I had been working at the group home for about a week now. I was just beginning to learn the language, the routines, the names, the schedule, basic protocol. I was helping Jimmy fold some towels that had just come out of the dryer. I took a stack of them in my arms and walked toward the linen closet. As I walked past Richard, I saw, as if in slow motion, his balled fist rear back and roar toward me. Richard stepped into the punch as it blasted into my mouth. Towels went flying. I stumbled backward with the force of the punch. I was dizzy. The numbness wore off in a few seconds and I felt loose teeth and two holes in my top lip. Blood was rushing out of it as it swelled.
Richard began screaming as if it were still the same afternoon a week ago when Guru and I held him down on the floor.
"Yeah, now what? You said I won't! You said I won't! Motherfucker said I won't. Now what?"
I was stunned. I yelled to Guru. "He just assaulted me! We gotta prone him. We should call the sheriff and have him cited. C'mon, let's put him in the Quiet Room!"
Guru didn't move. He stared at me, or through me, and just whispered in his insane, cocky, smoke-infested voice, "You said he wouldn't. You didn't listen."
Richard went to bed. Guru silently wrote in his logs. I iced my face and contemplated just how seriously unbalanced I would have to be, anyone would have to be, to work here.
No comments:
Post a Comment