A little story about a short story. In 2009 I was studying Creative Writing at Massey University and submitted a short story. I was given a C+ with the comment that I need to write for a Short not a Novel. In despair I went outside and had a smoke. A fellow in a wheelchair went by and I got a topic and started formulating a short story. It is an amalgam of the wheelchair, my mental health issues and dedicated to my mate Malcolm Kauika. I was pleasantly surprised to get an A+ .
Open
Windows
He’s
alive! He sees the Tiger hasn’t chewed
his legs off. He realises the White
World has not enveloped his vista and sent him into another demented rambling. He feels his arse and pinpoints the
injections tell-tale signs. He knows
he’s just turned sixteen, but what he remembers the most is the dreams and the
daytime thoughts that cloud his sixteen-year-old mind. He remembers his mother (Gertrude) and father
(Hans) visiting earlier, but what they said was a blur. He remembers their rough English, their
German accents still strong after 18 years in Aotearoa.
The door
opened slightly. He laid still, eyes
closed, not wanting human contact.
“Michael,
it’s time for your afternoon meds.”
This
contact was the worst. The nurse was a sweetie, and meant well, but he had this
impression he needed to be on his own, to deny he was in Manawaroa
Hospital. He’d heard of the place
through friends at school who had ended up there through family
admissions. Now he was here, drab puke
green walls, placid pink panelling’s, and pastel blue doors that could indicate
the one road to hell. He felt it was
Hell. He opened his eyes then and
motioned the nurse into his room. He
hated the meds but knew they did help his psychosis. Heck, even the ECT was helping him regain his
former control. He didn’t hate the
place, he thought, he hated that it was he getting the treatment.
“Ready for
another day, Michael. You have Gym
today, and the Pool Table is back in operation.”
He thought
then of Adam, the 27-year-old paranoid schizophrenic, and part time crim. He’d asked Mike for a smoke (he never had his
own) and Mike had turned him down. Adam
had then done his nut and tried to whack Mike with the pool cue. He’d ducked,
and the cue smashed into the pool table and smashed in half. He’d then tried to use the sharp end to stab
at Mike, but Mike’s senses were attuned, and he’d leapt back, barely missing
the cues intent. The male orderlies were
on the case very quickly and subdued the culprit. The nurses also arrived and help placate Mike
and recommended he go to his room for quiet time.
Malcolm
turned another page, his homework for Science flowing like a breeze. It had been quiet for a few weeks now, and
knowing his brother was getting the right treatment helped his own mind to
focus on his own life. The past few
months had been sheer hell, and his moods and his work had suffered. Mum and Dad wouldn’t let him come with them
to see his older brother. He resented
this reasoning; he knew Mike was worthy of a visit from his brother and part
time friend. He’d argued until blue in
the face that he was ok if he could visit.
He stopped thinking about it and got back to his studies. Mike had flunked school badly, but now there
was a reason for that to happen.
“Malcolm,
are you ok to be by yourself”
His mother’s
accent made him smile. He loved the lilt
and the harshness in one breath, and though she was a wonderful person. He also thought she didn’t understand her
oldest son, and that what was happening to Mike was not actually in his best
interest, but ‘hey’, he thought, ‘what would I know’
“Yes Mum,
say hi to Mike for me and tell him I love him and miss him badly. Oh and tell
him about my B+ for English, let him know I want to write a story about him for
my next essay.
Gertrude
walked through the door to Manawaroa with her husband. He was usually very silent about these visits
and his own mind had trouble attaching fancy to reality. She knew her husband was deeply affected, and
he felt that it was duty to see his son, more than a means to gaining a successful
treatment. He was old school; she
remembered his comment when Mike was taken to hospital. ‘The boy always had a
weak mind’
She
noticed the paint on the walls and doors, the panelling and found it somewhat
comforting. This was their third visit and
each visit, for her, was less demanding and more a realisation. She loved her boys, and this admission of her
oldest son to a Psychiatric Hospital was having an unbearable strain on her own
resolve but she was now resigned to the whole situation. Dr Avery, her son’s resident psychiatrist,
was optimistic about his recovery, saying the treatment was working very well. She thought about this as she walked down the
corridor to Michael's room.
The open
door suggested to her things were on the improve. She remembered all too well her sons’
petulance with having his door closed at home.
He’d totally shut himself away and refused anyone entry to his haven. She’d remembered the fights, the
disagreements, the pain he caused her, the frustration she felt for her lovely
boy. She remembered the smiling ten-year-old
in the back garden playing with his brother.
She recalled the shine in his eyes when twelve and passing tests at
school with flying colours. She
remembered the fourteen-year-old starting to place Iron Maiden and AC/DC
posters on his wall, and his drive to have a decent stereo in his room. That was the catalyst, she felt. Puberty robbed her of her son, and the
descent into schizophrenia bought pain to all, especially her Michael.
She walked
into the room ahead of her Hans, and saw the nurse medicating her dear
boy. He saw her then and smiled, and
then he saw his Dad and his smile disappeared.
There were
always telephone calls from the Police.
Han’s never handled them, knowing it was about his Michael. Malcs usually took them when his mother was out,
and he’d deal with the fallout from his errant brothers’ life. Sure, he loved his brother, but after
fourteen years of distraction, it was starting to wear very thin and even he
was showing the strain. This time Mike
was in Dannevirke Police Station after starting another fight he couldn’t
win. He told his Dad, then txted his
mother to come home and be ready to pick Mike up again. When he got the reply,
she was on her way, he made himself and his father a coffee and sat at the
table wondering what was going through his fathers’ head. He never spoke about these events and the
harder he tried, the more closed shop his father got. He didn’t hate his father for not
understanding, but he did loathe his disinterested thoughts on the matter. Often when it was about Mike, all he got from
his father was a very dismissive ‘Humph!’
“Close the
bloody windows, Mike!!
Malcs
plaintiff plea could be heard through the door and Mike just shrugged his shoulders
for the umpteenth time that morning. He
couldn’t tell if it was his schizophrenia playing up or not but no doubt when
Mary Creswell, the key worker, arrived at midday, he’ll know if he is not
right.
“Why do
you play this silly game, Mike?”
Mike felt
the cool breeze on his exposed cheeks and thought it would soon be time to
close all the windows he’d opened earlier that morning.
“Hey
Malcs, don’t fret bro, I’ll shut them after Mary has been and you’ll be right
then.
He
continued rolling his Park Drive tobacco into a viable cigarette. Normally both he and Malcs would smoke with
the house all shut up, but he had to open them to freshen the place up when
they had visitors, which were few and far between.
His
psychosis opened his mind and his thoughts started racing. First there was the image of Malcs in a
motorised wheelchair driving up and down the hallway keeping away from the
drafts. Malcs useless legs, and the
accident, and then to him being held by Police in Dannevirke for vagrancy, the reason
the accident happened.
“Ok Mike,
I won’t ask you again, you bastard.”
Mike
thought then of that fateful day two years ago, the day after his 34th
birthday. He’d been caught in a deep
psychosis and when he was like that, he roamed, though only normally in the
lower North Island. He’d been to
Dannevirke and back to Palmy several times with no problems. Not with the Police anyway. But this time he’d gone deep, and his mind
was overtaken with visions and nightmares.
He knew a mate in Dannevirke that suffered the same and had hitchhiked
there in the evening. But his mate
didn’t like the looks of him and refused him a joint or something to help the
thoughts.
He’d then
taken off downtown to the Masonic Hotel to see if he could drown his sorrows, but
the psychosis by now was severely debilitating.
Someone looked at him the wrong way and he threw his glass at him. Next thing several patrons were knocking the
shit out of him. The Bartender had
called the Police and when they came, Mike was in the middle of the floor with
blood pouring from a split cheek. They’d
taken him then to the Police Station, determined he was psychiatrically disturbed,
and he needed treatment. Mike had
pleaded with the cops to let his parents pick him up and take him to hospital
if they thought he required it, which the Police acquiesced to.
He’d
waited and waited. After a few hours, the
Police rung his parents again, telling him there was no answer. They then determined to take him to
Palmerston North Hospital to be assessed and dealt with accordingly. The ride in the back seat of the police car
was without incident until they had progressed a third of the way into the
Manawatu Gorge. All west bound traffic
was backed up, with east bound traffic navigating around a couple of
ambulances, some tow trucks, a fire engine and several Highway Patrol cars.
“Been an accident huh?”
The cop in
the driver’s seat nodded his head but didn’t speak. Mike was aware enough to know that any
accident in that part of the gorge was pretty serious, the long drop into the
river likely to be instant death. He saw
the marks on the Armco barrier where the unlucky vehicle had gone over. Not once did he think of his parents though
he was aware that maybe they should have been in Dannevirke a lot earlier to
pick him up.
“Mike, I
know you’re a total arsehole, I need something warm on. That icy southerly is cutting right into
me. Could you get me a blanket or
something else to keep me warm?”
This time
the plea in Malcs voice was pathetic and ate into Mike’s thoughts. “Coming bro,
just wish you’d stop whining.”
“You know
I can’t do anything by myself, why do you always play this stupid game with
me. I know you have mental issues, but
surely you could for once be accommodating”
“Seriously,
you think I have issues. Yeah, I have
issues! I killed Mum and Dad and got you paralysed. Ya don’t think that doesn’t weigh on my mind
all the time.” He took another drag on
his cigarette, the smooth sensation of peace clouding his fragile mind.
“We got
the van today Mike?” Malcs suddenly sounded happier, more perked up.
“Yeah we
got the van, three hours today. Where do
you want to go?”
“I want to
go to Mangatainoka and have a beer at the brewery. I haven’t had a decent beer for weeks, Mike,
and I’d really love that.”
“We’ll
have to go the long road, over the Pahiatua Track; you know I can’t drive the Gorge.”
He flicked
the last of the ash to the ground at Malc’s useless feet. The poor bugger couldn’t feel a thing from
his lower back down and needed constant help for toileting and anything that he
couldn’t do himself.
“No, you
have to drive the Gorge, Mike, it’s time you faced your demons head on.” Malc’s scratched his head, bald since the
accident, and always itchy. He looked at
Mike and could see he was nervous and fidgety, and maybe not up to driving.
Mike had driven him once a fortnight in the Mobility Van and he appreciated the
effort this took, but with the anniversary just around the corner, it was time
Mike went that little bit extra.
The smell
of petrol was strong. The sound of
running water below was even stronger.
He lay wrapped around a tree in a staple formation. He’d moved his arms and head, to try and see
where the car was, to see how Mum and Dad were.
The dull ache in his lower back was annoying, but not as annoying as the
lack of feeling in his legs.
“Mum, Dad,
are you alright?” He’d called out several
times after being ejected from the spinning car through the rear window that
had smashed out. He hadn’t been wearing
his seat belt, and knew he was in the predicament he was because of that. Mum and Dad always wore theirs, so he
supposed they too had survived the long drop off the Gorge Road. He couldn’t see the car, although the river
was scant meters below him. The petrol
smell was a worry, what if a spark set it alight?
“Muuuummmm,
Daaaaadddd, answer me!”
The sound
of a siren in the distance shifted his focus.
Rescue! He’d point the rescuers
down to the car, to get his parents out and off to hospital first. He could wait.
Another
siren; this one an ambulance. Good they
can save them, get them the help they needed.
The river seemed to be bubbling now, and he guessed the car was slipping
underwater.
“Mum, Dad,
get out, you’ll drown!!”
The smell
of petrol dissipated, now he felt the sudden pang of loss. He also had a vision of Mike being told what
he was responsible for. He tried moving his
legs again, to stand up and rescue his parents.
The tree stopped all movement. And then there was his back.
“Is
anybody down there?” A shout from the
road, maybe cop, maybe anybody who could help.
“Help my
parents, help my parents” Malcs urged.
Then nausea took over and he drifted off into unconsciousness.
“Malc’s
snap out of it, you’re thinking about the accident again. You know you freak me out when you do that.
Look I’ve been thinking, what say I make some white crosses up, and we go nail them
to the Armco where the car went over. We
both have to deal with this issue and there really isn’t any going back from
it.”
“Good,
it’s about time you faced it eh?”
“Yeah,
you’re right, though I doubt anyone will like us stopping the van in the lane though.”
“There’s a
lay-by about two hundred metres from the site, we could stop and make our way
from there. We shouldn’t hold up any
traffic walking that distance.”
A knock on
the door suddenly wrenched them from their plans. The key worker was here to see Mike, so Malcs
wheeled himself to his room, shut the door, and moved over to his computer to
continue the story he had been writing.
He could hear muffled conversation in Mike’s room too and felt better
when he knew his brother was getting the right attention. He should be in a good mood to drive this
afternoon.
“So how
did it go then Mike?” Malcs had come out
of his room when the front door closed.
Mike was going around closing all the windows, to stop the chill, and to
let the cosiness of the home return to normal.
“Yeah,
sweet bro, she thought I was in a good space and seemed to be coping with my
own care and your care too. She’s going
to get me to see Dr Hankin to do a slight med alteration, but apart from that,
sweet.” He closed the last window, took
a loving look at his younger brother and winked with a wry smile.
The van arrived
at 2pm, as arranged, with the delivery driver explaining all the ins and outs
to Mike, which they did every time they got the van. The mobility lift was an electric one, and
thankfully a smooth loader. Mike placed
the two crosses he’d hurriedly prepared in the front of the back section, then
loaded his brother into the main section, secured all the clamps, and they
drove off, with his window wound down.
“Close the
bloody window Mike!!”
“Oops, yeah
sure, sorry I forget sometimes.” Mike had forgotten about Malcs morbid fear of
open car windows and wound it back up.
He was annoyed by this, because it meant he couldn’t smoke while
driving. They wound their way down Main
Street heading east towards the ranges, and the Manawatu Gorge. They slipped past Ashhurst, over the Manawatu
and Pohingina Rivers bridge, and into the belly of the Gorge.
“Mike, I’m
sweating, I’m really petrified mate”
“Don’t
worry bro, I’ve got a major sweat on too, in fact I need to dry the steering
wheel fast.”
They travelled at fifty K’s, holding up traffic, but no way
were they both going to tempt fate. They
pulled over in the first lay-by about a 1/3 of the way in, letting the traffic
build up slide past. When an appreciable
break occurred in the east bound traffic, they slipped back onto the main road,
and driving with care eventually made the lay-by short of where the accident
occurred.
“Are you
ok, sir?” He’d regained consciousness,
in time to see a fireman standing metres from his face. He could see the rope the man was dangling
from and guessed that the rescuers were at hand.
“I think
my legs have gone; I can’t feel them.
How are Mum and Dad?”
The look
on the rescuers face suggested not good, but he looked back down below him and
then back to Malcs.
“What’s
your name, sir?”
“Um,
Malcolm, how are Mum and Dad?”
“I’m sorry
Malcolm, they didn’t make it. Right now,
Malcolm, we need to get you into the ambulance.
We’re going to send down a stretcher soon, and we’ll get you into it and
off to hospital. Do you understand?”
Malcs was
panicking. The fireman had said they
didn’t make it, yet they were in their seat belts. Many things rushed through his mind, the pain
of loss, the pain of failure, why them and not him? The pain in his back too sent him reeling.
“Yeah, Ok,
I think I’m in bad way.”
The
traffic was lighter now, and it made their next journey less treacherous. Malcs set off first with the chair opened to
full speed. This job had to be done
expeditiously and Mike walked behind with the crosses and the hammer and nails.
None of the cars passing them tooted them in rage, perhaps seeing the white
crosses they understood what was happening. Malcolm started to cry, his tears
staining his cheeks and the memories started flooding back.
“How are
you going Mike?”
Silence. Malcs could hear his footfalls behind him,
but in his own way understood that Mike was finally facing his demons, and that
this moment would be significant for both.
He’d seen Mike had taken time to use a Vivid Marker on the crosses with
Mum and Dads names on each cross. It
felt good that Mike felt this way, it helped Malcs cope too.
“Here are
the marks,” Mike said quietly. Malcs had
almost driven past them. He hadn’t known
where they were but did remember Mike saying he’d seen them from the Police car
on that fateful day.
He started
nailing the crosses to an Armco support beam, the sound of an insistent hammer
banging solidly on a compliant nail making both brothers feel the finality of the
whole episode. With both crosses up, they
both offered a thought or two for their parents, and then returned to the
van. Both were breathing heavily, and
Mike was showing a sign of a tear or two.
Mike
loaded Malcs and the wheelchair into the van, then he got into the driver’s
seat and slowly drove east towards the Balance end of the gorge. As they passed the crosses, each had separate
thoughts.
He was
taken to the psychiatric hospital ward, a place he had been several times in
his youngish life. They placed him in
the High Needs Unit, where he stayed for a week before being transferred into
the day ward. By now his schizophrenia
was under control and he was no longer a danger to himself or others. Many times, during the next three weeks he wondered
where his parents were. He’d tried ringing
home, but the phone was never answered.
This worried him. Even if Mum and
Dad were out, Malcs was home writing his next novel and doing his Massey
studies. But no one answered and no one
came. What’s more no one had taken the time
to telling him what had really happened, presumably to keep his mental distress
at a low ebb.
Then there
was the day Malcs finally visited him.
At first the wheelchair didn’t play on his mind, the fact that his
brother was here to see him overrode all thoughts. He’d given up hope of seeing any of his
family again. Then when he told him, his
older brother, to sit down and listen carefully, he was reluctant. ‘Mike’s in a
fucken wheelchair’ suddenly hit him.
This was news, not good news, but news.
“Where are
Mum and Dad? I’ve been trying to ring
all you bastards, and no one answers.
And what’s with the wheelchair?”
Malcs laid
it all out. And suddenly the memory from
the Police car hit him like a ton of bricks.
What hurt the most was the tone of Malcs voice. Accusatory at best! Condescending! Harsh!
He’d even said the he owed him big time.
But worst of all, they both had been willed the house and they had to
live there together. Malcs said he
couldn’t move back in until he, Mike, was right again, as he needed full time
care.
The
enormity of the conversation didn’t strike Mike at all well, and he felt
himself regressing. Malcs said he was
staying in the STAR Ward just down the hall and doing physio work in the gym to
stop his muscles atrophying. He would visit
more.
They
passed through Woodville heading south to Mangatainoka, to fulfil their
original plan. They drove in a dense silence, the sound of rubber on cooling
asphalt the only sound both could bear.
Mike wouldn’t drink; in fact, he’d not had a drink since the news
reached him. His only two preoccupations were smoking and the care of his
brother. His perverse mind would mean
both would fight vocally till either tired.
Blame ruled their lives.
“Man, this
would have to be the best beer in the world,” proclaimed Malcs “and with the
best brother in the world next to me, I propose a toast. To Mum and Dad!”
They
clinked pint with plastic coke bottle and tipped the contents down their
respective throats. After three rounds
they got into the van and headed off to Pahiatua to do the round trip, avoiding
the gorge. They both swore then they’d
never see those crosses again.
“Mike,
close the bloody window”
