\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have any problems. Most of them sleep through the night. Occasionally you have a situation with one of them but all in all you won\u2019t have any of them coming at you with a blunt object.\u201d That was how our little meeting ended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I got the impression that I wasn\u2019t what she had expected. Maybe it was the sudden look of apprehension as we shook hands, the cautious manner of her speaking as she showed me the medicine cabinet, or the way she looked over her shoulder as I walked behind her during the short tour of the building. It might have been the fact that my eyes were seriously blood shot, the long arrangement of tattoos running up my left arm to the base of my neck, the tattered jeans or the picture of Adolph Hitler on my t-shirt with his brains blown out stating, \u201cFOLLOW YOUR LEADER!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was much older than I had expected, I saw a woman who found out too late in life that she could have done more and was now in a desperate race to compensate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was clear that as long as I came to work clean and sober, didn\u2019t burn the place down, steal any of the meds or molest the residents, she\u2019d be impressed with my job performance; no use setting a bar so high that you can\u2019t step over it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m not worried.\u201d I attempted to assure her. \u201cThe last job I was at, I had a hospital monitor thrown at my head, I was punched in the face by a seven foot fourteen year old and watched a nine year old boy smother himself in his own feces before he ate it.\u201d She waited for me to crack a smile and smiled nervously when she realized I wasn\u2019t joking. She says goodnight and I follow her out and lock the door behind her. I had half expected there would have been more to do: count the addictive meds, file some daily paperwork, verify that all residents are present and accounted for, sit around and wait until the end of the shift at seven in the morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The hours dragged on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I find myself attempting to make the clock move faster with my mind. I have accepted that my mind can effect the movement of time, I could make it all melt away and this shift would be over within seconds. I know this to be true; I have only forgotten how to achieve this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I\u2019m convinced this can work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHello there,\u201d says a linty feminine voice from behind me that startles my concentration. I\u2019m staring at what appears to be a dried out human husk, skin like pale beef jerky, and a head that is similar to one of those massive alien craniums, only shrunken, but the eyes are large and wet, as if she is about to cry. This creature produces a thin smile that makes her cheeks look like they\u2019re about to rip from the strain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cUhh\u2026hi.\u201d I\u2019m reminding myself not to stare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou must be the new guy. Mieder told me you\u2019d be starting tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMieder?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She grabs onto the door jam to balance herself, standing is putting a strain on her, but she maintains the smile, \u201cYour boss. Mieder. I\u2019m Gertrude. Gertrude Brinkerhoffen. You are\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh\u2026yeah\u2026my boss.\u201d I continually tell myself not to look disgusted and not to stare. She looks pensive at me with those drowning eyes that appear perplexed by what she sees, \u201cDonald. Hi. I\u2019m Donald.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I stand up to shut off the ceiling fan; the breeze appears to be overpowering her. Gertrud stands somewhere in the four feet range, the top of her head comes to my chest. She has spider webs for hair that is gradually fading away, accentuating the odd shape of the mass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThank you.\u201d She strains for the smile once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo problem. Did you need anything?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh, no sweetie, I\u2019m fine; I can\u2019t sleep, sometimes I just walk around. Get so tired of lying in bed all day.\u201d She talks in a tightly pact structure, barely opening her mouth. Gertrude moves the spider web hair from her eyes; I notice the purple, bruise-like blotches on her forearm. \u201cWell dear, I\u2019m going back to bed.\u201d She walks in small steps, keeping one hand on the wall for support.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGoodnight.\u201d I tell her but she doesn\u2019t reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Most of the residents here don\u2019t really sleep. You think your hearing voices most of the night. They talk and some scream, mumbling to conversations in their heads while staring at the ceiling, pacing in their bedroom, or dreaming. I\u2019m sure one of them would know how to move time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The medication that they are prescibed can be extremely powerful; they\u2019re knocked out a half hour past evening med time till two hours before morning med time; a life of dreams and nightmares.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I step out of the office and watch Gertrude creep along towards her room. When I hear her shut the bedroom door I close up the office and head to the back patio for a cigarette.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few of them have been getting up for cigarette breaks, as if the whole process of sleeping were a chore to get through. The idea of an addiction they can control must give them some sort of independence from the reality that their lives are fitted into this regimented living situation; because they can\u2019t live anywhere else on their own. I\u2019ve heard some of them hack up bits of their insides in blackened char burned phlegm wads. Burning through long coughing fits that leaves any one of them at the point of passing out from the lack of oxygen. There is an ad somewhere in this to quit smoking but I\u2019m not looking for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There is a clock on the outside wall by the door; I can resume my mission of mind-bending experimentation. Although the quick hit of nicotine and unknown chemicals drains whatever ambition I had and surrounds me in a thick grey and blue cloud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another resident is walking towards the door; his walk is swaggered and he has arms that swing low like a gorilla. He sees me through the French doors that lead out to the patio, and pauses before coming further. He looks like a refugee from a nuclear disaster area. Ashen skin that is pockmarked by a combination of freckles and brown cancerous moles, a head that appears more oval than the normal proportions, his hair grows out of the top most curve of the shape in a small tuft of pale blond hair. Where Gertrude looked like pale beef jerky, this gentleman\u2019s flesh just sags about his bones and joints. Stepping outside cautiously, eying me, he takes out a cigarette and lights it before beginning his chore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI won\u2019t do it. Nope. Won\u2019t do it. Just get fucked, I say, get fucked. Stupid cunt. Fuckin asshole. Get fucked\u2026\u201d He goes on, staring at the ground, with his one sided speech. He pauses for a few seconds and shakes his head before continuing. \u201cNot fair! No. Fuckin cunt! I won\u2019t do it!\u201d His skin is flaking in sheets and a pile of dead cells is accumulating at his feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I ignore him, even though he is looking right at me, and return to watching the clock. From the corner of my eye I notice him watching me and the clock; there is two and half hours to go until seven, no use disrupting the space-time continuum for a measly two hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
An out of character breeze blows through the screen-enclosed patio, it\u2019s enough to disperse the cloud around me and I breathe in the new air. Some of the man\u2019s skin sticks to my pant leg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He gets up and stops in front of the clock before going back in; he gives me a big toothless grin, then moves the hour hand ahead two hours leaving only half an hour left to go in the shift.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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