The short story "Evelynn" was written for ENG 205: Creative Writing at Schoolcraft College in March, 2015.

1. Miranda Bator
Evelynn
“Mrs. Kimberly, the doctor is ready for you in the next room.”
The nurse disappeared just as soon as her small, blonde head had poked into the doorway.
Why can’t anyone just treat me like a normal human being in here? Will being in the same room
as me suddenly give them my drug addiction? I should probably just get used to it, I guess. It’s
going to be a long road.
I stood up from the three-inch thick sleeping pad and begin sauntering over to the doorway.
As I pass by the mirror, I’m disgusted. My eyes are sunken in and my skin has taken a yellowish
tint. I had lost nearly 25 pounds from vomiting so much and looked like I hadn’t eaten in a month
(which isn’t exactly inaccurate). I was always exhausted, always sleepless, and always depressed.
I wonder how long it will take until this finally stops.
As I walk down the corridor, I pass by the rooms of my fellow lost-cause “dorm mates”,
which trust me, sounds much better than psychotic, detached, people who I’m living in a mental
hospital with. Even though they are both true, I try to distract myself from the fact that I’m living
in a closed off society, surrounded by people nothing like me. Unfortunately though, they are like
me, whether I want to admit it or not.
For example, Dystopic Don (as I like to call him), down the hall. As I pass his room, he is
sitting on the edge of his bed staring at the ceiling, praying. Don was a priest for nearly 25 years
when he started giving sermons about how the demons were living underneath the church and
surrounding us and our children, no matter where we ran to or hid. Needless to say, he was removed
from the church temporarily until he “spent some alone time with our Lord to cleanse his mind of

2. those damning thoughts”. Bullshit, because he’s just crazy. Hopefully his clozapine will help him
connect to the Lord though. Maybe I’m just bitter because he’ll constantly yell at me from down
the hall, screaming things like “Your sins are unforgivable! The Lord will bring you to justice in
hell!” Which I guess I was used to. Not many people are too keen with my profession as a
prostitute. But to each their own.
As I saunter down the long hallways, I pass by Bentley, the security guard. Things get out
of wack on the regular, so he always stands with a firm stature and one hand on his gun. As I pass
by, I give him a quick head nod. He responds by making eye contact and quickly looking away,
without breaking his stance. I turn the corner and see my doctor’s office right away. I take a deep
breath, wondering what he wants to see me for now. I gingerly grasp the door handle with my frail,
dried out hands and enter the office.
“Ms. Kimberly, I’m glad you could make it in today!” Dr. Cobalt exclaims with a big smile.
“Yeah, I had to move some stuff around and it was a bit of a drive, but I made it.” I was
not going to play the let’s-pretend-I-don’t-live-in-a-psych-ward game today.
“HA! You always make me laugh, Suzanne. This won’t take long, I just wanted to
introduce you to Dr. Franzia. She’s a biochemist at the Wayne State University and has been
working on a new prescription to help battle the pains that you have been dealing with while going
through your heroin withdrawal.”
“Oh, well that will be good for a patient five years from now, right? Great for them. Am I
free to return to my room now?” I was so sick of this happening. Dr. Cobalt trying to make me feel
like there was some kind of magical new relief to make my recovery easy. I may have not graduated
college, but I at least know it takes years of trial and error to approve a new drug.

3. “Well, uh, I suppose you’re right, but I just thought you would want to meet the woman
who has a passion for helping people like you, struggling.” Dr. Cobalt looked a little lost for a
second, like he didn’t really know why he asked Dr. Franzia to come into the hospital today.
“Well, Suzanne, I actually wanted to meet with you. I was hoping to meet an individual
who is currently undergoing treatment so that I could get a feel for the type of things you are going
through. Dr. Cobalt recommended you, as you have been so compliant through your program. If
you aren’t comfortable, however, I completely understand and that is your right.” She looked at
me with a kind smile, and not the kind you usually get from doctors. The kind you get from a close
relative who says they are proud of you.
“Um, yeah that would be fine, what would you like to know?” I will talk to Dr. Franzia,
but I was not exactly comfortable talking in front of my primary doctor. Not because I didn’t like
him, but because he already knew the depths of my problems and probably didn’t REALLY want
to hear it again.
“Well, I was hoping we could go get a snack and talk one-on-one in the gathering area.”
Thank God. “Yes, that would be perfect.” I showed her a brief, closed mouth smile.
“Okay! You two go right along. Dr. Franzia, I’ll be in here working on some paperwork
for other patients until about 3:00 PM, if you need me.” Dr. Cobalt was clearly glad to get me out
of his sight. I don’t blame him, I was a pretty big bitch to him ever since, well, ever since I arrived.
“Sounds good. Suzanne, shall we?” Dr. Franzia held out a hand to help me out of my seat.

4. I graciously grabbed it, seeing as simple tasks like that were increasingly harder to do the
less heroin I had in my body. We began walking and neither one of us said anything until we
reached the tables and chairs at the gathering area.
“What would you like, dear?” God, it was nice to be called something other than ‘Ms.
Kimberly’ or ‘Suzanne’ for once. No one called me Suzanne, not even my family members.
“Oh, I’m not hungry. But thank you.”
“Not even an orange juice?” The way she ended everything she said with a soft smile was
extremely comforting.
“Oh, actually, that sounds really good. But I don’t think it will last long in my stomach, to
be honest.” I hated that all I could eat and drink was saltine crackers and small sips of water.
Imagine having the flu for weeks on end, only multiply the nausea by about six.
“Then a ginger ale.” She didn’t ask, but she knew that was a good step up. Smart, I guess.
As I am waiting, I realize Dissociative Drake was sitting at the next table over, scribbling
furiously on a piece of paper, the bridge of his nose almost touching the table.
“Der…Deutsche…Student…Kämpet…Für…Führer…Und…Volk…” Even though he is
talking to himself, he is speaking in clear volume. Taking German all through high school and into
my first year of college, I knew what he was writing: “The German student fights for the Führer
and the people”. Dissociative Drake used to be a medical student at the University of Michigan,
until he started screaming out “Hail!” in his clinicals. After the head of the department met with
Drake to ask about his outbursts, he discovered Drake had been writing Nazi propaganda in his
spare time. They sent him home on a “medical emergency” and gave him the chance to return after

5. he had completed a full mental health examination. Unfortunately, Drake was diagnosed with
Dissociative Identity Disorder, previously known as Multiple Personality Disorder. It makes sense
because when he’s being normal Drake, he talks about how sad he is that he is no longer in medical
school and would do anything to go back. Normal Drake doesn’t mention Nazis or Hitler the way
that Dissociative Drake does.
Dr. Franzia returns with two small glasses of ginger ale and gracefully takes a seat at the
table. She’s very beautiful, with a perfect blow-out of luscious mahogany hair and a very smooth
complexion. I bet she’s in her mid-40s, but she doesn’t look a day over 32. Perfect teeth and a very
fit physique, but I’m not jealous of her the way I am with most gorgeous women. I’m grateful to
be treated so kindly by such a smart, striking woman.
“So, how are you feeling today? Not to sound like your psychologist, but physically, how
are you doing?”
For once, I don’t mind being honest. I want to tell her how I feel because I can see her
passion for helping people like me. And even though I won’t be able to take her medicine: someone
else will and that’s important. I want to help her out and all the future heroin addicts like myself.
“Well, I feel like shit every day,” I scoff a little bit at myself, as if it wasn’t visually
apparent. “I’m really, really weak and exhausted. I am agitated and anxious all the time. No matter
how badly I want to sleep, I can’t close my eyes at night. I sweat A LOT and get random muscle
cramps. I feel like I have the worst flu of my entire life.”
“Has it been like this ever since you stopped using?”
“Well the nausea and cramping is new, but everything else has been there since about
twelve hours after my last injection.”

6. “And how long ago was that?”
“Uh…” I hate this question because it reminds me of how long it’s been since I last felt
that rush. How badly I wish to feel that again. “Probably about 16 days, but it feels so much
longer.”
“Well, you don’t look nearly as bad as other patients I have seen in the same time period.
Your body is dealing very well with withdrawal.” She actually looks proud of me.
“That’s what they keep telling me.” I manage a quick laugh, something I haven’t done in
weeks.
I get startled by a bang from the table next to ours. It’s coming from Cynthia, who is
Alcoholic Alex’s pregnant wife. Poor Alex (and poor me) has to be stuck in the psych ward ever
since the rehabilitation center joined up with the psychological hospital. He doesn’t belong here,
and neither do I. He looks worn down and exhausted, with his head in his hands. Alex is an
accountant, but if you had to spend all day every day analyzing budgets and explaining invoices
to people who are clueless about money, you would probably throw a few back at the end of the
night. Unfortunately, with a newborn baby coming in three short months, Alex has to get his
behavior in check.
Cynthia is always angry when she visits. Probably because she has to go through all those
pregnancy hormones without her husband at home to take care of her. Right now Cynthia is sitting
with her hand pressed against the table, as if she is about to use psychokinesis to raise it off the
ground. Alex doesn’t look phased, he just looks depressed and tired.
“Suzanne? Did you hear me?” I completely forgot I was having a conversation with Dr.
Franzia. I wonder how long she’s been sitting there staring at me.

7. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Do your parents come see you in here to make this easier?”
“Oh, my parents aren’t around. If that makes my life story any more cliché.”
“Oh, do you know where they are?”
“Yeah, they live down in Jackson.”
“And what do they do for a living?”
I hate talking about them so much. “My mom is a receptionist during the day and a waitress
at night and my dad is a full-time douchebag.”
“Oh, meaning what? Does he work?” She didn’t seem phased by my sass at all, which was
actually refreshing.
“No, he sits at home and watches TV. Mainly sports. He’s a washed-up ex-cross country
skier. He was supposed to be in the 1984 winter Olympics, but he was using steroids at the time.
Obviously he got kicked out and has been at home, sulking, and doing crank ever since then. So I
never knew him as a normal human being. He has been using crack since before I can remember.
And my mom is always at work, so when I was living at home, it was always just him and I. So I
moved out.” Thinking about him grosses me out.
“Wow, do you think that’s a stem reason for why you started using heroin?” She’s not even
phased by my awful home situation.
“No, because I wanted to be everything but what my father had become. I went to college
for a few years. I was a pretty normal kid. Unfortunately, I ran out of money and needed a way to

8. make some extra cash so I started having sex with people for money. And that scene is where I
started using.”
“So what made you resort to prostitution?” She only seemed curious. I did not feel like I
was talking to a doctor. Normally I don’t talk about this with anyone, but she seemed like she
actually cared.
“Well I didn’t exactly ‘resort to prostitution’, I was in my dorm one day hooking up with
a guy who I had just started liking. At this time in my life, I was struggling with money really
badly. I spent almost every waking moment anxious about how I didn’t have enough money to pay
my bills or for gas or food. Well, anyways, he wanted to have sex but I said I wanted to take things
slower. He offered to give me $100 if I just blew him. And, I mean, I wasn’t jumping at the chance
to blow someone for money. But I needed that $100 to survive that week. So I did it. And then I
thought, ‘wow, I wonder home much more money I can make doing this’ and you can see the chain
reaction from there.” So thanks, Daniel. You really needed to get your dick sucked, didn’t you?
“So where does the heroin come into play then?”
“Well, one of my customers that started seeing me regularly in about 2012 was an award
winning architect. A high baller, always dressed in Gucci and Hugo Boss and all that ritzy shit. He
was one of my favorite customers because he acted like he respected me and always paid very
well. One day, he offered me to shoot up with him, saying he didn’t want to charge me. He just
wanted some company. So I thought, ‘hey why not, people do it all the time’. Except they actually
don’t. I was just being a stupid 20 year old. Then it became a regular activity following the sex.
Until eventually, I needed it more often. So he started selling to me. And eventually, I was having
sex for heroin. Not money, even though I was still in heavy debt.”

9. “I hope they are giving you counseling here so that you know your self-worth. That sounds
really spirit breaking.” She had that sad puppy-dog face that people normally get when they hear
of a young child who died due to starvation.
“No, they are just focusing on the addiction. They said when I am discharged they will give
me some numbers for support groups and shit, though.”
“I hope you take advantage of those. They really are helpful.”
I was suddenly annoyed. In an instant, Dr. Franzia turned from a caring person into an
uninvolved doctor.
“No offense, but how would you know? Until you’ve been in a situation like mine, you
don’t know how helpful or unhelpful it is to talk about your feelings to a room full of strangers.
It’s embarrassing.”
“I would know because I have been in group therapy too, Suzanne. Believe it or not, I went
through some pretty similar stuff that you did.”
“Yeah, like what? I highly doubt it.”
“When I was your age, I was actually just starting law school. Not only that but I was
addicted to methamphetamines. I didn’t even want to be in law school. My boyfriend, Derek, at
the time told me I needed to do it so that I could support our family. He didn’t want to work. He
wanted to be a meth dealer at home while I made a normal living. Well, that came to a halt when
I became pregnant with twins three months into law school. Derek convinced me that I could finish
law school, have the babies, and everything would be fine. He would take care of them while I
worked. And that’s when I realized that I didn’t want to leave my children with a meth dealer all

10. day every day. And I didn’t want to be a lawyer, either. Just as I was finishing law school, the
twins had just turned one year old. I spent every waking moment terrified for their well-being and
looking for a way out. But I was still doing meth, so I couldn’t take care of them. Well, one day
about two months after I got my law degree, I took the twins to the local police station and
explained the situation. They agreed to take them and find a suitable home for the girls. And that
was all they did for me. They didn’t offer me any help with my addiction, just waved me out the
door. I felt helpless, homeless, and worthless. I cut cold turkey and spent a very long time living
back at home trying to recover. I begged my parents not to admit me into a hospital, like you did.
I promised them I could do it alone. And I did but it took a very long time.”
“I wish I could have done that. I hate it here. You’re very strong.”
“I was not strong.” She suddenly looked angry with me. “I was extremely weak for not
going to professionals for help. I could have died, very easily. I am lucky that my body didn’t react
the way it should have from all the withdrawal symptoms. You are the strong one, Suzanne. You
reached out to others when you knew you couldn’t do it yourself anymore.”
She actually looked, like, inspired by me. ME. I couldn’t even comprehend it.
“You’re the one that’s a doctor, I’m just a drug using prostitute.”
“You are right, I did work very hard to get to where I am today. I started medical school
when I was 30 years old and didn’t become a doctor until I was 38. So I’m relatively new to the
career, actually. But just because I’m at a different point in my life than you are, doesn’t mean that
you can’t become something great too. You need to take advantage of the opportunities presented
to you and become the best Suzanne that you possibly can.”
“I actually preferred to be called Sue.”

11. “Well then Sue, are you going to take the needed steps to become the best person you can
be today?”
I thought about this conversation and how Dr. Franzia had gone through a very similar life
as me. The only difference was that my skeleton of being an ex-prostitute was her skeleton of
abandoning her children. And if another person can go through a very similar life as me, then why
couldn’t I become just as great?
“Yes, Dr. Franzia, I will.”
“It’s actually Evelynn.”