My clunker of an 1987 Oldsmobile came to a stop, but too abruptly for nurse Cathy’s liking. I’d applied a bit of excess pressure to the brakes, causing a slight jerking motion to our bodies, but no more. She was being Cathy the drama queen though. Her head shifted violently forward and then backward against the head rest, arms and legs splayed outward and apart, as if I’d crashed us – high impact – into a cement wall. She groped at her neck, whiplashed of course, and then her head toppled to the side, with tongue distended.
“Whoa Isaac, easy on the brakes man!” she mumbled in a lifeless, low monotone – her theatrical interpretation of playing dead; a talking dead person with a smirk. I watched patiently, not wanting to ruin her act and suffer the consequences. I waited for the next scene of her pantomime like performance, not knowing what else to do other than watch. This was the outside world after all; the place that baffled me, sent me to the asylum a few months back.
A minute or two of more “dead play,” and then Cathy bounced back to life with a shudder, straightening up in an instant, like a limp blowup doll abruptly inflating back to full form, erect and firm once again, her ample breasts swaying aggressively from side to side, shocked by the dramatic reawakening maybe. Nurse Cathy chuckled like a crazy woman at the spectacle of cleavage in motion, and I gazed upon them hypnotically, wondering why the two moved as independent entities, not in unison but divergent in motion and direction, maybe the result of physics acting on some differential between them, such as slight variations in weight, shape, density, etc.
I recalled an unknown shrink’s lecture at the university on object relations, specifically regarding the good breast versus bad breast theory, wondering if this applied to nurse Cathy on this night, as she now gave the impression of two different people: the familiar nurse Cathy from the asylum and the weird, comical Cathy sitting next to me right then and there – two different versions of the same Cathy. I thought about the good witch of the north versus the wicked witch of the west in the Wizard of Oz, both being witches but different. So much obsessive thought within a minute’s time or less, triggered by the sight of two breasts in motion, behaving as separate entities, just like nurse Cathy. Too much uncertainty again.
Comic Cathy grabbed my chin vigorously, lifting my sight line from cleavage to her freckled face, squeezing the corners of my mouth with her right hand, moving them up and down, trying to force a smile out of my deadpan face. She was being silly on this night, the entire night thus far, cracking jokes in the restaurant and on the ride to her place; a side of her not familiar to me, making me uneasy, off-balance, stoking my fear of uncertainty, the thing that broke me not long ago.
“A fine performance by you,” I said, while she continued gripping my face, puckering my lips into a smiling mickey mouse voice, as if I had just inhaled helium.
“Sorry for the rough driving, nurse Cathy, but it is my first time behind the wheel in many months.”
“Stop apologizing so much Isaac and SMILE! Come on, you can do it! Listen to your Mickey voice, so funny!”
I was a nervous wreck and in no mood for more of this weird comic routine, but tried my best to crack a smile, a real smile, within the grip of her hand, which was impossible, as her hand had its own agenda – a memory maybe, of how my smile should appear, stretching it painfully this way and that, looking for the right setting, so to speak. I was about to yelp in pain, before she finally released her death grip with a sigh of frustration, leaving my entire mouth feeling numbed like she’d squeezed all the blood out of it. I moved my mouth and lips side to side, up and down, and then in circles. The smile felt frozen in place – kind of like a phantom limb, but this being a phantom smile.
“Forget your mouth, it is fine…the stretch marks will be gone soon, Isaac.”
Am I still smiling? I wondered. I looked at my mouth in the rear view mirror.
“Isaac! PARK THE CAR! You can’t stay here in the middle of the road! There are cars behind you!” Cathy yelped this at me like an angry pit bull, bellowing with those blue, blood shot eyes popping out at me. Maybe she’d helped herself to something at the asylum – a stimulant maybe? Something was wrong with her tonight, scaring the shit out of me!
My vocal chords froze up with fear as I looked in the rear view mirror again, but I managed an “Oh fuck!” Three cars were lined up behind me, the front vehicle flashing its lights, a honking horn further back. I turned my sight line back toward the dashboard, steering wheel and gear shift, gesturing to myself to get composed while staring at the layout before me, mentally rehearsing the procedure…
Keep foot on break…
Shift into reverse…
Turn steering wheel..
CALM DOWN ISAAC!
Cathy became nurse Cathy again…
“You can do this, Isaac. You are doing fine. Let’s have a little fun with this, okay? Don’t get stressed out over this, okay buddy boy?”
And that did the trick, like a 5MG hit of Xanax!
“Okay buddy boy” was her mother to child lingo, her special language for settling me down, when my anxiety level was on red alert, as she called it. This was her talent at the facility, to deal with all the patient craziness with a little bit of her own crazy. And it always worked for me, as it did for others. Hearing this familiar lingo in the car brought me a moment or two of comfort. But it made me wonder, was nurse Cathy just a ruse to comfort the patients, keep them in line? A nutty, mother like figure that nutty patients feel comfortable with, nurtured by? A role she played, and played well, as part of the job?
“Okay, I will try to have fun, nurse Cathy, but what kind of fun? What do you mean, nurse Cathy?” She’d never talked about fun before.
“Just park the damn junker, Isaac! HAVE FUN!” Yelling this with a shrill voice, her eyes appeared wild looking now, almost bulging at me; insane, angry looking eyes…frightening me, exhorting me to HAVE FUN while having murderous looking eyes!
“Okay Okay!” I shook inside, intimidated by Angry Cathy’s rapid cycling from comedian, to nurse, and now to angry passenger putting pressure on me. Real world stuff!
Yep, that’s what it is! I thought to myself. She’s teaching me! Preparing me for real world shit. That’s it!
And as if previously choreographed, a police cruiser appeared beside me, flashing its lights and honking, the policeman gesturing to keep moving. My composure going to shit, a mess of nerves inside and outside, all firing at the same time: eyes twitching, hands shaking, vocal chords vibrating out of control, chest pains, nauseous butterflies in my stomach, etc.
“Calm down Isaac, the officer just wants you to move it along and park…to not hold up traffic.” Nurse Cathy put her hand on top of my hand. “Pretend we are on a date Isaac. Pretend to have fun too, okay? Remember what we said about smiling? Smile…smile…smile…and smile some more, and the feeling will follow, eventually…go ahead Isaac!”
I began the dreaded parallel parking maneuver while the officer remained in place, giving me very little space. I felt a tunnel vision setting in, becoming unaware of who or what was around me, including nurse Cathy, the police officer, and anyone else watching and waiting for the spectacle of another major fuck-up of mine.
Somehow though, miraculously even, I managed to perform the perfect parallel parking maneuver within this mental tunnel, and with ONLY one or two quick turns of the wheel, without even thinking about it or knowing how I’d done it. It was like someone had picked up the car and gently put it down, and according to the precise specifications of the DMV driver’s manual! My car was perfectly spaced between the vehicles in front and back, and at exactly the right distance from the curb. The policeman gave me a thumbs up and moved along. How about that?
Was this dumb luck? Maybe. More likely dumb fear of being incarcerated for not having the skills nor mental fitness to remain out here, in the real world. I had nowhere to else to go, except for the room reserved for me at the halfway house. My health insurance was used up. No possibility of going back – no more paid crazy house time for me, which was why I was back out here again. Fear can make me look good sometimes, putting my brain on automatic, so I don’t fuck up and get myself noticed for it. Unfortunately, it is not something that works on cue, but this time it saved my ass. Yep, the perfect parallel parking job! A hole in one, never to be pulled off again, at least not through effort alone.
“BRAVO!” Cathy exclaimed while clapping. “Good job, Isaac. Way to go buddy boy!”
“Thank you nurse Cathy.” I managed a feigned smirk and then turned my head away from her.
She continued applauding me though, turning it into a syncopated rhythm and chant of “Isaac, Isaac, Isaac,” and on and on. I felt obligated to turn towards her again, as it was proper etiquette to acknowledge her cheer for me. Her wide grin, looking as if someone were stretching it from the sides, was disconcerting, as were her eyes. They pointed at my face, but when my head moved left or right, up or down, her eyes did not follow but remained fixed in place, narrowly focused on one coordinate or point between my eyebrows or where they had been, as she continued cheering me on. This crazy act of hers was out of bounds tonight. It sustained me in the crazy house, but we were off campus here, in my car, in front of her apartment. And so being crazy like this was inappropriate, out of place I thought; an over the top crazy like I’d never witnessed in her or on her before. She was scaring me! Who was this person? A doppelganger of the nurse Cathy I knew? A Crazy Cathy?
After a minute or so, I could not tolerate her cheers or stares any longer. Who could? I sat back with my face forward and stared out the windshield, going almost catatonic for a bit, and still de-stressing after the parallel parking affair. Her clapping and cheering finally stopped, but I sensed her continued gaze upon me.
I turned towards her again, and she asked, “What are you thinking about, Isaac?” while staring at me with a tight lipped smirk, waiting for a response that would never come. I was speechless, not knowing what to say to this unfamiliar Cathy. My brain fumbled around for something witty or even cute to respond with, but nothing! My brain was likely still numbed out from 3 months of meds, limiting my ability to quickly carve out a lie of some sort. I certainly could not tell her the entire truth, that I was overwhelmed with a barrage of obsessive compulsive thoughts, some not so appropriate.
Is the ignition turned off?
Are the headlights turned off?
Did I put the gear completely in park?
Are the tires close enough to the curb?
Am I parked within the lines?
Nurse Cathy in a skimpy swimsuit
Nurse Cathy in the shower…
I could not reveal such thoughts to nurse Cathy, not without risking a return to the facility or a slap across the face, or worse!
“Isaac are you still with us, sweetie? Where are you?”
“I’m here, nurse Cathy. Just tired I guess.”
“Are you sure buddy boy? What is going on with you? What ya thinkin? Tell nurse Cathy…come on sweetie. I know something is on your mind, bothering you.”
It always began with the unblinking stare. She stared without blinking, probing my face and eyes for revelations of some kind. Her eyes wide and dilated, on alert for the briefest and most subtle of cues on me, such as facial tick or a blue eye turning green. Anything that could rat me out, and that could be missed with just a millisecond of a blink, and so she didn’t blink, not once. Although, I relished these moments of communion between us; her unwavering attention on me, as if I were the object of her devotion; or maybe a case study to base her life’s work upon – her magnum opus!
I succumbed though, as always, giving into to her laser like stare, my comfort zone not being able to tolerate more than 30 seconds of it – way too much for me to handle out here, in front of her apartment, especially not knowing what she was wanting from me tonight, or why she was even with me. Maybe it was always just a waiting game for her, a psychodynamic technique of long duration staring, until I could bear it no longer, revealing all.
My response usually came in one of three flavors:
1) Tell the truth
2) Cover up the truth
3) Digress with something irrelevant, to escape her stare, so I had time to formulate a good lie.
This time around, I gave her the partial truth. “I don’t know what to say nurse Cathy. I’m feeling uncomfortable being on the outside again. Need to adjust I guess.”
The remainder of the truth being, You are making me uncomfortable nurse Cathy. Filling me with uncertainty and inappropriate thoughts about having having a woman in my car…a woman who scares me by being so unpredictable, being such an unknown quantity outside the facility; having the power to put me back in that awful place, but being the closest thing to a girlfriend I’ve ever had. I couldn’t verbalize those revelations though, of being intimidated, scared, and in a state of desire.
She repeated, “What are you thinking about, Isaac? Quick, tell me, don’t judge your thoughts.”
Her more familiar smirk renewed itself, always so predictable and precise in its alignment, from one corner of her mouth to the other. So precise that I could sketch it on paper, even without artistic skills of any kind. There was something comforting in that smirk; it could be depended upon to always be the same, never changing, never any variation in shape or length. This soothed my OCD and often tempted me to tell her everything: all my fears, traumas, hopes for the future, and most private desires, but never my thoughts about her, which I’d always hid.
This time though, I turned away from her familiar smirk…leaned my chest on the steering wheel and looked out the windshield again. But she moved forward on her seat, placing both her warm hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me back into the seat. I turned towards her again, her blue, bloodshot eyes once again locked on mine, her right hand grabbing my left, holding on to it like she’d become my girlfriend.
“We talked about this Isaac, about you being assertive and transparent with your thoughts, remember?”
“Yes, but…”
“Don’t make me take you back, Isaac,” she threatened with her familiar, soothing smirk, making her comment indecipherable.
What??? Huh??? Take me back where? To the facility? Why? Was she joking, threatening me, flirting with me? I did not know!
But then her smirk abruptly went out of character, as if she’d detected my inner thoughts about her, which were now far from appropriate, not even R-rated anymore, having transformed outside the facility into something more carnal in this night of uncertainty. My innards had become a juxtaposition of fear and lust, both feeding on each other, filling in the vacancy of certainty, both colliding as they staked their claim on me. Cathy’s odd smirk mirrored the chaos within me.
It was a very unstable smirk, not staying in place like her familiar smirk. Her mouth shimmered back and forth between positions, as if seeking a point of equilibrium – from the odd smirk, to a frown, to a neutral position, to the odd smirk, and then back to a frown again, before finally settling on her usual familiar smirk, but then soon beginning the cycle over again.
Odd smirk
Frown
Neutral
Odd smirk
Frown
Familiar Smirk
GRINCH GRIN
It went through this rapid cycling several times, the last one ending in a wide grin that I’d never seen before. One of those ear to ear smiles, but with slight, insecure tremors in the corners. Her wide eyes having transformed into a squint to go along with the wide grin – looking like the Grinch who stole Christmas. She remained that way, keeping my hand secured in her warm, sweaty hand. It felt good to have my hand held like that. However, that grin was frightening!
Why did she ask, “What are you thinking about?” I‘d told her that I was uncomfortable! Why ask again? Did she suspect guy type thoughts about a woman, especially a pretty one who happens to be alone with me at night, in my car parked in front of her apartment building? I tried to dampen these thoughts earlier, not wanting them to enliven me too much, if you know what I mean. But I don’t think they ever went away, not from the moment she left the facility with me. And now being in front of her apartment, my car safely parked, and getting all this unfamiliar kind of attention from her…well, I’m wanting to ask the question:
What are you thinking about, nurse Cathy? But of course, I could not ask that, and I was still in the hot seat, expected to answer her question.
Her question sent my brain into a freeze though. How does one respond to such a question, especially the first time completely alone with someone; someone you knew on the inside but don’t know on the outside? I’ve always thought of people as multidimensional creatures, showing only one side of themselves at a time, each one tailor made for a specific time, place, or situation. There was a nurse Cathy – the one I knew at the facility – and maybe three other Cathys that I knew nothing about. Cathys who existed outside of the facility. Which Cathy was this one?
“Nightlife” Cathy! Yep, that is what I decided to call this Cathy – the one spending time with me, sitting in my car outside her apartment, holding my hand, staring into my eyes, acting crazy, and breaking the asylum rules to not fraternize with patients. Yep, Nightlife Cathy I labeled her! Names carried weight, had connotations in my mind, allowing me to separate her from the other Cathys.
Technically, Nightlife Cathy was doing nothing “too” wrong, since this was not designed as a date, but rather a celebration of my release from the local asylum – mental health facility they now call it. Yet, I considered Cathy to be my first date ever – kind of – as I’d never gone out with a woman other than my mother or sisters, and this was long before Rebecca found me. Never had I picked up a girl in my car and drove off with her somewhere, to some place, her place that had a bed upstairs, probably with enough space for two! Oh Lord!
This was nurse Cathy though, from the fifth floor; the nurse who watched after me, medicated me, documented my progress or lack thereof, picked out my clothes and bathed me when I was catatonic or pretended to be, and performed the roles of therapist, confidante, and mother when I reached for that. But she paid extra attention to me it seemed, had a soft spot for me, which is why she agreed to break the house rules and celebrate with me, if and only if, I got my act together and stabilized enough to leave the facility. Not an ethical offer on her end, but the idea of it excited me and propelled my healing: my ability to appear sane. Not saying I was completely off my rocker, but I needed a helpful nudge to escape my self-imposed exile into lunacy.
“What are you thinking about Isaac,” she asked again, still holding my hand, rubbing it a bit. I looked down at the tattoo on the inside of her arm, a Christian Cross. The dimmed green color was just right on her pale skin.
“I like your tat, nurse Cathy,” I said with a slight stutter.
Her smirk softened and I felt a flush rising from my chest, up my neck, and into my face. My stomach was getting fluttery inside too. Her expression now looking like something I’d never seen in a girl, not up close and personal like this. It was like she’d unzipped herself for me and I could just reach in, have anything I wanted!
She lifted the inside of her arm close to my face and eyes, gesturing with the slightest nod, making it seem okay for me to touch. I held her arm and daintily touched her tat with my fingers, rubbing and tracing its shape while examining it closely, sometimes going outside the tat, caressing around it and upwards to the inside crease of her elbow, enjoying the softness of her skin, amazed by it actually, having never touched anyone like this before. I looked up, and she mouthed to me with a whisper, “What are you thinking about, Isaac?” with that Grinch Grin again.
“I don’t know nurse Cathy what I’m thinking, it is all mixed up.”
Now more forcefully, she asked, “Isaac, what do you want to do? TELL ME ISAAC! No more hesitations, now is the time to assert yourself.”
The question had changed though, a subtle change, but oh so drastic in its implications. “What did I want to do? With HER? Yes, she meant, “What did I want to do with her!” OMG!
I still could not answer though, being fearful that I misinterpreted her question, the uncertainty of it and her – all those different Cathys – not knowing who was asking the question and how the different Cathys would respond to any given answer.
A part of me was was wanting to be her buddy boy again, to go back to nurse Cathy, feeling safe and taken care of by her again, so I could escape this mental impotence and uncertainty. But I couldn’t get the softness of her arm out my head; the tat of the Christian cross, how it so perfectly blended with her fair, freckled skin; the way her cleavage moved earlier; and her shifty, unpredictable behavior, the mystery of it was doing things to me inside. All of this while knowing I was just feet away from walking upstairs with her, into her most private of spaces, and getting into that bed for two. Yet, I was frozen, unable to act or express what I wanted through words. I needed my nurse Cathy to hold my hand, bring me through this, walk me upstairs with her. I needed to be sure all the Cathys were in agreement, needed her to answer the question posed to me, the one I’m sure she already knew the answer to. So I asked her…
“Can you help me with this nurse Cathy, help me answer your question, so I don’t give the wrong answer?”
Looking annoyed, she quickly transitioned to a professional demeanor, another side that I was unfamiliar with – a case manager type role that maybe she performed behind closed doors. Her arms were folded and her bifocals back on, as if I were being studied or evaluated. She was all business now. Any hint of a smirk was gone, her eyes now stern and invasive behind the bifocals, like a microscope pointed at me.
Her response: “No Isaac, this is something you need to do on your own. You know your answer. You are no longer at the facility. This is the real world. You need to reach for what you want, risk giving the right or wrong answer! And like an adult, live with the consequences with no regrets, or embrace the rewards with no guilt. Be assertive MAN! This is your responsibility and the key to your health in the real world. I’m now just Cathy, no longer your nurse anymore. I’m a woman sitting in a car with you in front of my apartment, and you are caressing my arm as if you want something. What do you want Isaac? Tell me!”
I was frozen though, unable to say or do anything. I didn’t know which Cathy to speak to. I was afraid of saying the right thing to the wrong Cathy, or the wrong thing to the right Cathy, so I said nothing. There were too many Cathys that night, too much uncertainty, and it paralyzed me made me weak and mentally impotent.
After a few minutes of silence, followed by her unblinking staring again, nurse Cathy sighed, kissed me on the cheek and said, “Take care of yourself, okay buddy boy? We will miss you at the facility. Good luck in your new home. Let me know how you are doing.” And then she exited the car, one of the Cathys, nurse Cathy I believe…or maybe one of the others.
Note: This story is entirely fictional. All events, situations, circumstances, and characters depicted in this story are the products of my creative imagination. Any similarities between story characters and specific people in the real world are purely coincidental and unintentional. My characters are composites of “possible” personality types, behaviors, and quirks that interest me.
© 2020 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.
Notes from David 