my business, and this guy started asking me shit.” Jason paused. “I was not about to wait for him to make a move. I clocked him right on his jaw. I really fucked him up.” Ms. O’Connor appeared to smile.
“I got lucky getting out of PA, and I made it to Jersey. Then, my luck ran out.”
“Ms. O’Connor, call extension 417,” she heard overhead.
Jason stood by Ms. O’Connor’s door, looking toward the long dayroom. “I need to get out of here,” he mumbled.
“So I understand,” Ms. O’Connor said, “You came here from the county jail?”
“Yes,” Jason said, visibly annoyed.
Jason had been in the “county” jail many times before, he explained to Ms. O’Connor. “I hoped they gave me some medicine. I didn’t feel like getting sick.” But they didn’t, and Jason “took sick.”
“The new guy is talking to himself,” Jason’s cellmate said to one of the county’s Correctional Officers. “Get the inmate to psych!” ordered the Sergeant.
Soon thereafter, a county Judge ordered Jason’s evaluation for fitness to stand trial at the Oaks Insane Asylum.
“I understand now; that will be all,” Ms. O’Connor said.
III
The Oaks’ main road was oval-shaped, surrounded by two-story buildings with barbed wire. The hallways were dimly lit; the windows were narrow, in contrast to the oversized furniture. The walls appeared dirty and faded. The air was stuffy, constantly humid, infused with sweat, grease, and body odors. Not a single colorful painting or picture ever hung on the walls.
The Oaks did not exist in other people’s minds. Beyond the manicured lawns, flowers, and colorful trees, the “patients” all day paced the floors, or looked at the windows in a lost stare.
“Code blue, code blue, all male staff available,” was heard on the loudspeakers. Jason’s teeth bled profusely. Five staff members took turns punching him. One of the staff’s faces bled like rain pouring, as a chunk of his cheek was missing. The floor seemed like a red river.
“What the hell am I doing here?. I’m not crazy!” Jason screamed.
Amid the turmoil and the terror, no one noticed the third-shift Nurse’s arrival.
Nurse Sally was in no rush to attend to Jason. “Quite a way to start my shift,” she said. “They keep on bringing these violent guys.”
Nurse Sally was a pretty brunette, well-proportioned, with green eyes and an olive complexion, in a not-too-distant past.
“This is a mess tonight. I have ten more years of this shit. With all the stress, I am lucky not to be crazy myself.”
Abruptly, the on-call doctor ordered, “Nurse, give the patient Haldol 10 mg and 2 mg of Ativan. “Yes, doctor, she said.
The days at the Oaks rolled into each other with predictive regularity measured in dosages and half-lives.
“I’m discontinuing his medications,” said Dr. Ko.
“This guy is clearly not psychotic. He’s just a criminal,” said another doctor.
“Yeah, but did you notice anything different about his demeanor?” Dr. Ko replied dismissively
“They are crazier than their patients. At least the cops don’t pretend to care.” Jason said of the Oaks’ staff.
“Now, that Nurse Sally is a fine piece of ass. This one would be easier to get than Ms. O’Connor.”
Jason then started taking trips to the Nurse’s station. “Can I have Tylenol? When is the next smoke break?”
“This guy is such a pain, so needy,” Nurse Sally thought.
But soon Nurse Sally found herself laughing at his jokes. “I’d better keep it professional with this guy. I don’t like the way I feel around him.”
A few weeks later, Nurse Sally was on her nightly rounds. The air was as stuffy as usual, and the hallway was poorly lit. “Dr. Jay thinks I need therapy. I disagree. Sometimes I don’t even know what I want,” Nurse Sally thought as she walked down the hallway.
“At least it’s quiet tonight,” Nurse Sally noted. “Maybe I can find a decent guy and move to Florida. It feels so lonely, now that Ricky is in college.”
Nearby, Jason had been waiting.
Then, as Nurse Sally walked by his door, Jason, out of the shadows, lunged and pulled her into his room. “Stop, stop!” she managed to say, as he kept on kissing her. Jason felt her racing heart. “Stop,” she repeated, but she did not scream. Jason stopped.
“I need to report this guy.” Flustered and still breathing heavily, Nurse Sally rushed to the nurses’ station. “Mr. Oluende, I need to talk to you, it’s urgent!”
“What’s the problem, Nurse Sally?” said Mr. Oluende, the Shift Nurse. “Oh, I’m sorry, never mind. I feel better now,” Nurse Sally said.
“Can you believe this guy? He’s daring.” Nurse Sally said. She decided to reach out to her therapist again.
Over the next couple of weeks, Jason waited by his door again. “Man, I want her so bad.”
It was Wednesday night, and Nurse Sally was on her rounds again, when the same scene unfolded. She was about to pass by his door when Jason grabbed her.
“This is so wrong,” Nurse Sally thought, moaning and trembling. “But…it feels so good.”
For a fleeting moment, still moaning, Nurse Sally thought, “I should have reported him.” But, instead, she fiercely pulled him closer. “Hurry up!”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she kept whispering, like a prayer.
A few days later, she scheduled an appointment with her therapist. Yet, she never brought up the issue.
IV
Two months later, Jason was deemed competent to stand trial and discharged from the Oaks. Also, the case against him was dismissed. No Miranda warnings were read to him. Jason was released.
“Shit, I got nowhere to go,” Jason thought. “This is like a different town. Just people coming and going.”
Jason had to go to a local shelter. But he knew the routine by heart: Go to a day agency, and “put up with a piece of shit supervisor,” then wait for a bed to open at the shelter. “I need to get out of here,” he thought.
“I should probably call that Nurse.” Jason contemplated while sitting on his bunk.
In the interim, Nurse Sally learned that her actions with the patient Jason did not go unnoticed. A rumor reached the hospital’s administration, and she was suspended without pay pending an ethical investigation.
The next day, Jason called Nurse Sally.
“I am fine,” Nurse Sally said. “What can I do for you?” she asked and immediately thought of her therapist, “Old habits die hard.
Jason said, “I really miss you, you know, we had such a great time.” He sounded as sincere as possible. “Can I stay at your place for a few days, until I get a job?”
“No,” Nurse Sally said and hung up.
“What the hell am I gonna do?” Jason said as he walked by the Raritan River parkway. “What’s wrong with me?. I’m such a loser.”
“Enough of this shit!” he said.
On impulse, Jason climbed over the Raritan River bridge.
“A jumper!” a bystander pointed up. The traffic stalled. Jason felt perverse joy. A second later, Jason jumped.
On his descent, flashes of memory reeled through his mind. “This is the end of my road,” he thought. As a cold breeze pushed against him, he surrendered. Jason crashed feet-first into the frigid waters. The pain stunned him. Freezing bubbles filled his nostrils and ears.
“Damn, it’s pitch black here!” His ankles were deep in the riverbed mud; his head was being squeezed. His temples were pounding. His ears were muffled. Jason tasted the sandy, muddy water. “I can’t breathe!”
“Oh no, I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Jason wrestled desperately. He couldn’t scream. Moving seemed impossible. He dragged his feet off the riverbed.
“I really wanna die, but not today,” he thought as he reached the surface.
P.R. Thompson
October 18, 2006
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