A Love Story - 12. Chapter 12 - Of Troubled Minds, Part 2

“Benny, how do you feel this morning?” the psychiatrist asked.

“My name is T-Bone,” the boy answered. He was sitting in a gray metal side chair while his doctor sat in a desk chair entering the boy’s responses into a computer terminal. The office was small and had been painted in pale green. There was one wire-caged light fixture in the ceiling with two bulbs, but they weren’t very bright. All of this was immaterial to T-Bone’s attention that morning.

“Okay, T-Bone, how do you feel this morning?”

“I’m okay, but is that woman who was talking naughty to me coming back?”

“I can’t say for sure; hopefully, not today.”

“So, you’re not sure.”

“No, but we’re fairly certain she won’t be back today.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I’d like to see Erik before you send me away, if that is possible.”

“What do you mean, send you away?”

“Someone said I was being sent to La-La Land. Is it nice there? When are you going to send me? I’d like to see Erik before I go, if you can find him. He’s gone away and my foster father said I can’t see him ever again because he’s under a retraining order, whatever that is. Maybe, you can get Erik to come here before you send me away to La-La Land.”

“Who is Erik?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Where does he live?”

“By a great big park. He took me to the opera and then we went to a restaurant. He bought me a tux because that’s what you’re supposed to wear when you go to an opera. The man at the tailor shop—that’s where they make tuxes—touched me and put my cock in his mouth, but I went away and can’t remember what he did to me. The next thing I knew, I was carrying a bag of clothes walking out the front door.”

“T-Bone, how old are you?”

“Don’t you know. I’d think you would since you’re my doctor. Isn’t it on my recording; or, do you use CDs for that information?”

“I want you to tell me how old do you think you are.”

“Well, now, let me think about this. I was seven, no, eight when I went to Meridian to visit my uncle and cousin. That was when my cousin did naughty things to me. Then my mommy beat me with a wooden spoon and I had to go to the ’mergency room. Some people came there and made me live somewhere other than where I lived with my mommy and new daddy.

“After I don’t know how long, I went back to live with my mommy and a new daddy; and, we left Miss’sippi and came up north to live in New York where my new daddy worked for the railroad. Then I went away and lived by myself in a dark place where there were green lions, purple bears, and these little people who wore skirts made from leaves. I lived with these people, talked to the lions, and played with the bears until these people took me inside a big mountain, in a cave, and showed me this waterfall. Doctor, I saw myself inside the waterfall, but I was much older.

“Then one sunny day the leader of these people took me inside the cave and forced me under the waterfall. When I stepped out of it, I was in a shower in the bathroom where I lived with my mommy and a new daddy. Mommy called me to the table and I wrapped a towel around my waist and went out to eat. I was fourteen that day.”

So, how old are you today?”

“Sixteen, but I’ll be seventeen in a few months.”

“You said your new daddy was having sex with you. Isn’t that right?”

“Oh, yes, that was before he killed the man who was giving mommy smack.”

“How old were you when that occurred?”

“Do I have to say?”

“Why shouldn’t you say?”

“Well, my new daddy said he will kill me and mommy if we say.”

“Didn’t somebody say?”

“Mommy did. She was coming down from being on smack and meth and my new daddy slapped her around the house for yelling at him because he was fucking me. She ran out into the street, but only had her house dress on. A cop stopped her and my new daddy shot at the cop. More cops came to the house and called out to my new daddy. He yelled at them he would kill me if they didn’t let him go to Canada. And, then, Ol’ Nigger James came to the door and said it was time for me to help him pull in the trotline and we walked through the cotton field because the trotline was on t’other side of the bayou. Can I go to sleep for a while; I’m kind of tired now?”

“Okay, T-Bone, you can have a little nap.”

“Why’d you call me that? No one has called me T-Bone since when Mommy and me lived in down by the bayou. Before Gram moved to Greenville.”

“I thought it was your new daddy who named you T-Bone.”

“No, how can that be when the SWAT team took him out when he was holding me hostage. They shot him in the head and got blood and bits of bone and his brain all over me.”

“Who named you T-Bone?”

“Gram, when I was just a baby. We was poor and could never afford T-bone steaks, but Gram said that was okay because I was her little T-Bone.”

“Do you remember Dr. Goldmeier?”

“Oh, yes, did she die? I think she said something about going to heaven. No, wait, she was Jewish; I don’t think they believe in heaven. Maybe she was just going to go live somewhere else, like California or Kansas. It’s a shame she’s living in Topeka because I’d like to see her, again, and tell her about the horrible woman from CPS who made me angry.”

“Dr. Goldmeier is still seeing patients here in the hospital and next door in her clinic.”

“Why aren’t you letting me see her now?”

“Because when you came in this time you were catatonic and Dr. Goldmeier doesn’t handle such patients.”

“And, you do? Am I ever going to see Dr. Goldmeier?”

“As a matter-of-fact, I believe it’s time for me to transfer your case back to her.”

“Good, maybe now I can go to the opera with Erik, again.”

“Goodbye, T-Bone, it’s been a pleasure treating you.”

“Yes, the first chance I get I’m going to introduce Erik to Ol’ Nigger James and we’re going to get some catfish and have a big ol’ fish fry. I’m going out into the cotton patch and see my mommy now.”

When Dr. Smithson got out to the hall she dialed her phone and waited for an answer; wishing to the god of telephones her call wouldn’t go to voicemail. After a few rings, the call picked up and she heard, “Dr. Goldmeier, may I help you?”

“Esme, Diane Smithson, I’ve been treating the Hensley boy and wanted to ask you if you want him back.”

“How is Benny?” Dr. Goldmeier asked.

“Well, we’ve gotten him out of the catatonia, but he’s a very confused young man and I think he may do better if you treat him going forward.”

“Then the catatonia did him more harm than we expected.”

“He said he had been sexually assaulted by the man I believe his mother had in the home, so, unfortunately, I reported that assault to CPS.”

“As well you should, unfortunately, those assaults occurred when he was seven or eight. What is CPS doing?”

“Everything they can do to get the boy out of here and into NYU.”

“No, no, that’d be the worst thing they can do for the boy. Okay, I’ll take over and see if I can get some sense into him.”

“He mentioned a boy named Erik. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Do you remember seeing something in the news about a young, blind jumper whose attorney has been embezzling millions from the boy’s inheritance?”

“Oh, yes, and the boy was sent to Bethpage.”

“And the other patients caused him to break his leg.”

“That’s Erik?”

“Yes. I wonder if we can get both boys down to my clinic. It might do both of them wonders.”

“Well, Esme that’s going to take a lot of friendly attorneys. I wish you luck.”

* * *

Erik lay in his bed staring into the nothingness of his blindness when he heard someone come into his room. Used to the comings and goings of the nurses he waited for the person to identify herself. He heard the chair across the room being picked up and carried to the foot of his bed. Still, he didn’t know who was in his room, but steeled himself against any possible physical or auditory assault.

“Good morning, Erik, how are you doing today?” Ms. Shepford asked.

“Okay, they said they’re moving me up to the adolescent psychiatric floor in a couple days when my broken leg stabilizes.”

“What would you say if I told you you’re going to be sent to Ben’s foster home in Brooklyn?”

“I’m going to be living with Ben?” Erik asked.

“Actually, no.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ben is currently in the adolescent psychiatric ward at Bellevue hospital.”

“Can I see him?”

“No, not at the present time. There are some conditions to his visitation rights pertaining to him and you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You see, your previous attorney placed certain conditions on your relations with Ben that have been addressed by the court as to your future relations with Ben.”

“Is he saying that I can’t see Ben because we’re in a homosexual relationship that he doesn’t approve of.”

“Well, no, not exactly. You see, he feels that Ben is only interested in seeing you is because of your wealth.”

“But, he embezzled almost all of my assets.”

“Well, yes, but you see, as far as the court is concerned, you still have financial wealth superior to that of Ben and any contact between you and Ben may be detrimental to your financial situation.”

“When does this end?” Erik asked. “Do I have to try another suicide for the court to see what that lying bastard is doing to my life?”

“Do you want to see Ben?”

“Yes, of course, isn’t it plain as hell I want to see him?”

“Then I will petition the court to allow a visit; supervised, of course.”

“Fuck! Why can’t we be left alone?”

“Because you have some degree of wealth and Ben doesn’t. Until we can convince the court that Ben is not interested in your money, that facet of your lives will always remain a contingency that must be overcome.”

“Okay! Do whatever you have to,” Erik said. “I just want to see Ben, even if there is someone watching us so that we don’t touch in an inappropriate manner.”

“As you wish, I will apply to the court for such a visit,” Ms. Shepford said. “I’ll let you know when the meeting has been arranged.”

Erik listened to his attorney put the chair back and go out the door. He stared out into the empty view of blindness. His only wish was to see Ben again, but knew that was an empty wish. His only option in life was to accept his disability and try to make something of himself contrary to society’s expectation of a blind boy. Something came into his mind and he decided he needed to find another out, another easy exit by falling into the oblivion of death. He got out of bed and suddenly realized he couldn’t put very much weight on his injured leg.

Carefully walking along his bed, he came to the end and realized he had to move across the aisle to the next bed. He made a horrible noise as he put too much weight on his bad leg, but slowly recovered as he took as much weight off of it as he could.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be up,” a voice said.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” Erik asked.

“We’re supposed to call for a nurse if you get out of your bed,” the voice said.

“Well, I’m up; what’re you going to do?” Erik asked.

“I called for a nurse,” the voice said. “Your leg is bleeding. You better get back in bed.”

“No, I’m going out the window and you can’t stop me,” Erik said.

“Okay, what’s going on in here,” a new voice said. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be out of bed. Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

“No! You can’t make me,” Erik said. “I’m going out the nearest window and you can’t stop me.”

“The bars on the window will keep you in. Now, do you want to this nice like or do we have to put you down?”

“Fuck! Damn it! Why won’t you just let me die?”

“Because this is a hospital and we’re not in the business of letting boys die.”

Erik let himself go limp and allowed the medical staff to half-carry him to his bed where they got him into a comfortable position, pulled his gown open at the back, and he felt the needle go deep into his hip. He tried to stay conscious as long as he could, but the medicine was too strong and he quickly fell into that oblivious state of mind induced by a strong psychotropic drug.

* * *

“Hello, Troy, how are you today?” the man at the desk asked.

“I go by Ben.”

“Oh, yes, from your middle name; but, how do you feel today?”

“How am I supposed to feel?”

“Okay, let’s set the rules here,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Hargrove and I ask the questions.”

“What happened to Dr. Goldmeier?” Ben asked. “I thought she’s my psychiatrist.”

“You asked a question and I told you I’m the one who asks the questions, but for your information, Dr. Goldmeier was your psychiatrist at Bellevue. You’re now at NYU and I’m your psychiatrist here.”

“Do you have a name?”

“You just can’t stop with the questions, can you? I want you to know we have rules here at NYU. They might not have had them at Bellevue, but we do have them here.”

Ben sat in the chair and looked over at the psychiatrist sitting in the desk chair all the time typing into the computer on the desk. The man was young, maybe twenty-five or so, with curly black hair; white, pasty skin with bright pink cheeks; a long nose and dark eyes set apart because his face was rounder than long. One thing he noticed most was the man’s hands; they were bright pink like his cheeks.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Ben asked.

“How do you feel today?”

Ben sat there looking over at the doctor and then he looked over by the bookshelves at a woman sitting in a chair like his. She was writing on her tablet. She looked up from it and said, “Doctor, ask the patient when he was last abused.”

“Yes, Ben, when was the last time you were sexually abused?”

“Does it count when I had sex with my boyfriend?”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, but he’s gone away and I can’t find him anymore.”

“Where does your boyfriend live?”

“Fifth Avenue, across from Central Park, but I don’t think he lives there anymore. I think someone told me he tried to commit suicide and has been sent to a mental health place, like me.”

“And, how old is this boyfriend?”

“A year or two younger than me, I think.”

“Isn’t he more likely five to ten years older than you?”

“No, Erik is just a kid. I didn’t know I was gay until we had sex.”

“And, didn’t this Erik person push his erection into your bottom?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. Erik is cool. We were in the same foster home up in Wayne County.”

“And, the owner of this foster home; wasn’t he named Erik and didn’t he take you into his bedroom where he took off your clothes and pushed his erection into your bottom?”

“No! You got it all wrong. You don’t understand. You don’t know what it was like. You never met Troy or Mary. You are making me go nuts again. You’re going to send me to that hospital up north, again. You’re going to make Troy believe he’s black. You’re going to make Mary come out, again. Oh, God! Why don’t you people understand what you’re doing?”

And, Ben went away.

“Ben? Wake up, Ben. Ben? Wake up, boy.”

But, Ben was in another place far from the interview room in the adolescent psychiatric ward at NYU Medical Center.

“What happened?” the resident asked.

“Frankly, my boy, I think you drove him over the edge and back to wherever he was down at Bellevue,” the attending said.

“What do I do now?”

“Call Esmerelda Goldmeier and ask her.”

“But, the CPS people said he had been abused here in the city.”

“When was the last time you knew CPS to know what they were talking about.”

“What about the boy?”

“Sedate him and, hopefully, he’ll come out of this, but considering the notes Dr. Goldmeier gave us, this boy may revert into a catatonic state no matter what we do.”

“This isn’t going to look very good on my record,” the resident said.

“No, not now, but if you’re able to bring this boy around and establish when he was assaulted without impinging your own suppositions on his state of mind, we might reach a successful conclusion.”

Sometime later, a woman in a dark blue skirt, matching blazer, and a plain, white blouse with a bright green scarf tied in a knot around her neck came up to the adolescent psychiatric ward nurse’s station and stood waiting for someone to acknowledge her presence.

“May I help you?” a nurse asked.

“It’s about time somebody in this place noticed me,” the woman said. “I wish to speak to Troy Benjamin Hensley. I understand he is a patient here.”

“And, you are?”

“Ms. Theodora Fletcher, I am a CPS investigator for the New York State Administration for Child Services.”

“One moment, I’ll check with his doctor,” the nurse said.

“Why can’t people simply comply with my request. Do I have to get a court order?”

“No, Ma’am, but I have to see if the patient is able to receive visitors.”

“I have never had more trouble with any of the children I take care of than this boy. First they electrocute him over at Bellevue and now you say I have to have permission to speak to him at this facility.”

The nurse dialed a number and after a few rings someone answered, “Dr. Victor.”

“Yes, Doctor, I’m sorry to have bothered you, but the representative from CPS is here to interview Troy Hensley.”

“I am not a representative,” Ms. Fletcher said. “I am an investigator.”

“Yes, Ma’am, the doctor will be out in a moment.”

After a couple minutes, Dr. Victor came down the hall, came up to the counter, and said, “Ms. Fletcher, I’m afraid Troy is not in any condition to see anyone at the present time.”

“I’ll get a court order; I will, if you continue to refuse my access to this boy.”

“I’m afraid Troy has reverted to dissociative fugue as the result of therapeutic interviews. He is heavily sedated at the present time, but with care and time we should have the boy into some semblance of sanity.”

“Are you telling me I cannot see Troy?”

“You can see him, but he will not respond to your presence.”

“Are you going to electrocute him as they did down at Bellevue?”

“ECT is normally a last resort therapeutic treatment, but if I feel he has no other chance of recovering, I will put it before the board.”

“I will get my client the treatment he needs if I have to go to the governor.”

“Well, Ms. Fletcher, if you think that will work, I suggest you do just that.”

“You’re all nuts! I don’t know if you’re worse than the patients, but I’m going to get my interview of this boy and that is a promise.”

Dr. Victor watched the woman walk down the hall to the elevators where she continually pressed the down button. He turned to the nurse and said, “If that woman comes back, I swear I’ll take her into Troy’s room and she can interview his comatose body.”

“Now, now, Doctor, you know putting a crazy person with another crazy person will not make either of them sane,” a nurse said.

“An old wives’ tale?”

“No, Doctor, an old nurse’s tale.”

* * *

Meanwhile, over on the island a boy awoke and did his best to sit up to feel along his leg that had been broken. He quickly became aware that the stabilizing rod for his compound fracture now extended further up his thigh. He felt the first post and then the second before feeling along the rod across his knee to the three posts stabilizing his tibia. As he lay, he stared into his blindness.

“Fuck!” he screamed.

In a few moments a nurse came into the room and asked, “Are you okay?”

“No, Goddammit, I’ve been fucked, again,” the boy said. “Why won’t you just let me die?”

“Because that is not our business here,” the nurse said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Give me a rope or a sharp knife. I don’t care which, I just want to die.”

“And, leave your friend in the lurch never knowing what happened to you?”

“Ben? Do you know where Ben is? Can I go to him? Please, let me know. Don’t keep it a secret.”

“Your friend, Ben, is in NYU Medical Center in Manhattan, but his foster father is out in the waiting room patiently anticipating your return to consciousness.”

“Oh, Ben, please let him know I’m waiting for him, too.”

“One moment, I’ll bring in your new foster father.”

Erik looked into the nothingness of blindness and impatiently waited for Ben’s foster father to come into his room. He hadn’t quite heard that this man was to be his foster father, too; so, when Ernie came in Erik was somewhat taken aback by the man’s familiarity.

“Hi, Erik, ready to go back to Brooklyn?” Ernie asked.

“What do you mean,” Erik said. “I live in Manhattan.”

“Not anymore; your new attorney will come up here when you’re ready to talk to her, but it boils down to this: your previous attorney, your trustee, used almost all of your funds to reimburse other clients of his in a Ponzi scheme. According to the State Attorney General, your estimated net worth is somewhere in the neighborhood of $375,000, but I’m sure they’ll get it down to the penny in a day or two.”

“I had millions; do you mean it’s all gone?”

“Unfortunately, son, that’s a fact. While your final net worth has yet to be established, you have been placed in my home with my mother, wife, son, daughter, and when he is finally released from NYU, my other foster son, Troy Benjamin Hensley.”

“Ben, how is he?” Erik whispered.

“According to the docs, he’s very mentally ill. According to one of his shrinks, he said that he’d been sexually abused. CPS is conducting an investigation to determine when this abuse occurred. According to his shrinks, he was probably abused when he was a child, but CPS is certain it occurred much later. Would you know anything about this?”

“The day Ben came to my apartment to go to the opera he said the tailor tried to abuse him, but he passed out and wasn’t aware of anything until he was shown out the door an hour later. We kind of talked about it, but Ben was very vague. The only thing I remember was he said he’d been abused when he was a child by one of his cousins.”

“Yes, that is what we established when he was living with us. Okay, Erik, I want you to concentrate on getting well. According to the New York City Administration of Child Services, you are cleared to live in our house until you graduate from high school.”

“And, Ben; will he be there?”

“If he’s cleared after his mental evaluation at NYU.”

“Can I see him?”

“Uh, no, not at this time. Erik, you have to understand there is a lot of legal and bureaucratic manipulations occurring to Ben’s status as a foster child in New York City.”

“They’re going to fuck him up,” Erik said. “You know that, don’t you? You can’t say you don’t. Ben has been so fucked in the head we’ll never get him into a family support situation.”

“I have to agree with you on that,” Ernie said. “I’ll come back as soon as I have any news.”