Page 5 of In a Haze

“I wonder if that’s why I can’t remember anything.”

“Seriously, Anna? You can’t rememberanything?”

“It’s weird. Like I could remember how to brush my teeth, but I couldn’t tell you how old I am. Or like where I used to live or what my favorite food is.”

“Thatisstrange.” He’s looking around behind me, and I know it’s because of the subject matter. Obviously, we’re supposed to be taking our medicine, and he’s making sure no one nearby can hear what we’re saying. “Maybe this is a good thing for you.”

“What gave you the idea in the first place?”

He takes in a deep breath through his nostrils and my eyes shift to look back outside. After a moment, surveying the strip of grass and trees past the road, I realize it’s either late spring or summer. Or, perhaps, very early autumn before the leaves start turning. Everything is lush and green and, even though it’s cool in here, I imagine it’s really hot outside. It looks like it.

Joe says, “When I take the stuff they give me, I feel groggy. Almost hung over. Sluggish. That’s no way to live your life.”

I nod my head. “Yeah.”

“And I was telling you I was going to stop about a week ago. Anna, I’m telling you it was hard getting two words out of you, but I’d swear you nodded your head that you wanted to quit taking yours, too. Holy shit, it’s amazing, the difference. Everything seems so much clearer. It all makes a lot more sense. And you. Jesus Christ. You were a total zombie. You’d sit in this chair here and stare out the window all fuckin’ day. If one of the techs was paying attention, they’d make sure you kind of ate. But what kind of life is that?”

Now that he’s mentioned it, I realize I was able to see my ribs easily in the shower this morning. Another thing that’s maybe not so normal.

“Yeah.”

After a few seconds of silence, Joe whispers, “Look, over there on the sofa.”

When I turn, the only thing I see on the sofa is a young woman with long dark hair. She might be a teenager for all I can tell, but what strikes me the most is her eyes. They’re beautiful and dark—and empty. But I’m not sure if the girl is what Joe wanted me to look at. “What?”

Lowering his voice, he leans close. “She got here about a week ago and she’s been like this the whole time. We’re calling her Zombierella.” That seems insensitive, but I don’t remember enough about this place yet to voice any sorts of opinions. “That’s howyouwere when you first got here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And you got a little better, but you had lots of moments like that.”

We sit in silence for a bit until I ask, “When did I quit taking my meds?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been telling you to quit for a few days, but yesterday it seemed like maybe I got through to you. I’d bet a million to one that that’s why you’re talking now. Full sentences.”

“But why can’t I remember anything?”

“I wish I could tell you. You know what, though? Maybe if you stay off that shit, it’ll come back to you.”

A patient shuffles past us and Joe and I merely look out the windows for a time. I don’t even have to ask to know that these windows are probably impossible to break. It wouldn’t make sense to put mental patients on a floor this high otherwise.

Once the fellow patient gets out of earshot, I ask, “So tell me how I can get away with not taking my meds again.”

“You know how the med nurse comes to your room with that cart and hands you a little cup with your pills?” I nod, but no, I don’t really know. I can’t remember how it works, but I can imagine it. “You pop them in your mouth like you’re taking them, but while your head’s back, you shove them in between your teeth and cheek with your tongue.” Lowering his voice, he says, “Like this,” and proceeds to demonstrate. “As long as you don’t have anything too big, it’ll work.” I nod my head, gazing into his beautiful blue eyes. “You don’t, do you?”

“Don’t what?”

“Take any huge pills?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“You must not. I’m sure you pulled it off. Why else would you all of a sudden be alert?”

God, how bad had I been before? Was it really just all the medication making me out of it? Is it simply remedied by not taking it anymore?

But why is my memorycompletelygone?

His words interrupt my thoughts. “If they think you’re not taking your meds, they’ll make you stick your tongue out to make sure you’ve swallowed them. What did you do with the ones you weren’t taking?”

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