I was fine, I was fine. Maybe I hadn't been, maybe I was a little out of control, but I was okay now. I shouldn't have hit Joey, I know that. I didn't mean to. And I should have been better at Ashley's dad's wedding, but I could see that now. I had so much to do, though. So many song ideas, so many ideas for all kinds of things, I had to write it all down…I didn't need to be at a hospital.
I bounced my legs up and down and wanted to get up, but Joey put a hand on my shoulder and forced me to stay sitting. So I did, it was okay, I could sit, if that was what he wanted. I saw the bruises and the blood on his lips and I knew I did that…like my dad used to do to me, when he hit me and beat me when I lived with him. How could I do that to Joey? But I never would again. Never. Now I sounded like my dad in my head, he used to tell me he would never do it again, but it was a lie. I went to get up again because I had to walk, I had to move, but Joey put his hand on my shoulder again and pressed down.
"Craig," he said, his voice a harsh whisper.
"What?" I said, bouncing my legs up and down even more, wanting to get up, needing to get up. I had all this energy and it was just coursing through me.
"Just sit here. Don't get up," he said. I looked around the ER waiting room. There were some old people here sitting slumped over in wheelchairs or in the waiting room chairs, some sniffly little kids, an older kid holding his arm that was at an odd angle. I bet he broke it. I wondered what he was doing. Climbing a tree? Skateboarding? Riding a bike? I wondered what Ashley was doing now. I hoped she wasn't too upset with me. After last year, man, did I screw things up with her last year. It was like I just couldn't resist Manny, she was always tempting me. So much energy and my thoughts were going almost too fast to catch, just streaking through my mind, one on the tail end of the other. I started to stand up again and this time Joey put both hands on my shoulders and pushed me down so I'd stay sitting.
"Craig!" He was still speaking in a whisper, but it was more emphatic.
"What, Joey?"
"Do not get up. Just sit here and wait, okay?"
I nodded and rocked forward a little, then back, bounced my legs. I had to move, he didn't understand. It was hard just sitting here, it almost hurt. I'd go to the bathroom. He couldn't stop me from getting up if I had to go to the bathroom.
"I need to use the bathroom," I said, and he glared at me.
"Make it fast," he said. I stood up, glanced around for the bathrooms and saw the sign for them. I knew where they were, of course I did. This was the hospital my dad used to work at, and I'd been here enough. I wondered if anyone would remember me, if anyone he worked with was still here. What would it really matter now?
It was better walking, at least just the little way to the bathroom. I didn't really have to go, but I had to get up. I paced around the bathroom, trying to get rid of some of this energy but it just wouldn't go. Ideas burst in my head like those videos of flowers blooming in fast motion that they showed in science classes sometimes.
After some more pacing I figured I'd have to go back, the way Joey was acting he'd have security hunt me down or something. I wished he wouldn't worry so much. I was okay. I was. I wouldn't hit him again.
Sitting down next to Joey again, it was hard, though. I couldn't sit still. I wanted to talk but Joey was upset so I thought I should try and be quiet. But I wasn't quiet inside my head. I was thinking of songs, seeing the notes in my head, the words to some of it coming in little snippets, little ideas growing from a nothingness to full blown in a second, a nano-second.
We were called, finally, well, they called my name. I stood up and Joey did, too. I guessed it was okay, I wasn't too clear on what had happened in the past few days, it was all running together. We followed the nurse to one of the rooms. I didn't like hospitals, not since my mother died. It wasn't that great when my father had worked here and I'd have to come here and see him, and smell that weird hospital smell. It was cloying, overwhelming. I thought about my mother, it had been so long. So long. I missed her so much. I'd never see her ever again, ever, unless there was some kind of heaven type place where we would reunite when I was dead, but how likely was that?
The nurse was taking my blood pressure, wrapping that blue cuff around my arm and pumping it up, squeezing that thing. I watched her, watched the needle bounce a little by the numbers. Then she put a thermometer in my ear and pressed a button and it beeped. She typed on her computer. I wanted to leave, I couldn't stop moving my legs, my hands, I was so jittery. She asked Joey if I had any allergies and he shook his head. Then she smiled at me, a hurried busy little smile.
"They'll be right in," she said, and Joey nodded. She left. I jumped up, went over to the counter and looked at all the things on it, magazines and tongue depressors and cotton balls in jars. I guessed it was okay to not be constantly sitting in this little room, because Joey didn't tell me to sit and force me to by pushing me down.
Waiting. I couldn't stand all this waiting. I wanted to leave.
"Joey, let's go home," I said, and he looked so tired. I couldn't remember the last time I was tired or even slept. I'd been staying up every night, writing songs, writing story scenarios, planning the wedding with Ashley, for Ashley. Ashley. She was everything. I loved her so much. I couldn't believe I ever cheated on her, got Manny pregnant, hurt her so much. How could I have done that? What was I thinking? But at least now she was, we were together.
"Craig…no," His voice was so tired, he had dark circles under his eyes. It was because of me. In some way I only dimly understood I was hurting him.
"Why? Why not?" I was all over the place, all over that little room, looking at and examining everything. Joey's eyes followed me.
"Craig, you…you're sick. Something is wrong with you. You're not acting right. You need to be here so you can get better,"
I wasn't sick, nothing was wrong, I was fine. I was getting angry. Why wouldn't he leave me alone? I didn't want to be here, I wanted to be with Ashley, I wanted to be in my room writing the songs that were glittering inside my mind, I had things to do. Why couldn't he see that?
"Joey, I'm fine, I told you. I want to leave," I started for the door and he jumped up, blocked the door with his entire body. He was glaring at me.
"Craig! We are not leaving! Now sit!" Something in his tone scared me. I had hit him. I wrecked Ashley's father's wedding. When he spoke like that it reminded me of my father, when my father would speak like that it meant a beating. I could remember them, how much it hurt when he'd hit me with his belt or grab my wrists and then shove me to the ground. He'd kick me, punch me, and it just hurt so much, all those bruises in the following days, and they'd just ache, this dull ache for days and days.
"Okay," I said, still feeling my thoughts racing, careening around with nowhere to go. I was half scared of Joey and half scared of my dead father. He was dead. He couldn't hurt me anymore.
The nurse came back, she opened the door.
"Is everything all right in here?" she said. She must have heard us. I stared at her, feeling like I was in trouble. Joey didn't answer right away. Then he half nodded.
She left. I wanted to leave. I didn't care anymore if Joey would yell at me or be upset with me, I couldn't care. I couldn't stay here. I didn't know how I could. All these things, these plans, these ideas…I had to get started on all these things. I had to see Ashley and get her to forgive me. I felt the anger starting, anger at everything and everyone. Joey, my father, my mother for dying and leaving me alone. Could Joey stop me if I tried to leave for real?
He was sitting in one of the chairs by the bed. I was still standing by the door, electricity coursing through my body. I didn't care what he did to me, I had to get out of here.
"Damn it, Joey. I can't take it here! I'm leaving!" Was I screaming at him? I might have been. I saw Joey press the call light but I didn't really register it, and then he came and blocked the door again.
"Uh uh, Craig, you're not going anywhere," he said, his voice steel. I didn't care, he couldn't make me stay here when there was nothing wrong and I wanted to leave. My father used to do that to me, make me stay in the house when I wanted to go. I pushed him out of the way of the door and opened it, and he grabbed me by the waist.
"Joey, let me go," I was almost pleading with him. I had to go, I had to leave, I couldn't take it, being here. The nurse came back then.
"He's trying to leave," Joey told her, and I struggled against him. He was so strong, it was surprising, but I managed to get out of his grasp.
"We can restrain him, he's on a section 12," she said, and that didn't make much sense, but I did hear the word restrain and started to panic. I swung out blindly, not caring what I hit, a wall, Joey, the nurse. I didn't care. They were keeping me here and I had to go. I needed to go.
Suddenly there were all these people in the room, security guards and other hospital workers, mostly men, and they grabbed me and got me on the bed. I felt this wild crazy panic, thinking about my father grabbing me and holding onto me and the way the belt would arc through the air with that sound, that whistling whipping sound, and there were so many people holding me down. They tied my wrists and ankles to the bed with these straps and then they all stepped away, and most of them left the room. Joey stayed, and the nurse stayed.
I jerked my arms and legs as hard as I could but the straps were stronger and wouldn't give way. But I kept jerking my entire body, bucking on the bed and trying to get free.
"Let me go!" I screamed at them, tugging at the straps, my wrists and ankles only able to move so far and then I couldn't move any further, I couldn't leave, I was tied to this bed.
"Joey, let me go, untie me, c'mon, Joey…" No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get away and the anger was incredible, this surge of rage and I could barely see anymore, and maybe I was crying, I didn't even know, and I wasn't speaking in words anymore, just these incoherent yells.
"Craig, it's gonna be okay," Joey said, looking at me with this sad, sad look. Something in the middle of the anger gave way and I felt so bad for Joey all of a sudden. But the anger came back quickly as I jerked at the restraints and couldn't break free.
I saw someone else come in the room, the doctor? Maybe. He wore a white coat and there was as stethoscope around his neck. I saw the needle in his hand and then felt something cold on my upper arm. It was an alcohol swab, and then I felt the sharp jab of the needle.
Whatever that medicine was, it worked fast. I felt weird, kind of high and overwhelmingly tired, but I tried to fight it. I couldn't, though. My eyelids slipped closed despite how hard I tried to keep them open.