Laurels Literary Magazine Fall 2015 | Page 82

Ward Talk William Walter and plaster walls. He’s careful not to wake the patients with his raspy couch and tells me in broken English about his family back in Mexico and how he wants them to immigrate, but doesn’t have the time or money. He has three daughters, but I can’t remember their names. His name is Roberto. There’s one broad window in the common room. I like most of them in the city. My dad knew a great deal about stars. The click of the security door opening draws me away from the window. It’s a technician and a new patient, a heavy man in with the man’s clothes. He starts to explain the hospital rules, but his radio interrupts: “SOS on Unit One. SOS on Unit One.” That means a patient’s in a dangerous mood. The tech says, “I’m sorry. over and back. He brings them together and separates them. He that he tries to grasp, but he can’t keep his hands still enough. He sighs and lets them fall against his jeans. He winces as they scratch the denim. “Don’t worry. It’ll stop.” He glances at me. “It took a couple days for me.” “How long have you been here?” “Three weeks.” “Are you getting out soon?” “Hopefully.” He closes his eyes. “Come on, sit down.” I nudge the couch. He trudges toward me, glancing back at the security door with each step, his restless hands now jammed in his pockets. He 70