Research assistant Herbert Stein bobbed his head down the mustard halls. His heels clicked in tune with a piano ballad bopping along the psych ward PA. He loved this song.
Herb Stein turned down the hall towards his last round. He smelled Thai food.
His knuckles rapped on the patient’s door frame.
(Photo source: Youtube.)
“Mrs. Lovingstock?”
“Come in,” a crumpled woman spoke. Herb Stein chuckled, as if she had beckoned the call.
“Ma’am, my name is Herbert Stein, a research assistant. Do you understand why you are here?”
“Because I am crazy,” clear, intelligent eyes dared Herb. “A monster.”
Sally Lovingstock was the most beautiful woman Herb Stein had ever seen. Her defeated posture and split hair did nothing to diminish her appearance. Her complexion, once porcelain smooth, scratched with talons. Her hands were wrapped in white ace bandages. Herb Stein unclipped the board hung at the foot of her bed, bopping softly to a guitar solo crooning from the speakers.
“Why do you say that, Mrs. Lovingstock?” Herb Stein met her daffodil eyes.
“I killed my child.”
Dr. Stein glanced down at the clipboard. 33 years old with suicidal tendencies, marked in doctor’s squibble. He felt unwilling to believe either story. Kicking a lean leg back, he pulled an orange plastic chair closer to the bed and sat at Sally’s level.
“Please, tell me more.”
Sally scowled.
“No one listens to what I have to say.”
“I’m listening.” Violins swirled overhead. Sally rolled her head back and forth, as if knocking loose past conversations
“I love my child. More than life itself. I had given up everything for him. It was the strangest thing; all my life I thought of myself to be a certain way: independent, motivated, free. My world stopped when I had Charlie. I became someone new. A mother.”
She moaned, deep guttural moans almost harmonizing with the song. Stein wondered if she was aware her sobs aligned with the violin vibrato. They stopped.
“Continue.”
Sally’s eyes dripped honey. Stein’s medical facade cracked; he pulled out a handkerchief.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Sally took the handkerchief and a shaky breath.
“My husband’s family has a house in Massachusetts. The Berkshiers. I wasn’t raised around that kind of stuff – I’m from Iowa. We had family gatherings back home, but this was different. Wealthy; stiff. I never felt comfortable around his mother, Cynthia. He wouldn’t defend me when she would nitpick me. I had more fun with the kids. That’s how it went year after year.”
Sally’s pupils retracted. Despite the winter air creeping through the basement's poor ventilation, Sally sweat.
“I am a great swimmer. Gold medalist all throughout high school. Stopped when I met Stan-” Tears pooled. She sighed.
“He didn’t want his mother to know me. He loved me, but we were too different. I couldn’t tell him otherwise; I was scared he would leave. Charlie, our son, could swim like a fish. I couldn’t believe it. My own son, so much like me. I wanted to laugh in the face of my mother-in-law. She could control my husband, my vacations, but she wouldn’t control my son.”
Sally’s face lit up in feverish joy. “His little cousin, Joy, had this rubber duck. This bright yellow, stupid little rubber duck she carried everywhere.” Sally swayed to reggae. “A beautiful day, the kind of summer day you pray for. Joy stood by the waters edge, watching Charlie and I swim. We’d be out there for hours. Joy set down the rubber duck and the water pulled it out when she turned away. I couldn’t believe how far the duck got. I look up and then Charlie is halfway across the lake. ‘I got it, Ma!’ My beautiful boy shouted.
“‘YES, YES!!’ I thought we had an Olympian. He was so beautiful.” Sally’s eyes shone.
“He got caught on something. I never understood how, he was such a good swimmer. One moment he was waving the duck around, then the next he went down underwater and didn’t come back up.”
The music clicked off. Static crackled. Stein felt a chill arch down his spine. Sally spoke low.
“I swam as fast as I could. By the time I dived down to the spot Charlie was and got his foot untangled from the underbrush, his lips were blue. I tried to knock the water loose.” She howled. A loud piercing scream collected from the base of her core.
Herb’s heart poured.
“Cynthia came running down the hill. ‘What did you do?’ Not, ‘What happened? Are you hurt?’ but, ‘What did you do?’
“Someone pulled Charlie away from me and I was held down kicking and screaming. I felt a needle in my arm; those rich folks had good drugs. I’m slipping away, seeing Cynthia sob in my husband’s arms, pointing a finger towards me.
“I couldn’t move for two months. They wheeled me to the funeral. I couldn’t talk to anyone for months,” Sally looked back up at Herb, his presence grounding the room. She looked emptier; free.
“I feel a lot better. No one has listened before.”
“You did everything you could.”
“Thank you. I feel clear and I would like to go home. I have a lot of changes I’d like to make; I think I’ll start with divorce.”
Dr. Stein forced himself to meet Sally’s eyes. “That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. Lovingston.”
“Will you discharge me?”
“I’ll see what I can.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stein.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Lovingston.”
“Sally.”
“Sally. Herb,” the research assistant reintroduced himself.
“Herb. Huh, a doctor named ‘Herb.’”
Herbert Stein chuckled.
“Some names call their professions.”
Sally smiled. A warm, crushed, beautiful thing. Tomatoes bursting in a pan.
“Good night, Sally.”
“Good night, Herb.”
Herbert Stein left. He tried not to think about the indisputable red rubber stamp in the top corner of the clipboard. TREATMENT FINALIZED. Stein tried not to think about electrodes fastened to Mrs. Sally Lovingston’s lovely skull the next day. At least Sally wouldn’t remember their talk.