A Love Story - 10. Chapter 10 - You Can't Always Get What You Want, Part 2

“All rise,” the bailiff announced.

All the parties to the proceeding and the few witnesses who were looking to get in out of the rain stood as the judge came out of her office and sat in her chair on the dais.

“Be seated,” the bailiff announced.

Everyone in the court took their seats.

“Let’s see, we are here to determine the sanity of Erik Benedict Johnson and his placement in a facility to treat his mental deficiencies,” the judge said. “Who is here to represent the subject?”

“I am, your honor,” the man to Erik’s left said, as he stood up.

“And, you are?”

“Arthur Pennington, attorney-at-law.”

“And, the party representing the opposing view?”

“I am, your honor,” Benedict Morgan said, as he stood up. “My name is Benedict Morgan and I am the trustee of Erik Johnson’s estate.”

“Very well, we’ll proceed. Mr. Pennington, you may call your first witness.”

“Dr. Chamberlain, will you take the stand?”

A rather tall gentleman in a navy blue and white pinstripe suit stood up and walked to the witness stand.

The bailiff came up and presenting a Bible, said, “Do you promise to give your testimony truthfully before God and all the witnesses today?”

The gentleman placed his hand on the Bible and said, “I so promise.”

“State you name.”

“Arnold Victor Chamberlain, Medical Doctor of Psychiatry.”

“You may be seated,” the judge said.

“Dr. Chamberlain, what is your relationship with the subject of today’s hearing?” Mr. Pennington asked.

“He is my patient in the adolescent treatment center at Bellevue Hospital.”

“How would you describe the patient’s mental state.”

“I object,” Mr. Morgan said as he stood up.

“To what do you object, Mr. Morgan?” the judge asked.

“The psychiatrist has no professional record with treating members of Erik Johnson’s social status.”

“Your honor, we are here to determine what is to be done with Erik Johnson considering his mental status due to his attempted suicide,” Mr. Pennington said. “That has little to do with his social status.”

“Mr. Morgan, what would you have done with Erik Johnson?” the judge asked.

“He should be returned to his residence and be compelled to continue his attendance at his prep school.”

“Didn’t Erik Johnson attempt suicide from his residence?”

“Well, yes, your honor, but with sufficient physical alterations to his apartment door and windows, he should be prevented from attempting suicide from his residence in the future.”

“Mr. Morgan, as the trustee for Erik Johnson’s estate, are you more interested in your fees from his investments or the welfare of this young boy?”

“Your honor, I respectfully refuse to answer.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are.”

“Gentlemen, today we are faced with the sanity of a boy of significant wealth, but age-related immaturity has significantly affected his mental state. Erik Johnson shall be committed to a mental health facility commiserate with his degree of mental instability. Mr. Morgan, I am referring your status as Erik Johnson’s trustee to the Manhattan Prosecuting Attorney for review of your legal standing in relation to this juvenile. I think that about covers it for today.”

“All rise,” the bailiff said.

Everyone in the courtroom stood up as the judge stood up and left the court. Mr. Morgan came over to Erik and said, “This is a travesty of justice, Erik, and you will hear from my office in the morning.”

Erik stared in the direction of his former attorney’s voice and then stared at the floor. He didn’t quite understand what just occurred, but was somewhat encouraged by the words of his psychiatrist before the trial, which were, “Don’t worry what happens today. We’re going to get you the help you need and we’re going to get you away from that man who assumes to be your guardian. Don’t worry, Erik, your life is going to improve in a very short time.”

Erik felt a hand at his elbow and someone said, “Ready to go?”

“Who are you?” Erik asked.

“Your escort to Bethpage Behavioral Health Residential Center. Ready to go to your new home?”

“Dr. Chamberlain, is he going to be there?”

“Oh, yes, of course, Dr. Chamberlain is your physician of record. He will see you at our facility.”

* * *

“Ben, we’ve found Erik,” Ernie said when he walked into the backroom of the restaurant.

“Where is he? Can I see him?” Benny asked.

“No, not right now. He’s under a court ordered commitment to a mental health facility out on the island.”

“Where has he been? Why haven’t I been able to talk to him?”

“Well, there was the restraining order from his attorney, but now he has been sent to a mental health facility for treatment and you’re still not to contact him until that restraining order has been removed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know this is confusing for you, but the important thing is to understand that Erik has been committed to a mental health facility where he’ll reside until the courts determine he is safe to be released to a residential situation where he won’t try to commit suicide.”

“He tried to off himself?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I knew it! I knew he was too young to be living in that apartment overlooking Central Park.”

“Well, he did try to commit suicide and now we have to deal with his new residential situation.”

“When can I talk to him?”

“Well, we’re still blocked by his attorney’s restraining order. Until we can get that overruled, you will not be able to speak to Erik.”

“Fuck!”

“No need in getting vulgar; now, how’re you doing with the chitterlings?”

“They’re not so bad now that you’re getting them from that supplier in Newark.”

“Good, you watch the product and if there’s anything wrong, you let me know, okay?”

“Sure, Ernie, I’ll do what you say.”

As he picked through the chitterlings for dark spots which needed to be cut out, Ben’s thoughts went back to the previous weekend when he had been with Erik in his apartment. He remembered having sex with the smaller statured boy, but at the time it didn’t seem to matter that Erik was smaller than him. Surprisingly, Erik’s cock was longer that his, though it wasn’t as thick. A thought crossed his mind of Erik fucking him with that cock; though, at the same time his mind remembered his cock entering the younger boy and fucking him until he came harder than he’d ever done with only his hand.

“Hey, Ben, you got to clean these chitterlings better than you’re doing,” Artie the restaurant’s salaried prep person said. “These guts have too many spots on the outside and inside.”

“Oh, sorry, I guess I was thinking of something else,” Ben said.

“Well, think about your job.”

“Sure, okay, I’ll do it right.”

* * *

“Erik, welcome to Bethpage Behavioral Health Residential Center,” a masculine voice said at the taxi’s open door. “My name is Reginald and I’m here to escort you to your ward.”

Erik got out of the taxi and stood up. He turned his head taking in auditory and other sensory inputs. He smelled the moss on the concrete sidewalk, the aroma of his escort, and the smell of the car.

“Here, let me take your arm so I can walk you into the center,” Reginald said.

Erik smelled the faint odor of body powder, antiperspirant, and a stronger scent of aftershave, but he couldn’t quite place the scent. Reginald’s meaty grip on his elbow was quite strong causing Erik to ask, “Are you black?”

“Nope, Italian-American. Why did you ask?”

“Your hand is quite fleshy and I assumed you were black.”

“Sorry, Erik, but not all behemoths are black.”

“Behemoths, that’s funny,” Erik said with a giggle.

“You’re going to work out quite well out here at Bethpage,” Reginald said.

“Yeah, as long as I’m on the first floor,” Erik admitted.

“Ah, yes, well actually you’ll be on the third floor, but your ward doesn’t have access to stairwells, balconies, or outside windows.”

“The perfect jumpers’ ward, then?”

“You got that right, son.”

“Are there many of us?”

“Enough, considering all of you are failures.”

“The ones who didn’t make it.”

“Yes, but we prefer to refer all of you to be successes in that you didn’t succeed.”

“Yeah, keeping up a positive attitude to failures at life who were only looking for an easy out.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

The elevator stopped and Reginald and Erik walked into the foyer. Reginald said, “Ah, here we are. One sec’ while I unlock the door.”

They walked through the door and Erik heard someone say, “Hey, guys, look, we have a new body. Hi, I’m Lucy, actually it’s Lucretia, but my parents hung that on me. And, you are?”

“Erik.”

“Come along, Erik, let’s get you checked in,” Reginald said.

“See you around, Erik,” Lucy said.

“He seems nice, but there’s something wrong with him,” a voice said.

“Did you see how Reggie was holding his arm and directing him through the dayroom?” another voice asked.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” a voice asked.

“His eyes were moving like he wasn’t looking at anything,” another voice said. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Obviously, he disabled in some way,” a voice said.

“Yeah, but how?”

“Maybe, there’s something wrong with his eyes.”

“Do you think he’s blind?”

“How will he get around in here?”

“We got to talk to Harriet.”

“Yeah, we can’t have some handicapable dude in this ward.”

“Handicapable, that’s funny!”

“Wait, Reggie’s coming over here with the gimp.”

“Children, this is Erik and he will be with us for a while,” Reggie said. “Please make him feel welcome.”

“What’s wrong with him? He keeps looking around as if he’s blind or something.”

“Yeah, Reggie, is the gimp blind?”

“As a matter-of-fact, Erik is blind.”

“What’d he do, Reggie, try to jump off a building?”

“That is not open for discussion at this time. Now, are you going to make him feel welcome or do we need to put all of you in your rooms until you think you can act with a little maturity?”

“Hey, you can’t threaten us. We got rights.”

“Do you want to go back to Bellevue? That can be arranged.”

“Fuck you, Reggie. Come on, Erik, we’re watchin’ TV, but I guess you won’t be watchin’ that much.”

“I do fairly well listening to the dialogue,” Erik said.

“Yeah, okay, my name’s Johnny. I’m a jumper. Why’re you here?”

“I tried to jump.”

“Cool, dude, you stay with me an we’ll get on okay.”

“Okay, everyone, let’s gather for a circle,” a voice said that Erik didn’t recognize.

“Erik, come with me and I’ll put you in a good seat,” Johnny said.

Erik felt a hand at his elbow and went along with the directions indicated by pressures on his forearm. Eventually, the other person stopped and said, “Here, you can sit here.”

Erik felt for the chair and in his mind’s eye positioned his body until he sat down in a chair.

“Hey! That’s my chair,” a voice said to his left.

“Hey, Molly, Erik’s new and is going to be sitting by me,” Johnny said. “You get a new chair.”

“Fuck you, jumper, I’m sitting in my chair,” Molly said.

“No way, slasher, go sit with your group; Erik’s a jumper and he’s sitting with me,” Johnny said.

“I’ll get you fuckface,” Molly said.

“Up yours, filthy cunt,” Johnny said.

“Okay, guys, enough of the vulgarity,” a voice said. “Come on, we got a new member, let’s adjust our sitting arrangement.”

There was shuffling of chairs for a few minutes and then silence filled the room. Erik turned his head trying to get sensory references from the other children, but for a reason he couldn’t understand all the other children smelled basically the same, except for a few that had a funk about them that was unrecognizable.

“Okay, children, we have a new patient with us,” the authoritarian voice said. “You know what to do: name, diagnosis, and present mental state. Beverly, you may start.”

“Hi, I’m Bev; I’m a slasher; if you don’t know what that is, I cut my wrists in the hope I would bleed to death. Unfortunately, I didn’t die before my mom found me bleeding in the bathtub. According to my psych, I’m fixated on the guy who caused me to cut myself.”

“Hi, I’m Dickie, I’m thirteen. I slashed my wrists because my mother is a bitch and my father is a fuckhead who doesn’t give a fuck what I do. My shrink says I might have a chance at living out this phase of my life if I can be kept away from my parents.”

“Yeah, I’m David. I’m a fag and I’m fourteen. My boyfriend, who I thought loved me, told some of his jock friends that I like it up the ass. Five of them raped me, while Barry kept whispering in my ear that he was my one and only. I tied a rope around my neck and stepped off a ladder in our garage. My dad found me and cut me down before I did serious damage to my brain. My shrink says I’m stupid for believing a jock could love me.”

“Oh, is it my turn? Sure, okay, uh, I’m Steve, you see Veronica was my girlfriend, but she told some of her girlfriends that I liked to eat her pussy. Honest, I don’t do that, but Veronica said I did. I went out in our garage and looped a rope through an I-bolt in the ceiling that my dad used to hang his dinghy from. Well, I looped the rope around my neck and simply stepped off the fender of Dad’s Ram pickup. Dad found me just in time. My shrink says I have issues with my dad or I wouldn’t have tried to off myself in the garage.”

“Yeah, well, I’m Lucy; and, don’t get it in your head I’m not anything like Lucy Ricardo. I’m a slasher. Did my wrists a couple times before my parents finally agreed to send me out here. You won’t find any sympathy here. We’re all just a bunch of teens who’re fucked up at life and now have to be locked up so that we don’t try to kill ourselves. My shrink says I have a negative attitude toward life. As far as I’m concerned he’s right and I’ll attempt another off whenever I’m sure no one is watching out for me.”

“Hi, I’m Johnny. I’m a jumper. Three months ago, I went out on the fire escape of our apartment in Brighton Beach and tried to do a header into the alley. Unfortunately, I tripped and ended up landing feet first. Messed up my feet, ankles, knees, hips, and every bone in between. I was in a hospital for nearly three months before my parents sent me out here. My shrink says I have a negative attitude toward life and I should look for the good in life if I’m going to expect to live a long life.”

“Oh, last again, huh? My name’s Molly and I’m a slasher, too. I was dating this guy named Ricky, actually Enrique, but that’s beside the point. One day he got real pushy about our relationship and wanted me to go to a party with him and some of his immigrant friends out on the island. Frankly, I think they’re all MS-13, including Ricky, so I said no. He slapped me around and said that we were going on Saturday, whether I wanted to or not. I got scared and slit my wrists, but I didn’t do a very good job of it and just made a mess of my tendons.”

“Erik, please introduce yourself,” the leader of the group said.

“Well, okay, but there really isn’t much to say.”

“Just state the facts and we’ll ask questions for clarifications.”

“Well, you see, I live in an apartment across the street from Central Park in Manhattan. My attorney selected the place because he said it was suitable for my social standing and that I might enjoy the view. I’m fucking blind and I’ll never enjoy the view, but he wouldn’t accept that. He put me in a college prep school in the Upper East Side, but the students do everything they can to make me unwelcome. None of the teachers do anything to stop what the students are doing. A number of months ago, I was put in contact with a boy who was at the foster home where I once lived Upstate. He has his own mental issues, but we finally got together and had a great weekend. Unfortunately, my attorney didn’t like the fact that this boy now lives in Brooklyn. He says the boy is below my social status and he got a restraining order to prevent this boy from ever seeing me again. You have to understand that up until a couple years ago I was a fully sighted boy. You cannot understand what being blind is like. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and found a way of opening the slider to my terrace overlooking Central Park. I was sitting on the railing when a cop pulled me down and cuffed me. They sent me to Bellevue first and after my hearing, they sent me out here.”

“Erik, this is Bev. Am I to understand you’re in a relationship with another boy?”

“Yes, isn’t that what gay guys try to find?”

“Well, yes, but you’re kind of young; isn’t it possible that you might be interested in a relationship with a girl?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Well, you’re young and, maybe, you’re not as gay as you think.”

“Look, bitch, I like sucking cock and taking it up the ass. If that isn’t being gay, then what is?”

“Hey! You can’t call me a bitch. We have rules here. Marv, you tell this fuckhead we have rules here.”

“Erik, we do not call each other derogatory names.”

“Yeah, sure, okay.”

“You make him apologize, Marv.”

“Erik, you will apologize to Bev for calling her a derogatory name.”

“Bev, I apologize for calling you a bitch.”

“He did it again!” Bev said. “Marv, you got to send him to his room. Rules are rules here. We all abide by the rules and this fuckhead is disrespecting me.”

“Hey! She can’t call me a fuckhead,” Erik said.

“Okay, both of you, stop with the name calling,” Marv said. “I want each of you to apologize to the other or I’m sending you to your rooms.”

“Erik, I apologize for calling you a name,” Bev said.

“Erik, you will apologize for calling Bev a derogatory name,” Marv said.

“Fine! I apologize for calling Bev the bitch that she is,” Erik said.

“That’s it!” Marv said. “Erik, you will go to your room this instant.”

“Where the fuck is it? If you haven’t noticed, I’m blind and have no idea where my room is. All of this is a pile of shit if you can’t acknowledge that I’m blind.”

“Geez, Marv, you can’t send him to his room, if he doesn’t know where it is,” Johnny said. “We all know how Bev can be confrontational with new members of the group. Maybe, considering Erik’s blind, we can cut him some slack.”

“Everyone, who is in favor of Erik staying in group today?” Marv asked.

“Oh hell, Marv, it’s plainly obvious Erik isn’t dealing with his disability, plus whatever his diagnosis is,” Bev said. “Let him stay and we’ll work with him to stabilize his mental issues.”

“Okay, Erik, I’ll give you a pass on this one instance,” Marv said. “But remember, we do not call each other by derogatory names. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, sure, do you want me to sign a statement to that?” Erik asked.

“No, we’ll take your word,” Marv said. “Okay, who would like to address Erik as to his being here?”

* * *

“Ben?” Ernie said at the Ben’s bedroom door.

“Hey, I’m studying U.S. history now,” Ben said.

“Sorry for the interruption, but I thought you’d like to know the restraining order against you seeing Erik has been lifted by the court.”

“When can I go see him?”

“Well, you see, the institution where he’s been committed doesn’t allow visitation rights to anyone but family.”

“But, he doesn’t have any family.”

“Well, actually, he does and until they formally release custody, you won’t be able to visit him.”

“But, I thought he was emancipated.”

“Well, actually, according to the Manhattan family court, technically he wasn’t. His attorney finagled the emancipation with a friend of his in the court.”

“You mean he’s still a juvenile subject to foster care.”

“Yes, that’s about it, except it seems his attorney was running a Ponzi scheme with Erik’s inheritance.”

“How much? How much has Erik lost to that bastard?”

“Well, the Manhattan D.A. is still tabulating Erik’s losses, but it seems he’s lost a significant portion of his assets to his attorney’s illegal management of the stocks, bonds, and cash in Erik’s accounts.”

“And, nobody’s put out a hit on this scumbag?”

“Ben, I wish it was as easy as that, but, unfortunately, it’s not as easy as you might think.”

“Fuck!”

The change in Ben’s countenance was dramatic. The boy’s normal softness became dramatically hard. It was as if he’d been forced to accept something totally beyond his reckoning. Possibly, as severe as being forced to stand at the edge of oblivion and made to look into his own temporal being. His body began to shake until it fell off his chair and bound itself into a fetal position all the while continuing to uncontrollably tremble.

Ernie took out his cell and dialed 9-1-1. After a few moments, the operator came on and asked, “Please state your emergency.”

“We have a boy here who has had a mental breakdown and needs to go to Bellevue,” Ernie said.

“Confirming your address, are you at 52 Fiske Place, Park Slope, Brooklyn?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“One moment … Sir, I’ve dispatched an EMT unit to your location.”

“Thank you.”

In the meantime, Mr. Thompson, Ben’s afternoon instructor, had gone to the bathroom and got a cool, damp washcloth and had put it on the boy’s forehead.

“It’s a shame this had to happen,” Mr. Thompson said. “I was really hoping Ben was getting his life together.”

“It’s not his life we’re worried about,” Ernie said. “His mind suffered significant trauma when he was young and now we can only hope some part of his personality will take control and stabilize his mind. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to call Bellevue and let them know Ben will be coming their way.”