--1--

Daddy,

            I hate it here!  This was a mistake.  There are too many bugs and it rains a lot.  Their huts are on stilts and an interpreter told me there will be flooding in the next couple of months.  The people point at our stuff and expect us to just give it to them or take what they want.  One of them broke my hairbrush.  A kid smacked another one while fighting over my mirror, so now it’s missing a chunk of glass.  Someone took my shoelaces so I spent the morning with someone from Moyer’s to look for something I could use.  In the end, I had to use a piece of the cheesecloth I was given for my water barrel, so while it barely fit over the top of it, it doesn’t now.  The water is gross.  It’s collected in barrels and we have to boil it first before we use it, but before that, we have to get the bugs out, which is what the cheesecloth is for, but they still get in and it takes forever for the damn thing to fill up.

             They eat a lot of roots, which are weird and taste funny.  I’m waiting for the sweet potatoes to be ready for harvesting, but have heard they trade most of them, so not to get too excited.  They have something called taro, which we are eating a lot of.  It’s like yams, but not the same.  They also eat bugs, which are gross.  When we eat, I feel like they’re watching me and will attack if I don’t eat what they give me.  I try to make it look like an accident and push them off of my plate.  Denise says I am being rude.  Just wash them down with water.  I tried and almost threw up.

The men are away most of the time, hunting, and because the men from Moyer’s and the National Health Organization stay with us, they get looked at like the tribe is angry with them.  I mean, what do they expect?  We’re here to help improve their village and make it easier for them.  The guys are not hunters or even foragers.  They’re scientists and doctors for Christ’s sake.

            I am afraid to open my suitcase in front of any of them.  They’ll probably want my clothes.  Not that they’re any good here, at any rate.  I don’t see how to wash them.  Denise thinks we should just run around like the kids, naked, or use some of the bigger leaves and make skirts.  I’d rather cut up a sheet before doing that.  Besides, I wouldn’t know how to make one.  Denise thinks I’m being ridiculous and has started saying, “While in Rome, go native!”   

            The mosquitos are horrible and I’m all bit up.  Since it rains a lot, Denise just digs a small hole and uses mud on her bites because it helps with the itching.  I don’t believe her.  I’m hoping to find something when we go into the village.  A warm shower, preferably, but am not holding my breath.  It’ll probably be the same like it is here.

            If the mosquitos are bad and the bugs they eat worse, you should see what comes into the hut.  The spiders are huge and I’ve seen a few snakes.  I’m afraid to go out and use the bathroom and even sleep with a flashlight. This is all your fault, Daddy.  You should have told me I couldn’t go.  You’ve been on trips like this and all you said was to let the experience change me.  I’m so mad right now, I could cry.  I just want to go home.  Please come get me.

Katie

--2--

“Amanda, is that you?”

            Amanda glanced over in the direction of where the voice was coming from and frowned.  Pregnant or not, she would have thought Michelle would still be sleeping off a hangover.  “Yes, Michelle?”

            Michelle winced as if Amanda’s brusque response gave her a headache.  “I just wanted to say, ‘hello.’  I’m sorry you weren’t at the party last night.  Daniel seemed to enjoy himself.”

            Amanda’s eyebrows rose.  “Are you sure?  He was home by 9:30.”

            Michelle stepped back as if slapped.  “I’ve got to look at things for the baby.  Why are you here?”

            Dr. Blake did not bother to hide her expression of how stupid she thought the other woman was.  She wondered if Michelle had ever been in therapy or considered it.  It was obvious hers was a world in which money was never deprived, yet she found her wanting. Still, she spared the other woman no sympathy.  “Are you sure the baby is even Brian’s?”

            All the color drained from Michelle’s face save for the patches of makeup she had applied with an expert hand.  Her drastic change in appearance reminded Amanda of the clown who sold balloons at the free zoo her mother had taken her to when she was eight.  All Michelle needed was a red nose and a curly orange wig.  “What did you say to me?”

            “What no one is willing to.  It makes me wonder if you suffer from nymphomania because of the way you seem to attach yourself to anything male.”

            Michelle looked around to see if anyone was listening.  She had hoped she would have caught Amanda off guard and vulnerable.  Instead, she was sliced with surgical precision by two mere sentences.  She swallowed over the lump in the back of her throat.  In truth, she thought Amanda was oblivious when it came to others and if she was wondering if the baby was Brian’s, it made her wonder how many in her elite circle thought the same.  She recovered and looked at her watch.  “I have to go.”

            “How convenient,” Amanda said tonelessly.  “You know where I work.  Feel free to set up an appointment.”

            Michelle turned on her heel and left.  Amanda released the long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and continued looking at strawberry pots.  She settled on a decent-sized one of terra cotta that would fit on the windowsill in her office.  Afterward, she went to the craft section to look at paints and brushes.  Now all she had to do was stop by the grocery store for some strawberries, which she would do before going to Sanford on Monday.

            She had listened to Pastor Richmond and looked up kindness and was surprised by his insight.  It did describe the way Dr. Thompson treated Samantha, yet it was given in small increments as if he didn’t want to overwhelm her.  It made her wonder if her approach to the patient was the same way she approached all of her experiments.  As much as the idea of kindness made sense, would she be able to see Samantha as an individual and not an object of research? 

            Amanda sighed and debated on whether or not to put the few items back and just see how Samantha would respond to the book.  In the end, she chose to go through with buying the few things.  She would ask Samantha to paint while she read to her.  If anything, she found the thought peaceful.  It had been a while since she had read to Daniel as well and wondered if he would like to hear One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest again.

            On the way out of the store, she spied Michelle sitting behind the wheel of her car.  It looked as if she had been crying.  Amanda thought about going over and asking her if she was alright, then thought better of it.  The damage was done and she was sure Daniel would receive a call about how she had treated Michelle.  It annoyed her, the calls of what amounted to two-year-old tattling as if Daniel could stop her from not putting up with what she considered trivial bullshit.  If anything, she wondered why they couldn’t just leave her alone.

            She got into her car and put the key in the ignition.  The cold had come back, yet she hoped the ground wouldn’t freeze again before Samantha was able to fill her pot.  Next week was also Halloween and although she didn’t participate, Daniel would dress up and hand candy out to Trick or Treaters.  She almost felt a pang of sadness as she imagined him dressed up like a vampire or werewolf.  Once he bought a bunch of rolls of white gauze and was a mummy.  He had teased her that night saying toilet paper would have been cheaper. 

            Amanda was beginning to wonder if Pastor Richmond had anything to do with the slight building of consideration towards others which seemed to be a gentle prodding at her ribs.  She had not felt defensive towards him since the episode in the truck, yet he hadn’t eased up.  It made her wonder if he saw her the way she saw her patients or others and didn’t know what to think about it.  He also hinted at things, making her wonder what it was he was hiding, if there was anything to hide, and maybe it was his way of building trust in her to see if he could tell her about it.

--3--

There had been no other incident with Samantha after the scissors and the restraints were taken away.  Nurse Horscham also noted a bit of a change in her behavior.  Her step was lighter and there was a hint of life in her eyes.  She did not smile and continued to roam the halls in her usual state of apathy, but now she would pause outside of Dr. Blake’s office as if she were expecting to meet with her.

            This behavior made the nurse think of an abused dog that had finally found refuge and love.  The loyalty Samantha expressed in the small act almost saddened her, yet made her wonder what it was that made her like Dr. Blake.  “Come, Samantha,” she said taking her arm.  “It’s time for lunch.”

            “Dig?”

            Pamela shook her head.  “Not today.”

            Samantha’s face fell. 

            Nurse Horscham wasn’t the only one who noticed a change in Samantha’s behavior.  Dr. Wilson did as well, even though she was no longer his patient.  Things had not settled down as he had hoped and he still felt Dr. Blake’s calculating glare dissecting him when she was there.  It was frustrating enough to almost make him want to confess how he had been molesting Samantha, and even though she couldn't prove it, she had linked him to changing the documented doses in her chart.  He realized it was best to lay low and wait for an opportunity to present itself.  “Taking her to lunch,” he asked as Nurse Horscham and Samantha passed by the nurses’ station.

            Pamela nodded.  “She seems a little down that Dr. Blake isn’t here today, so I’m going to see if there’s a strawberry jam sandwich she can have.”

            Dr. Wilson nodded as they continued by.  He missed fondling the young breasts under Samantha’s cheap cotton uniform and felt a stirring as he recalled how he would stand behind her and slip his hands down the wide collar of her shirt.  He would ask her questions about sex or if she had ever been touched, and if it had something to do with why she fried out on acid.  He found her silence unnerving, but not threatening until she got hold of the scissors.

            No attempt had been made to even out Samantha’s hair, yet an orderly had taken pity on her and offered her a scarf that had to be taken away in case she tried to kill herself with it.  It was a sharp reminder of that night and if it were up to him, he’d just put a bag over her head.  Like Daniel, he was abhorred at the thought of the tip of the scissors being thrust through Samantha’s pants and shuddered at what could have happened.  “But it didn’t,” he mumbled looking down at another patient’s chart. 

            A memo had been circling recently about reintroducing insulin-induced comas and Dr. Blake had been looking into the idea before calling a meeting.  He thought it was a good idea, yet the medical director was reluctant to consider it on the grounds of it being barbaric as well as illegal, even if it would help to sedate the more combative cases.  He didn’t understand her compassion towards them, even if it was from a clinical standpoint.

            His thoughts turned to the patch of land being prepared for the garden.  The way Blake had treated those digging would have made one think they were not institutionalized. Who cared if their palms got welts and blisters or if they had something to eat and drink?  Yet they seemed to respond well to the activity.  Could something as simple as showing them they were cared about be a turning point for establishing some form of normalcy for them?  He doubted it, although Blake was reminding him more and more of the idealistic fool Thompson had been.  He hoped the project failed.