I remember that I actually had a conversation with her the other day, so it’s not like I should completely clam up around her now. I admit how I’m feeling. “Not well. I feel pretty tired today.”
“It might be because of your meds. I’ll mention it to the RN.”
Crap. The last thing I need is them examining my medicine. What if they’ll do drug tests or something? “No, don’t worry about it. I just had weird dreams last night.”
“That could be medicine related, too, honey,” she says, waiting for me to join her at the door.
I am just burying myself here, aren’t I? One last try… “They fed us pepper steak at dinner. It tasted really good, so I ate more than I usually do. My stomach was really upset, so I think maybe that was the problem.”
“Oh, yeah, that could do it,” she says, allowing me to walk through the doorway. “Well, if you think you’re having problems with your meds, you let me know and I’ll have the RN check you out, okay?”
“Thanks.” I feel like I just dodged a major bullet.
“In the meantime, I bet you’re really looking forward to using the ladies’ room this morning.” She flashes me a warm smile and I give her one back—a genuine one, because I really like her.
It’s like night and day, the way Rose cares for me compared to the weekend crew—at least, that’s what I’m assuming the last two days were indicative of. Unlike yesterday and the day before, Rose gently escorts me to the bathroom by myself instead of taking several of us herded like a pack of animals. Her kindness and the way she’s protective of me tell me she’s a good person. I know Joe’s said it’s us against them, but I feel like Rose has a good heart, like out of all the other workers here, I could trust her.
I sense that about her.
Still…I worry if I should let her know things have changed. I really want to ask her questions about me, but I know it’s potentially dangerous. As it is, I risk smiling at her a little and she smiles back before patting me on the shoulder. “You’re doing great, girl. You really are.”
That feels like the opening I’ve been waiting for, a risk I guess I’m willing to take. “What did I do before I came here?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, honey.”
“I can’t remember anything before being here, so I wondered if you could tell me something about myself.”
“I wish I could, Anna—but I only started working here a few months ago. I haven’t known you that long.” I try not to let the disappointment show on my face as we near the bathroom. Rose says, “I would ask your psychiatrist. In fact, she’d probably want to know about your memory problems, too.”
We’re venturing into dangerous territory again, so as I open a stall, I say, “Thanks. That’s a good idea.”
I’ll need to meet my psychiatrist first before I decide to ask any questions.
*
As I head toward the cafeteria, I realize how the medicine they give us here could be a welcome relief for lots of these people. I haven’t been aware for long and already I can see that being cooped up in this place with little to do could grow boring fast. There’s little here to nurture our minds or strengthen our bodies, and that just lends to Joe’s theory about them keeping us docile and forgetful—easy to manage while lining their pockets.
I’d like to believe it’s not true, but I’m already beginning to hate this place.
Walking down the hall, I spy someone coming out of a room. It’s Sharon in her wheelchair, rolling herself out. If I wasn’t trying to act like my old self, I’d pick up my pace to get past her faster, but instead I’m going to arrive at her location just as she’s fully in the hallway.
Maybe she just wants attention.
As she gets out the door and I’m now right there, I decide to try something different. “Hi, Sharon. How are you today?”
Because she actually seems to process my words, I pause to see how she’ll respond.
Lifting one of her hands off a wheel, she bends her fingers so that just the index one is pointing at me. “Rep,” she says, and my skin crawls. I don’t know if it’s the way her voice sounds or the way her eyes look fuzzy, as if she’s possessed, but I don’t want to hear this.
“Okay, see you later,” I say and begin walking off.
It doesn’t stop her, though. “Resent!”
By the time I’m turning the corner into the cafeteria, she’s on to the mumbling phase of her outburst. I just pray she’s not coming here.
When I enter the cafeteria, I get in line—thankfully, not as long as the one on Sunday—and begin scanning the room for Joe. He’s nowhere to be seen, so I figure I beat him here.
I notice now that everyone seems a little calmer. When I spy the pan of runny eggs under a heat lamp just ahead, I know that Joe was right about the food on the weekends being so much better, but the mood today is far and away more calm than over the past two days. Today feels less…aggressive.
It’s got to be the staff. I’m sure of that. I could go the rest of my life without having to deal with another Red.
I now have my tray in hand, plastic utensils and napkins on top, and I refuse to look behind me to see if Sharon’s made her way here. But I feel something close to my ear, suddenly. Something warm, breathy.
“Hey, sexy.”
But that’s not Joe. I turn my head to find Bobbi standing right behind me, and I wonder what it’s going to take to get her to leave me alone. “Back off. Maybe you don’t know I like men.”
“Men? As in plural?” Before I can respond, she says, “And since when did you start talking, Anna? I thought the cat had your tongue.”
I shake my head and move forward, placing my tray on the round metal bars made for sliding my food down the line.
“Wait. There’s something there about a tongue and a pussy. I wonder what that is.”
“Leave me alone, Bobbi.”
“Oh…she knows my name.”
“Eggs?”
It takes me a second to realize the server behind the glass is asking what I want while Bobbi’s been distracting me. “Oh, no, thank you.”
“Bacon?”
“A slice, I guess.”
“Oh, she does like meat,” says Bobbi, and I decide to just ignore her. They’ll be distracting her soon enough.
The woman hands my plate to the next server who asks, “Hash browns?”
Even though they look like they’ve been swimming in grease for the past hour, I’ll give them a try. “A little, please.”
“Waffles?”
“Uh, one.”
After placing the tiny thing on my plate, she hands it to the next worker who asks me if I want butter and syrup and tells me when to stop as she pours them on. While I wait, Bobbi slides her tray into mine with enough force that my spoon bounces off the tray onto the floor.
I ignore it while I also continue to ignore her as best I can—but she’s making it difficult.
The server hands me my plate and then, after putting it on my tray, I slide it over to the refrigerated area. Glancing down at my plate, nothing seems appealing, so I’m hoping the fruit will be a good choice. I take a slice of honeydew melon and a banana before sliding past the bread and cereal for the drinks area. Only then do I glance Bobbi’s way.