Yellow Walls and Tiled Floors

December 10, 2009
By Anonymous

“It’s your fault she turned out this way!” He was screaming again. Mother was sobbing; I could hear her. She had always done everything right for me and I failed her, again.
“Roger, it’s not my fault. Maybe if you were around or visited her...”

“Enough! I will not have any of your whining, woman.” Her crying was louder now. I tried to tune out their voices as the fight continued. I couldn’t see what was going on; the mirror prevented this. I imagined my father shaking his fists and stomping his foot (so hard it could probably make an indent into the ground). My mother sobbing her big crocodile tears into her hands and trying to talk in broken sentences, pleading with the devil; she was a good mother.

Yes, that’s what was happening outside this room. I was going to ignore it as I always had when it occurred. I sat in the frigid metal chair, unmoving, unseen to the rest of the hospital staff that worked in this dismal place. Until a decision was made on what would be done with me, I would continue to sit here. The mirror shook; my father had hit the wall. My mother let out a wail as though she had just been stabbed (and I would not put it past my father to do this). His heart was like ice; it presumably never loved anything other than him and money. He said he loved me, but it was a foolish notion to actually believe he cared. He did at least show fatherly love towards my half brother. I observed this during my last summer being graciously privileged to stay with him (or that’s what his “wife” said). She believes I and my mother are lowly scum that only exist on this planet because of her dear and oh so loving husband, known to me as daddy.

The door swung open; it collided with the wall, creating a booming echo that made the pipes shudder. In strutted my father, looking rather red in the face but he still held his head high as though he were in complete control. His outer façade yielded no help against me I knew him too well and I knew he was disgraced to have been called into this situation. Behind him flanked three men- two were doctors. One looked like a therapist and a lawyer, either way it wasn’t a pleasant scene. My father coughed into his sleeve a couple times.

“You are going to go with these gentlemen and remain in their care for quite some time.”
“So you don’t believe me then, father?” My stare were cold and I could see the shiver run down my father as I glared at him from beneath the bangs with my eyes of different colors. He turned away fast, taking a deep breath to calm down. I knew how to make him squirm. He turned back around; sweat beads had formed on his forehead. He pulled out his yellow polka dotted pocket hankie and dabbed at his forehead.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that…” He struggled a bit.
I stood up and walked over to him. “It’s that you don’t believe me and you never have. I want to speak with mother.”
“You can’t.” he said firmly. He had shaken off his nerves the minute I approached him. I cocked my eyebrow.
“Why not?”

“Your mother has been forbidden to see you till further notice!” A wail resounded from outside the door. I peered past the men and my father to see my mother, a disheveled mess, tears still streaming down her face and all over her dress, being yanked away by two men in white coats. She was probably much closer to insanity than I was. This man standing in front of me was the devil. I despised him so much.
“You know, she needs someone with her or to at least be able to see me.”

“I will not permit that,” he boomed. The men behind him backed away a little.
“You're going to kill her! She needs help supporting herself and without me there she won’t be able to do it,” I yelled into his face standing on my tiptoes to peer into his eyes. He shoved me onto the floor. A smile danced onto his lips playfully,

“Well, then, I suppose this may be a good thing for you,” he sneered

Anger seethed in my chest as I stood up, my shoulders shaking, trying to maintain control of my own emotions. I would not be like him; I was not a demon spawn of this man. I had more control than him.
“Fine, I will do as you wish, Father,” I said sarcastically.

“Good. This man is Mr.Faurst; he is the owner of the establishment where you will be staying.”
“Oh goody!” I mocked. “You mean the nut house.” I rolled my eyes. My father gave me a stern look; I waved it off. He gave a look of indignation could see the color in his cheeks. Again, I had made him furious.

“You rude, horrible, nasty child!” He spat in my face grabbing my wrist and pulling me close. “You will respect me or so help me...”
“You’ll do what? Kill me! Oh, that would be a blessing from heaven if ever there was one.” I grimaced and lowered my voice. “I’m sorry. I was out of line I will leave with Mr.Faurst right away”.

“Darn right you will!” He threw my wrist out of his hands, causing me to teeter off balance slightly.

I walked over to Mr.Faurst, the scary gray colored therapist/lawyer man. He smiled; it would have been better for him to keep his mouth closed; he had awful, yelowish teeth that smelled of rotted plants. I almost gagged as he bent forward to say hello; it was like a Dumpster had just been shoved in my face. I fought hard to keep my breakfast down. His hands were slimey and oily sending shivers up my spine and causing my hair to stand on end as we shook hands. I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t have to be around this man anymore than …well, than right at this very moment. The doctors still stood there like shadows- white shadows. They weren’t picturesque like a statue; in fact they seemed like macabre doctors, the type who would randomly pull out a scalpel and slit open your throat just to watch you bleed. I kept at least a person’s distance between them and myself.
They led me out of the metal room. I hadn’t seen the rest of the building because I had been brought in during complete darkness. In contrast ,everything seemed so bright -the canary- yellow walls and tiled floors. Footsteps echoed in every hallway. My father talked with Mr.Faurst as they walked, whispering in his ear every once in a while looking back at me then quickly turning around. They had me follow them to a loading dock where a giant black van with fire painted across the bottom was waiting. One of the doctors went to the back and pulled open the doors. He beckoned me over and I got inside, sitting on one of the benches in the back. The engine revved and I saw both doctors and the rather creepy Mr.Faurst climb into the front. I went to close the door as a hand gripped it, preventing it from moving.

“Now, I want you to behave yourself and be good. It could be a lot worse.” He was trying to be sympathetic. It was insincere.
“I don’t see how,” I muttered under my breath.

“Don’t worry. It will all be done with soon enough. I love you…Angelina.” He hesitated, almost chocking on those last words. My eyes got fiery and I flipped the hair in my face out ,gripping the door handle tightly.
“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!”I slammed the door in his face and the van lurched away. Through the window I saw him standing there, yelling at the van. I didn’t care what he yelled. It didn’t matter; he didn’t love me. He never did. I watched the roads pass by. I didn’t deserve this, nor did my mother. I felt just awful for her; I began to sob in the back of the van. I had held in the feelings in front of my father. My poor mother. I wept for her in the back of that lonely van.

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