Interjection I

INTERJECTION

My little sister lost her mind. She started seeing a little dead girl and cats in every corner. She stops mid sentence and twitches, staring at the wall, for hours on end. She says there's lice crawling all over her, and we just can't see them. I am afraid. I walk along the freight train tracks, alone, to the Occupy house, hoping this will all go away. [C] is there, he's an EMT, and one of his friends soon joins us in the house. I hear him introduce me as Trainwreck while I'm pacing the floor in the other room. Eventually I've made a decision, I ignore his companion and spill my guts, tears rolling down my face.

“Woa,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “How long has this been going on?”

“A few years, but not like this. This started three days ago.”

“You need to call 911”

“No.” I whip out my phone, dialing the family instead, they are all far from here, far from this farfetched dream my father, sister and I hatched in Braddock. I call my mom, though I know she should be the last I make aware of this situation. My sister and her haven't talked since she abused us and her personality disorders coupled with alcoholism make most communication between her and I near to impossible. But I don't care, I need our insurance information and I will do anything at this point to make my little sister okay again. I fail. Mom begins the cycle of a psychotic break while I tell her the news, I've had the warning signs memorized since I was 15 years old.

“On crazy person at a time!” I scream, than hang up the phone, even though I know it wasn't right. [C] rubs my back and holds a note before me, written in sharpie on a used receipt. “You need to call in a 302, that's a forced committal. [K] needs you to do it.” I turn my head and light a cigarette instead. My older sister is the next on my list.

“You told Mom?!”

“I needed the insurance info, I don't know what to do, I'm freaking out, I'm freaking out dude!”

“Calm down. You need to call 911 now, where are you? Did you leave her alone?”

“NO!” I hang up. [C] is holding another note in front of me, about my options to commit her, about the hospitals in Pittsburgh I can choose from, about 201's and 302's and other numbers I've now become so familiar with by now but had yet to fully understand then. I get up with a sudden force, throwing my jacket around me.

“I need to go.”

“Okay....” [C] begins, his friend stares at me looking confused. “You okay?”

“Yes.. no. I don't fucking know. My sisters sick dude, my little sister's sick. I.... um,”

“Hey...”

“NO! I'm fine! Just, I'll be back to pick up Brooklyn okay?”

“Okay.”

I hurry down the tracks and call the crisis center with a shaking hand. They talk to me for a minute then take down my address.

“Wait... are you guys really coming? It's not that bad, is it?”

“Your sister is very sick ma'am. You should just get home as quick as you can.”

“Oh....” I say, then hang up.

I'm home sooner than I'd like to be, and I'm scared to go inside, not knowing which version of [K] I'm going to find. I suck down more cigarettes and stare up at her window, quietly, looking for movement. I know she's in there, it's near to impossible to get her to step foot out of the house these days, and same goes for her room, but still I'm worried. Eventually I open the door and walk up stairs. Shes in her room playing guitar, and I wait until the end of the song to knock.

“Hey [K]” I start. She snaps her head to the side, her eyes are glazed over.

“DON'T, talk to me like that.”

“I wasn't, I'm just trying to be calm...” I say unsteadily, hoping she wont notice I've been crying.

“Well don't.”

“I called a doctor, there's some people coming to see you.”

“What, you mean like to take me away?”

“No.... just to talk to you. They're gonna do a field evaluation. It's up to you if you go with them.”

“Oh, good, cause I'm going to New York.”

“I know.” I say quietly.

“Well I am. I'm....” She stops and begins to twitch, holding both her hands in front of her chest, hunched over the guitar on her lap. “I'm going to New York.” Shes says after coming to again.

“I know.” I say again, not knowing what to do, awkwardly standing in her doorway while she begins to play guitar until she reaches out, without looking at me, and shuts the door.

The people came and took her away that night, and the rest is a blur of hospital visits and waiting rooms. I've been seeing her everyday religiously, the rest of my day is consumed by doctors calls and worried family begging me for news. This is my first tale of the looney bin from the outside. This is an interjection.