Third Shift - 1. Chapter 1 - Simon Peter

• Full
• 3/4
• 1/2

January 12th

“I don’t know what there is to live for,” the old man whined from across the table. Cory tried giving the withered old face, yellow and jaundice, a sympathetic look of understanding. However, he had realized early on, Simon Peter Henderson was a fraud. He was no more likely to kill himself than a bride before her wedding. The guy was eating up all the attention they were giving him. Simon was relishing the meetings in the conference room, the solitary room, and the special trips to the library after hours.

“Why do you feel it’s all over?” Cory asked, knowing what the answer would be. The old man was like a parrot repeating the same lines over and over again.

“If I’m locked up here and can’t be free, I may as well be dead. There’s nothing to live for if I can’t walk the streets as I please,” Simon answered. His voice was clearer and his breathing steady. Cory could see the tail end of his forced detox. His yellowish skin was starting to get little flashes of pink and his eyes were almost clear instead of rheumy and red.

“You are feeling better now, aren’t you,” Cory asked, making a notation in Simon’s folder. “You look a lot better than when you were arrested.

“I’m not though,” the old man lied. “I feel like crawling out of my own skin just to get away.”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t feeling somewhat better,” Cory chided him. “You have been fed, you’re warm, and breathing much easier now.”

“I need a drink and a smoke,” Simon blurted out and sat back crossing his arms. “All this sobriety has me going nuts.”

“No one ever died of sobriety and not smoking,” Cory said with what he hoped was a wry smile. “Tell me about the urges. Let’s talk through them.”

As the old man began talking about his suicidal thoughts sounding suspiciously like Jessie’s character in ‘Night Mother, Cory considered the source. Simon wanted it to end. He wanted to get off the proverbial noisy, hot, stifling bus and let it all go. There was too much pain in the world and it was all directed at him. Simon was ready to go gently into that ‘good night’.

Simon had said it all before. Which made him think of last night…

“Are you just getting home?” he asked lifting his head from the pillow. Sandy was pulling off his shirt and throwing it into the hamper by the closet door.

“Yeah, we had a busted pipe in the basement. I’ve been at the restaurant with the plumber for the last three hours. I need a shower,” his partner said and walked into the hallway.

As Cory listened to the shower begin to run, he sighed. Poor Sandy’s job had been so bad lately. They were busy and had trouble keeping help. Now there was the plumbing issue. As he heard the sound of the shower water change from a steady beating on the plastic curtain to intermittent splashes and slurps, he smiled. He really had lucked out with Sandy. Not only was he hard-working and dedicated, he was handsome and kind.

Cory drifted back to sleep, though he awoke a few minutes later for a moment as his boyfriend slid between the sheets. Cory could feel the warm, moist skin as it spooned his back. Even through the layer of cotton, Sandy’s sleek muscles radiated love and care as he held Cory tightly.

“Go back to sleep, babes,” Sandy whispered in his ear. Butterfly kisses caressed his ear and temple and then they settled in and slept through the day.

“I think the world’s a gigantic carnival,” Simon said, breaking through Cory’s fond memory. “Only I never, ever win a prize or get on a ride. All I get is the cold, leftover funnel cakes, greasy and stale.”

“Come on, Simon,” Cory said, leaning closer. “That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? You have kids and grandkids who love you. How can you ignore the ones who love you?”

Simon looked at him with skeptical eyes. His mouth pursed and his lips moved left and then right as he studied the other man. “You think if I got sober and settled down, they’d welcome me back.”

Cory weighed his words carefully because he didn’t know anything of the sort. “I think if you did the work and gave them openings for reengaging you, they could respond. The bond between family members is very strong. You were a good father before you began using. You said that yourself.”

Simon’s face was almost calm now. His eyes were full of tears. “I was a good dad and even grandpa for the first few years,” he finally uttered. “Maybe?”

Cory reached across the table and patted his hand. “I’m not saying it will be easy, but your life isn’t over. You have issues and once we get you past this episode, there is help for you on the outside.”

Simon almost smiled at him. These words had been spoken before and would be again. All Simon needed was encouragement. He would act out until he got these magic words repeated to him. Then, the cycle would begin again.

Cory made a quick notation and closed the folder. “Do you agree?”

Simon nodded. His thin, graying hair bobbed once, twice, thrice and then settled back down to right above his blotchy pink scalp. His bright, intelligent brown eyes almost looked hopeful. Cory knew behind those surface emotions lay calculation. Simon was a master manipulator and this was part of his game.

Cory watched as the old man got up from his chair and walked to the doorway, his head held a little higher than when he first came in the room. Simon’s back was covered in the pale, striped blue cotton fabric of the county lockup duds and Hennepin County Detention was marked in black script. The old man paused at the doorway and then turned. He smiled at Cory and lifted his hand in a kind of wave.

Cory waved back and returned the smile. He often wondered what exactly Simon Peter Henderson had done to end up in jail. He supposed it was for stealing liquor or driving drunk. Someone like Simon wasn’t usually violent. He was an addict who self-medicated with booze, tobacco, and drugs. He’d lost control of his life and this was what became of it.

All this ruminating reminded him of his first week as a mental health counselor at the Hennepin County Detention Facility.