Admissions (17 page)

“Well, it was an expensive car.” Mom says under her breath.

“What did you say, Mom?”

“Nothing.”

“Finally, Tony can’t take it any longer, leaps from the crowd, pulls Bob out of the car, and tries to drive it himself. By that time, the smell of his burning transmission precedes the parade by two blocks. The car seizes up about three miles from the football field, somebody calls the wrecker, and the Queen’s float arrives for the game pulled by Tony’s dead convertible chained behind Rhinehart’s Wrecker Service truck.”

“Oh my god. What did Tony do?” Molly smiles, put her hand over her mouth.

“I blocked out the rest,” I laugh.

“Well, he was pretty mad, but he got over it,” Mom says.

“Not really. Let’s move on. What else have you been up to, Molly?”

“Not much.”

“You just might end up as the Homecoming Queen like Luanne.”

“Maybe,” Molly raises her eyebrows.

“Former homecoming queen cracks up and gets thrown in an insane asylum.”

“Oh, Luanne,” Mom’s voice trails off.

There’s a long silence. I shouldn’t have made the crack about the homecoming queen. I knew it would hurt Mom’s feelings. I’m beginning to feel edgy. Too much information, things moving too fast. The Cherry Festival traffic is heavy. And it’s starting to feel as if every car will cross over the center line and plow into us.

“Let’s head out the peninsula to the beach. It’s too crowded in town,” I suggest.

“Sounds good to me,” Molly says. “Okay, Mom?”

“Whatever you girls want is fine with me.”

The traffic thins as we drive out Peninsula Drive. Mom breaks the silence. “I told Molly she should try to meet Mrs. Fowler’s boy. I told you about them, didn’t I? They moved into the apartment above old lady Martin. He seems like such a nice boy, friendly, and so polite to his mother.”

“Mom, he’s gay,” Molly says.

“I know. That’s what I’m saying. He’s gay, happy, upbeat …however you say it, he’s a pleasant young man.”

“No, Mom. He’s homosexual.”

“Oh.”

Chapter 33

THE OBSERVER
            
June 15, 1969

Page 3

NEW PROGRAM FOR PATIENTS

Because of the hard workers in our Sheltered Workshop over the last four years, the hospital is expanding the program to include two businesses in downtown Traverse City, Murdock’s Fudge and Sid’s Grocery. For the first time ever, two lucky patients will be working off the grounds. Good luck!

“Luanne, I have a bit of good news for you,” Dr. Murray says. “I presented your case at the treatment meeting yesterday, and the team has approved you to start a part-time job.”

“But, I already have a job. I’m on the gardening crew.”

“Well, this would be a paying job.”

“Will it get me discharged sooner?”

“It could, yes.”

“I wouldn’t want to give up my gardening.”

“It would be part-time. You can continue your work assignment, if you wish. The team feels you are ready for the next step, working toward discharge. I agree. I think you’re ready. Luanne?”

“Is …is that back in the OT building?”

“That’s the Sheltered Workshop, United Boxworks and Bugsy’s Fly Fishing. And that’s an option. The hospital supervises the workers, almost seventy-five of them. Their pace is slow, but their work is paid by the piece, so the companies are pleased.”

“I talked to Grace on our floor. She has a friend who works there, Jimmy Wildfong.”

“Jimmy’s one of our old-timers. I think he’s been at the hospital almost forty years. Some of the others, not that long, but most of them have been in the hospital awhile. We’re trying to expand, give some of the newer patients a chance to work for pay.”

“I’m interested. I think I could learn to fold boxes, but I’m not so sure about tying lures.”

“Well, as I said, that’s an option, but what I’m suggesting for you, Luanne, is a job outside the hospital.”

“Really?”

“Yes, we’ve expanded the program this year to include two placements downtown. It’s the first time we’re sending our patients out into the community to work. I think you’d be perfect for the program, Luanne.”

“You think I can do it?”

“Absolutely. You have retail experience and you’re making very good progress in your treatment.”

“I’d get paid?”

“Um-humm. I don’t know how much, not a lot.”

The thought of a job that pays something pushes me to take the risk. In occupational therapy, I’d torn rags for rugs used on the hall, hemmed dishtowels for the hospital linen closet. I’d done housekeeping before I got the gardening job. I worked hard, but never got paid.

The day is already sticky with heat, the kind of morning that leaves the meadows all misty, the first rays of sunlight setting the grasses aglow. The dew glistens on the thick lawns, held there by the humidity. On my way to Cottage 23, I stick to the walkways to keep my tennis shoes dry. Work crews of patients are setting up for the 4th of July Carnival near the bandstand. It’s early; I haven’t had much time to be anxious about my job interview.

Taking a deep breath, I step up the front stairs of Cottage 23 for my interview for the position at Murdock’s Fudge. Even though I’ve been told the cottage is non-secured during the day, I wait at the door a good ten minutes before I remember there’s no key man.

“Luanne? I’m Mrs. Braverman.” A tiny woman with big hair stands up and holds out her hand. As I shake it, the woman smiles, her lips pulling back over large yellow rabbit teeth. “I see you have a recommendation from Dr. Murray for the job opening at Murdock’s Fudge. Have you had any retail experience?” She smiles again, and motions for me to sit down. I try not to stare at the woman’s mouth.

“Yes. My first job was behind the candy counter at Woolworth’s when I was a senior in high school. After graduation, I got a job as a sales clerk at JC Penney. I was there three years, two more part-time …until my son got sick.”

“You have the experience. How do you feel about re-entering the work force, Luanne?”

“Pretty good. I know I have the skills and experience. I’m a little concerned about how I’ll handle customers who aren’t very nice, but Dr. Murray thinks I’ll do fine.” Actually, the thought of working outside the hospital terrifies me, meeting people, trying to act normal.

“The job starts right after Cherry Festival, three afternoons a week and will start at $1.15 an hour. That will increase to $1.20 after your probation.”

“That sounds great.”

“From here, you will attend an orientation right down the hall. Then you are scheduled for an interview with the shop owner, Mrs. Dietz, tomorrow.”

I calculate my pay, almost $15.00 a week, no need to rely on Mom for cigarette money. If Dr. Murray thinks I’m ready, I’ll give it a try.

After my orientation, I walk back to Building 50 across the lawns, stopping at the flower beds tended by the other gardeners. I sit down on a bench and raise my face to the sun. I’m starting to feel lighter. After my last med change, I feel more alive.

Thinking back, I can see it first came in pleasant surprises like the time I laughed with Isabel over my high school memories. I can’t exactly pinpoint when it started, but my thoughts are clearer. I’ve stopped planning ways to kill myself. But, with less medication, thoughts of Alexander’s illness and death creep into my mind— flashbacks, night terrors, and rage. The kitten dreams are becoming more frequent.

Dr. Murray calls dreams “the royal road to the unconscious,”, but she says she can’t take credit—she got it from Freud. Dr. Murray loves to explore dreams. Now she begins almost every session with “Any good bad dreams?”

I can’t help but pinch off a few deadheads as I pass my flower beds. It’s going to be a scorcher. My blouse is sticking to my back and it’s only ten a.m. I ring the bell and hurry in to change into my work clothes.

The next day, I catch the hospital van into town for my interview with the owner of Murdock’s Fudge. I wear a madras skirt and a white blouse from the emporium. The van lets me out at the corner and I walk half a block to the store. A bell jingles as I open the front door. The smell of chocolate makes my stomach lurch. An image of Alexander with a chocolate Easter bunny flashes in my mind. He was still eating last April, still looked and acted like himself, still laughed with excitement when he found his Easter basket.

“May I help you?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m Luanne Kilpi. Here about the job?”

The interview is short. Within ten minutes, I have the position. Mrs. Deitz shows me around the shop and talks to me about my duties. “Are you sure you can handle this, Luanne? I mean, we can’t have you being absent. You know, when you’re not …not feeling well.”

“I’ll be fine, Mrs. Deitz. I’m never sick.”

Chapter 34

C
arl brings lunch and we sit down at a picnic table near the Willow Lake reflecting pool. We eat together on the days I’m not at Murdocks.

“I always thought I’d be passing the Reinbold wisdom down to my son someday, or daughter. Stewards of the land my dad called it.”

“My dad loved gardening, too.”

“Looks like you got his green thumb.”

“Yeah.”

“We got our work pretty much done for today, how ‘bout we go over to the old barns. I’ll take you on a tour, greenhouses and storage, too. You can see all old the farm machines. Heck, guess you’d call ‘em antiques now. I been drivin’ a Massey since I was seven years old. I remember Mother called and called to get me off the tractor and out of the fields to practice piano.” Carl laughs, takes a bite of his tomato sandwich.

“I saw some really big machines at the end of
Yellow Drive.
”

“Yup. Those are the snow removal rigs. We got a new Sno Cat last winter—Tucker 342. I’m backup driver when Stan Denny is off. Lordy me, that thing can howl. I wrestle the wheel, arms vibrating, jostling in the seat like I’m breaking a bronco. The Cat operates the same as my Massey, only difference is the tracks. The growl of the engine and the clattering of the steel tracks through the drive sprockets can be heard for two miles on a calm, crisp winter day. Over and above that, the grousers clack when I hit the plowed road. Man, I love driving the thing, as long as I remember my earplugs. Here, take one of these apples. MacIntosh.”

“Thanks.”

“’Bout ready?”

We drive down
Blue Drive
toward the abandoned barns. Carl tries one of his keys in the padlock. He leans back and slides the big door on its tracks. We step into a gigantic building, dust riding on beams of light through the cracks. Looks like searchlights coming from the ceiling. Cobwebs hang from the rafters and huge beams support barreled ceilings.

“Wow. Reminds me of a church.”

“Yup, yup, it’s somethin’ alright.”

“Where did the cows stay?”

“Well, there used to be a hayloft, a second floor, and the hay was dropped through that chute in the roof. See, right there. The cows were on this floor. They had their pens over against this wall, milking was done right down the middle here.”

“How many were there?”

“There’s two of these big dairy barns. Hundreds of cows, Luanne.”

“And you supervised the whole thing?”

“Yup. Never had any problems …well, that’s not exactly true. There was stealin’ goin’ on. A little semen here and there we could put up with, but then this guy Joe Doremire, he was a bad apple that one. He went a step further.”

“What happened?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Can you remember?”

“Yup. I can remember alright. Seems like it happened yesterday. It was during second shift. I was off, but drivin’ through after dinner in the canteen with Judy. There’s a truck parked where it shouldn’t be. I walked in and found a couple of guys by the calf pen.
Them the new heifers?
I asked.

“Yeah.
Joe Doremire backed toward Ralph Langley.

“Bill of lading?
I held out my hand for the paperwork.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m taking care of it, Carl. No need for you to be here on your night off,
Ralph said.

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s see the paperwork
. Ralph looks at Joe. Somethin’ was startin’ to smell bad.

“Give it to him, go ahead,
Joe said. Ralph handed me the stack of papers.

“Ah, you’ll see it’s all in order,
Joe said.

“I ran my finger down the page. Then I stepped closer to the pen, pointing around to each calf, counting out loud.
We got ten calves in the pen, and the lading says ten, but the second sheet says twelve.
I waited for the men to answer.

“We got ten here, Carl,
Joe said.
That’s easy enough to see. Must be a misprint on that
second page.

“Hummmm.
I walked over to the bulb hanging from the ceiling, held up the first sheet of paper.
Somethin’ not right here. You boys got any idea why there’s been erasing on this, the Number 10 written on top, here?

“The men looked at each other.
Nope,
Ralph said.

“No idea.
Joe shrugged and looked away.

“Where’s your vehicle?

“Why?

“Thought I saw a truck parked outside. Not in the designated parking lot.

“Don’t know,
Joe said.
Listen, Carl, what’s up your ass? We’re here trying to do our
job.
Now why don’t you leave and let us do it?

“I’m going outside and take a look at that truck.
I started to walk toward the back entrance.

“Holy Christ, Carl. Ain’t no big deal. Hospital’s got more cows than they know what to do with.
Joe threw up his hands.

“I caught ‘em red-handed.”

“Did they get fired?”

“Nah. There was stealin’ goin’ on all the time. Even now, leftovers from holiday dinners, chickens, turkeys, whole sides of beef come up missing from the meat lockers.”

“You mean they got away with it?”

“No. I didn’t say that. I reported them and they were reprimanded. The day Joe Doremire got kicked off the farming operation, it was like pulling a rotten tooth. He got transferred, but he’s still here—and he’s still trouble.”