Esme knew the sanctions of serenity. The same prayer, every week, month after month, in the basement of a church that felt more like a bomb shelter than a place of worship. The way in which it cut her off from the world was supposed to be benevolent. Now, her attendance seems like a public service rather than an act of self. That’s only on Fridays, though. Esme spends afternoons as she currently is doing; feet up on the deck, cooking in the sun, while she reclines in a rusty lawn chair on the porch. Her blouse is turned up in just a way so  that her stomach is visible to “cool down”. A glass and porcelain ashtray lay beside an old breed, loyal as the day, sleeping through its age. On her other side lay a glass of orange juice; the sugar fending off  other addictions. The Eagles hum through the radio, but she only knows that because the voice inside the box told her so.

She daydreams with sunglasses on, even though she is in the shade, because she feels that the style makes her younger. If only she could recall the last time a man called her beautiful. Michigan this time of year, though, does not have much of a male population to offer Esme, even at the peak of July by the lake. In an instant, the boxer pointed its ears and stopped its panting, as whispers from deep in the forest  in front of her grew closer. Esme took a drag. “Down,” she commanded. The boxer cautiously obeyed, continuing to watch the greenery. The whispers stopped.
The radio reached an intermission between songs and the newscaster spoke of the breaking news: locals must look out for a stolen El Camino and a missing father, a resident of over fifteen years in Esme’s neighborhood and also an acquaintance of hers. He lived down the street and, on Thursday nights, Esme played bridge with the man, his wife, and Esme’s coworker. He was the always the last to leave, helping to clean up and constantly insisting to his wife to go home and tuck the kids in while he cleaned up. Esme always found him handsome, his piercing green eyes and alluring stature, but never told anyone. Within an instant of hearing the news, she put her feet flat on the ground, sat up, and quickly shut off the radio, only to return to her initial tanning position. She took another long drag of the cigarette. Esme thought about the missing man and turned over in her chair. She thought about drinking and clung  to the nostalgia of the burn of whiskey cascading down her throat. How it pleasured her was in a way no man ever could. Three days sober, alone with her only companion, Esme got up and turned the radio back on, changing the station several times until becoming irritated and turning it off.
“You really shouldn’t smoke.” The voice came from behind her, and she could sense the look of disgust without turning around. She had no reaction. “You know, those sticks killed your mother. It’s a real bad idea to wallow with those things.” No response. “Have you been taking your medication?” Esme turned and looked at him and pulled down her sunglasses in disbelief of what was just spoken. She saw the sincere look on his face and maintained eye contact while taking another deep inhale of the cigarette. A man stood there but in her eyes, she only saw a boy. He had a slender physique but his strength radiated from within, and he stood with his weight shifted to the right from a childhood accident involving a very tall tree.
“What do you think?” She replied as a large puff of smoke left her lungs in his direction.
“What makes you think you don’t need it? Isn’t it obvious you do?” He sat down in the neighboring porch chair, fixing his collar and loosening his tie in an attempt to grasp onto any semblance of comfort. He looked out at the beauty of the late afternoon with Esme, mirroring her expression of solitude. He, too, could hear the whispers.
“I don’t care, I have all that stuff under control.” Esme spat at him as she spoke.
“Sure you do.” She went for another cigarette, as hers had just burnt through, and he reached for a lighter in his coat and offered a flame in assistance to her habit. “So have you thought about maybe getting out a bit?”
“You know I have.”
“Are you going to make it happen?”
“Probably not. Airline tickets aren’t cheap, and the diner pays s***..”
“Were you just listening to the radio?” Esme didn’t reply, pausing to drink.
“What about it?”
“That neighbor of yours seems to be missing. You know, the one with the bright green eyes? You always found him good looking.” Esme nodded for the loving memory.
“Sure I do. Now, Roman, if you don’t leave within the next five seconds, your name will be on the radio a week from now. Get. I would like time by myself.”
“Always aggressive, Esme.” he muttered under his breath. Where he went, she didn’t know, but that was enough interaction for her to fall asleep.

Two days later Esme left Holy Name Cathedral’s basement and ambled to the parking lot, slowly walking across the lot to her truck. She had always enjoyed the smell of the cold summer air in her lungs before enclosing herself at home. The sermon this week was about “finding love in your environment”. Esme always thought it was bullshit anyways but it kept her busy. Later that night at home, she took a bath in some free oil samples she had picked up at the local strip mall. The oils smell good and don’t do much for your skin, but it makes her feel royal. As her muscles began to relax, a rotten odor came up from the vent as the air conditioning switched on.
“God damnit! Roman!” Esme cried.
He rushed into the bathroom frantically, half expecting a crisis in need of his assistance, and half wishing it happened. “The vent stinks! My one day a week to relax in the bathtub and now it smells like s*** in here!”
“What’re you talking about? You barely have a job and you relax more than anyone I know.”
“Oh please. Get rid of that smell!”
“Oh yeah, well where’s it even coming from?!”
She gave him a hateful look of despise and he left the room in urgency. Roman hadn’t changed since the day they met; they were four years old and he went to the daycare center next to her school. They were best friends and played every day after school. In high school, when Esme was out late drinking, Roman was always there to drive her home. He is, however, an awful driver, especially in the dark.
Esme, now too frustrated to resume her relaxation, got out of the bath and decided to clean up. She was angry, slamming the sink cabinets, brushing her teeth viciously, and banging the bathroom door. As she opened the pill drawer and shuffled around for some Ambien, she paused at the sight of an army of pink and blue capsules; risperdal, olanzapine, venlafaxine, and countless other names Esme got too doped up to even pronounce. They all numbed her character and made things boring, for as awful as her reality felt at times, it was the only way she truly found comfort in compared to the life prescribed. She devoured the Ambien that she found amongst the mess, while Roman entered the room wearing what could have been a hazmat suit and immediately understood what she had done. He carried her to bed and turned off the lights.

Esme was sitting at the register in the diner her father had left her after he fell ill. She had never been able to afford to go to college and had worked at the diner for what seemed like ages. It was a second home and it managed to pay the bills. The whole diner was dingy; yellow fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look bad with an unfortunately aged black and white tiled floor. Three illegals worked the kitchen and the only reason Esme kept them around was because her father insisted that their precarious stance in the country kept them loyal and cheap. So far, he is yet to be proved wrong. Esme was picking off her red nail polish with the radio on, while two truck drivers waited on their afternoon meal. Roman was serving them, and Esme kept to herself. Roman leaned over the counter.
“Should I get my nails done?” questioned Roman.
“Why would you?”
“I don’t know, it seems kind of like a normal thing to do, no?” Esme shook her head.
“No, boys don’t paint their nails.”
“Well, what if I got them filed down or something?”
“Do what you want, I’m not going to pay for it though.”
“Come on, it’s just a manicure.” Esme straightened her back to relieve it temporarily from her crouched position, the whole time maintaining eye contact and concentration on her nails. She shook her head at Roman. Then, Santo rang a bell behind them.
“Two eggs, over easy, side of wheat toast, BLT sandwich with a side of fries.” Santo’s voice trailed off as he disappeared into the kitchen and Roman carried the plates to the truckers and placed the plates down, neither one of the men bothering to look up. As Roman made his way back to Esme, an arrogant tone came from behind.
“Hey, what the hell is this? It’s disgusting!” Roman returned to the table.
“Is there a problem?”
“Hell yeah there is,” he turned, pushing his plate almost off the table but it was stopped by Roman’s waist. “Is that what I f***ing think it is?” He pointed with a fat, hairy finger to a chip of red nail polish amidst the overly wet eggs. “How the hell did this get in my eggs? I ain’t payin’ for this s***; let’s go Doug.” Esme looked up at the men in panic. The other trucker got up without having taken a bite of his sandwich. Their temper was obviously driven by a bigger matter, and they were gone as soon as they had came. A bell rang as they left. Roman stood staring at his hands, wondering why he had chipped red nail polish on his nails.

Esme sat with her boxer, feet up on the porch with her cigarettes, radio, and orange juice. The smell from the basement was ambitious and Esme was becoming agitated. Then, again on the radio, was an update on the missing persons… “Ezra McKenna, six-foot-three, blonde hair, green eyes, father of two, is still missing. He was last seen leaving his house about thirteen days ago on the way towards the grocery store, according to his wife, but never made it.” That’s all the information that was reported.
“You know what’s funny, Milo?” The dog raised his ears at the call of his name. Esme started to giggle. “Maybe he’s purposely gone! I mean it only makes sense; the grocery store is three miles from his house, by no means down the block, so why on earth would he leave to the groceries without his car? I mean come one, you’d think someone would pick up on that by now, right boy?” The dog only barked in return.
“Stop it.” She spun around to see Roman standing in the doorway.
“Go away.”
“You haven’t been taking your medication,” he insisted.
“Stop it.”
“I am not having this conversation again, Esme.”
“You’re not having this conversation, Roman, and we both know that. Now leave.”
“Only if you take your meds.”
“Make me.” He kneeled next to her and grabbed her arm, startling her. “Let go!” Her squirming could not resist his grasp; the more she tried to get out the more he restrained her.
“You know too much about Ezra, Esme,” Roman’s face showed no emotion but the slightest bit of sympathy. “You loved him but he only loved your body, and that tore you apart. You need to go to church more.”
“F*** church!” She was screaming but could not escape his grasp. He had her pinned in the chair, while the boxer lay on the porch, obvlious to the altercation playing out before him, as though Roman weren’t there. He reached into his pockets, took out too many of the blue and red assortment of pills, and while one hand held her neck, forced down the medication. Esme was coughing, unable to breath, with no choice but to swallow. His hands covered her nose and mouth, and after a few minutes, her struggling diminished as she dozed off to an overdosed sleep.

By the time Esme woke up, things were silent. Reality as it was became dull and vague. Actuality, dreams, and morality was black and white. She was on her kitchen floor facing the vent to the basement. The stillness of the air gave way to the disturbing smell wafting up from the depths of the vent. She had named it the smell of absence. She could hear her heart as her veins carried blood to its destination, arteries pulling blood on its path home. Esme noticed a crumb on the floor, in such clarity that each indent was apparent. She was in shock as she realized what she had done; she was awake, in reality, medicated, consciously subdued. Barely able to stand, she made her way to the top of the counter and called the phone number that had hung on on her refrigerator for years. The phone rang six times until a voice of grace picked up on the other end
“May I.. please speak to Angel...Angela?” Esme was stuttering, shaking so hard that the the phone was forcefully hitting against her chin. “One moment please.”
“Esme? What’s wrong?”
“I think I made a mistake.” There was a sigh on the other end, and it sent concern through the phone.
“Have you been talking to Roman recently?” the voice questioned.
“Yes.” Esme slowly replied.
“And what made him disappear?”
“He forced too much of my medication down my throat and almost suffocated me. I thought he was going to be nicer this time...but he becomes more and more violent like you always say. I’m terrified he’s going to come back Angela. I don’t know what to do, I don’t want him to hurt me, I don’t want him to come back, I don’t… I can’t…” She was talking so fast she began hyperventilating.
“Esme, I need you to calm down and tell me what you and Roman have been talking about.” She took several deep breaths.
“Nothing...really… just normal people  things like… people. He asked me to get his nails done but I said no, I think maybe that upset him.”
“Has Roman told you to do anything?” Esme did not answer. “Esme? Would it help if you came to my office or should I come to your house? Esme, please talk to me.” Esme hung up the phone. Truth be, Roman was very critical of Esme and he often told her what to do and how to behave, the way her father always would, but even more critically. If she didn’t pay attention to him enough, though, his temper would flare, just like her father when she’d show up late or leave early from the diner. She took her pills though, so Roman wouldn’t be be around for a while. Not until she felt lonely again, angered by the smell of absence, or the disappearance of her lover, best friend, family…. then she would stop swallowing the few things that allow her to differentiate the distinction between fantasy and reality.

“What does one do when a dog breaks its nose? Do you choose to put the dog to sleep, or do you hope that it’ll mend itself with time?” Esme shook her head. She was just waking up, the lights bright. She knew where she was. She first came here when she was sixteen after her dad went on a drunken rampage and she dared to speak up for herself. The voice came from a woman in a pleated pant suit and thick rimmed glasses. She sat in the corner with a pen and a notepad. Esme slowly sat up in the bed, noticing that her hands were restrained to the bed.
“So I’m a dog now?” Esme muttered. The woman’s expression did not change.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Esme’s senses slowly adjusted to reality.
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m going to need you to tell me exactly where you are, it’s procedure Esme.”
“Traverse City State Hospital. Are these new sheets?”
“Where were you fourteen days ago?”
“Angela, I think you could tell me where I was. Home, as I am, every night, alone.” Angela repositioned herself in her chair and gave Esme a look that was all too familiar with her. She continued. “You know what that medication does to me. It makes everything grey and normal and I just don’t like this… reality. So I stopped with the medication and started talking to Roman again. After all, he’s been around since we were kids, he’s my best friend. But he hurt me.. if I can’t trust him I guess I can’t trust myself.” Esme ceased her nostalgia and started to recollect herself.
“What happened that night, Esme?”
“Ezra came over. He told Katie he was just picking up groceries and we laughed and drank and did all those bad things. I was sober but I guess I thought I could handle myself that night ‘cause, you know, I was convinced he was going to leave that dull wife of his for real love… but he said he couldn’t.”
“How’d that make you feel?” Esme paused.
“Sad. Roman got a little angry too.”
“Did Roman act out?”
“Yeah. He was screaming while Ezra was sleeping next to me. He wouldn’t quiet down but what was I gonna do?”
“Esme, you have the power to talk back to him and--”
“Do you not remember?” Esme’s words bit Angela’s tone in half, causing her to stop mid sentence. “You’ve been with me for eighteen years… you sat in that same chair when I was a kid, no?” Angela stared at her blankly..
“Why do you feel so suppressed with him?” Angela questioned. Esme’s face showed she was somewhere else, but her mind somewhat in the moment. “I know you grew up in a household with an abusive drunk and a submissive mother. I get that. But Roman doesn’t have to be that controlling entity; you don’t have to have the same relationship your parents had  but with yourself because honestly, Esme, your own mind has crossed to the boundary of breaking. You’ll spend the rest of your life chained to a hospital bed if you cannot accept reality for what it is.” Esme was silent, realizing what had to be done. She knew Ezra, she knew right from wrong, she knew that drinking and junk food is bad, but she still did those bad things.

Sometimes in the spring when the leaves are in full bloom and the days are only chilly at dusk, the warden will permit his staff to open the windows three and a half inches. As by state law, that’s as far as you can open them without risking a jumper. A middle aged woman named Thanatos is pursuing her American dream as an orderly at Traverse City State Hospital, hoping someday to be a full-time doctor. Currently, she only makes enough to share a flat with two roommates twenty minutes north of the hospital. She began her day down Hall C on the third floor, waking up each patient. First is Merlin, the man who set his dog on fire, then Emily, the teenage girl who speaks to her deceased grandmother and has a penchant for violence. She arrives in the sixth room walking into a foul stench. She goes right for the window, opening it fully to draft out the thick air. A woman lies on the bed, immobile and lifeless, stinking of urine and sweat after three weeks of refusing to eat or bathe. Thanatos asked the woman to wake up and take her medicine.
“I can’t.” Esme muttered.
“Yes you can,” she replied, knowing she would not get an answer. The nurse understood that Esme, like all the other residences, had been betrayed. As a human being, you must trust yourself; one cannot consciously lie to themselves about their own identity nor pretend like something doesn’t exist that is right in front of them. A human’s own self  is the most honest being they will ever know, until the day they are forced to take  a pretty pill with an ugly name; unless one day, you wake up like the resident of Room 312 and are forced to realize that your conscious has lied to you. Thanatos knew that the woman hated her reality, and that she hated her mind even more.