The Gargoyle

“Why did you abandon her?” I asked. For once, I was pleased with the rasping quality of my voice-it made my proclamation of her failure sound all the worse.

Jack immediately aborted her approach to the customers and pulled me into an alcove to launch into a vigorous defense against my accusation. The way she spoke reminded me of a train derailing: all her words were boxcars, hurtling frantically forward, threatening to fly off the tracks and burst through the end of each sentence in a devastating mess. She claimed that she had gone to the fortress every night I was in the hospital, forcing her way in past the furniture piled up against the front door. Once inside, she had stood between Maria

“You found her in the middle of the afternoon, right?” Jack was referring to the time of day when Gregor and I arrived at the fortress. “I work, you know. I’m not like you-I pay my own bills. I can’t shut down the gallery to fritter away the day with her. And if you’d bothered to call, I would have rushed right down to the hospital. But no…”

We debated who was responsible for what, until the young couple couldn’t help but stare in our direction. I shot them my most monstrous look, the one that would let them know to mind their own goddamn business.

Jack viewed this as an excellent opportunity to point out that her customers funded my life. I countered that they paid for her life as well, while she piggybacked on Maria

In that instant, all the anger on Jack’s face was replaced by genuine surprise. “She’s what?”

It became impossible for me to continue my attack: there could be no denying Jack’s concern. “She’s never had manic sessions so close together before. Once a year, maybe. Twice, in a bad year.”

In that moment, I hated Jack for the fact that she’d shared twenty years of her life with Maria

“I don’t know.” She flipped the sign from “Open” to “Closed,” shooing out the remaining customers, and I followed her out of the shop. “But we have to do something.”

Jack knew a lawyer who specialized in matters of involuntary hospitalization. I suppose this was only natural, after all her years of dealing with psychiatric patients-first her mother, then Maria

Clancy McRand was an old man who sat behind a big wooden desk that sported a computer covered with small yellow Post-it notes. He kept pulling down on the lapels of his coat, as if doing so would allow him to close his jacket over a stomach that he refused to admit was as large as it really was. McRand cleared his throat a lot, even though I was doing most of the talking. He jotted down the facts on his big yellow legal pad, and Jack offered a few comments when he asked questions to which I didn’t know the answers. He seemed to know a fair amount about Maria

When we had told him everything that might be relevant, he said we might have a case but that it wouldn’t be easy. Things never are, I thought, if lawyers can drag it out for a fat payday. However, as he explained the process, I came to understand that it was not his greed that would delay things. It really was the system.

Usually, a relative of the patient filed the petition for emergency commitment. While it was legally possible for anyone to file, McRand explained, the process was slowed if the petitioner was not a close family member. Because Maria

“Umm hmm,” McRand harrumphed, before he continued. Once my petition was properly filed, Maria

If the examining physician agreed with my assessment that she was gravely disabled, an emergency commitment of seventy-two hours would be imposed. At the end of this time, the hospital director could file another petition for a longer-term commitment. This was essential because-once again, as we were not relatives-neither Jack nor I could do it ourselves. Without the cooperation of the director, we would have no legal right to proceed with the petition.

Assuming that the hospital director did agree, a hearing would come next. Here Maria

In court, Mr. McRand warned, there was little doubt that my character would be brought up. Given my career in pornography, my admitted drug addictions, and the fact that Maria

I pointed out that she had carved her chest with a chisel. What stronger proof could possibly be needed to prove that she was a danger to herself? McRand conceded with a sigh that the incident could possibly be “a good start for a case,” but that there was no evidence she posed a threat to anyone else. “If harming oneself were reason for commitment, psychiatric hospitals would be filled with smokers and fast food customers.”

How could I ask everyone we knew to testify against Maria

“So…” Mr. McRand sighed in conclusion, pulling on his lapels one more time before resting his hands on his round stomach.

I thanked him for his time and Jack told him to send the bill to her gallery. As we walked out of the office, Jack reached up to put her arm around my shoulders. She told me that she was sorry, and I believed that she was.

Our sole consolation was that Maria