“What have I done? This isn’t funny.”
He’s terrified, of course he is. It’s like a nightmare. His supposed best friend has just taken him to a strange home, mainly full of slowly moving old people and earnest, mumbling bearded men in pants. I even let one of the crazies play cards with us and joke with him. Just when he was starting to find it a bit funny and enjoy himself I told him that I have to go. I have to go and he has to stay. When he starts getting a little loud and realises that I am being serious. He stands to leave but orderlies come in to calm him down and comfort him. However, the more they attempt to sooth him and talk familiarly with him the more confused he gets. He starts to get agitated and almost aggressive as they linger, ready to restrain him.
“Get off me! How do you know my name? I don’t know you.”
I feel on the brink of tears as I leave him. I’ve let him down but I can’t do anything else.
I still don’t totally understand it. He’s usually fine. But today it’s like for a moment he forgot where he’s been living. Or maybe it’s more like he remembered for too long, and that can be unkind.
I think about his words again as I get into my new car that’s lost its novelty. The words linger in my head. What have I done? This isn’t funny.
Because some days it isn’t. Read More.