The day my son Max flew
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“Ray or Scott or Gus or something like that…he had an Irish face, or Polish, maybe? A bit chunky. He had had a few beers, or was it tequila? Blood-shot eyes and warm breath on him scared the shit out of me.”
“Go on…”
“He was a mental health tech, not a MD, PhD, or MSW or a RN or APRN or a PA, and he came by my ward to help me take a piss and a female staff had been sitting with me. They asked for a male staff, so the female stepped out of the room. Sounds easy enough, no? Ray whistled the theme to Jaws as he entered the room saying, “I’m here to bring immediate relief to a gentleman who needs to pee.”
“That’s me,” I said from the bed.
            It was difficult with the various restraints they had me in then - I was bound up tightly for my brutal history of self-harm. Ray carried a plastic device, and I was, eventually, able to urinate. Ray left quickly as the heavy door closed behind him.  His voice in the hall was distinct and clear, like a famous slap at the Oscars. “He’s got a small one,” he said, followed by some stifled laughter, and a scolding. 
“What happened then?” Dr. Halo asked.
“An elegant black woman in a cobalt-blue cashmere cardigan knocks twice on my door and enters,” I said.  “She was thin and carried herself in a certain way and I thought, Grace Jones, she looks exactly like singer and eighties model Grace Jones. 
“I’m Dr. Ren,” she said. “Are you ready?” 
“Never give up, never slow down. Never grow old, never ever die young,” I said.
“Why quote James Taylor back to me?” she asked. “It’s straight from the lines of iconic, singer-songwriter, right?”
“I always admired him, a figure who’s had rough and tumble times in his life and has come out of it still enlightened and resilient as hell and oozing wisdom.”
The doctor smiled slightly. “The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.”
“Walk down that lonesome road all by yourself,” I said.
“James sang “That Lonesome Road at John Belushi’s funeral on Martha’s Vineyard back in ‘82,” she said. “Or so I read once in a wrinkled up People magazine I found on Metro-North.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I read about that, too.”
“This is a digression; I’m sorry that the staff member struck out at you so viciously,” she said. “Bullying won’t be tolerated around here.”
“A buffoon.”
“Maybe so, but we can’t allow any of this cruelty and toxic masculinity to go on unchecked,” she said. “What would you say to Ray now if he were here?”
“I’d clear my throat and spit in his face,” I said. “Until I was out of saliva, and then I’d drink another glass of water and repeat said behavior.”
“Your feelings are raw, like some gaping wound,” Dr. Ren said, as she paused and wiped sweat from her brow with a peach-colored handkerchief. Two days on, she returned with the most relaxed smile I’d ever seen. I was sitting at a desk, writing in a journal with a staff, but no longer was I in restraints.