This is something I started working on a few years ago...I am posting it un-edited and warts and all. Oh, it's not finished either, but I will be working on it soon. Thanks for reading!

Getting Out

Chapter One

The grey-green paint on the wall is peeling. The dirty eggshell floor squeaks as I walk. I pass rolling chairs, rolling beds, and sick, sick people. I was one of them, but now I have been cleared to get on with my life. Now, what was I living while I was here? Was it not my life? And if not, then what exactly was it?

I stop my stroll to have a look out of one of the iron grate covered windows, and I realize that the sun is about to set on my last day here. It makes me more sad than happy, it makes me afraid more than secure, and it sure as hell asks more questions then it answers. In twelve hours I will be back outside, where all the shit started where everything that seemed right went completely and utterly wrong. I look down at my hands and I have to laugh, they are clean and the nails are as long as they have ever been. I reach into my pocket and pull out my Camels, I take one

from the pack and put it in my mouth, and then I walk to the end of the hall and push the screen door open and take a seat on the swing on the porch. They tried to cover up the institutional-like nature of this place by building a porch and putting a swing on it.

I have to admit it is a nice swing.

I sit swinging, my legs pumping back and forth like when I was a kid on the big swings at school. I guess I figure if I pump hard enough, I will swing right out of the place and back to my childhood. Like that would be a good idea. I take the last drag on my cigarette; put the butt in the old, rusty Chock Full ‘O Nuts can they have set out for such things. I get up and walk back to my room; I lie down, and wait.

“Fuck you Marie.”

“Fuck you too.”

“If I weren’t such a gentleman, I’d put my fist in your stupid face bitch.”

“It’s never stopped you before.”

Now, why would she say that? There’s only one reason. So, I gave her what she wanted, I pulled my fist back, and…..

When I woke up, I was in the hospital, handcuffed to the bed. My head felt like Thor, god of thunder, had put his hammer right on my head. I guess she did get what she wanted. She baited me into swinging, so she could hit me with the metal Don Quixote statue I’d given her when she got her English degree.

From there you can guess what happened, drunkards remorse set in and I begged her to forgive me, and not to press charges, but she wouldn’t be swayed as they say. So before the judge I threw myself on his mercy and he sent me to this place and put a restraining order on me to stay nine-hundred yards away from her, I wonder where they come up with those numbers?

I wake up and look at the clock; I see that it’s only ten. I walk over to the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of my door. I take a good long look, taking stock as they say. I’m still thirty-eight, still six-one; I have lost about thirty-five pounds, which means I need to lose another twenty. Hair, brown but graying more every day-especially on the Van Dyke- still handsome, still want a drink, still fucked up, still considering suicide. So, I ask myself, what’s really changed…..

On my way to the kitchen to get myself some coffee to go with my smoke, I run into Lester. Lester has been here longer than I have, and there’s no end in sight for him.

“Hey, Lester.” I say.

“Hi Ed.” He says, and then, “you getting out tomorrow Ed?” I notice a sadness in him that mirrors what I’m feeling.

“I guess so, at least that’s what they tell me, but you never know Lester.”

“You going for a smoke?” He asks.

“Sure am. You wanna join me? I’ll treat.” I say, trying to save him the embarrassment of asking, but probably making it worse.

“Tell you what Ed, I’ll get the coffees and meet you out there, ok?”

“Ok. Two sugars, no cream.”

“You got it.”

Lester has been sent here three times. The first two times were for crimes like mine, hitting someone you profess to love, but this time was more serious. He was visiting his sister who had agreed to take him in after his wife of thirty years threw him out once and for all, ‘About twenty-nine years too late.’ Was all he said about it.

He was all alone while his sister and his nephew were out; he found some whiskey in an unlocked cabinet, and proceeded to drink two quarts of the stuff. He passed out on the couch, but not before he blew out the pilot lights on the stove and the water heater, then he turned the burners all the way. He figured he’d just pass to the other side in a peaceful sleep. After awhile he felt sick, and went out the front door to puke and he passed out on the lawn. When he woke up he was in the hospital with a hangover. He learned later that his sister and nephew had come home, they smelled the gas and found Lester, and his nephew moved him a safe distance from the house when the water heater blew up through the top of the house. There was a small explosion and the house burned down in fifteen minutes. His sister didn’t protest when they took him away, the judge had pity on him and sent him here until such time they felt he was no longer a danger, and that time had not yet arrived. Whenever he talked about it-which wasn’t often-he’d always say, “Well at least everybody is alright.” except for Lester, of course.

Out on the porch, Lester sits on a chaise lounge, and I take my seat on the swing. We sit smoking in silence for awhile, and then this:

“You know Ed, for a guy who’s getting out you sure seem unhappy. Now I know what you did is eating at you, but son you need to let it go. She’s either gonna forgive you or she ain’t. There’s nothing you can do.” He snaps off the last words as if it was all he could do to get them out. Then I look at him and see he’s tearing up. That makes me extremely uncomfortable and I look away. The guilt I feel is overwhelming and I get up and literally run away from Lester, and to my room. I lie down and continue to wait.

I see the fading silver Plymouth Fury III come around the corner, and see my Dad grimacing as he makes the turn onto our street. My heart opens like a Venus fly-trap with lunch on its lips. My mouth smiles from ear to fucking ear as I see Him. I hope in my little dream world I live in that He will want to play catch or at least talk to me. He swings the car next to the curb in front of our house. I run over, open His door, and I stand there with my stupid grin, He looks at me, grunts something that sounds like “Ank oo.”, reaches over and grabs a brown bag with two six packs of Olympia 16 ounce cans, and blows right by me. I shut the door, and run after Him into the house as if I didn’t see what He did to me.

I follow Him into the house, hoping and praying He might notice me or at least acknowledge my presence with a grunt or a broken sentence, but no, He refuses to see His youngest son, He fucking refuses to see me there with that stupid grin, that stupid, stupid grin. I stand there like a dumbfuck not knowing I am a dumbfuck. That comes later.

In a place like this people stay up late, people walk the halls, people bullshit, people tell other people things they wouldn’t dare on the outside. In a place like this you either stay the same or get worse. I haven’t figured out what has happened to me yet.

I reach into my robe pocket and fish out two quarters, and drop them into the phone that smells like cigarettes and coffee. I dial her number, I hear it ring…..once….twice….three times…..I hang up. The receiver shakes in my shaking hand, I stare at the phone, and put the receiver back. I walk to the kitchen and since I haven’t eaten since four this afternoon I go hunting for a snack or something else. Something else is what I get.

I open the refrigerator and I see milk, little cartons of orange juice, and some salami. I grab the salami and the spicy brown and with the bread in the pantry I proceed to make a sandwich. I grab a coffee and look for a place to sit in the dining area. I am just sitting down when I see my shrink, Dr. Andrews, or as I sometimes call her when she can’t hear me, Dr.Big tits, as I see her coming toward me I get a knot in my stomach, and somehow I know this is going to be bad.

“Hello Ed.” She says.

“Hi Dr. Andrews. What brings you here at this hour?” I say. Then silence as I feel her looking at me, I can’t stand people looking at me eat or preparing food, she should know this, I think as I pick up my sandwich and take a bite.

“Your mom died a few hours ago.” She says. I’m chewing and I think I’ve misheard her; I tilt my head and give her a look like a kid seeing his parents fucking and just now realizing what they were doing. Then I do what I never dreamed I would, I lower my head and proceed to ball like a baby.

“Boys get up breakfast is on!” My Mother cried from the bottom of the stairs. I rubbed my eyes not believing what I was hearing. My mother hadn’t made us breakfast in at least a year. I swung my legs out of my bed and I quickly dressed and ran downstairs in order to take full advantage of this sweet dream. I was ten and I felt as if the weight of all the months of fighting between my mom and Him was lifted off my shoulders, I felt for the first time in months that everything would be alright.

“Good morning mom.” I said.

“Good morning, my baby.” She always called me that when she was in a good mood. She came over and kissed my cheek, and I felt like I was her baby. I sat down at the table feeling superior to my slow-poke brother, Hal, but also feeling love for him as it seemed we’d finally come together as a nice family.

Pancakes, sausage, and orange juice were consumed in record time as if the dream would end and the food would be taken away. After, we sat around and mom asked what we’d like to do. I said I didn’t care, and I meant it. Hal said he’d like to go downtown and walk around, Hal was four years older than me and I was pretty sure he’d made that suggestion just so he could watch the girls, but whatever the reason, my mom decided that’s what we would do.

We only had the one car so we put on our coats, and walked the three blocks to the bus stop. We got on the number fourteen, took our seats near the front. I made sure to sit right next to her and I put my hand in hers and she accepted it, the rest of the day she held my hand.

We walked around, and we window shopped and she even bought me a poster of Hank Aaron hitting #715, I held on to that poster for fifteen years until I ripped it in a drunken stupor. We had lunch at, “The World Famous Chat’N’Chew”, I remember the burgers taking up the whole plate, the fries were crispy, and the malts were served in big soda fountain glasses. We ate and laughed. I hadn’t seen my mom this happy ever. And in my stupid kid mind I felt like it would always be like this.

When it was time to go I didn’t feel bad like I thought I would, I was looking forward to Him coming home, I had a plan…I would wait for Him and grab Him as He walked through the door, He’d have to notice me then. He’d see me with my glove and all of a sudden He’d want to play catch with His youngest son instead of drinking Olympia tall cans.

Five O’clock and here He is walking through the front door, brown bag under His arm and I step in His path, “Hey Dad…”

“What are you doing, get the fuck out of my way, you little shit.” He said it all so quietly, mom never heard, or chose not to, but I heard, Goddamned right I heard….

I look up at Dr. Big Tits, looking for some sympathy, empathy, or something, what I get is this: “Ed, when you leave tomorrow I want you to be careful, I don’t think you should be alone. Is someone coming to pick you up?”

“Fuck that, I’m leaving now. My mom’s dead I need to do something, I don’t even know...fuck!”

“Ed, we can’t let you go before tomorrow, the court order has a date and time of release and we are bound by that.”

“Don’t you know a judge or something? I mean you have friends don’t you? Can’t you do anything…I can’t stay here …I’m lost can’t you see that?”

“Ed, this isn’t “Law and Order”, no one wakes up a judge to have them release a woman beater and a drunk less than twelve hours before his scheduled release.” As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I don’t deserve any breaks; I never gave any why should I expect any.

I look down at my sandwich and then up at her. I keep expecting her to say something but she remains mute. Finally I say, “Can we talk at least?”

“Yes Ed I think we should talk. Meet me in my office in half an hour and we can discuss things.” She gets up from the table and turns to walk away, as she’s walking I notice two things: first, she’s wearing a dress that’s a bit shorter than you might think is appropriate for a psychiatrist to wear in an institution full of men who are drunkards, and drug addicts, and secondly I realize I have a hard-on. I continue to watch her walk away from me and I am convinced she’s shaking her fully rounded ass at me. I forget completely about my poor mother and I start fantasizing about Dr. Big Tits.

I grab another cup of coffee and walk down the hall to the big oak door with the frosted glass on which ‘Dr Andrews Chief Psychiatrist’, was written in that gold flakey stuff. I take a clichéd sigh, and knock on the door.

“Come on in Ed.” I open the door and notice the light seems somehow dimmer than I remember from earlier. I look at her and smile a toothless smile, trying to keep her from reading my mind and all the nasty thoughts. I sit on the couch, it’s tan leather and she’s got a chenille throw over it. I only know it’s chenille because Marie had one like it on her tan leather couch. The room smells of patchouli and it’s painted in soothing light blue, the sound machine is playing loons.

“Well, Ed what is it you’d like to talk about? And, why talk now since you never shared in group or really talked at all in our one on one sessions. Were you close with your mom, or are you just feeling guilty?” Then she leans forward in her chair and looks at me with eyes I never noticed were blue. I think I’m falling in love.

“No, I was not close to my mom. The truth is I haven’t spoken to her in eight or so years. So I guess the answer to your question is I am feeling guilty…really guilty.”

“Well, Ed what can we do about it now, huh? What fucking miracle do you want me to pull out of my bag of tricks so that you feel better? I’ve got nothing for you Ed, but do you see a pattern here? Do you see the problem yet Ed do ya?” Her voice getting louder and louder with every rhetorical question.

“No I don’t see it, not at all.” I barely get the words out and she’s on it.

“Don’t hand me that crap Ed, you know what you do and why you do it better than anybody else could. You think and think and you keep yourself, I mean your real self inside so far that no one can get to it. And, God forbid you share yourself with another human being. For Christ’s sake Ed what’s the worse thing that could happen? I can be of no more help to you. Goodbye Ed and good luck because you are really going to need it.”

And that was it. I went back to my room, lay down and forced myself to sleep. Thought I’d dream, but I didn’t.

Chapter Two

I wake up at 8:00 and I realize I have no meetings to go to, no place to be. I just need to be ready to go at noon. I get out of bed; take a shower, shave, and start gathering my things. When I am done and my duffel is packed, I go downstairs to the dining room. I figure this is where all the teary goodbyes will take place. As I enter the big room, it was clear I am fooling myself, no one is around. For a second I think this is Dr. Andrews’ doing-let’s leave the useless fucker by himself-then I realize these people I have shared this with were still going to be here after I was gone, and the sad, cold realization hits me, life goes on whether you are here or not.

I get some coffee, and a donut that looks like a truck tire with pink frosting, and sit down to wait. I wondered what Hal was going to say to me about mom and Marie; I know he was pissed at me for not talking to my mom and leaving him to deal with her after her stroke. Hal is the picture of stability; I wish I was more like him and less like me. He’s got a steady, if not exciting job running a mail room, he’s got retirement money, he’s got a wife who would never think of hitting him on the head with a statue. Of course he would never swing on her either. After my dad left us for good, mom drew closer to Hal; I was no longer her baby. I was no longer anything to anyone. Anyway, I am going to have to face him. It is going to be what Dr. Andrews calls a, ‘grown-up moment’; I don’t know if I can pull it off, I am after all, anything but a grown-up.

I drain my cup, and put it in the big grey tub they leave out for dirty dishes. I go back up to my room and make sure I didn’t leave any kind of mess. I grab my duffel and head back downstairs. I want to find Lester and say goodbye.

‘