Reluctant Praire

For me, Arbor Day was an emotional affair. The weather was agreeable: hot, dry, not a cloud in the sky. The cool breeze reminded me of a tropical island. In the afternoon, Laura and I escorted Jonesy and J.S. from Building 10 to Forensics, and then we watched them plant a tree in front of Building 14. The birth of the tree was held in commemoration of a psychiatrist who had been savagely murdered at the LRC the previous year. The four of us joined other staff and a large gaggle of patients, forming a quiet crowd in front of Administration and listening to various members of the food chain speak about the history of Arbor Day.

I was happy to be there with Jonesy and J.S., to be there for them. I could tell they loved the sun. Jonesy was sweating amid the hazy brightness. He told me the sun made him feel alive. Those tiny droplets on his forehead were produced via nature, and its powerful effect brought Jonesy into a metaphysical oasis, if only for a short while. The four of us visited Administration once the tree was planted. We ate free brownies and drank Pepsi from a can, not a mundane plastic cup.

My reward was being able to leave at the end of the day. Their reward? Nothing! Staff would fetch the two of them, escort Jonesy and J.S. back to the ward, and the physical obstruction between fresh air and the demands of institutionalization would suddenly lock, in the blink of an eye, and their fun would come to an abrupt end.

I felt powerless. When Jonesy and J.S. left... and I went to my car, freedom... I felt like I had invaded and sabotaged their routine. I wonder now if the idea of being on their own is so overwhelming that it is too frightening for them to even think about freedom. Maybe, maybe not.