We were racing to the hospital but there wasn’t any real emergency. At least I didn’t think there was. Eric was driving, his hands gripping the steering wheel as if he were trying to strangle the life from it. He was leaning forward with his eyes fixed on the street, trying to retain his focus but that was difficult with Drew in the back seat rambling incoherently. We had volunteered to take him in. Well, Eric volunteered and then deputized me. Frankly, I wanted nothing to do with this.
Eric’s car was growling south on County Ave through the rain and cold April air. When he pulled the car around a bend, my right shoulder slammed into his passenger window and a small amount of adrenaline stung my gut. When the road straightened again, I questioned his need for driving 60 miles-per-hour down a two-lane road. It’s not as if Drew was going to die suddenly from schizophrenia or bi-polar or whatever the hell he had. Eric didn’t move or blink or do anything other than exactly what he was doing the second before I asked the question. He was aggressively ignoring me. There was a raving lunatic in his car. That was reason enough to rush anywhere.
Drew was sitting in the middle of the back seat. His arms straightened before him and his hands grasping the headrests of the driver and passenger seats. When I turned to look at him, he pulled closer to me so that he was only a few inches from my face, about the same distance two people would be if there were talking at a concert. Before I turned around, he was raving about a restaurant in China that he claimed to have eaten at last month. When our eyes met, he ceased his Chinese restaurant story and starting whaling about his real estate business. He opened his griping in what appeared to be mid-thought. “I have leased properties in Newark and East Orange. We’re having a big meeting tomorrow morning with the insurance carrier about the limiting of fiduciary liability program and how it’s going to cut into our excess capacity!”
I smiled, not because his insanity was funny, I smiled because it was so goddamn impressive. If I didn’t know that he was a man who lived off $140 a month in county welfare and sometimes sat in his own shit for days at a time, I might be inclined to believe him. “What properties are you talking about?” I asked to see how far he had developed this back-story.
He ignored my questions. “This is bullshit! Commercial real estate is hemorrhaging right now and they’re undercutting my leverage because I turned my back on the CCIM deal.”
“You turned your back on the CCIM deal?” Eric’s head flinched to the right and he ordered me to “knock it off.” He was right. I was making light of something he dealt with much more regularly than I did. I was being an asshole. But then again, what was I supposed to be doing? Asking him questions to drill down to the core of his problems? Was I supposed to cure him on our 15-minute drive to the emergency room?
“My credit is dynamite and they’re trying to lock in some bullshit rate on me.” He was laughing now, “But they can’t do that because 15 percent of the properties in the county are vacant. That’s not in line with global standards. Hell, that’s not even in line with regional standards.” He sat back in his seat and wiped his nose with the backside of his wrist and forearm. “Sometimes I get so pissed off at them it’s just like…” He reached down to pull something from his waistband but emerged only with an empty hand in the shape of a gun. He held his index and middle fingers up to my face, struck the hammer down with his thumb and whispered, “Pow.”
It was Saturday night. The road was busy and the assholes making left turns were killing us. The novelty of Drew’s blather had quickly faded and had become downright irritating. I was feeling nauseous and I was fairly sure that Drew’s delirious commentary was aiding the sickness that was slowly scaling its’ way from my gut up my throat. This is why Eric volunteered to drive.
Drew started asking me questions. He wanted to know my thoughts on whatever he was lecturing me about. I turned around, said, “I don’t know” and tuned him out. He pestered me, though, and within seconds, I wanted nothing more than to order him to shut the fuck up. It wouldn’t do any good though. I’m fairly certain Eric had done that plenty of times and look where it got him.
We were his two remaining friends who hadn’t completely cut him off. Though, in all fairness, Drew was already in my recycle bin, I just never emptied it. Eric kept regular contact with him like a real friend, whereas I saw Drew as little more than the protagonist in a litany of nonsensical anecdotes. Eric told me everything. He told me about the abundance of drugs flowing through his blood, about the prostitutes he was calling to his apartment, the fistfights he was getting into and about the time he pulled a knife on his uncle. I knew he had gone crazy. I could see it in his eyes whenever I bumped into him. I watched him fade from our group into the arms of greasy drug addicts with shoulder length hair who lived in basement apartments. No one tried to stop him. Why would we? He was a grown man and we were all busy with our own lives. There was no time for salvation.
None of these issues were a real concern to me, even the whole pulling a knife on his uncle episode. Drew was in the review mirror and anyone who was stupid enough to be around him deserved what they got. Eric was stupid. He and Drew were never even that close. Yet, he was the first one Drew’s dad called whenever there was an episode. The most recent call came two nights ago. Drew was stalking a local cop whom he accused of spying on him and was seen running circles around the cop’s house in the middle of the night. He ripped his shirt off and challenged the cop to come out and face him. No one was home, though, which was lucky because Drew had a gun, a real one.
I had no idea how this was going to work but I guess it was our only option. Lord knows I wasn’t going to put up with his shit and by the looks of it, Eric already went over the ledge. A mad dash to the psych ward seemed much easier than months of interventions and babysitting. We let him hit bottom and now we can just throw him in a padded room and let the professionals take care of him. With Drew out of sight, we could go back to watching football on Sundays and arguing about the best routes to take to avoid rush hour traffic. He’ll come out in a while and he’ll be fixed. Problem solved.
When we arrived at the hospital, Eric stopped at the emergency room entrance, “Alright, take him in. I have to park the car. I’ll meet you in there.” Before I could ask Eric what the fuck he was talking about, Drew pounced from his seat, “Is this where the party’s at?” He threw open the back door and jumped from the car. I followed him, slammed the car door and watched Eric disappear into the maze of cars.
When I turned, Drew was simultaneously dancing and walking to the entrance. I suppose I was grateful that I didn’t have to drag him in. He stopped just a few feet from the sliding glass doors and stared at the motion monitor above the doorframe, “Open up, bitch!” The doors opened, just as he had commanded them to, and we walked through.
We sidestepped around a man laying in a gurney, his face covered in dried blood as if he was wearing war paint, and approached the intake desk. When I glanced over at Drew though, I noticed something different. His hands were to his side and his back straightened. He walked in measured steps and his eyes remain focused ahead of him. It was as if he was mocking a normal person.
I skipped the formalities when we reached the desk, “My friend here needs help. He’s having psychiatric issues. We need a doctor to take a look at him.” She was a young, Hispanic woman with curly black hair. She looked up at us without raising her head and asked for more specifics. Drew cleared his throat and rested his hands on the desk. “I apologize, Jackie.” He read her nametag. “But my friends are trying to pull some kind of prank on me. They told me that a friend of ours was in a car accident and that we were visiting him. But, when we pull up, they start egging me on. Telling me to act crazy, just for fun, to see if I could trick you guys to admitting me.”
I stepped to my left and turned to face him. He was being serious. There was no irony in his voice, no restrained laughter escaping from his mouth in minuscule cackles. He had evaded his senility. “What the fuck are you doing, Drew?”
Drew glanced at me and looked back at Jackie, “Look, I want nothing to do with this prank. I don’t even have decent health insurance. I’m on Medicaid for God’s sake.”
Jackie sighed and lifted her head to say something but I interjected, “You’re fucking crazy, Drew. And you’re going to hurt someone. What the fuck are you doing?”
Jackie jumped in, “Alright, stop talking.” She pointed her finger at me and barked, “You!” The depth of her voice rattled me, “Go sit over there.” She pointed to a row of lime green plastic chairs in the waiting area. She then pointed at Drew, “You, come with me.” Jackie circled around the desk and shuffled across the waiting area. Drew followed her, his hands at his side, never looking back, and they disappeared behind a pair of beige doors that led to the emergency room.
Eric arrived shortly thereafter and sat next to me, “What’s going on?”
I shook my head, “I have no fucking idea.”
Thirty minutes later the beige doors swung open and Drew emerged with a doctor by his side. Drew’s hands were in his pockets, he was shrugging his shoulders, and nodding as the doctor spoke. Once the doctor ceased talking, they faced each other and shook hands. The doctor vanished behind the beige doors and drew faced us with a menacing smile.
We both stood from our seats and waited for him to say something. He stepped close, stretched his arms out and placed his hands on our shoulders. He huddled us closer and leaned in “I guess I have to keep my eye on you guys now.” His hands dropped off our shoulders and he reached down to his waistband and pulled out his “gun.” He brought the barrel to his mouth and with one quick puff, blew the smoke into our faces.
Eric’s car was growling south on County Ave through the rain and cold April air. When he pulled the car around a bend, my right shoulder slammed into his passenger window and a small amount of adrenaline stung my gut. When the road straightened again, I questioned his need for driving 60 miles-per-hour down a two-lane road. It’s not as if Drew was going to die suddenly from schizophrenia or bi-polar or whatever the hell he had. Eric didn’t move or blink or do anything other than exactly what he was doing the second before I asked the question. He was aggressively ignoring me. There was a raving lunatic in his car. That was reason enough to rush anywhere.
Drew was sitting in the middle of the back seat. His arms straightened before him and his hands grasping the headrests of the driver and passenger seats. When I turned to look at him, he pulled closer to me so that he was only a few inches from my face, about the same distance two people would be if there were talking at a concert. Before I turned around, he was raving about a restaurant in China that he claimed to have eaten at last month. When our eyes met, he ceased his Chinese restaurant story and starting whaling about his real estate business. He opened his griping in what appeared to be mid-thought. “I have leased properties in Newark and East Orange. We’re having a big meeting tomorrow morning with the insurance carrier about the limiting of fiduciary liability program and how it’s going to cut into our excess capacity!”
I smiled, not because his insanity was funny, I smiled because it was so goddamn impressive. If I didn’t know that he was a man who lived off $140 a month in county welfare and sometimes sat in his own shit for days at a time, I might be inclined to believe him. “What properties are you talking about?” I asked to see how far he had developed this back-story.
He ignored my questions. “This is bullshit! Commercial real estate is hemorrhaging right now and they’re undercutting my leverage because I turned my back on the CCIM deal.”
“You turned your back on the CCIM deal?” Eric’s head flinched to the right and he ordered me to “knock it off.” He was right. I was making light of something he dealt with much more regularly than I did. I was being an asshole. But then again, what was I supposed to be doing? Asking him questions to drill down to the core of his problems? Was I supposed to cure him on our 15-minute drive to the emergency room?
“My credit is dynamite and they’re trying to lock in some bullshit rate on me.” He was laughing now, “But they can’t do that because 15 percent of the properties in the county are vacant. That’s not in line with global standards. Hell, that’s not even in line with regional standards.” He sat back in his seat and wiped his nose with the backside of his wrist and forearm. “Sometimes I get so pissed off at them it’s just like…” He reached down to pull something from his waistband but emerged only with an empty hand in the shape of a gun. He held his index and middle fingers up to my face, struck the hammer down with his thumb and whispered, “Pow.”
It was Saturday night. The road was busy and the assholes making left turns were killing us. The novelty of Drew’s blather had quickly faded and had become downright irritating. I was feeling nauseous and I was fairly sure that Drew’s delirious commentary was aiding the sickness that was slowly scaling its’ way from my gut up my throat. This is why Eric volunteered to drive.
Drew started asking me questions. He wanted to know my thoughts on whatever he was lecturing me about. I turned around, said, “I don’t know” and tuned him out. He pestered me, though, and within seconds, I wanted nothing more than to order him to shut the fuck up. It wouldn’t do any good though. I’m fairly certain Eric had done that plenty of times and look where it got him.
We were his two remaining friends who hadn’t completely cut him off. Though, in all fairness, Drew was already in my recycle bin, I just never emptied it. Eric kept regular contact with him like a real friend, whereas I saw Drew as little more than the protagonist in a litany of nonsensical anecdotes. Eric told me everything. He told me about the abundance of drugs flowing through his blood, about the prostitutes he was calling to his apartment, the fistfights he was getting into and about the time he pulled a knife on his uncle. I knew he had gone crazy. I could see it in his eyes whenever I bumped into him. I watched him fade from our group into the arms of greasy drug addicts with shoulder length hair who lived in basement apartments. No one tried to stop him. Why would we? He was a grown man and we were all busy with our own lives. There was no time for salvation.
None of these issues were a real concern to me, even the whole pulling a knife on his uncle episode. Drew was in the review mirror and anyone who was stupid enough to be around him deserved what they got. Eric was stupid. He and Drew were never even that close. Yet, he was the first one Drew’s dad called whenever there was an episode. The most recent call came two nights ago. Drew was stalking a local cop whom he accused of spying on him and was seen running circles around the cop’s house in the middle of the night. He ripped his shirt off and challenged the cop to come out and face him. No one was home, though, which was lucky because Drew had a gun, a real one.
I had no idea how this was going to work but I guess it was our only option. Lord knows I wasn’t going to put up with his shit and by the looks of it, Eric already went over the ledge. A mad dash to the psych ward seemed much easier than months of interventions and babysitting. We let him hit bottom and now we can just throw him in a padded room and let the professionals take care of him. With Drew out of sight, we could go back to watching football on Sundays and arguing about the best routes to take to avoid rush hour traffic. He’ll come out in a while and he’ll be fixed. Problem solved.
When we arrived at the hospital, Eric stopped at the emergency room entrance, “Alright, take him in. I have to park the car. I’ll meet you in there.” Before I could ask Eric what the fuck he was talking about, Drew pounced from his seat, “Is this where the party’s at?” He threw open the back door and jumped from the car. I followed him, slammed the car door and watched Eric disappear into the maze of cars.
When I turned, Drew was simultaneously dancing and walking to the entrance. I suppose I was grateful that I didn’t have to drag him in. He stopped just a few feet from the sliding glass doors and stared at the motion monitor above the doorframe, “Open up, bitch!” The doors opened, just as he had commanded them to, and we walked through.
We sidestepped around a man laying in a gurney, his face covered in dried blood as if he was wearing war paint, and approached the intake desk. When I glanced over at Drew though, I noticed something different. His hands were to his side and his back straightened. He walked in measured steps and his eyes remain focused ahead of him. It was as if he was mocking a normal person.
I skipped the formalities when we reached the desk, “My friend here needs help. He’s having psychiatric issues. We need a doctor to take a look at him.” She was a young, Hispanic woman with curly black hair. She looked up at us without raising her head and asked for more specifics. Drew cleared his throat and rested his hands on the desk. “I apologize, Jackie.” He read her nametag. “But my friends are trying to pull some kind of prank on me. They told me that a friend of ours was in a car accident and that we were visiting him. But, when we pull up, they start egging me on. Telling me to act crazy, just for fun, to see if I could trick you guys to admitting me.”
I stepped to my left and turned to face him. He was being serious. There was no irony in his voice, no restrained laughter escaping from his mouth in minuscule cackles. He had evaded his senility. “What the fuck are you doing, Drew?”
Drew glanced at me and looked back at Jackie, “Look, I want nothing to do with this prank. I don’t even have decent health insurance. I’m on Medicaid for God’s sake.”
Jackie sighed and lifted her head to say something but I interjected, “You’re fucking crazy, Drew. And you’re going to hurt someone. What the fuck are you doing?”
Jackie jumped in, “Alright, stop talking.” She pointed her finger at me and barked, “You!” The depth of her voice rattled me, “Go sit over there.” She pointed to a row of lime green plastic chairs in the waiting area. She then pointed at Drew, “You, come with me.” Jackie circled around the desk and shuffled across the waiting area. Drew followed her, his hands at his side, never looking back, and they disappeared behind a pair of beige doors that led to the emergency room.
Eric arrived shortly thereafter and sat next to me, “What’s going on?”
I shook my head, “I have no fucking idea.”
Thirty minutes later the beige doors swung open and Drew emerged with a doctor by his side. Drew’s hands were in his pockets, he was shrugging his shoulders, and nodding as the doctor spoke. Once the doctor ceased talking, they faced each other and shook hands. The doctor vanished behind the beige doors and drew faced us with a menacing smile.
We both stood from our seats and waited for him to say something. He stepped close, stretched his arms out and placed his hands on our shoulders. He huddled us closer and leaned in “I guess I have to keep my eye on you guys now.” His hands dropped off our shoulders and he reached down to his waistband and pulled out his “gun.” He brought the barrel to his mouth and with one quick puff, blew the smoke into our faces.
