Storymania - Rose's 'thorne' by Anuradha Krishna

Rose's 'thorne'
Anuradha Krishna

Rose’s ‘Thorne’

‘Love is a hunter and it can track down and tame almost anyone with its claws of warmth.’

Rosalind had been there and she knew the wayward ways of being imprisoned within the clasps of love.

The air was chill and she was tugging at her brown leather jacket and making quick paces with her sneakers. The university was a few yards from where she was standing juggling with her sling purse and her hair.

Mr. Cottons was a man in his seventies was at times too ill to even manage the basic chores around the house. “This too shall pass,” Rosalind, the youngest of the three had said to him before she left home for the university where she had enrolled to study home care for mentally ill patients.

She reached the gates of the university a little after 9 when she knew that Mr. Gretcher would be at class making his objective observation on a patient who had been sedated only to keep him calm. Rosalind found it unfair when she saw him strapped to the chair for fear of escaping from the room and wreaking havoc around the university. She told herself, “It’s happened before. He has to be strapped!”

But her heart was singing a different note. Every time she saw him in this helpless situation, she blamed herself for it. How can they do this to him? Entering the class she apologized, “Sorry, I’m late again.”

“Be seated Ms. Cottons. We would not have begun without you,” said Mr. Gretcher with a smile.

The blonde haired Rosalind was staring at the ‘patient’ seated in his chair as always, ruffled hair, a beard that had not been trimmed in weeks maybe months, the eyes surrounded by dark circles with no exposure to sunshine, the eyeballs barely visible as they were almost covered by the eye lids as a result of sedation. She heard a voice calling out to her and she broke out of her reverie, “Ms. Cottons.” It was Dr. Gretcher.

“Where did you float away, Ms. Cottons?” asked Dr. Gretcher.

“Huh, I...I was just...I’m sorry. It’s nothing!” mumbled Rosalind.

“Back to the lesson, class,” said Dr. Gretcher in an authoritative tone. Looking at his patient very nonchalantly, he continued, “As we have been discussing and analyzing Mr. Kepler’s condition, his mental condition does not permit him to attend to even his basic needs and his constant need for aid from others deems him to be classified under the category, ‘basic dependent.’

“Whatever that is!” said Rosalind in a loud and clear voice much to the dismay of Dr. Gretcher.

“Would you like to add something, Ms. Cottons?” asked Dr. Gretcher with his hands on his waist.

“It’s not as bad as you make it sound. He can get better with a more holistic approach. You can’t label him as a dependent for sure,” said Rosalind with conviction and rose to leave the class.

“I’m not finished yet, young lady!” emphasized Dr. Gretcher.

“But I am! There has to be empathy when we deal in cases like these. But you don’t seem to care, let alone empathize,” said Rosalind curtly.

“Final practical evaluation is round the corner,” reminded Dr. Gretcher.

“So?” said Rosalind crossing her arms.

“So, why don’t you take on Mr. Kepler’s case for the evaluation,” said Dr. Gretcher. He continued, “This is his case file and you can move into the students’ wing this weekend. You will be in charge of the patient and be responsible for his health and recovery if that is possible. But with your positive approach, any miracle is possible, isn’t it?”

Feeling rebuked in public, Rosalind snatched the file from Dr. Gretcher’s hands and made her way to the library. She did not want to learn the truth as she knew it! Seating herself in a corner by the window, she opened the file and read in a whisper, ‘Case File: Mr. Thorne Kepler, age 27, resident of Oak Tree hills, South Road.’ “What an age to be institutionalized besides being used as a specimen for university lectures for ‘on-the-job’ training!” mumbled Rosalind.

Back home, Rosalind started preparing her father for her absence. “I’m just going to be a phone call away, papa. All your medications are by your table. Mrs. Stevens, mom's good friend has been kind enough to offer to bring you food everyday.” said Rosalind as she was throwing clothes and other necessary items in a suitcase.

“God Bless you my child,” said Mr. Cottons.

She showered and changed into a peach satin gown. She had always liked the feel of the fabric on her skin as she felt instantly comfortable in it. Laying her head on the pillow, she picked up an unread book titled, ‘Life’s musings!’ While flipping through the pages, something fell out of the book. Picking it up, she held the photograph far from her to get a clear look; then she brought it close to her heart and let out a few sobs. “The times with you were the best fleeting moments of my life. What happened to you? How did you end up in a situation like this? It’s entirely my fault!” cried Rosalind. She turned the photograph and it was signed, ‘Love you always, Thorne.’

That Saturday morning, she hurriedly kissed her father and dragged her suitcase behind her.

“After the evaluation, I will be a certified home nurse,” said Rosalind looking at her ‘papa’ who was gleaming in pride. She was already missing him. “I will be back in three months, papa,” she said.

The taxi ride to the university seemed longer than usual as her mind was occupied with thoughts of Thorne. The apprehensions and the expectations! Her heart skipped a beat. “How will he react when he sees me? Will he know that I’m his Rose?” she thought.

Rosalind entered the university and went straight to Dr. Gretcher’s office as was the protocol. “I am ready to take on my challenge,” she proclaimed without even greeting him. She disliked Dr. Gretcher from the day Thorne had first been used as a specimen by him.

“Excellent. You are required to give me a weekly report on Mr. Kepler’s progress or otherwise,” said Dr. Gretcher.

“I know what I am and should be doing,” retorted Rosalind as she stormed out of his office. The next couple of hours were spent in setting up her room which was modestly furnished. She was to meet with him that evening in the presence of Dr. Gretcher and two other aides who were handy when the violent outbursts took on an ugly turn.

Her green V-necked top and jeans highlighted her curves and in that dark room, her figure was silhouetted against the setting sun. “Ms. Cottons, here we are!” announced Dr. Gretcher as he turned on the lights. Rosalind turned to look at Thorne who was in a wheelchair with his wrists strapped onto the arms of the chair. She had rehearsed this moment many times during the previous night at home.

The aides were pushing the chair towards her. Rosalind’s palms were sweating as she looked straight into Thorne’s eyes. They appeared dull and tired; a far cry from the beautiful, green eyes she was so used to looking into. Her heart was beating faster as she involuntarily bent down to look into Thorne’s face.

“Can we be alone?” she asked, much to the astonishment of others.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Moreover, you begin only on Monday, Ms. Cottons,” said Dr. Gretcher, trying to sound reassuring.

“That’s my call and I’m going to start now,” said Rosalind.

“Well...” began Dr. Gretcher.

“Thank you so much,” said Rosalind motioning Dr. Gretcher and the aides towards the door. She knelt down beside him and looked into his eyes. “What happened to you? Why are you doing this to yourself? Please Thorne, say something.” The eerie silence took over the room and the only thing Rosalind could hear were soft grunts. When her fingers hurt, she bent down to see that he was struggling to free his wrists by holding onto her fingers and grunting. “Ah, that hurts!” she said finally. The aides jumped into the room and swirled the wheelchair away from Rosalind. One of them said, “Ms. Cottons, please, he can be dangerous.”

She heard his loud grunts which seemed to her like he was protesting as the aides led him away from the room. Her face was warm with tears streaming down the face. Her first night in the small room of the students’ wing was spent tossing around in bed reminiscing her past. She got up, walked towards the window and looked out of it and with remorse said, “I am so sorry!” Closing her eyes, she couldn’t help but travel back in time.

The summer of 2005 had seen the twenty year old Rosalind graduate majoring in Psychology. The dreams and aspirations of becoming a health care worker struck the right chord with her parents and her hippie boyfriend, Thorne.

“What are your plans, Thorne?” asked ‘Rose’ as Thorne fondly called her.

“Well, the guy at the studios said he would give me a break with the latest song I rolled out yesterday,” said the good looking and dark haired Thorne. He was a product of a failed marriage between a substance user and an alcoholic, and had run away from home years ago to make it on his own. “Move in with me. Rose!” he uttered not knowing if he had done the right thing. But when she swooped into his arms, he knew that the arrow found its mark. He remarked, “We’ll do great together, Rose.”

The fight that had ensued at home had been nothing short of a minor war and Rose had stormed out of her parents’ house. “Trust me Dad, I know what I am doing!” said Rose.

Surprising himself, Mr. Cottons said, “I trust you baby. Let all be well.”

In the following years, their new found life saw Rose working as an assistant at a Senior Citizens Care Center and Thorne working as a recording assistant at the studios.

“Rose, call for you!” said Thorne humming his latest composition.

“Hello!” said Rose.

“Rosalind, it’s me, papa!” said the voice feebly at the other end.

“Papa, it’s so nice to hear you!” said an excited Rosalind.

“I want to see you at once. I’m really ill,” said papa.

“I’ll be right there, papa,” said Rosalind and hung up. When she looked at Thorne, she knew he wasn’t pleased.

“Please understand Thorne. Papa needs me. After mama’s death, he’s been really lonely and unwell. I must be by his side,” said Rose in a firm voice.

“I understand, but promise me you will be back soon. I can’t stand being in this house without you,” said Thorne meekly. In the years together, he had grown stable and responsible leaving his hippie lifestyle behind him.

The anxious moments at the local clinic was surmised by the doctor, “Mr. Cottons has had a nervous breakdown. He needs to be cared for very patiently. Do take precautions to see that he is not under any strain or trauma.” Rosalind clenched her teeth in despair and muttered, “It’s all my doing.”

The autumn of 2006 gave way to the summer of next year and the visits by Rose to Thorne’s house became less frequent because of the guilt that Rose was carrying; guilt that she was responsible for her father’s condition.

“You know, you had nothing to do with this,” said Thorne to Rose on one such visit.

“Well, but I do feel that way. And I owe him this,” said Rose.

“But he’s doing fine now. Come back, darling. I really miss you. I can’t live without you baby!” said Thorne emphatically.

“I can’t. Please understand,” said Rose running her fingers through Thorne’s dark locks. She walked out of the house leaving behind only memories for Thorne to live on.

One morning after the regular reading of a chapter from The Bible, she heard her phone vibrating. It was Thorne.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Baby, I’m desperate. The guy at the studios says I’m not good enough and fired me. I’ve been looking for a job for the past six months. Come back, I need you now more than ever,” said Thorne choking.

“I can’t. We’ve talked about this before,” said Rosalind in an irritated tone.

“Please, don’t do this to me, please,” pleaded Thorne.

She held the phone close to her chest and with a heavy heart switched it off.

The rattling noise of the window in the small room of the students’ wing disturbed her thoughts and she muttered, “He had called me to tell me that he needed me. He was trying to reach out. Please God, forgive me!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She would have to wait until Monday to see him again as trainees were not permitted to socialise with their patients for fear of losing their objectivity and perception. Rosalind spent the Sunday effectively masquerading her thoughts by unpacking the rest of her stuff.

“Good morning Thorne,” said Rosalind as she entered his room the next morning.

She was much calmer as she had figured out exactly what had to be done to resolve the ongoing turmoil in her mind.

“Yeah!” he said with a grunt.

“Wow! That’s the first I’ve heard!” said Rosalind barely able to contain her excitement. She was justified in feeling that way as Thorne’s files had revealed that he had hardly greeted anyone in the past few years. “First battle won!” she muttered. She sat by his bedside and began observing him. His once muscular physique had taken a beating with all the medication and poor nutrition. She noticed he wasn’t sedated but thought it was safe to begin talking to him when she saw his wrists strapped to the bed. “Thorne, baby, do you recognize me?” she asked softly.

Thorne looked at her with a dull, vacant expression dominating his eyes. “Aren’t you going to say something to me? I know you are angry with me for leaving you. But I had no choice...I,” said Rosalind and screaming at the same time. She hadn’t noticed that Thorne had managed to hold her palm and twist her fingers. “Ouch, let go Thorne, you’re hurting me,” cried Rosalind. She wriggled free from his ever tightening grip and moved away. Her fingers still hurt when she tried grabbing a sandwich later that day for lunch.

“So, Ms. Cottons, how has it been so far? Do you have a strategy in place to treat Mr. Kepler?” asked Dr. Gretcher at the cafeteria.

“Yes, I was thinking I should keep talking to him to reassure him that he will become normal once again. What do you think?” asked Rosalind letting her guard down for the first time in front of Dr. Gretcher.

“Well, you wanted to let your ‘empathy theory’ win this battle,” smiled Dr. Gretcher.

“I’m sorry for the way I have been acting lately. But I’m grateful for your help,” said Rosalind.

Dr. Gretcher smiled and walked away. He knew that Ms. Cottons was the right person for the job. She had the grit and the determination and possessed the quality that he would’ve wanted his students to have - empathy. The next couple of weeks were nothing significant except that Thorne was less aggressive towards Rosalind and the icing on the cake for her was that Dr. Gretcher had agreed to relax his restrictions on Thorne and his arms were finally left unstrapped.

One bright morning Rosalind entered Thorne’s room with a huge bouquet of bright red colored roses. She placed it into the vase on the table next to Thorne’s bed. “Aren’t these lovely? The same color as the ones that grew in our backyard. Do you remember?” she asked Thorne looking at him fondly. Her expected reaction to this diminished when she saw Thorne get up from the bed and throw the vase against the wall. The noise alerted the aides and they came running in and did the obvious thing that they were used to; catch hold of Thorne and strap him to the bed.

“No, don’t strap him!” ordered Rosalind. Her piercing gaze was enough for the aides to understand her and leave them alone. She turned to Thorne who had curled himself on the bed. She leaned over and ran her fingers through his dark, unkempt locks. “I know you are angry with me and you have every right to be after the way I treated you. I promise to make it up to you,” she said trying to reassure Thorne. But he didn’t react.

That evening when she saw Dr. Gretcher, she promptly walked up to him and said, “Dr. Gretcher, I think I’m progressing very well.”

“After what happened this morning, that’s very presumptuous of you, Ms. Cottons,” he said mockingly.

Controlling her irritation, Rosalind continued, “His hidden and deep rooted anger needs to be dealt with and I think I just did that. With more outbursts like the one he had today, he will have a channel to vent his anger.”

“I hope you know what you are doing. Be careful,” said Dr. Gretcher and left Rosalind to plan the next day’s routine.

The next day saw Rosalind hum a tune that Thorne had composed while they were together. She entered and feigned ignorance in the midst of the tune. “I almost forgot. How does it go?” she asked expecting Thorne to reply. But all she got as responses were more grunts. “Let’s try again,” she urged Thorne while trying to deliberately hum it wrong.

“Stop, You horrible woman!” screamed Thorne.

There was silence which she had started despising from the time she knew he was capable of holding a conversation. She was sure it was his anger that made him punish her continually. But she persisted, “Come on Thorne, say something please.”

“You are nothing but a user,” he said much to Rosalind’s relief.

“I know and I’m sorry. It’s a long story, we can go over it later,” said Rosalind looking at Thorne who she expected would refuse and want to go on. After all, she had succeeded so far in her ‘mission’ of rehabilitating him. It was a matter of a few weeks before her final evaluation and with the kind of progress she had at hand, she was sure Dr. Gretcher would be extremely pleased.

“Why later? Now!” demanded Thorne.

“When you had called that other day begging me to help you while I was caring for papa, I wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. He was sick and had no one to care for him. Moreover, I felt responsible for his poor health,” said Rosalind with her eyes fixed on Thorne’s.

“Get out!” Thorne screamed.

Without saying a word, Rosalind left feeling exhilarated at her efforts. Thorne was releasing his pent up anger. It would only get better as he would crave to tell her more; those are the ways of the mind. But that wouldn’t be possible as it was the weekend beginning the next day.

As expected when she entered his room, he was already up and pacing the floor in long strides. “And what do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.

“I thought you didn’t want to hear it,” said Rosalind chiding him. But she continued. “The day you called asking for help was the worst day of my life. I was confused and not ready to accept reality which was that I loved you and wanted to be with you. Instead, I was guilty of abandoning papa and I let go of something precious – our love. I never knew it would put you here. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” she asked eagerly.

Silence once more plagued the room and the next few hours were spent in monosyllabic conversations. But she knew better than that. He was getting better; her heart confessed that to her.

The next few days were agonizing for her, but she reckoned that it was Thorne’s way of protesting and she played alongside it.

“Let’s go out into the park today, Thorne. The flowers are in full bloom. You are going to love it,” said Rosalind excitedly.

She was right. The park at the university boasted of many flowering trees which appeared to be displaying the colors of the rainbow. She knelt beside Thorne and looked up at him. His eyes looked brighter than before; at least she thought that. Almost on an impulse, she went close to his face and brushed her cheek against his. “Oh, Thorne, do you remember all the good times at your apartment? We had it good back then and we can have it better now. So I want you to focus on getting well,” whispered Rosalind into his ears.

“I want to and I need your help,” mumbled Thorne shocking Rosalind.

“Did you just say that?” asked Rosalind shaking.

Thorne just pursed his lips and let out a sigh. That evening, Rosalind had her usual weekly update for Dr. Gretcher.

“I think we need to phase out Thorne’s medication slowly,” said Rosalind.

“Are you insane? He’s dependent on them,” said Dr. Gretcher.

“And the pills are making him dependent on others for everything. If there’s any scope for recovery, we need to take some risks. We can lessen his dosage and keep his rehabilitation going,” said Rosalind in a desperate tone.

“No. It’s impossible. I can’t authorize you to do that. Case closed,” said Dr. Gretcher making his way towards the door.

“That’s the problem when you stereotype someone is refusal to accept reality. You have made up your mind that Thorne’s not going to get any better. You have already given up hope possibly because you see so many like him every day. Your mind is clouded as you are not able to see them all differently. But I can. He’s the only one for me. Every waking hour of mine is focussed on a treatment to see him recover. I have been filling his days with music and colour. Give me this chance, Dr. Gretcher. I know I can do this. I have only a month before the final evaluation. Trust me as Thorne does. I promise I won’t fail you,” said Rosalind with conviction.

“It’s your call from now on. Show me the results,” said Dr. Gretcher and stepped outside.

Rosalind felt jubilant. She had the freedom to choose her line of treatment for Thorne and she knew she could succeed. The joy was tilting towards the fact of redemption for her misdeeds more than succeeding at the evaluation. Rosalind started an ‘intensive therapy’ for Thorne, which included regular routine of music and conversation combined with a lesser dosage of medication. When the first few days passed uneventfully, she was happy.

“He has not been showing any distress at the low dose of medication, Dr. Gretcher,” said Rosalind chirpily.

“Great going, Ms. Cottons,” remarked Dr. Gretcher with his characteristic thumbs up sign.

In the following two weeks, Rosalind spent a great deal of time conversing with Thorne. “Thorne, do you remember the song that you played at the church for the children orphaned by the floods of that horrible year? She hummed it, “Ta dee ta dee...la la...”

“That’s ta ta dee de, ta dee ta, la la...” corrected Thorne.

Rosalind’s heart skipped a beat in excitement; but she did not want to express it for fear of overwhelming him. “That sounds much better!” she said.

She pushed his wheelchair and headed for the park. She had to celebrate and what better way than to stand at the same spot where Thorne had pleaded with her to help him. Reaching the park, Rosalind pushed the chair to the spot where they could see the sun set far away into the horizon. The glimmer of hope had begun there and their silhouettes only added a testimony to that fact with them holding hands in the fading light.

END