paradoxical defects

circa December 2012
 

pushed and tugged and shoved

It wasn't a dream

starring at dawn every morning the only beautiful colors to be seen

beige, upon beige, upon beige, upon beige

I give it a name, as anyone who enjoys reading paint chip swatches and nail polish tops would:  "Desert Storm Beige."

So, how do you feel being a beige person with an off-pallor from poor health or nutrition in your beige world?  Perhaps, if it wasn't winter, it wouldn't be so sad.

I read the schedule posted outside of the nurses station:  "Outside Time."

I really could use some time communing with nature.

So, it's like you're in the clinker, you ask, and a psychopathic nurse named Shannon explains.  You must ask permission to smoke, at a health center, in order to be allowed to go enjoy "Outside Time."  I'm not into being ridiculous normally, but figure let's give this a try, after all the schedule reads, "Outside Time," not "Smoking Time."  I ask permission from the psychiatrist, feeling ill and ridiculous.  Dressed in all my many layers including my socks with shower shoes, I line up at the secure elevator which requires key access in order to escape.  We are taken down to the basement level in what, of course, is the most disturbing concourse of a hallway from the 1960s with little slits of windows to an exterior door.  All of this building is in disrepair, but I like terrazzo floor.

"John Waters, please jump out from somewhere with Ashton Krutcher," I think.  It would be better to be the target of some unreality reality television program, than for this to actually be my reality.  The stocky redhead next to me introduces herself: "Leviton."  I respond, "like levitate or Louis Vuitton or Megatron?"  She's amused. 

Her name is actually Carrie.  Yeah, I see an image of Sissy Spacek when I learn this, too.

At a later point in time she introduces herself as "4 of 6."  I don miss a beat, "I'm 3 of 5."  This woman is not unintelligent.  A good Voyager fan is not hard to diagnose.  Also, I, the middle child, just knew birth order and the number of children in your family really does affect who we become.

So, back to "Outside Time."  You go outside in a courtyard bounded by the 6 story hospital, the bizarre concourse, the fascinating stain glass chapel, and a tall chain link fence part covered in black material.  Yes, of course, I am looking for an escape route.  

So as you exit the door, the nurse stands holding the door open; a volunteer inmate is given the task of handing out clove cigarettes, and the second employee lights the cigarettes.  I say I don't smoke.  I try to find a bit of life in the courtyard, but it's winter and this poor garden just doesn't like that much milling about and smoking.  The one sign of hope is the gigantic camilla bush.  I'll spend what seems like a lifetime starring out of the window from room 618 to see the bit of color in the blooms.  I never attend "Outside Time," again; it's far too depressing and unhealthy to receive so much second hand smoke.

I miss walking into the sky on trees that fell during Katrina, but struggled to survive at odd angles.  The cats mapped them as a super highway and would quickly make their way around the woods at the back of the property.  Life, breath, color, air, sky, breeze, nothing stagnant when you truly step outside and commune with nature.

©2014 D. Moss