Riot

I am sitting on a bench in the rec room of an adolescent psych ward.  Outside of the room, there is chaos.  Most of the patients are rioting, but I’m not.  All of the nurses and EMT’s have been called to the ward.  There is physical conflict everywhere, as the adults attempt to subdue the kids, which is proving difficult for them.  The patients outnumber the adults at least two to one.  Of course, the kids are just that.  They’re kids, and they’re fighting adults.  Inevitably they will lose, but most are too psychotic to realize that.  They just want to leave the ward, without thought as to where they would go even if they could get past the nurses and other adults.  To a casual observer, it would almost be funny if people were not getting hurt.  For some reason, I have found that most people enjoy watching those with less healthy brains do stupid shit, unless the unhealthy person is retarded.  Even then, some people seem to find this amusing.  I don’t think it’s amusing at all.

Sitting on a bench across from me is another patient.  He’s younger than me by a year, and smaller, which is saying something.  I hate him.  Everyone hates him.  He’s one of the more annoying people I’ve ever encountered.  He’s delusional.  He thinks he’s smarter than everyone on the ward, doctors included.  He’s wrong.  I mean, he’s really wrong.  He’s not even the smartest patient.  I’m fairly sure that I am, but I’m not the only one whose intelligence outstrips his by quite some distance, but this kid makes a big deal of proving his mental superiority at every opportunity.  That’s why everyone hates him.  Personally, I get the feeling he’s also a racist, but that’s neither here nor there.

We are the only two people in the rec room.  We sit in complete silence, while outside a battle rages.  I’m just waiting for it to be over.  I get out tomorrow, and I don’t want to do anything that will mess that up.  The kid across from me doesn’t know when he’s getting out, but he has proudly proclaimed that when he does, he will report the hospital to the Better Business Bureau.  I have made one decision about what I’m doing when I leave, but I keep that to myself.

Another patient enters the rec room.  He’s my age, and taller, but really skinny.  I could probably take him in a fight, but at the time, I don’t want to find out.  Years later, I will wish that I did.  He approaches the kid sitting across from me and tosses him to the floor like a rag doll, then proceeds to punch the little guy in the face.  I sit and watch as the attacker breaks the annoying kid’s nose, then knocks out three of his teeth.

Finally, I rise from the bench and walk towards the beating.  The attacking kid is running out of energy, he’s been swinging so hard.  I’m about three quarters of the way across the room when a big nurse enters.  When I say big, I mean about six feet two inches, maybe two hundred and twenty pounds.  He’s scary.  He unceremoniously lifts the attacker into the air and relocates him to outside of the rec room.  I reach the annoying kid and look down at his face.  It’s barely recognizable.  He’s whimpering softly.  Honestly, I don’t understand how he’s not screaming in pain.  He took a lot of punishment.  The blood mixes with the tears on his face and runs down in rivulets onto the floor.

The big nurse appears in the doorway and I turn to look at him.  He points at me and says, “Get away from him.”  He looks like he means business, so I step away in a hurry.  I walk back to my bench, but I don’t sit down.  Crayons and markers are strewn around the floor from when the fighting started.  Yes, they treat us like five year olds, but I guess it’s helpful to some.  I lean down and start picking them up and putting them in their box.  I feel a strong hand grab my shoulder.  It’s the nurse.  He tells me to put the box down.  I inform him that I am trying to help clean up.  I don’t think he cares.  He tells me to get back to my room, and do it fast.  I’m not about to argue with this guy, so I go.  As I head down the hallway, I see the attacking boy getting dragged into a straightjacket room.  I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it, but it always is scary watching someone going into that room.  Once you’re put in a straightjacket, you don’t get out.  They move you from the ward, and you don’t come back.  I reach my room and close the door behind me.  My roommates haven’t arrived yet.  I do fifty pushups, because this is something I can do at this particular point in my life.  Then I hop onto my bed and start reading the only book I have, which is Murder On The Orient Express, not a great book, but not a bad one either.  I get bored after a few pages, put it down, and try to get some sleep.