The blue-uniformed tech pushes an oversized chair through the crowded waiting room to make an extra place for us. We sit down, my son next to me, his dad across. It’s the visiting hour. He’s been here two days. Just settling in. Last night he was weepy. No sleep and no meds. Transparent to the bone, he spoke his truth and we listened with Buddha eyes.
Tonight he’s livelier. More like himself. Even happy I think. They got ice cream sundaes today, he says. With fudge sauce and whipped cream and sprinkles.
He tells us of a character he met. A man who calls himself “A Weapon of Mass Destruction.” We laugh at his stories of the man, not at the man. The man is interesting, his truth his own, just different from those of us who wear the civilized veneer of normalcy.
We talk of our cats, of current politics, tell funny stories to each other, while close around us others are telling theirs. It’s cozy really, almost like a party. Tonight the loony bin doesn’t seem all that loony.