Just Jack

Part One: Chapter Three: Just A Girl

 

Chapter Three

 

Just A Girl

 

 

         

          I tuck my two arms under the cold water and pull myself, on top of the board, forward. Chris is a few meters ahead of me, gaining momentum for the killer wave approaching him. I swallow a gulp of sea water. A rare, crisp sun toasts my back. My arms begin pulling the water at an almost impossible speed. The thrill of the imminent wave pushes me forward. My neck is stretched up and my eyes begin searching for Chris. The wave passes and he is nowhere to be seen. I call out his name but over the sound of the rushing waves it is almost impossible to hear.

          I shout again, each call becoming more and louder as my worry increases. Where did he go? Usually when he falls under he is back up within seconds but it’s been a few minutes. I look back to the shore. A family is picnicking on the beach today; a lifeguard sits lifelessly on his stand. I begin waving my hands in a panicked motion but nobody notices. The water becomes cold as I become still. Chris has vanished. Deep down I know what's happened. The wave was too strong for him and it knocked him off his board, maybe into the rocks. My last call is one of terror and finally the lifeguard notices.

          I awake in a large, dark room. My eyes flicker over to the door of the room. A white, bright light shines through and I hear the sound of movement outside. It takes me a few minutes to gather my thoughts until I finally realize where I am. The tears streaming down my face remind me of my dream. The last image I saw of Chris plays in my mind. Would I have to tell the doctors about this dream? They know about the others.

          It’s almost been a week. A week since I broke the mirrors in my room. A week since my mother called the men in the white suits. An elderly patient turns in his bed beside me. My screams probably woke him up. I wipe the dry tears from my cheek and sit up in my small, single hospital bed. The wash-cloth like clothes they gave me are just as uncomfortable as the bed sheets.

          I lean my head against the metal headboard and sigh. I’ve woken up every night at the same time since my arrival at Saint Clare’s. It’s not just any hospital. I mean, the nurses are just as cold as the ones in the others, some are even more condescending, but the hospital only holds a certain type of patient. Ones with mental problems. Sometimes I can hear the screams of the really crazy ones as they are dragged by the men in white suits to the room, the padded room.

          The ward I am staying in is somewhere in the middle between, OCD and Psycho Maniac. The man beside me has multiple personalities, but he’s cool. Right now we are the only two in the ward, so there have been lots of fights about what shows to watch on the TV, but if I give him my jello he lets me watch what I want.

          There are no mirrors in the room, but there is one in the bathroom that old Gabe and I share. I try to avoid it as much as possible, try to refrain myself from smashing it with my all ready busted knuckles. I can still hear the sound of the little bits of glass landing in the metal tin as the doctors pulled the pieces from my knuckles. Gabe snores and I laugh to myself. I wonder what he dreams of.

          I watch as the clinical-white room becomes increasingly brighter and the clock on the wall finally tells me its time for breakfast. On cue, possibly the foulest nurse waddles into the room pushing a trolley with me and Gabe’s meal on it. She has to nudge Gabe awake and he sits up with a grunt. The regularly chewy scrambled eggs are cold by the time she gets to me. I use this as an excuse.