Straightjacket

It was tight around my chest and, somehow, I had my arm caught up in it too. But because it was to my side and behind my back, I couldn't see it exactly. I just seemed to be stuck. I couldn't for the life of me work it out, but I was still pretty out of it, at that stage.

The pillow was all wrong, the mattress was too soft. The room was dark. There was a curtain around my bed, hanging from a chrome loop that circled over my head, like a chrome monorail. Café style curtains, some may think, but they were just short, as far as I could make out, as if designed to only block out the overhead lighting. If it was a skirt on a stripper and she wore no nickers, she is meaning to show you her snatch, or a kilt on a Scotsman, you wouldn’t have had to ask.

I rolled over and, instead of stopping like you'd think, like you normally would, I didn't, I went straight over. It mimicked moments of sea sickness quite strongly, as I continued to tumble. It took my breath away, landing on my face. Dead weight. My body seemingly cascading down, like felled timber in a forest land slide, in slow motion. “Oo…oh!” Thud.

Stuck, face down. I couldn’t move. The eternal downward dog? What the hell was wrong with me? Was I paralysed in a terrible accident? Is this the part where they are about to walk in and say they are terribly sorry?

“We don’t think you are ever going to walk again.”

The medical team are outside right now drawing for the shortest straw, desperately wishing for the longest. May the universe bless the person who gets the shortest straw. I’d say that, if I believed it was remotely true.

Then the matter of my arms being caught up became more apparent, I seemed to be caught up, around me, behind me. What the fuck? As I lay on my face, on the cold floor, I could, at least, see under the short curtains. Feet and legs mostly. It looked like a hospital. It hurts to lie on your own face, I can now tell you. It hurt mostly in my neck, and I imagined myself as one of those little old ladies whose heads have, seemingly, slipped down their torso, forever looking under the curtain. There were people, seemingly, coming and going. Where the hell am I?

I rolled over on to my back, with great difficulty. There was metal all around me, bed legs, posts for machines, wires, and tubes. I didn’t want to, I wanted to keep watching, being on guard, ready for anything, so to speak, however, the pain in my neck was too intense. I could feel it locking up under my full weight.

“I’m in hospital?” No. Nothing.

I was tired, that was for sure. I was really comfortable where I was, once on my back, cold withstanding, that couldn’t be denied. It was calm. My mum always said I could sleep anywhere. I closed my eyes.

People scurried passed the half-length curtains like worker ants, I could feel their breeze in their wake. Inside my curtain, partitioned, room, it was still and silent. I think the shadows made the most ambience, light and dark. I could feel myself falling in and out, night and day. I felt myself rocking off into sleep. I am going, I am going, I am slipping, slipping, slip away

The curtain is suddenly pulled open. (Oh Universe, you sure can pick your moments) Heals approach on what can only be a hard floor. A face appears over the high-sided bed. She spoke, but not to me, as though she was calling ‘me’ in. “Can I have some help in room 2.”



He opened his eyes.

There is a middle aged woman, dressed in white, at the end of his bed.

He remembered being lifted. He remembered voices.

“Oh, good, you are awake.” She looks down at her clipboard, looks up with the look that she really didn’t need to check that, big eyes, force of habit, “Mr Hillier.” She has a very robotic tone to her voice.

“Yes?”

“We have got that right, haven’t we?”

“What?” She could be a robot. An automaton, is that what they call them?

She leaned in. “Your name?”

“Yes, Liam Hillier. Where am I?”

“I’m Meg,” she said. “I am here to help you.”

“Hi Meg.”

“Don’t you know where you are Mr Hillier?”

“No.”

“What day is it, Mr Hillier?”

“Um, Saturday.” More likely Sunday.

“What city are you in, Mr Hillier?”

“What city?”

“Yes, what city?”

“This is stupid?”

“City, Mr Hillier?”

“Melbourne.”

“Country?”

“Australia.”

“What year is it, Mr Hillier?”

“2016.”

“And you say you don’t know where you are?”

“No.”

“Did you take drugs in the previous 24 hours Mr Hillier?”

Meg was suddenly resembling Liam’s mother to a worrying extent. “Did I what?”

“The question was very straight forward,” said Meg. “Have you consumed drugs in the previous 24 hours, Mr Hillier?”

Liam wanted to laugh, but he stopped himself. What drugs have I not consumed in the last 24 hours, Meg, is the better question.

“Where am I?”

“St Vincent’s Hospital.”

“Why am I here?”

“You appeared to have an over dose…”

“A WHAT!”

“Over dose, luv, over dose.” Meg’s voice was smooth as honey. “An ep…i…sode.”

“I had a what?”

“And I can tell you something else?” said Meg. “You go to the gym, don’t you, Mr Hillier?”

“Um… yes.”

“You are a very strong boy, Mr Hillier.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Liam. He flexed his... His body ached. “I’ve got a way to go...” His arms felt like jelly.

“It took six grown men to restrain you, Mr Hillier.”

“It what?”

“It took the strength of six men to hold you, Mr Hillier.”

“My arms?”

“As I said Mr Hillier, you are a very strong boy.”

That’s not the answer.


Another nurse’s face appeared over the high-sided bed. “We had to strap you in, Mr Hillier, you caused quite a commotion down here last night.”

Liam was taken off guard by her appearance. He jumped.

Get it together buddy, your nerves are shot.

“Oh, look at you, such a sweet face,” said the second nurse. “I’m Ann. I’m here to help you.”

“HELLO.” I made myself jump. That was really loud, he wondered why?

“Oh, I see still a bit jittery.” Ann laughed a mum laugh. “That is to be expect… considering…” She looked down, at the same time her eyebrows raised to their highest setting, Liam jumped again, in readiness for the eyebrow pop he was sure he was about to witness.

Considering? Considering what?

“You put on quite a show,” said Meg.

A SHOW? Liam looked from Meg to Ann. Ann to Meg. He had no information on this latest offering of, alleged, fact.

“Shh,” said Ann.

Liam cleared his throat, which was stinging sore, now that he cleared it. “A show?” It came out as a croaked whisper, Liam was deliberately trying not to sound alarmed, and he’d over shot.

“Does it hurt a bit, luv, that’d be from the tube with which we pumped your stomach… darl.” Meg scrunched up her nose. She bounced her shoulders.

He cleared his throat again. “A show?” Pumped my what?

“Now don’t you worry about that,” said Ann.

Worry about what, I thought. I could remember nothing.

“I’m the director of nursing and I am here to inform you that the security guard we have felt the need to place on this floor for your welfare,” continued Ann. She cleared her throat, “The welfare of the other patients,” she cleared her throat again, “and the staff, is just outside your curtain.” She looked at Meg. “Should you need him.”

“A security guard?” The modulation was spot on, but I was concentrating so fiercely, I sounded like a psychopath, I am sure.

“I love this bit the most,” said Meg. “You boys always turn out to be so lovely,” she cleared her throat, “Nine times out of ten.”

Ann raised her eyebrows at Meg, who in turn nodded at the shared experience they had both just remembered.

Ann looked down at Liam, she brushed some hair off his forehead. “The masturbators always turn out to be the sweetest, though.” She looked away and said wistfully, “Funny.”

“So much energy,” said Meg. She looked down at Liam.

Ann looked down at Liam, again. “We’re not going to have any more trouble out of you, now are we, Mr Hillier?”

“No,” I said.

Mind. Blown.

Kaboom!