© by the author
That’s Jeremy Watkins. He’s been here for eight
years now. He’s very quiet. Hardly says a word to anyone. Oh, he’s polite. If
you ask him a question, he’ll say a word or two back. Most of our residents—you
can’t get much sense out of them, but they talk. Some of them talk a lot. Take
Matt over there—the man in the blue shirt by the window—he talks all the time.
Always muttering under his breath. But it’s the same thing over and over. He
says ‘My name is Matt. My name is Matt.’ all day long. Never says anything
else. That’s not his real name by the way. We call him Matt because he gets
agitated if we don’t. I’d have to consult his file to find his real name. It’s
been so long since I’ve called him anything but Matt that I’ve forgotten his
name.
But Jeremy, most of the time he just stands there
examining the wall. We call it his wall. Jeremy’s wall. He’s painting it. At
least that’s what he says he’s doing. That’s a paint brush he’s holding in his
right hand. When he first came here, we tried to interest him in some
activities. The woman who runs the art therapy group tried to get him to
participate in her water colour class. She gave him that brush and set him
before an easel with a pad of paper on it and showed him how to mix the paints.
But he just stared at the easel for an hour. But when the class ended, he
wouldn’t give the brush up. Lots of them are like that. They don’t have many
possessions and they become attached to the ones they do have. We don’t fuss at
them. Jeremy isn’t a danger to himself or anyone else. He’s not going to stab
someone in the eye with that brush.
The next morning we found him standing in front of
the wall holding the brush, just as he is now. When we asked him what he was
doing, he said, ‘Painting’. He spends hours each day looking at that wall. Four
or five times a day, he walk up to the wall and make a tiny stroke with the
brush. Then he steps back and resumes examining the wall.
No, he never uses any paint. Just applies the dry
brush to the wall. Whatever he’s doing, he seems to have a clear notion of the
picture he’s painting. If you ask him how the painting’s coming along, he’ll
tell you that he’s making progress. That’s all he ever says. ‘Making progress.’
If you ask him how long before he finishes. he just shrugs.
Well, it keeps him occupied. Lord knows there’s
not much to do on Ward No. 4. I’d be crazy too if I had to stay here all the
time. Imagine spending ten–twelve hours every day for eight years painting a
wall with a dry brush. Nobody but you can see the picture. I don’t know what
Jeremy will do if he ever finishes his masterpiece. Maybe find another wall.
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