More sleeping.
Not because of pills this time. I pretended to swallow them and kept them in my cheek. She stayed so long they were starting to dissolve. As soon as the door closed behind her, I spit them into my hand.
No more drowsiness. I need to be clear of mind.
I slept of my own accord and had more dreams earlier. Dreams of the same guy as in the first dream. Or should I say the first memory? In my dream, the guy was leading me through a dirty street. He wasnât looking at me, he was looking ahead, his whole body pulling forward like some invisible force had hold of him. In his left hand was a camera. He stopped suddenly and looked across the street. I followed his gaze.
âThere,â he said. âLook.â
But I didnât want to look. I turned my back on what he was seeing, looked at a wall instead. Then all of a sudden, his hand was no longer in mine. I turned and watched him cross the street and approach a woman sitting cross-legged against a wall. In her arms she cradled a tiny baby wrapped in a woolen blanket. The guy crouched down in front of her. They spoke for a long time. He handed her something and she smiled. When he stood up, the baby started to cry. Thatâs when he snapped the picture.
I could still see her face when I woke up, but it wasnât a real-life image, it was a photo. The one he took. A ragged mother with knotted hair, staring down at her infant, his tiny mouth open in a scream, their backdrop the chipped paint of a bright blue door.
When the dream was over, I wasnât sad like last time. I wanted to meet the boy who documented suffering in such vivid color.
I lie awake most of what I assume is the night. She returns with breakfast.
âYou again,â I say. âNever a day offâ¦or an hour.â
âYup,â she says. âWeâre understaffed, so Iâm working doubles. Eat.â
âNot hungry.â
She offers me the cup of pills. I donât take them.
âI want to see a doctor,â I say.
âThe doctor is very busy today. I can make an appointment for you. He can probably see you sometime next week.â
âNo. I want to see a doctor today. I want to know what medication youâre giving me and I want to know why Iâm here.â
Itâs the first time Iâve seen anything but bored friendliness on her face. She leans forward, and I can smell the coffee on her breath. âDonât be a brat,â she hisses. âYou donât get to make demands here, do you understand me?â She shoves the pills at me.
âIâm not taking those until a doctor tells me why I am,â I say, nodding toward the cup. âDo you understand me?â
I think sheâs going to hit me. My hand feels for the piece of pipe under my pillow. The muscles in my shoulders and back tense, the balls of my feet press down on the tile. I am ready to spring if I need to. But the nurse turns, inserts her key into the door, and is gone. I hear the click of the lock, and then Iâm alone again.