Abstract Hearts
an excerpt

Abstract Hearts

Chapter 9- The Truth About The Color Red

“What do you think of the colors of our scrubs?” It's directed at me from a man wearing the same color scrubs as me. He was quiet the day before at dinner, and I hadn't really noticed him at the pretty big table. He's a few years older than me by the looks of him, he has a scruffy, uncombed mess of brown hair, and a perpetual look of exhaustion. His insomnia must be pretty tough, the way he looks.
“Well, for red, I think they look suspiciously close to pastel pink.”
The man grins at me- it's a wide grin that goes straight through the hollows of his cheeks. It, frankly, looks skeletal. “Finally... someone else who doesn't live in total denial.”
“Pfft, when are you going to just give up on that already?” A man wearing light blue scrubs whom I can't recognize says in a rather bitter voice.
The man who had spoken first looks at me as though thinking of what to say, closes his eyes, and says, “I'll give up when they bend and call these scrubs PINK or give us RED scrubs.”
“Those used to be red- remember what the therapist said the last time you wouldn't shut up about it?” A woman wearing pink scrubs like I am says. “All of the red scrubs's dyes got washed out after all of the times they've been washed. They weren't bought pink; when they were bought,t hey were RED.”
“Yeah, well,” Pink man says, sounding defensive now, “They could go buy new ones.”
“Just so you can have actual “red” scrubs?!”
“Look, I'm just putting the option out there- that's all. And, I think that it should be considered-”
I sigh and look away from the scene at the table that is taking place between the many annoyed people at the table and the pink-scrubbed man. As I look over to the side, I see a flash of familiar pink hair leaning between two of the people on the far side of the table. It's Kairos, leaning forward on the table, resting on his elbows. He looks as though he's as engrossed with the conversation on the table as though he's watching some amazing drama on television. And, unless I'm wrong, he's also... eating out of a square red and white striped bag of popcorn, and every once in awhile, he bends slightly forward to grab at a cup he has near him to sip out of the straw. I watch him eating the popcorn while eating my scrambled eggs that are covered in pepper and salt as he watches the man in pink scrubs eat toast and argue...
I nearly feel my eyes cross as I think over just how confusing this whole thing is. I'm taking a bite out of my heavily jellied-up toast when I hear the pink-scrubbed man say, “If they're going to continue making us wear these ridiculous pink scrubs, all I'm saying is, why don't they just come out and call them the color that they are?”
“You go, girl.” I very nearly choke to death on the bite of toast I was swallowing when I hear Kairos speak in that very much effeminate voice. I definitely garner more attention than I wanted when everyone at the table stops mid-argument to look over at me with looks that seemed to say, are you going to choke to death right now or what? I quickly get ahold of myself before I very nearly barf after I get the toast down my throat. I chase the toast with a huge gulp of the milk I have on my tray purely for safety measures. Thankfully, the eyes of everyone on the table goes back to the pink-scrubbed man as he goes back to making his points for his ever lost cause.
“I mean, I just get this idea that the only reason these people are making us wear PINK scrubs is to fuck-”
“Hey, hey, hey,” An over-weight, yellow-scrubbed man says, grimacing. “Watch da language- I'm trying to stop from using that kind of language anymore.”
I'm watching the yellow-scrubbed man talk for three seconds before Kairos appears behind him. Kairos leans in next him and looks at him incredulously. “REA-lly? Aw, come on- being a potty mouth is fuckin' good fun! Fuck! Shit! Cock-master! Shitty fuckmaster of the cock!” He's jumping up and down on the ground excitedly, expelling a litany of language bad enough to make trailer trash want to blush in one seemingly endless jabber. As he does this, the table goes on with it's conversation. As I listen into the group of patients debate the differences between the color red and pink, then as I switch over to listen into Kairos as he begins in on a stream of wonderfully enigmatic phrases like, “Piss-lunging dung-bastard!” or(on the more romantic side), “Javelin-punch vagina lump!”, I can't help but wonder what the people at the table would find more interesting- debating the intricacies of pastel pink and red, or listening to Kairos all wound up like how he is.
I, used to the pile of eggs I had been forking and sticking into my mouth for the whole of the contradictory scenes I was watching, am surprised to hear the tap as my fork hit the bald spot on the tray where my pile of eggs had once been. I had eaten the whole pile of eggs without even realizing it. Finished with breakfast, I start to get up from my stool when I hear the voice of pink scrubs talking. “Hey, you! What do you have to say about this?”
I freeze up as my legs both swing off of the stool, my hands cemented around the edges of my tray. I slowly turn around to face the table that quietly regards me. As I look over at the table, my eyes pass over Kairos- who is sitting back in his stool, his eyes stuck on me, munching on imaginary popcorn and sipping on imaginary cola. He takes long sips on his cola, making loud, obnoxious noises as he tires to sip up whatever left in the cup with his straw.
I didn't really know what to say, since I hadn't really been paying attention to the increasingly inane argument that had taken place at that table. Dammit.
“Uh- I do think these look more pink than red, really.” Ooh, good one, Cybil! Stay safe with that answer.
“You already said that.” The pink-scrubbed man said bitterly. “Now, what do you have to say about-”
I walked off as quickly as I can in the direction of the trash cans/conveyor belt, where I watch Kairos in mid-squat as he settles himself down on the conveyor belt that leads to the wash area. He sits Indian style on the black moving belt, and as he slides slowly backwards in front of my tray, he addresses me.
“Y'know, I really think that there are some nutters who live here.”
Oh, really? I never would have imagined it...
I watch as the conveyor belt slowly pulls Kairos away from me. He's smiling, and as he rolls away under the little window where everything disappears into, I can hear his loud laughter.
I'm following the trail of pink-scrubbed people after the announcement came on the speakers. All patients report to the therapy groups immediately.
Many groups of other scrub-dressed people broke off along the walk down yet another white-walled hallway, walking into little rooms, closing the doors behind them. We walked halfway down the hallway before my group stopped at a door. Next to the door, a plaque read Room 3-11- Insomniac Support Group. And, under the plaque area for the room name and number, someone's name appeared to have been added to hastily. I'd say hastily, because the space where you'd expect to see the name added to in a way similar to teacher's name on the room name was a slip of lined paper with the words, “Dr. Hark” scrawled on it in spidery black ink.
One of the patients ahead of me pushes the door open and goes inside. The rest to us follow him into a room with a pastiche of motivational, educational, and sickeningly adorable posters plastered all over the white walls. Many seats are moved into a wide circle- the one farthest from the room is already occupied. The person sitting in the fold-out chair is a man with graying brown hair, glasses, and who is wearing a baggy green sweat shirt and faded blue jeans. In his lap, he's holding a clip board balanced on one knee.
“Good morning patients.” He says. “Please, everyone find a seat.”
We all find seat- and mine is one near the clock that's on the right side of the door. Everyone else is quiet, so I follow their lead. It's not that hard, anyway; I don't know anyone's name here, and I'm too busy worrying over whether or not Kairos is planning on making an appearance to think straight about anything else.
Thankfully, the session begins without Kairos making an apparent appearance. The doc re-adjusts his glasses on his nose, looks down at the clipboard, and talks.
“I think we have a new arrival here today- no, wait... two arrivals. Would Maurice Hamlin and Cybil Walburn stand up?”
Me and a very peaked-looking blonde man stand up. He's sitting opposite of me, and he's wearing pink scrubs that look at least three sizes too large for his frame- which is bony to the point of skeletal from what I can see of his body. He looks over at the doc, at me, then back to the doc rapidly. Geez, nervous much? Well, not as though I had any room at all to talk- I was living in fear since the moment I had come to Pine Ridge that I'd be tossed into a place worse than this when Kairos first appeared to me. Which, all in all, made my earlier problems and probably all of this man's problems look minuscule in comparison.
“How about you start us off, Maurice, by telling us about yourself?” Doc Hark says.
Maurice stares at the doc for a long time, making himself look a lot like a deer caught in a spotlight, his blue grey eyes wide and watery.
“I... uh.... uhhhh.... uhhhhhhh....-”
“Why don't you start off by telling us why you're here, Mr. Hamlin?”
Maurice gives him a grateful nod. “I'm... I'm an insomniac, and I take medication, because... because...”
“Because you suffer from insomnia?” Doc says kindly.
“N-no...” Maurice shakes his head. “I suffer from realistic hallucinations about an imaginary person-”
He's cut off by laughter coming from everyone in the room. Everyone, that is, except me. I stare at that brightly blushing man as he stands up, his hands cupping his reddening cheeks in embarrassment in frank disbelief of what I had just heard. Was it possible...? Could he be like me?
“Be quiet everyone, BE QUIET!” The doc barks. When nobody does, he sighs, then slams him clipboard down against his armrest loudly and stands up. “Everyone BE QUIET, OR I'M GOING TO CALL IN FOR MEDS!”
Everyone's laughter dies down almost instantaneously, like a blast from a fire extinguisher to a blazing flame. After everyone is silenced, however, Maurice, poor Maurice, is still standing. His face looks like how I can remember feeling so often in school- empty. Empty because, most likely, the real him is hunched back somewhere in his mind, taking comfort in that place where he isn't being ridiculed. That look almost makes me want to hug him.
“Now, Maurice,” The doc says, still looking red from his outburst. “Seeing as the group couldn't refrain themselves from acting like juniors in high school,” He gives a good, healthy glare to everyone in the room- including, rather unfairly, me. “You can continue to tell us more about yourself the next time we have group. We can move onto Cybil Walburn now... ah, Ms. Walburn, would you mind telling us more about yourself?”
Maurice looks at doc with yet another grateful look on his pallid little face before his gaze shifts over to me as I start to stand. As his pale blue eyes look at me, I wonder if the man had seen me not laughing at him. When his gaze shifts quickly to the ground, I, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, realize that he probably hadn't, and just thought that I was like the rest of the room, who were all too hasty in wanting to ridicule him.