A Hospital for Souls

The next day, Abigail waited at their table at breakfast but Oli never showed up. She waited with her same bagel and bitter coffee, and when she was done, she stayed until everyone left. She wasn’t angry at all; nevertheless she was disappointed as she escorted herself to her room. I’m sure if Oli couldn’t come to breakfast, there’s a legitimate reason. Abi made the decision to go check on him later in the day, but she felt that other there were more things to worry about.
“I don’t even own a dress,” she whispered to herself, “let alone some shoes to go with it.”
The entire thought of this just felt so wrong, we’re mental patients, why would they let us out? How am I even going to get a dress? Oh just a mental patient casually going to shop for a dress, that sounds like the dumbest thing on Earth.
She looked outside her window and saw that that the grey sky had grown darker—rain was coming, and by the look of it, relentlessly. The clock to the right of the dark grey window indicated that it was a little past one in the afternoon. She sat on her bed, listening to the distant roar of thunder, when three loud knocks disturbed her amity.
“It’s Marisol,” she announced from outside the door. Abigail reluctantly got up to answer the door, “Did you get the letter?” Marisol asked immediately. Abigail nodded, “Are you going?”
“With Oli, yes,” Abi simply answered, she moved back to invite Marisol inside.
“You’ve seemed to take a liking to each other,” she pointed out as she stepped inside.
“I guess we have.”
“Well, I’m you’re caretaker,” Marisol pointed out, “Do you need anything—a…dress, perhaps?”
“How’d you know I needed a dress?”
“I didn’t, you just told me,” Mary smiled.
“But like…” Abigail noted, “How are we gonna…go? I mean, we’re mental patients, won’t that be weird.”
“Do you have an urge to commit a mass murder in the mall?”
“We’re going to a mall?”
“Yes, were else can we go? What’s wrong with the mall?”
That was the last place I saw my parents alive… “Nothing…I just haven’t been to the mall in a while…a long while,” Abi recollected.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded.
“Oh sure Marisol…if I did have the urge to commit a mass murder, I’d totally tell the truth about that,” Abigail condescended, “Honestly…”
“Look I’m offering to buy you a dress—”
“I apologize…years of torment turned me into…not a nice person.”
“Well, I think treating yourself to a sort of makeover would help you with that problem.”
Abi scuffed, “Sure it will.”
On the way to the mall, underneath the grey clouds and sprinkles of rain, Abi couldn’t help but feel somewhat nervous, anxious even. As soon as Marisol parked, Abi blurted:
“I feel sick, let’s go home.”
“It’s just the mall, Abi.”
“YEAH BECAUSE THAT MAKES ME FEEL LOADS BETTER, MARISOL. I WAS PUT IN A MENTAL INSTITUTE FOR A REASON,” She bellowed.
“Look, Abigail, how can you get over your problems if you just run from them? The past can hurt, but the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it.”
“You don’t see it that way, Lion King does.”
“But I agree with it, and it’s true. You can’t run from your fears forever.”
“But I don’t wanna face my fears, I’m afraid of them.”
“Well, get unafraid. Your aunt sent you here to get better, not stay the same.”
Abigail sighed and unbuckled her seat belt, she’s so right, “You’re so right.”
“Yeah yeah, let’s just hope you don’t have a panic attack, again,” she chuckled.
“Alright, now I hate you.”

“There are so many people,” Abigail breathed as everyone pushed their way through the crowd, “don’t you all have jobs?”
“It’s Saturday,” Mary commented “There’s nothing to do but go to the mall. Ahhh this seems great.” She grabbed hold of Abi’s hand and dragged her into this dress shop entitled Lovely Waters.
“I remember this shop,” Abigail mused as they walked in, “Mom would try so hard to get me to come in here. I hate dresses.”
“But you need one,” Mary responded, “come on.”
The shop was large and was light pink. The dresses were all beautiful and intimidated Abigail, nothing so beautiful would look appealing on an un-beautiful person. Despite Abigail’s hesitancy, Marisol picked out multiple black dresses, and grey cotton stockings.
“Which one?” she held up three knee-length dresses; one strapless dress with a large bow in the front and silver buttons going down the front, one with spaghetti straps, and another one with a frilly hem and a bow on the shoulder. She all felt that they looked stunning, but she could only choose one.
“They’re all so beautiful and black,” Abigail thought out loud, “I can’t choose.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” asked Marisol.
“Go ahead.”
She held up the strapless one with the bow and buttons, “To be honest, I love this one. So put it on.”
She handed the dress and stockings to Abigail, and they headed to the dressing rooms. Marisol sat on one of the fluffy seats as Abi choose a room to try the dress on.
“The lights in the rooms are so dramatic looking,” Abi pointed out.
“It brings out the sexiness in each dress,” Marisol informed.
“Wow,” Abi mumbled.
She unzipped the dress, stepped in it, and zipped it back up with no problem, “Well, that was painless.” She looked into the mirror, and loathed what she saw. Urgh, this is a beautiful dress that deserves to be on a beautiful woman, NOT ME. God look at me, I take too much space…all this fat. Unnecessary, ugly fat.
“Abi, is it on yet?” Mary asked.
“Urgghhh, this looks hideous,” Abi moaned while stepping out.
“Shut up Abi, this is the opposite of hideous.”
Abigail raised her eyebrow, “You think so?”
“Of course I do,” Marisol focused on Abigail’s hair, “All you have to do is fix your hair.”
Abi rubbed her head, “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“…Nothing; just the dullness and unruliness.”
“I like the unruliness, it makes me feel rebellious.”
“Whatever, the dullness though. How many times do you wash your hair?”
“Every day, like everyone else.”
“What kind of shampoo do you use?”
Abigail felt nervous, “The—regular—kind?”
“Alright, it seems we have to exorcise your hair.”
“You’re a lovely caretaker,” Abigail retorted as she rubbed her hair.
“Love, you have no idea.”

Once Abigail and Marisol got back from funereal shopping, Marisol got Abi a black dress, grey cotton stockings and a cardigan to match, and black flats, Abi reside in her room. She was visualizing all the bullcrap eulogies she’d hear, and was reminded that she should begin writing one. She winced at the thought of her speaking on behave of her dead aunt, in front of many faces that were unfamiliar to her. Her heart-beat quickened, and her breathe had gotten uneven. I have to speak…I have to. I’m her niece for God sake!

She scavenged the room for paper and something to write with. After a while, before losing hope of finding anything in her mess heap of a room, she scrapped up a pen that looked like it barely worked and a crumbled up piece of blank paper. Beggars can’t be choosers…
She sat a ruminated on all the things she could write and say. The anxiety was kicking in as kept thinking. The judgmental faces, the priest watching her; although Aunt Alice was never a religious person. I have to write this. I have to.
She began to write the first things on her mind. She wrote, crossed out some words, wrote some more and reread it.
“This actually a really crappy eulogy,” she depreciated and looked up, “Please don’t haunt me for writing this crap.” I never thought I’d suck this bad at writing about someone I loved.
And as if a light bulb popped into her head…Maybe Oli would help me out…and as quickly as she thought it, Abigail zoomed to Oli’s room; only to be greeted with loud wails of pain and even louder bellowing. He sounded as if he was yelling at a dog…or more likely, it sounded like Chris yelling at Joshua.