The Flying Troutmans (4 page)

I threw my cigarette into the pit and went back inside. The phone rang again. It was the hospital.

Who am I speaking with?

Uh, Hattie?

Are you family?

Yeah.

Logan was staging some sort of sit-in in the waiting room, refusing to leave until he saw his mom, and they were wondering if I would come and get him.

I had to call a cab again because Logan had taken the van. When I got there he was lying on his back in the grass outside the front entrance of the hospital. I guessed
they had managed to kick him out of the waiting room. There was a plastic Safeway bag next to him. I pulled the headphone off one of his ears.

What are you doing? I asked him.

What are you doing? he asked me.

They called and said you weren't going to leave until you saw Min. And you missed your first class. The school called too. And the neighbour guy is keeping your hatchets
and
you shouldn't take the van if you don't have a licence. Plus you were really drunk last night and Thebes and I had to put you to bed. Is this all normal or what? I've been here like seventeen hours. I sat down beside him on the grass.

I have some stuff for her and I wanted to give it to her, that's it, he said.

What stuff?

Yogourt and some other stuff, he said. We decided to try going back in. We took the elevator to the sixth floor and banged on the locked glass doors to the psych ward. A nurse buzzed us in but with the very least amount of enthusiasm I have ever witnessed within the helping profession. She might have been brandishing a switchblade behind her stacks of patient folders.

Yes? she said.

Hi, I said. My name is Hattie Troutman. I'm Min's sister. And this is Logan, her son. We were here yesterday when she was admitted and Logan would really like to give her a few things. They're not flammable or sharp.

Visiting hours begin at 4 p.m., she said.

I know, I said. And then didn't know what to say after
that. I know, I said again. But can you make an exception just this once? He's come all the way out here. He's got yogourt and—

We provide our patients with meals, she said. We don't need family to bring food from outside.

Yeah, I know, but—

You can leave the bag with me and I'll give it to the patient after rounds. Logan started walking down the hall towards Min's room. Excuse me! said the nurse.

He deked into Min's room and disappeared, and the nurse got up from behind her files and flew after him. Bernie, the “good stuff” guy, saw her running and got up from his desk and followed her, and I followed him. Logan was sitting in a chair next to Min's bed. He was hunched over her and wiping away tears with the rim of his hood. Min was asleep or looked that way anyway. Jeanette, her bald roommate, was there too, standing next to Logan and gently rubbing his back. She was still wearing her Superman T-shirt and her dark shades but this time she was also wearing pants.

Hey, buddy, she whispered. She took really deep, loud breaths. Hey, buddy. Things will work out.

She was a crazy, institutionalized superhero but still she was probably somewhat correct, and I was touched by her concern. Bernie and the nurse talked about their strict policies and the need to respect those policies and a bunch of other things that I wasn't really listening to, although I repeatedly told them that I understood. I asked Bernie if I could speak to Min for a minute alone. Logan said he'd go back to the waiting room.

I put my face close to Min's and told her again that I loved her. I told her what I had told her so many times when we were kids. You'll be fine, I said, you'll get better. I promise.

She opened her eyes and looked at me, but she didn't say anything and she didn't smile.

I told her I'd be right back. I just wanted to talk to her doctor for a minute. As I walked towards the door I heard her whisper my name, so I went back to her bed and said, Yeah? And she asked me please not to come back.

What? I said.

She mouthed the word
sorry
and then closed her eyes, and I just stood there staring at her.

But, Min, I said, I want to see you. That's why I'm here. I want to be with you.

She opened her eyes again and whispered, No, Hattie, please don't come back here. And don't bring the kids, it's too hard.

And that was it for her, no more talking, so I left.

I told Bernie I wanted to talk to Min's doctor. He said Min's doctor was busy with other patients at the moment. I told him I'd wait. Logan slowly, silently raised his middle finger to Bernie's back and said, Good stuff, as Bernie walked away.

Hey, don't, I said. I told Logan to take the van and go to school. Oh, and if anybody asked, to say he'd had a doctor's appointment. Keep our stories straight. I'd get the scoop on Min and meet him at home.

I thought you didn't want me driving without a licence, he said.

Yeah, I know, I said, but just be careful. Stay in your lane, don't speed. Take your hood off. I reached out to pull it down, but he moved his head back and smiled.

Don't, he said.

Keep the music down, too, I said.

Fine, said Logan. He bent over, reached under his chair and grabbed his basketball. He spun it on one finger and then threw it against the wall, against a What is Schizophrenia poster, caught it again, yanked his headphones up around his ears, and slid on out of there. The nurse behind the desk reminded Logan that this was a quiet zone, and he threw his ball gently against the elevator down-button. The doors opened, and he disappeared.

 

Min's doctor told me that she was psychotic, entirely out of touch with reality, and it wouldn't make any difference to her if she had visitors or not. It makes the family feel better when they visit but it does nothing for the patient, he said. In fact, I've found it distresses the patient more.

Are you sure? I asked him.

Uh, yes, he said, I'm quite sure. Anything else? he asked.

How long will she be here? I said.

Hard to say, he said. As soon as she begins to participate in her own care we'll have something to talk about. But that seems a ways off.

I imagined a nice long, fireside chat with this guy. There were so many things I wanted to ask him, but he had torpedoes to issue and other brains to jump-start
and he'd given me enough face time. He smiled awkwardly, tapped his pen on his chart twice and began to walk away. I grabbed his arm and said, hey, thank you, have a great day, I'm sorry, and then he was gone.

 

When I got back to the house, Logan was there watching TV. And school? I asked him. I held out my hands.

Expelled, he said. You're supposed to call them.

What? I said. What are you talking about?

Call them, he said. He stared at the TV. I could still make out the words
Deborah Solomon, be my girlfriend
written in the dust on the screen.

You
tell me, I said. I sat down next to him and put my arm around his shoulders. He flinched but he didn't move away. I stared at the TV with him. What do you like so much about Deborah Solomon? I asked him. He shrugged. No, really? The older woman thing? I asked.

No, he said.

What, then?

I don't know, he said.

Well, what? I asked again.

She's solid, he said, finally. And she doesn't back away from shit.

So why were you expelled? I asked.

It was just…nothing, he said.

You got expelled for nothing? Like, your principal just pulls random names out of a hat.

Logan sighed. I felt his shoulder rise and collapse. Okay, he said. And then we had this conversation.

 

Logan: I was shooting hoops with this kid whose older brother is with The Deuce.

Me: Really?

Logan: Yeah.

Me: Oh. So. Hmm.

Logan: Yeah.

Me: Okay, so how was it?

Logan: Do you even know what The Deuce is?

Me: No. A gang?

Logan: Yeah. So did you know their colour is baby blue?

Me: Oh, that's perfect.

Logan: What do you mean?

Me: The irony of it.

Logan: No. It's just their colour.

Me: Well, it's a nice one.

Logan: And the kid I was shooting hoops with was wearing a baby blue shirt.

Me: I thought colours weren't allowed at your school.

Logan: Well, you can't…it's just a colour. You can't really ban a—

Me: No, but, you know, explicit gang colours.

Logan: No.

Me: Okay, you'd know.

Logan: So, we're there and—

Me: School property?

Logan: Yeah. Don't say “school property.” I hate that expression.

Me: Okay.

Logan: We're there and these guys come up to where we are, only I'm off a bit, a little away from them, and these guys are talking to the kid I'm playing with.

Me: Yeah?

Logan: And then he goes off a bit with them, over to the side, by the wall.

Me: Uh-huh.

Logan: And I can't really hear what they're saying or anything, but then a few minutes later he comes back and he tells me they took his shirt.

Me: The baby blue one?

Logan: Yeah, he had another one under it. Me: Oh, that's good.

Logan: And his Walkman.

Me: Poor kid. All calm, just like that?

Logan: Yeah.

Me: Well, that's scary. Did you go report it?

Logan: (Doesn't say anything, just looks at me for a second.)

Me: What?

Logan: Okay. Hattie. This kid said they were I.P.

Me: So?

Logan: You don't go to the principal's office and say you just got robbed by the Posse.

Me: No? You don't?

Logan: Okay. Hattie. What do you think would happen?

Me: I don't know.

Logan: Yeah. Nothing. They don't go to school.

Me: Well, he could phone the cops.

Logan: No.

Me: Well, I would.

Logan: No.

Me: No?

Logan: So then this kid said that they had a knife.

Me: Oh my god.

Logan: And then the kid said, Well, at least they didn't see this.

Me: See what?

Logan: His binder.

Me: What would the I.P. do with a binder?

Logan: 'Cause it said “Posse Killers” on it.

Me: Oh my god. That kid is a deuce?

Logan: Not “a deuce.”
Deuce.

Me: That kid's Deuce?

Logan: No, that doesn't sound right either.

Me: How about, is that kid a member of The Deuce?

Logan: Okay. No. But his older brother is.

Me: Okay. But, you know, I'm concerned that—

Logan: But this kid used to be in The Deuce.

Me: Really?

Logan: He just got out of jail.

Me: What? Seriously? You're playing basketball with gangsters who've been in prison?

Logan: He's a nice guy, though.

Me: Well, god, listen, Logan—

Logan: He's trying to get his shit together.

Me: Hmmm. Well…

Logan: So anyway, I go back inside and like five minutes later on the P.A. it's like, Logan Troutman, would you please come to the office, so I go and they say, Oh, we saw you playing basketball with certain individuals known to have gang ties and we've already warned you about this blahblahblah, and I'm like, So? I had a spare. And they're like, That's three strikes, you're out. Lame.

Me: Really.

Logan: Mmm-hmmm.

Me: But like how were you technically supposed to know that they were in a gang? Or gangs, plural, whatever.

Logan: They obviously know I know.

Me: Oh.

 

I didn't know exactly what he meant, but it seemed like we'd exhausted that point and it didn't matter anyway.

We're hitting the road, I said.

What road? he said.

You, me, Thebie, we're going on a road trip, I said. We're gonna look for Cherkis.

Logan stared at the TV like it was the only thing standing between him and eternal happiness. Like a retriever stares at a squirrel before all hell breaks loose. Then he loosened up.

Where? he asked.

I don't know, I said. South Dakota…I'm not sure. I have one lead.

What do we do if we find him?

I don't know, I said.

What do we do if we don't find him?

I don't know that, either, I said.

Awesome, he said. But why?

I didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not. Min wants us to, I said. It was her idea.

Really? said Logan. She never even talks about him.

I know, I said, but I think she understands now that she needs his help. We can phone her from the road.

I don't know, said Logan.

What don't you know? I asked.

Logan got up and walked to the kitchen.

I phoned the hospital again and asked to speak to Min. The nurse told me that Min did not want to talk to me. I know, I said, but I don't think she means it.

She'd prefer not to see you, said the nurse.

What about her kids? I said.

Min doesn't want any visitors, said the nurse.

I wasn't surprised. I had refused to help her die and her kids reminded her of important reasons to live. She had done this before when she was deeply psychotic, turned her back, flipped us the bird, walked away. My parents once drove for days to the West Coast trying to find out where she'd disappeared to and when they got to her apartment she refused to open the door and then called the cops to say they were harassing her. There had been so many times that she told me never to call her again. I would come all the
way from Paris to see her and she'd tell me to go to hell. I love you, Hattie, she'd say, but please go away. At first I was hurt and mystified. One time I waited all night in minus-twenty weather outside her front door, begging her to open it and let me in. I'd spent hours, days, following her around town, trying to get her to talk to me, to acknowledge me, to realize that all I wanted to do was help her. She phoned the cops and told them I was stalking her. I was used to it now. I understood. She would eventually change her mind, let me back into her life, and the temporary banishment would never be spoken of.