j a k e
The minute I see the expression on Derek’s face when he re-enters the main floor, I knew that he’s been admitted. I haven’t exactly volunteered for years at the clinic, and I’m pretty bad at reading someone’s emotions unless it’s absolutely blatant, but I can tell right away when someone’s been admitted. It’s written all over their faces; eyebrows scrunched up, lips pulled into a tight line, eyes shining with some curious glint, and jaw clenched. Their shoulders are always down and slouched, because if you think about it, the fact that they’re mental sick has just been confirmed, and that’s never a great thing to hear.
I know that Derek had signed himself in earlier, but I still know that he’s not jumping in glee about being admitted. He looks scared as he follows Dr. Martin to the desk. George is now looking up beside me, since he had come back upon hearing about the new patient, and leans over, quietly saying, “Is that Derek?”
I nod. George stands up from his chair and smiles at Dr. Martin as he approaches the table. Derek isn’t focusing on George, but rather looks at me. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I don’t think it works out too well, because Derek just grimaces back.
Dr. Martin hands George the clipboard, which George takes and scans over. My suspicions are confirmed when I see a checkmark by the box at the very bottom, that says ‘Admitted.’ There are some comments at the bottom, but my eyes barely skim over them before I’m looking back at Derek, who still looks unsure of himself.
George puts down the forms and gives Derek a small smile, “Well, Derek, I’ll send someone down to get you settled in, and then we’ll give you parents a call.”
“I’ll ask Carl,” Dr. Martin says, placing a hand gently on one of Derek’s shoulders. “Come on, follow me.”
The two are soon out of view. George settles back down in his spinning chair across from mine, and smiles at me, “So, first time handling someone?”
I bring my knees to my chest so my whole body is in the chair, “Yeah, because you left me.”
George rolls his eyes, “I was busy with something, Jake. But seriously, how was it? I need to know if I can leave you with these things.”
I take a deep breath, my left hand thumb finding its way to my right wrist unconsciously. “I did everything I see you do when you sign people in. It was just a little weird because he was soaking wet and the first thing he told me was that he wanted to kill himself.”
“He was wet?”
“Yeah, tried to drown himself in a lake. I think he just jumped in and hoped he wouldn’t come back up.”
“I don’t know what he was thinking,” George says, “But I don’t want you thinking about it. I promise to be here next time. How about we leave early tonight? I can take you out somewhere.”
I think about that for a moment and say, “As long as we’re back before ten. I don’t have my pills with me.”
George chuckles, “Should you really be the one telling me what time to get back by?”
I laugh slightly. A worker comes down and says something to George, but I tune it out. Instead, I spare a glance at my foster father. There’s really no resemblance between us, as there shouldn’t be. His hair is blonde, short, and combed- mine is black, long, and messy. His eyes are a bright, bright blue and always full of life. Mine are dull. He is average height with an average build; I’m tall with a good built. I always feel as if George himself is so much fuller of life than anybody else, that it makes me feel happier just to be around him, but it also makes me dull compared to him. He always tells me not to focus on that.
