Lightness of Being…

“Okay guys round up it’s time for Art now!”

“I am not a guy” A sulking woman hissed from the corner.

“Fine, ladies and gentlemen, a straight line now, come on don’t push Joe!” The Activities Coordinator, Mary, was used to treading the placating but firm ground with them.

A diverse blend of men and women lined up with due obedience. The scene could have been straight out of a “day in the kindergarten” but the picture was not quite right, the ones who could barely contain their excitement for drawing time were grown men and women.

They were lead to a wide airy room filled with round plastic tables. On each table crayons, construction paper, markers and glue were placed. Scissors, pencils and pens were all banned objects; nothing sharp was allowed in the scrubbed down sterile building that was to be their temporary home for a while. The plastic chairs were much too small for adults, but they would have to do. Everyone noisily took their place and was soon engrossed in producing the next masterpiece.

“What’s wrong Reem?”

“Nothing”

“Why aren’t you drawing?”

“Because this is ridiculous. And I am not…”

“Not what?” Mary used her practiced soft voice.

“Insane” the word was whispered, trembling out in horror of its own existence.

“Of course you are not! Who said you are?” Tried as she might, Mary could never get the condescending tone out of her voice.

“Why am I here then? Locked up with…”

A couple of heads turned and looked at Reem with undisguised interest.

The sulky woman was openly hostile “un uh…No she didn’t! Did she just call us crazy?”

Mary stepped in “She didn’t Tamara, you need to focus on your own work.”

“Leave the poor child alone, she is just upset” clucked another older woman, she had been in and out of St. Augustine’s Mental Health and Behavioral Institution, she knew the drill.

“Reem do you want to go and have some alone time?”

She nodded unable to contain the tears gushing forth.

Mary buzzed for another attendant to lead Reem back to her room.

{-}

The room was small and unassuming. There were twin beds on each corner, with matching chests and a shared built in closet. It was decorated in soft pastels with twin pink quilts, light peach paint on the walls, and an abstract painting right across the only barred window. A faint antiseptic smell lingered in the air; despite its sterility though the room still managed to exude a soft cheerful persona.

Reem threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was spotless.

“Unlike my black evil heart” she thought with a pang. Fresh hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Despite all appearances, she knew she was locked up in a cell, trapped in some sort of Divine punishment. Her sleeping, waking, activities, and even bathroom time were carefully regimented and monitored. She hated being there, the patronizing attendants, aloof doctors, and truly insane patients. She was actually scared of some of the patients, Tamara in particular, who hissed and mumbled threats every time she walked by her.

“I am not crazy” she asserted to no one in particular.

Reem wondered if they were recording her “alone time”. She sighed, talking to herself was certainly more than enough proof of her own insanity.

“I have to be careful, I know they will let me go once they realize the stupid mistake they made.” She would have to be cautious in not verbalizing her thoughts for one.

Her thoughts were intertwined and foggy. The medications she was forced to take also made her drowsy. She couldn’t convince her doctor that she didn’t need the medications. Not under the circumstances she was brought in. She felt like she was living in a cloud, and had to fight to keep from floating away in dreamy complacency.

“That’s what they want from me. They want to just keep me here indefinitely.” Even as she was thinking, she was aware of how paranoid she sounded. She bit back a gurgle of laughter that threatened to engulf her small frame.

“What’s wrong with me? Maybe I am crazy”

Doubts ricocheted hitting each other midstream. It was hard to keep track of her thoughts, they were streaming together in incongruence and she couldn’t even write it all out because she was in the high security ward. No sharp objects were allowed including pens and pencils.

Dr. Gupta (not the famous CNN one) had promised her that in a week or so they might transfer her to a regular ward, where she will get writing privileges.

Never in her life, did Reem consider writing to be a privilege. For her, it was a lifeline, something akin to breathing. She would die if she stopped breathing, explode if she didn’t write.

{-}

“You have visitors!” Someone knocked on the door.

Reem must have fallen asleep, she was lying in the same position, ages later the light streaming from the window noticeably feebler.

She got up, stretched her cramped joints, and walked slowly to the door.

She hated visiting time.

In the lobby, her mom and older brother, Salah, wore solemn expressions.

“Assalamu Alaykum” she greeted them.

“Waalaykum salaam” Her mom rose to hug her. After an awkward embrace, they each sat on opposite seats.

“How are you feeling?” Her mom asked her voice matching her face; both scrubbed of emotion.

“Okay” Reem noted how haggard her mother looked, much older and tired.

“What did the doctor say?” Her brother was flipping through a magazine pretending to be nonchalant.

“I don’t know. Same thing. Every day, he asks the same questions and we are just going in circles. I told him I don’t hear voices. I told him I am not crazy. Why are they still keeping me here?”

“The breakdown…” her brother started.

“It was a one time thing. Every one goes through that once in a while” Reem cut him off impatiently.

“Mama can you talk to them? I wanna go home” her lips trembled she was losing her grip and she knew it.

“Inshaallah” her mother murmured, eyes averted.

“Do you need anything?” Salah asked.

“I need to write, but they won’t let me. Can you bring an extra prayer rug tomorrow? And maybe a copy of the Quran? I would like that.”

They sat in painful silence for another ten minutes or so before her visitors excused themselves.

Reem knew how hard it must be for her family. She hated herself for the anguish she was putting her mom through. She hated even seeing them, for it forced her to face the consequences of her actions.

“No man is a solitary island” that phrase coursed unbidden through her brain. Why was she foolish enough to believe that, even for a second?

It seemed like a second was about the span of her entire lifetime. It took only a second, a fraction of a misdeed, for her to end up in an insane asylum.

“Time is so deceptive” Reem sighed.

She got up, exhaled deeply and headed back to her room.

“It’s almost dinner time honey” The attendant reminded her as she walked by.

Reem just shrugged and fought the urge to slam her door. Food was the furthest thing from her mind at that moment.

{-}