March 2002

Another job, another journal. And no – I didn't get fired or quit if that's what you're thinking. I actually got a better job if you can believe that – which I still can't really believe myself. When I read in the paper about the opening, I didn't think I had a chance. I'd heard this place was like a Hollywood spa compared to the State institution. But I had nothin' to lose, so why not.

Today was my first day at the swanky Beverly Hills Clinic. No more cleanin' up after nuts at the State asylum for me. I mean – I still have to clean up after loonies, but at least the place doesn't look like something out of a horror flick. The State place seriously gave me the creeps: understaffed…patients just wandering the hallways unsupervised. And I never though I'd get rid of the scent of old people and misery stuck up my nostrils.

I was nervous as hell today driving up the long, twisted driveway to the impressive glass and brick building. A big black guy, who later introduced himself as Cody, came out to greet me at the big front French doors. He curtly told me to park my jalopy in the back.

Jalopy? I wanted to yell at him. This car's a classic! But instead I gave him a tight-lipped smile and drove around to the employee entrance in the back.

The state-run join always smelled like diapers and rotting bananas. This new place doesn't exactly have a pleasant scent; kind of like recycled air and Glad Plug-ins, but it's an improvement.

After I got my bearings, a thick nurse named Thelma showed me around. Thelma's got this crazy mop of curly red hair like L'il Orphan Annie. But she's a little too wide and a little too saggy for anyone to make that mistake. Her wide blue eyes were lined with a shade of blue I hadn't seen since the late 1980s, and as she gave me the grand tour of the place, I tried to not get distracted by the wad of pink bubble gum she rolled around inside her mouth.

I can't afford to lose this job. Literally. Living in LA is hella expensive. I knew that when I moved here after high school. I didn't have any grand illusions about making it big in Tinseltown like more than half the people I meet out in the clubs. But I am escaping from something just like everyone else in this fake city.

Thelma said I wouldn't get a group of patients just yet. I'm on probation first, and I'll have to shadow one of the other orderlies before they'll trust me with the clientele. Thelma introduced me to a waspy blonde – Shelia – the woman I'll be shadowing the next week or so until I'm deemed worthy to clean up some crazy person's vomit by myself.

Shelia's got a real angular, Anglo-Saxon face – kinda like a Heidi Klum suckin' on lemons. If her mouth wasn't so puckered, she might actually be pretty, 'cause every time I look at her lips I can't help but think dirty thoughts.

After getting introduced to the rest of the help-staff (whose names I promptly forgot), Shelia took me on the rounds. She's got seven patients right now – says they never get more than ten at a time, so we've no excuse for over-flowing bedpans or chicken carcasses hidden under beds. Shelia's patients all have a variety of disorders – they purposely mix them all up so the Cutters don't get too chummy and have a razorblade party or find out the Bulimics are sharin' their Ex-lax.

One girl, Belle I think her name was…or Bella…I'm shit with names…has O.C.D. She's a Hoarder. Shelia found a magazine under her bed – apparently this chick's not allowed personal items in her room, and she screamed up a storm when Shelia threw it away.

"Don't let them get special privileges," she warned me, "or the doctors will have your neck for messin' with their treatments."

Shelia was real proud of the fact that one of her loons is some Hollywood starlet. I'd never heard the girl's name before, but I don't have cable and fuck if I'm spending almost $20 for a single movie ticket. She told me we get a lot of famous people – detoxing, running from the law or overly demanding schedules. I hope they don't stick me with some celebutante, though. Those kinda chicks get no sympathy from me.

All in all, it was a pretty uneventful day – not that I'm complaining though – cause those are the best kind, in my humble opinion.

5 March 2002

Day Two of shadowing Shelia the Great. I don't know what is it, but me and girls just don't get along. Even in a job setting, they always turn out to be real catty or some shit like they're worried I'm gonna steal their fuckin' boyfriend. Well Newsflash, if a guy's gonna stray, being a bitch to the competition ain't gonna help.

I never have to worry about Jarrod straying though. I got that boy so pussy-whipped he could catch me in bed with someone else and just ask if I needed a drink or a condom or something.

Jarrod can't understand why I do this kind of work. He keeps buggin' me to marry him and let him take me away from all of this, but I know better than to rely on some man for the bread on my table. He's a seriously good guy though – and sexy as fuck – but I just don't think of myself as the Marrying Kind. Plus his mom is a naggin' bitch.

Day Two was a little busier than yesterday. I guess Shelia's getting sick of having to explain things to me already, so I found myself alone a lot today. I'm fine with that though – never was much of a team player. So as soon as I get my own section of patients, I'll be golden.

Caught a girl hiding pills under her pillow today. Felt bad rattin' her out like that; girl seriously worked hard at building up that stash.

6 March 2003

Saw The Zombie today. Was eating lunch in the cafeteria with two other orderlies, Chris and Eva, when they pointed her out. The staff eats in the main cafeteria with all the patients. It's entertaining in a way – watchin' all those people with all those problems makes me feel a little normal.

Chris is either the most metrosexual dude in the city or a total Queen. I think the guy spends more time on his hair than I do. Eva's a sexy little Latina girl. She's workin' her way through college, so I've got hella respect for her doing that. Girlfriend's a short little thing with a hot little ass. Scrubs normally do nothing for the body, but I can just tell she's a tight Puerto Rican package.

I was chattin' it up with Chris and Eva about some movie they'd seen, and I'd probably never see, when the saddest looking girl stalked into the cafeteria. She caught my eye cause I've got a thing for bronzed blondes. Dunno what it is about tan, blonde chicks, but they really get my motor goin' if ya know what I mean.

But this girl looked so defeated, I actually felt sorry for her. Her head was hung real low at first, so I couldn't see her face. Her wrists were real boney, just peaking out from the button-up Henley shirt they make the patients wear. She had a full head of blonde hair, cut short and sticking in all directions like she'd washed it, but wasn't allowed to style it.

She sat down at a vacant table with a redheaded orderly whose name I can't remember. And then I just kinda stared and watched like some kinda freak as the thin redhead ladled up some mushy oatmeal for Blondie to eat.

Red got some food in her hair, cause it was still hangin' in front of her face. But when her orderly tucked the strands behind her ears, I got a glimpse of one of the most hauntingly beautiful faces I've ever seen. Her face is kind of heat-shaped, I guess, with a real cute chin that kinda sticks out in a stubborn way. Her pink lips looked like they'd never been absent of lip-gloss and her upturned nose was the stuff cosmetic dreams are made of. Her eyebrows were carefully manicured and a shade darker than her hair, which made me think she's not a natural blonde. Everything on her face was perfectly proportioned – like the rest of her body.

Her eyes, however, almost made me drop my milk carton. It wasn't the color that threw me – kind of a hazel with green flecks when the sunlight streaming from the southern windows hit them just right. It was the depth that made me pause. It was like looking into an abyss. There was no emotion, no reaction, no humanity in those eyes.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, than this woman was soulless.

Eve caught me staring and called me out. "That's The Zombie," she informed me in a casual tone. Then she gave me a real mysterious look and leaned forward as if she had a secret to reveal. "She's been here six years, and I hear she's only been lucid twice since then."

Chris stared at the blonde girl as well, not caring how obvious he was being. "It's a shame," he mumbled. "Such a pretty girl."

Eva slapped his arm playfully. "Oh, because it's only a tragedy when the pretty ones go crazy."

I asked them what was wrong with the girl. Drugs? Skitzophrenia? Dementia?

Eva just shrugged. "I haven't seen her chart, and I've never been assigned to her." She nodded toward the redhead who continued to spoon feed the beautiful girl. "We call her The Zombie because she only uses her basic motor-skills – otherwise she's like a brain-dead vegetable."

"Six years and no change thought?" I asked. "What kind of treatments are they tryin' on her?"

Chris gave me a strange look and asked why I was so curious about this girl. And I couldn't explain it myself really. Normally I'm pretty detached and cynical when it comes to the people locked up in these places; but for some reason I found myself actually feeling sorry for the Zombie.

7 March 2002

Don't have a lot of time to write tonight. Jarrod is picking me up in a few minutes to go to dinner. Probably will be the most I'll have eaten all week – guy loves to see me eat for some sick reason.

Had the fucking-est strange thing happen today. I was doing my rounds, getting kinda lost to the routine – go in patient's room, change their sheets, etc. – when one of Eva's charges wandered up to me. Her name's Anu. She's this elderly Indian woman with thick grey hair pulled back in a severe burn. Her skin is the color of a paper bag, and I never see her without a walker with those tennis balls jabbed on the bottom legs.

She started to babble about how she had wanted to be a nun and was this close to joining a convent when the devil broke her leg. Told me her family had kept her in the hospital now for three years. Her grey eyes started to tear up, and I felt real uncomfortable cause I don't do well with women crying in front of me. Never was good at consoling people or anything like that.

I started to kind of zone out what she was saying cause her accent was so thick. I could hardly understand every other word. But then she started talking about how she was praying for everyone at the clinic to get better and pointed down the hallway.

When my eyes followed where she was pointing to, I saw just a glimpse of The Zombie being walked into her room. I knew it was her right away cause nobody else here has blonde hair like that.

Anu said she was especially praying for "that one." Said she was praying for God to open her eyes. And then she said the weirdest thing. "But God can only help those that want to be helped."

I don't know why it struck me; I'm sure as hell not a religious person. Anyway, I gotta hit the shower. I smell like vomit and Mac & Cheese.

8 March 2002

Had the day off today, so I went to the beach.

God, my legs are lookin' pasty. We don't get to go outside much at the clinic, so I like to spend my off days doing anything that keeps me outside. Plus I work such long hours at the clinic, I'm there before the sun's up, and after battling traffic on the way home in the Valley, there's not much more light to speak of.

Jarrod wanted to stay the night last night cause I could sleep-in in the morning, but sleep trumps sex, so I kicked him home once I'd gotten my fill of him.

He wants me to move in with him. At least now I've got this job as an excuse not to. The commute from his place would be wicked long.

Gonna go now. I think I'll spend the rest of the night watching baseball on TV and drinking some beer.

11 March 2002

Sorry I've missed a few days. But didn't really have the energy and nothing really worth writing has happened the past few days. Fucking rough day at work today though.

So here's what happened: I was just doin' my rounds as usual, pushing around my little metal cart with all the toiletries on it. Have to restock the bedrooms while everyone is out of their rooms doing other stuff like art therapy or whatever.

I don't know why I decided to stop outside of the group therapy room at that exact moment, but I did. I normally keep my nose outta that kinda stuff – I don't need to know these peoples' deep, dark secrets and how their moms never loved 'em enough or bought 'em a puppy. Mine didn't either, but I turned out all right.

So anyway, I stopped in the hallway just outside of the room where they hold group therapy sessions. A handful of patients were sitting in folding chairs in a circle, gabbin' about their problems.

Dr. Primrose, one of the only decent doctors in the joint, was gettin' people to care and share and all that shit. And then I hear Doc P's voice say her name. Buffy. The name struck me as kinda funny, and I stuck my head in the doorway to catch a glimpse of the poor sucker whose parents stuck her with a name like that. And it was her.

The Zombie.

Her hazel-green eyes showed no recognition that Dr. P was sayin' her name. But I knew that she was 'Buffy' cause Doc was sitting next to her and had her hand on her forearm, trying to coax something outta her. Was trying to get The Zombie to contribute to the group, I guess.

I don't know why I chose that moment to get a case of the dropsies, cause the bedpan in my hands totally slipped from my grip and crashed onto the linoleum floor. Made the most horrible kind of sound. Plastic hitting ugly tile.

I scrambled to pick it up and scoot back down the hallway without being noticed, but I wasn't fast enough. Everyone's eyes were all staring at me. But not the Zombie. She was just staring straight ahead like nothing had happened.

I cleared my throat anxious and said I was sorry to have interrupted. And then it happened. Maybe it was my voice? Maybe it was just coincidence? But the Zombie's eyes flicked suddenly over towards the doorway where I was standing.

I felt like my shoes were glued to the floor. She actually looked at me. It was the first time I'd ever seen her really focus on anything, and that thing was me.

And then her achingly innocent and beautiful face contorted into the most angry and bitter visage I'd ever seen. And faster than any human should be able to move, she jumped out of her folding chair, shoved past all the other patients and doctors, and was in my face.

I've been attacked by belligerent patients before in my career as an orderly – nasty bruises from gettin' bit, but nothing could compare to this.

The Zombie shoved me backwards, and I stumbled over the wheels of my cart. I landed hard on my ass and the back of my head cracked against the hard floor. In a flash she was on top of me, straddling my torso between her thighs and her thin, feminine fingers were around my neck, squeezing the breath out of me.

Two thoughts screamed through my head as The Zombie crashed the back of my skull, again and again, onto the marble-tiled floor. First, Holy Fuck this girl is Strong. And secondly, Why the hell does she keep calling me "Faith"?

In a flash, a handful of orderlies were on her, clawing her off of me. Someone had an injection of morphine, I guess, and they quickly stabbed it into her arm. All the while she's screaming obscenities and glaring at me like she knows me. Like she fucking knows me and I'm to blame for everything bad that's ever happened in her life.

All I could do was stare, dumbfounded, from my prone position on the floor as they carried her, kicking and screaming, down the hallway and into one of the treatment rooms. My neck felt raw from her fingers and my head was throbbing. Dr. Primrose was at my side, asking if I was okay. I just nodded that I was fine, just a little shocked, but she insisted I take the rest of the day off.

Doc P kept shaking her head. Said she's never seen 'Buffy' react like that before. She ran off quickly, into the room where they'd taken The Zombie, but as I was packing up my stuff in the locker room, she showed up again. The doctor apologized once more to me, even though it wasn't her fault The Zombie freaked out like that. I told her so too, but she just shook her head and then asked me to come to her office tomorrow morning when I get in. Needs to talk to me about something. She didn't get any more specific than that, but something in my gut tells me it has to do with The Zombie.

Time for some beer and a long shower. Cause I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be one helluva interesting day.