Everything had been put into place, every
single document had been acquired, and every single detail had been on point.
Nevertheless, the consulate had decided not to give Richard the visa to go and
work in Canada. He never heard a reason why he had been denied the visa, only
that he could challenge the decision with the Canadian justice system but that
could take, at least, three months, time that he didn’t have. When he notified
the company that had offered him the job, which was the reason for his trip,
they didn’t really say anything. Days later, they said they couldn’t guarantee
the job to be there in three months so they “advised” not to go ahead with the
challenging of the consulate’s decision. They backed up from their proposal,
after so much praise and kindness, and eventually choose someone less of a
problem.
For Richard, that was it. He hadn’t had a job
in his life. This was going to be his first shot at anything and in a foreign
country! But for some reason, it didn’t happen. At first he was just shocked
and disappointed, mainly because he had spent so much time and money in order
to get the damn visa. But the days passed, and he started to feel worse. He
lost his appetite and wouldn’t come out of his room, not for dinner, not for
showering, not for anything. Slowly, Richard had descended to a depressive
spiral of which he did not know and didn’t even want to get out. He kept
thinking about the reasons why this hadn’t worked and blaming himself was the
only way to make it all have any sense.
Days passed until one-day Richard’s father had
to topple the door, only to find him lying in the ground, barely breathing. He
had cut himself several times on his arm and was bleeding profusely. They
called the paramedics and the staff at the hospital was able to stabilize him,
not before he had lost even more blood. He was week for several days in which
many of his relatives, the kind that are never there but come flying back just
to see what has happened, visited him as he was still in an induced sleep. When
he finally woke up, he became violent, demanding to take everyone out in the
act or he would repeat what he had done before.
His parents only cried and cried and did not
much else. As he had woken up already, he was given painkillers and some others
medications to keep him calm but they did not seem to work a lot. He would
refuse any food or anyone coming in being falsely nice. He didn’t really want
to live anymore and he didn’t want people to be fake near him, it bothered
Richard a lot when all they had were kind words that they didn’t mean or lies
to calm him down. He stayed in the hospital for several weeks until it was
decided he would be better off in a psychiatric facility, where they could try
to cope with his behavior. Their parents cried again and did nothing else and
he wasn’t surprised.
The day he got transferred to the sanatorium,
they didn’t even try to say goodbye or to be there. They just disappeared
leaving only nurses and unknown people behind. Maybe it was for the best
because any familiar face made Richard unstable and prone to violence. His
cell, or room as they liked to call it, in the sanatorium was small and with
just a tiny window to look towards the garden. The view was nice because there
were lots of flowers and birds would come in the morning. At least that had
improved from the hospital, were his window faced a wall. Even his room at home
face a fucking wall, so it was difficult not to like this room better, even if
it meant taking lots of drugs and just looking out the window a couple of hours
a day.
It was only after a week that he realized
that, since he had been taken to the hospital, he had never spoken to any
friend or anything like it. Which goes to show you how people are. Some run to
see the train wreck happen and others just avoid it completely, even denying
the whole thing. Anyway, it was best that way. He made a couple of friends in
the sanatorium: a kid who had tried to jump off a bridge because his mom had
punished him for being gay (he showed Richard his scarred back one day) and a
girl who suffered of some weight related problem. She was very skinny and would
always look like a ghost gliding all over the ward. There were a lot of other
people in his area but they were all pretty harmless. But sometimes they could
hear people from the other ward, the most dangerous one, yell or howl or do
some kind of noise that would make everyone nervous.
People there, on the other side, were really
crazy. Richard thought he was crazy but he had realized those other patients were
just above that. They were people who had killed others or who were just absent
from reality. It was a pity though because no one really deserved to be there
permanently. Although Richard had settled fast and liked to be around his new
friends, he knew that living there permanently would not be as fun or
enjoyable. During lunchtime, every single person would have a story about one
of the patients of the neighboring ward. It was kind of a tradition to sit down
and just tell stories about those others that were there with them. It was
easier than talking about personal issues.
Some said there was this lady who had killed
all of her children (the number varied depending on who told the story). They
talked also about a guy who used to be a butcher and had gutted a client
because he had paid only in coins. There was the serial killer of pregnant
women and the men that had just gone insane in an elevator, killing at least
ten people with just a pen. The stories were gruesome and more often than not
the guards would come and break the meetings off in order no to let the
patients get too excited over a bloody story. But the gathering was a tradition
and they only interrupted when too many were involved.
Besides that, Richard got to have sex with the
gay kid, who also happened to be obsessed with sex. Richard didn’t identify himself
as gay but it had been so long since he had done anything with anyone that he
didn’t really care. Apparently others did care because he was sent to the
infirmary to get tested for HIV. Luckily, the gay guy wasn’t positive so
nothing happened, but Richard refused to have sex with him again. Although for
him oral sex wasn’t real sex but whatever. The guards, again, didn’t really
seem to mind if patients visited other patients in their rooms. They only
intervened if violence was imminent, whether it was against themselves, others
patients or even the security staff.
The funniest thing was when this rather big
girl decided to jump on one of the guards because she had heard him called her
“fat”. Everyone laughed and cheered on for the girl but the result was that
games and entertainment were cancelled that night after dinner, so everyone had
to be behind bars in their bunks, looking at the moon like Richard or howling
at it like the prisoners in the other ward. When something like that happened.
Richard felt strangely alive. Somehow, those crazy fuckers made him feel alive,
more than anything or anyone had made him feel before. Yes, they were insane
and dangerous but he felt close to them and he could have conversations with
them, even with the gay guy when they were not… You know. It was great to feel
like he belonged somewhere, even if it was in such a place.
Then, after some months, his family came for
him and it was the worst day in a long time. It was crazy to think he wanted to
stay there but he felt he couldn’t be himself again if he just left them all
there. He decided to get the email addresses of every single one of them and he
gave them his so they could chat anytime and just be there for one another. It
was a sentimental moment, a real one, and then he left. As the car left the
premises, he realized that his life wasn’t over at 27. He had no idea of what
to do with his life, that was certain. And he now had something to explain in
every single job interview or even in dates.
But he thought of it as something fun. Maybe
he would end up being a failed human being. But he wouldn’t be the first or the
last. The honest thought he had as he entered his room was that he didn’t want
any of the shit that people had always wanted for him. He didn’t want the usual
silly love or shitloads of money or paying job or any of that bullshit. He just
wanted to feel needed, to feel that someone cared and to experience life as
everyone should. He wanted to feel the world around him and just live to
experience it all and not to submit himself to slave labor.
So he just started writing. He wrote
everything that had happened to him in recent times. Every single story, every
single kinky moment in the sanatorium’s bathroom, every crazy thought, every
suicidal decision. He wanted to sum it all up and just do something with it
someday. But that day hasn’t come yet. Someday, though.
