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SNOW ON THE LAWN (mobile
phones not allowed)
Chapter Two the story continues By Angel
also see chapter 1
The four letters HATE were tattoed on his nicotine-stained fingers. His grubby finger-nails looked like they hadnt seen soap and water for at least a year and a smell to match. A New Patient! Havent seen him before, I dont think. Hope they put him in the bath soon!
Anyway, its Ward-Round again today, and Im next in. Last one to be seen again. Im always the last one. And the doctor has stopped me from having visitors again.
I was born in 1970, I told the doctor, the same year as Rum Rations were abolished in the Royal Navy.
I gave him a hard stare but he didnt seem to understand, so I went back to my trance-like state. There was no point to anything anymore, no reason, no purpose. Nothing meant anything and I couldnt remember if it ever had done, so I just sat there, the most loneliest person on earth, trapped in a world I couldnt understand yet couldnt escape from. The doctor didnt seem to understand, he didnt even seem to notice me, just sat scribbling, like his writing was the most important thing in the world.
And then he said Okay, Sally, well leave it at that, and left the room.
And I sat and sat, immobile and motionless, unable to move even if I wanted to, and I could hear people in the corridor outside, and they might aswell have been on the top of Mount Everest, because I couldnt reach them, and I didnt even wonder how long I would be sat there. I just sat.
And I sit there,
sobbing to my hearts content, alone with nobody, no
visitors and no money to use the pay-phone on the sickly yellow
wall of the day-room locked up in this hell-hole they call a
hospital; but anyway, theyve left the door to the store-cupboard
in this tiny interview room a little ajar, so I open it and to my
surprise its full of boxes of paper-tissues. Im just
opening the third box and my crumpled tears are overflowing in
the waste-paper basket when the door opens and Nurse Kathy sticks
her head round and announces
Sally, youve got a visitor.
I shout after her but I thought I wasnt allowed visitors but she doesnt seem to hear and a man comes into the room.
At first I
cant see that hes the hospital-chaplain through all
my wasted-tears, he sits down opposite me and takes my hand in
Bless you, my child, he says quietly. Whats the matter? Whats wrong?
Im not allowed visitors, I say and sigh wearily. Who are you?
Oh, Im not a proper visitor really, he sighs, Im just the hospital-chaplain; but tell me, my child, why, why arent you allowed visitors?
sobbing starts up again but when theres a break in the
tears I manage to splurt out they stopped my visitors
because I broke some cups, and now theyve stopped them
again and I havent even done anything wrong and the
tears well up again.
Oh, my poor-child, you poor thing, but if thats the worse thing youve done in your life is break a few cups then I wouldnt be too hard on yourself. Listen Ive got to go now but Ill come back and see you tomorrow. In the meantime Ill leave you this prayer-card and with that he disappears out of the room but leaves the room-door open after him.
After a while I venture out onto the corridor, the prayer-card tucked safely away in the pocket of my black handbag, along with an old dog-eared photograph of my grandma, my only other possession.
Lady-Jane comes bouncing along the corridor and grabs my hand singing Twist and Shout by Chubby Checker at the top of her voice. I cant help but smile.
We link arms and wander off along the corridor towards the day-room singing Twist and Shout at the top of our voices. The staff arent too delighted, one of them comes charging out of the office slamming the office door behind her.
If I were anyone else, theyd give me a double-dose of Largactil and send me to bed, but they cant, their hands are tied by Dr. Freud whos written NO MEDICATION in red ink all over my notes, and my medication chart. None of the junior Doctors dare disobey this consultant, despite his obvious grandiose delusion and a report from my previous psychiatrist stating that I suffer from schizophrenia, and that Ive got a lovely personality when Im well, but am quite poorly at the moment.
But anyway, they soon get Lady-Jane a double dose of Largactil and Im left in the day room, staring out the window, looking at the lawn, now green that spring is on its way, and no sign left of my loved-one Puk and his footprint pronouncement.
I sigh and feel like kicking something, anything, but soon realise the futility of my emotions. I need something, anything, to hold onto. I reach into my handbag.
The prayer-card is still there. I dig it out, sitting, quietly memorising the words and the memories of my loved-one. I only knew him for a few months. And that bell-that ward-bell, its ringing again. But its not even visiting time yet. The chaplain again!? But no, this is a different chaplain but hes got a dog-collar and prayer-book as well. Its Puk! I dont believe it! it my Puk! Dressed as a vicar! Would you credit it! wait till I tell our Donna! Well tickle me pink it is. Its my very own Puk! Oh my mascara! Its in streaks down my face oh I didnt even put any lipstick on this morning, either!