Is Crazy Contagious?

It was Friday. I had overslept after staying up late to cram for an exam. Late comers were held in the lunchroom during first period so rather than missing my English test, I decided to cut school. This way I could forge a note and take the make-up later. Normally, Joanie would have jumped on my case, but today she was preoccupied. Now I know why. She must have known today was eviction day; that makes one of us.

Collecting my belongings, I ran around my room trying to find my other sneaker and hadn't even realized she was outside until I heard her shrieks through the open door.

"GEE-ZUZZ! GEEEE-ZUZZ! HALLELU-YAH! HALLELUUUU-YAH!"

Barefoot, I rushed outside passing the two men standing in front of our building to retrieve her from the neighbor's yard. Joanie was on the ground, her pink house dress spotted with green, stained from the blades of grass on which she was out stretched.

"Joanie, get up! Mom?! Mom! Come on, get off their lawn." She wouldn't budge.

The Sheriff was going to give us some time to get our stuff, but now that she was acting out, he was only allowing us a few minutes to gather some things. I left her crazy ass lying on the grass and went back inside to pack some clothes, deodorant, toothbrush and paste, and whatever else I could stuff in her old army duffle bag.

"Miss? You're going to have to wrap it up."

"I'm coming!" I shouted as I put on my sneakers; I had just found the match. "Can I have a little more time?" I asked, softening my tone.

"No. The neighbors are starting to complain. We'll have to 302 your mother (that’s what they called forcible detainment of a mental ill person). I've got to lock it up."

After a few brief moments of canvassing my bedroom, I stuffed the passbook to my savings account in my back pocket and headed to the front door of our apartment. Humiliated by my mother's mental illness, the presence of the Sheriff and the apartment manager, and all the nosey neighbors gawking outside at the crazy lady; I held my head high and walked.

"THE BLOOD OF GEE-ZUZZ!" I didn't watch as the officer pulled her up from the grass, handcuffing her while she weakly resisted. I didn't have to; I already knew the drill. A young couple that sometimes read the "good book" with Joanie tried to get my attention, "Madison." I kept my pace, walking passed them and everyone else, duffel on shoulder and book-bag on my back. Just last week, the same couple was watching me catch a beat down in their dining room.

Joanie's lucky I'm a good daughter because I wanted to snatch that wooden cane out of her hand and turn it on her. It's beyond me why she even had a cane. She was little like me, but stronger, much stronger. She must have found it lying around outside somewhere.

I had come home from school, the main door was wide open and so was the door to our apartment. I could hear her. She was across the complex at the neighbor's apartment cuttin' up. What's really mind- boggling is how the man of the house could be a friggin' cop and not 302 her butt. He had to be familiar with admitting patients to the hospital psych ward. Hell, I was. The man and his woman just stood there watching this throwed-off lady beating her teenage daughter with a cane in their dining room as if we were performing for their amusement.

"Ssssuuhhh," sucking air between my teeth, in pain. "Knock it off Joanie." Crazy or not, hitting someone with a pine cane still inflicts the same amount of pain, and that mess hurt.

"I'll knock your head off!" She sneered. My arm was throbbing; my fists were clenched. I had to bite my lip to keep my cool; I broke the skin. All I wanted was to get her home so she could holler and carry-on in private. I left her there for them to deal with and went home. At seventeen, you are just old enough to realize how hard life can be but not old enough to do much about it.

At one point every episode resulted in threats with a blade of some sort, mainly slender steak knives from the kitchen. Did I mention Joanie was crazy? I don't mean a little eccentric or quirky. I mean clinically diagnosed as a Manic Depressive Schizophrenic. That was before the Bi-polar era, but it's basically the same thing. Except schizophrenia is still schizophrenia. You only get one mother, even if she is insane.

"GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!" was the last thing I heard Joanie say as I headed out of the complex and to the trolley stop. I was finally free. The only problem was, it was Friday and I wouldn't get the keys to my new apartment until Monday.