The Two Kinds of Decay

Darlene and Sam

By Saturday, still on the psych ward, I could feel my hands were weaker, but Darlene said my walking looked the same, no worse.

Darlene was sixty, very skinny, a long-haul anorectic. Did jigsaw puzzles ten hours a day and was thoroughly sweet to everyone, even Betty, who dozed in the dayroom and smelled.

Sam the bulimic told me about Darlene’s repeated suicide attempts — the eating disorders trusted each other. We both smiled. Darlene knew what she was doing.

That night we all stayed up playing poker with candy for chips. It was Edith’s first game of poker. She was an old lady whose antique shop had burned down. I taught everyone Texas Hold ‘Em. We’d all taken our meds before starting and had to quit after the fourth hand.

My second Sunday on the psych ward was Halloween. We decorated the ward with spiderweb floss. Sam had three trays of pastries sent from his shop. The therapist from South Dakota danced a jig. Ed and Nico danced cheek to cheek. Darlene sang “Crocodile Rock.” Edith recited a Yeats poem.

On Monday, in art therapy, I glazed my trivet, a square of plaster set in metal, with rows of tiny heart-shaped tiles set in the plaster.