Free Low by Anna Quon Page A

voice croaky from disuse, said “I’ll be out soon.” Whoever was at the door mumbled something and turned on the tap at the sink and began brushing her teeth.
    Adriana had no idea how long she’d been sitting there. Her fingers had wrinkled and there were goose bumps all over her arms. She felt weak enough that she turned to face the side of the bathtub and used her arms to push herself up to standing.
    After putting on the fresh johnny shirt Fiona had given her, and another one to cover her back, Adriana opened the door. The woman in the red parka was standing at the row of sinks, her mouth full of foam. She made room for Adriana to get past her, but Adriana indicated she was headed for the toilet stalls. “Good lunch today, hon.” The woman in red said. “Shepherd’s pie. The Lord is my shepherd.” Adriana nodded, awkwardly. “Everyone wants to know why I wear this coat. It’s my coat and I don’t want anyone to steal it. God damn thieves,” she said with vehemence. “I don’t mean you, hon. Don’t worry, I don’t mean you. I can tell you’re honest. I’m Marlene by the way. You have a good pee,” she said, spitting the last of the toothpaste in the sink and disappearing into tub room.
    Adriana sat in the stall and let her bladder relax. She was mortified, but somehow her eyes were dry. What was she doing here, in the mental hospital, with people like Marlene in the red parka? Bizarre people, people who were stragglers on the edges of humanity. She was afraid of them, and most of all, she didn’t want to be one of them.
    Someone came into the washroom, weeping. Adriana could see fluctuations in the light on the bathroom floor, indicating the woman outside was moving around. Adriana waited for a few moments, wondering whether she could stay in the bathroom stall unnoticed. But the woman began to sing, in a tearful voice, “We Shall Overcome” and Adriana felt she couldn’t just sit there. She opened the door of the stall and walked to the sink beside the weeping woman, who was combing her wispy brown hair as she sang. The woman took no notice of her. Adriana looked at her own face in the mirror—it was pale with dark rings under her eyes, like a drowned woman.
    She opened the bathroom door to the hallway, not sure what she’d find. In the common room, the television was blaring an ad for some medication or other. Redgie was sitting in a rocker, rocking away. He was wearing a Russian fur hat, a johnny shirt, faded track pants and army boots. Adriana stood in the middle of the hall, unsure of what to do. The man pointed at the TV without looking at her. “You see that? That’s the drug the CIA gave me when they were trying to get me to talk about what I knew about 9/11.” He shook his fist in the air and began to rock with fierce purpose.
    The man glanced over at her during the next commercial. “Hey you’re the Chinese girl,” he said, smiling. “I like the Chinese. You’re going to take over the world.” He continued rocking and nodded toward the television, as though to acknowledge he was still listening. Suddenly, he stood up, his face expressionless and walked out of the common room. Adriana heard him tell Joanne, the middle aged nurse with the blonde perm who had first greeted her in short stay, “I need a dose.”
    Joanne clucked her tongue sympathetically, and unlocked the door to the med room. “TV getting to you, Redgie?” she asked. He nodded, his face pale and sweating. “Why don’t you go lie down for awhile and let this Ativan get to work? In the meantime,” she said winking an exaggerated wink in the direction of the nursing station, “We’ll change the channel.” Redgie swallowed the small white pill and with the strange slow motion gait of a drugged man he walked toward his room.
    Adriana felt suddenly, drastically alone. The TV