Alois Trancy
"So, why do youthink you're here?" a middle aged blonde woman asks me in what's supposed to be a soft and nurturing tone. To me she just sounds patronizing. She came into my room only moments ago, right when I woke up. I don't answer her, instead I just look down. I'm in the psyche section of the emergency room right now, sitting on a small cot with scratchy bedding in an all white room that can't be more than a 6 by 6. My legs dangle over the edge and I swing them back and forth, trying uselessly to amuse myself. There's a camera in the corner attached to the ceiling that points right at the head of the bed; no privacy here. The florescent lights are too bright and agitating the already awful headache I have. The guy in the room next to mine is screaming and banging on walls. It makes me want to smash my head through a window but there isn't one present and that would only make them think I'm crazier than they do already, so I try to ignore it. There's a clock outside my room that says the time is 11:13pm but I don't know how long I've been here. I was passed out until about 10 minutes ago. Days could have passed for all I know.
"Alois?" the lady questions, trying to get my attention. I grace her with a glance up before I once again advert my eyes downward. I don't want to talk. "We can't move you along until we evaluate you, and in order to do that I need you to talk to me," she tries.
I offer a shrug, I don't know what else to do. I don't want to think about everything that happened.
"You don't know why you're here?"
I glance at her again then look straight forward at the wall where I fix my vision. I've been staring at the floor for a while, I need a change of scenery.
"Do you remember anything?" Yes, right up until I blacked (or maybe passed) out. I wish I didn't. "You were pretty intoxicated when you came in." The headache is enough of a reminder. "Well, if you're not ready to talk, how about I go get us some food from the cafeteria? You must be hungry." Not really.
She gets up and leaves, offering me another smile as she walks out of my room. I hear her tell the screaming guy no one is going to process him until he calms down. There's a moment of silence followed by a crash, the click of her heels running away, and guards running into the guys room. There's more yelling and the guards say something about giving him 'the juice'; after a few thumps and screams there's finally silence and I lay back on my bed kicking my legs up. The hospital gown I have on opens in the back but I don't care enough to fix it.
I scrunch my eyes shut but when images of what happened begin to play I viciously rub at them, as if scrubbing my eyeballs out with my fists will cause the flashback to stop.
It doesn't work.
When the lady returns about 10 minutes later with disgusting hospital food I force my eyes open and sit up. My hospital gown shifts again probably giving her, the camera and anyone who's looking a nice view of my goods. It doesn't bother me – enough people have seen everything already; a few more can't hurt. Right?
She sets the food down on the small metal table and pushes it in between us, before she settles back into the very uncomfortable look plastic chair.
"Are you ready to talk yet?"
I just stare blankly at the food and poke and push at it with my pointer finger.
"You really should eat something, you've been out for almost 48 hours now."
That long? Why do I still have this headache?
"Is eating something you struggle with, Alois?" She tilts her head at me, eyes large with what is probably fake compassion.
I shrug at her and wipe my finger on the bedding, staining the pristine white with repulsive mashed potatoes.
She scribbles something down and looks back up at me. "If you won't talk to me how about I call your brother in so he can tell me what happened and we can get you moving?"
Has he been here the whole time? I nod.
"Okay, I'll go get him from the waiting room." She get up and leaves again, both of our meals untouched.
I do fix my gown now, shifting uncomfortably.
Barely a minute later Luka rushes into the room and throws his arms around me.
"Oh god, you're ok! They wouldn't let me come back until they deemed you stable. I'm so sorry I couldn't be here with you!" he gushes, arms tightening around me. I feel dampness on my shoulder and I know he's crying. I'm still for a moment before I hug him back, relishing in the scent of him: home.
"Luka, do you think you could tell me what happened?" the woman reminds us of her presence. "Alois isn't ready to talk yet but I still want to get him processed and out of here." Luka pulls away from me.
"Alois you don't mind, right?" he asks, trying to make eye contact with me. I bury my hands in my face again and shake my head wildly. I don't want to think about it and I don't want to hear about it. Luka puts his arm around me again. "What if I go tell her in the hall? I'm sure you want to leave, yeah?" He can sense my embarrassment. I shrug and nod to that suggestion.
He and the lady walk into the hall. I can hear my brothers soft voice and her nasily one though they're muffled and I can't quite make out what they're saying. I just want to go home. I want to go home and drink and get high and fuck. I want to forget everything. I can't forget everything if I'm stuck here and sober! Fuck, where are my clothes? I had half a gram of coke on me before I blacked out. I'm frantically looking around the room. They have to be here somewhere! Outside the open door of my room and a male nurse is sitting and reading a magazine. There's a bag next to him. That's my stuff. Definitely my stuff! Before I can even think about what I'm doing I'm getting up and lunging out of my room and toward the bag, ripping into it. There's yelling immediately and the sound of people running. I don't care. If I can get to my drugs I can forget and if I forget I'll be ok. Why didn't I think of this right when I came too?
Luka is calling my name and the staff is shouting and running. All the noise seems distant though.
Suddenly arms are pulling me away and I realize I can't get to my drugs. I can't get to my safety. There's screaming and swearing and I realize it's me. I'm hitting everyone who's grabbing at me and pulling me away from my salvation. I'm feeling light headed and I'm shaking and suddenly I can't breathe. Oh fuck, I can't breathe! Shit, shit, shit!
I'm laying belly down on the hospital hallway floor screaming and crying with drool and snot and tears all over my face with my gown half off when I realize that this is a problem. I have a problem. A serious fucking problem.
It's mid afternoon the next day when they tell me I'm going to be going to a residential treatment center.
"Two years minimum stay," the lady, who's name is Tracy, tells me. "When you passed out at home before you came here the cops and ambulance showed up to your house. You were clearly intoxicated so they did search you but ultimately decided rehab would be a better option than sending you to jail," she explains.
Its early evening when Tracy comes back and tells me to dress, that the bus to take me to the center is here. "It's going to be almost an 6 hour trip, but you won't be alone. We have another patient here that will be heading up tonight as well."
As soon as I'm clothed I'm being escorted by two guards and Tracy down the hallway where I had my breakdown, out through the lobby and into the pick up/drop off area. There's a large white van that says 'Redwood Pines' on it with a simple cartoon of three pine trees and lake. Tracy trots up to the van while one of the guards slowly guides me over with his hand on my shoulder as if I'll run any second. A week ago I would have. Now I don't even have the willpower.
I board the van, no one else is on it yet.
"Other passenger will be here in a moment," one of the guards says.
I stare out the window, contemplating everything. I have a problem. I'd be stupid to deny it at this point. Do I want help for it? Help to pull myself out of the hole I have dug and stop this vicious cycle? …No. I don't think I do. I just want to be left to wallow in my own misery. If I had the choice, I probably would deny the help they're trying to give me but it's this or jail. I know I wouldn't last long in prison. I know I would be torn apart. My ex had been to prison twice. He told me the few guys they get that look like me (smaller and on the feminine side) instantly become a – as he so nicely put it – 'cum bucket'. Maybe I could last in prison. If I slept with everyone they'd probably keep me alive. It's not like I had much standards or morals before. Oh god, am I seriously considering prison to avoid rehab?
My thoughts are interrupted by someone climbing into the bus. I look over and see the guy who had been screaming in the room next to mine. I nod in acknowledgment of him. He grins back at me, resembling a devil more than anything.
Of course angry-screaming-devil guy decides to sit in the seat right next to me when there is a whole bus full of empty seats. "What's your name?" he asks.
Closer up I can see his eyes are a deep brown with almost a reddish tint and his black hair is incredibly messy, way over and greasy, as if he hasn't showered in days. He probably hasn't, I remind myself, they don't give you showers at the ER. I study him closer, noticing the dark bags under his eyes and the bit of stubble on his chin. His skin is breaking out and though he can't be older than his early 20's he has premature wrinkles in the corner of his eyes and around his mouth. They're barely noticeable, but none the less there.
"…Alois," I answer him softly. I'm not normally meek, but I'm also not normally sober. I don't know myself off drugs, I begrudgingly realize.
"I'm Sebastian." He sticks out a pale and trembling hand for me to shake. I take it, noticing how cold and dry his hand is. He offers another smile, and up close it looks much more sad than frightening.
"Nice to meet you," I say and try to smile back.
As bus starts to move and we both take a deep breath. This is really happening.
I can see the crowds out and about enjoying the night life of downtown Chicago as we drive down Lake Shore Drive. I used to be part of those crowds. By the look on Sebastian's face I can tell he longs to join them as well.
"Heh, looks like we won't be out at bars or anything for a while," he says, trying not to let on how clearly sad he is about that fact.
"…Yeah," I agree. I tear my eyes away from the city and instead look at my own hands. They're shaking too. Not as bad as Sebastian's, but still twitching out of my control.
"Why are you going?"
"Drugs," I answer bluntly.
"Well, duh, that's one thing everyone at Redwood has in common. I've been here before, when I was about 18. Didn't work too well obviously – heh heh. Did you check yourself into the ER?"
I shake my head viciously, "Why would I do that?"
Sebastian shrugs. "I checked myself in," he tells me.
"What?" I'm surprised, with all the screaming he was doing.
"Yeah. I knew I'd never get through with drawls on my own, barely got through them at the hospital."
"That explains the yelling," I mutter.
"Heh, sorry about that. Not my brightest few days." Sebastian looks down at his lap, clearly embarrassed.
"It hasn't been mine either," I admit.
Redwood Pines Residential Treatment Center for Addiction. It's carved artfully on to a wood sign, fitting the Wisconsin northern woods setting that the center is apparently located in. It's the middle of the night and we're finally here. There is no way out.
