Chapter 2
The mental institution was in a way better than the schools I went to. None of the crazies were phony. Some of them were crooks, sometimes stealing cigarettes and money, which we used in poker games. The nurses were alright too, although the head nurses were sometimes strict and had too many rules. At least it wasn't like in "One flew over the cuckoo's nest", one of the only good movies I've seen. To me, this was paradise, a Garden of Eden. For once in my life, I felt a sense of belonging. The only downside of it all was not seeing my family enough. Not my parents, but D.B. and Phoebe. Dad killed himself a few years after I shot myself, and Mom died after drinking cyanide. Good riddance to them. D.B. never came much since he was so busy whoring himself in Hollywood, and ever since he turned my previous story into a book, I never allowed him to visit me. How could he do that to me? What nerve he had to turn a private story into a goddam cash cow. I had vowed never to forgive me even if he was dying. Let him go to hell for all I care. He should have never gone against me. Great, now I'm acting like Michael Corleone with his brother Fredo. The only visitor I had was Phoebe. God, if there's one thing I regret, it's not being there for her. If I was there, I would have kept her straight. Ever since I got locked up, she started showing tendencies that I had. She also never stayed in school, she started smoking, a habit she had for a long time, and she drank. After Dad died, she ran away because she knew Mom would send her to an institution. For 3 years she wasn't heard from, she never even wrote a letter. Then, all of a sudden, I got a letter. Over those 3 years, she was living in California. She became a writer, got married to this Army officer and had a son, named after Allie, my late brother. She apologized for not writing for a long time and said she was moving to New York since her husband was being transferred. That made me happy and sad. Happy because she was coming back after all those years and sad because she was happy and settled down and therefore didn't need me much. Even so, I always looked forward to her afternoon visits with Allie. She was the only connection I had to the outside world. She and Allie would bring in newspapers, news about family and friends and records. Phoebe got me records by bands with funny names like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jefferson Airplane, The Who and a lot of others. They were pretty good too. The news, however was mostly depressing. Soldiers dying in 'Nam, religious wackos in mass suicides, dissenters getting shot in Ohio. And in recent years, Phoebe started looking very ill. Her smoking habit gave her lung cancer so she started Chemotherapy. She lost all of her hair, her face looked very wrinkled and she her voice was husky, like a man. Allie, was the most uplifting thing about the visits. He had red hair just like his late uncle and the face of his mother. He had the chance to stay off the path Phoebe and I took and he didn't end up like a bum. He too became a writer, just like his mother. It was he, who had to break the heartbreaking news. I remember it so vividly. He took me to my room and sat me on my bed and with tears in his eyes said "Uncle Holden, she's dead". I was just shocked, didn't cry for about 10 minutes. Then, tears welled in my eyes and I let out this big sob at the top of my lungs. That night, nurses gave me more sedatives than the rest of the patients but even that didn't work. I couldn't believe it was happening at that moment. My sister, my best friend, my Rock of Gibraltar, taken away like that. It was in that moment of grief that I decided I had enough of this place. I didn't care if I was on wheels, I was going to get out.
The mental institution was in a way better than the schools I went to. None of the crazies were phony. Some of them were crooks, sometimes stealing cigarettes and money, which we used in poker games. The nurses were alright too, although the head nurses were sometimes strict and had too many rules. At least it wasn't like in "One flew over the cuckoo's nest", one of the only good movies I've seen. To me, this was paradise, a Garden of Eden. For once in my life, I felt a sense of belonging. The only downside of it all was not seeing my family enough. Not my parents, but D.B. and Phoebe. Dad killed himself a few years after I shot myself, and Mom died after drinking cyanide. Good riddance to them. D.B. never came much since he was so busy whoring himself in Hollywood, and ever since he turned my previous story into a book, I never allowed him to visit me. How could he do that to me? What nerve he had to turn a private story into a goddam cash cow. I had vowed never to forgive me even if he was dying. Let him go to hell for all I care. He should have never gone against me. Great, now I'm acting like Michael Corleone with his brother Fredo. The only visitor I had was Phoebe. God, if there's one thing I regret, it's not being there for her. If I was there, I would have kept her straight. Ever since I got locked up, she started showing tendencies that I had. She also never stayed in school, she started smoking, a habit she had for a long time, and she drank. After Dad died, she ran away because she knew Mom would send her to an institution. For 3 years she wasn't heard from, she never even wrote a letter. Then, all of a sudden, I got a letter. Over those 3 years, she was living in California. She became a writer, got married to this Army officer and had a son, named after Allie, my late brother. She apologized for not writing for a long time and said she was moving to New York since her husband was being transferred. That made me happy and sad. Happy because she was coming back after all those years and sad because she was happy and settled down and therefore didn't need me much. Even so, I always looked forward to her afternoon visits with Allie. She was the only connection I had to the outside world. She and Allie would bring in newspapers, news about family and friends and records. Phoebe got me records by bands with funny names like The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jefferson Airplane, The Who and a lot of others. They were pretty good too. The news, however was mostly depressing. Soldiers dying in 'Nam, religious wackos in mass suicides, dissenters getting shot in Ohio. And in recent years, Phoebe started looking very ill. Her smoking habit gave her lung cancer so she started Chemotherapy. She lost all of her hair, her face looked very wrinkled and she her voice was husky, like a man. Allie, was the most uplifting thing about the visits. He had red hair just like his late uncle and the face of his mother. He had the chance to stay off the path Phoebe and I took and he didn't end up like a bum. He too became a writer, just like his mother. It was he, who had to break the heartbreaking news. I remember it so vividly. He took me to my room and sat me on my bed and with tears in his eyes said "Uncle Holden, she's dead". I was just shocked, didn't cry for about 10 minutes. Then, tears welled in my eyes and I let out this big sob at the top of my lungs. That night, nurses gave me more sedatives than the rest of the patients but even that didn't work. I couldn't believe it was happening at that moment. My sister, my best friend, my Rock of Gibraltar, taken away like that. It was in that moment of grief that I decided I had enough of this place. I didn't care if I was on wheels, I was going to get out.