The bars on my window were put there to keep me from getting through. I can’t go out, and no one comes in. But it’s not true for the noise. Noise comes and goes as it pleases. Bars don’t stop the noise. Rain, birds, cars, and sometimes the voices of people--they all make noise that comes through my window. For eleven years, I’ve been listening, same room, same sounds, same bars. The United States government does a lousy job of subsidizing its sanitariums. Eleven years I’ve been here, and not once during that time has anyone come in to paint or repair my window. It started weathering during the first three years I was here. After five years there were cracks, and just recently, I noticed the mortar around the bars had started chipping away one piece at the time. I never saw anyone check on the window. I didn’t complain about it, so the material began to crumble. Fact is, it made some of the bars loose. I found out late one night when I was listening to the night sounds, crickets, night birds, owls maybe, moths and other insects buzzing around. Then, on this one night, I heard voices from the highway. Two girls were talking to each other. They were a ways off, but the voices sounded familiar, maybe like someone who had come to visit one of the other patients here. I had to strain to hear, but they must have broken down on the road and were trying to fix a flat tire. From what I could make out, neither one of them knew what to do. So they just talked, and I listened. First it was about the tire. Then it was about people they knew, girl talk about things they were doing or boys they were seeing, who they liked or didn’t like. Gossip. I never got to hear gossip. No one came to see me. Hardly anyone ever comes to see someone in a sanitarium, but those voices were familiar. "Makes you mad doesn’t it?" I heard a voice say. At first I didn’t reply. I tried to ignore the voice. That’s why they put me in here in the first place, because of the voices. "I’m not talking to you," I said. "Yes, you are," the voice responded. "How else could you tell me you weren’t talking to me?" "It doesn’t matter. Just leave me alone." "Now is that any way to treat a friend?" he said. "I come in here to give you company since no one else does, and you’re going to treat me like that? I’ve a good mind to just turn around and leave." "I wish you would," I told him. "You go away. You’re trouble, and I know it." "It’s not me who’s trouble; it’s those girls out there. They’re the ones who cause trouble," the voice told me. "What do you mean? They didn’t do anything. They’re just talking," I told him. "Sure, just talk. First about the car, then the weather, then boys. It’s always about the boys, us boys. Did you hear them mention your name?" he asked me. "No. They’re just talking about stuff," I answered. "You’re right," he said. "Stuff about you. Weren’t you listening?" "I told you already. I didn’t hear them say my name. They’re talking about someone else." "You’re kidding, aren’t you? It’s in code. They won’t say your name because they don’t want you to get mad at them for talking about you." The voice was bothering me, and he wouldn’t go away. "Leave me alone," I said. "What are they saying?" "They’re talking about the sanitarium, where the crazies are. That would be you. Can’t you hear them? Doesn’t it make you mad when someone talks about you when they don’t think you’re listening?" "I am listening," I told him. "So you are. You’re right, you know? They sound familiar because they were here earlier this week, talking with the nurses. Poor little girls, out there all alone with a flat tire and no one to help them. So what are you going to do about it?" he asked me. "What do you mean?" I said. "You’re not just going to let a couple of silly girls stand around on the highway making fun of you are you? There’s what’s right and there’s what’s wrong, and its wrong for little girls to gossip about crazy people who are locked up," he told me. "What am I supposed to do? I am locked up. You expect me to start yelling at them through my window? The nurses will come in and jab a needle in me and put me in the ‘quiet room.’ I’m not yelling," I told him. "You don’t have to yell. Just go out there and have a little talk with them about being nicer to people they don’t know. You might even help them with that flat tire. Be the good Samaritan. They’ll like you if you do, and maybe they’ll stop by later to visit with you here," he suggested. "But the bars, I’m locked in," I told him. "Oh come on, don’t be a baby. Give them a firm shove. They’ll come loose. They’ve been falling apart for years. Now’s the time for you to take a little stroll, go out and meet some nice girls. Show them they have nothing to be afraid of." He was right. There was nothing wrong with my going out there to help the girls. I knew how to fix a flat, and they needed me. It seemed selfish not to do what I could for them. I grabbed hold of the bars and started to push them back and forth. They gave a little and then broke completely free. Two bars came loose, and I climbed out then headed for the highway and the girls in need of help. When I got free, it must have been after 11:00. They don’t allow patients to go outside at night. The number of staff is reduced on the last shift, the graveyard shift. We’re required to stay in our rooms with lights out after ten. I was where I wasn’t supposed to be, and it felt good. The night air was crisp, and the walk through the woods leading up to the road was easy. The full moon illuminated the grounds so that I could see. "What are your plans?" another voice asked me. This one was female. "What do you mean, plans?" I said. "You’re going up to those girls. What are you going to say when you get there? You don’t want to scare them, do you?" She was right. I didn’t want to scare them. It was very late at night, and they were out on the highway with a broken-down car. How would they react when I walked up out of nowhere? "You’re right," I told her. "I’ll be nice. I won’t sneak up on them. I’ll speak from a distance and then walk up like an old friend. That way, they won’t be afraid." "That sounds great," the first voice said. "But whatever you do, don’t look into their eyes." "What do you mean?" I asked. "You know," he told me. "When you look into someone’s eyes, it’s a window into their soul. What they say is one thing, but if you look into their eyes you’ll know if their telling you the truth." "What truth? He’s just going up there to help the girls. That’s all he’s doing. What are you talking about truth for?" the lady asked him. The lady was angry. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t know what he was talking about either. Then he said, "Truth. You know, ‘say one thing, think another.’ When he starts talking to them, what will they be thinking? It’s in their eyes." "Why don’t you leave him alone? He doesn’t need you to tell him where to look or what to think. You’ll only make it worse. Let him do his good deed, and then he can go back to the sanitarium and get a good night’s rest." She was right. The night air felt great. I’d do the right thing by the girls and then go back to my room. "Okay, I’ll stay out of it, but you watch. They’ll be telling him what a nice guy he is, but if you look into their eyes they’ll be saying, ‘Who’s this freak? What’s he doing outside on the highway this late at night?’" "No, they won’t. You just leave me alone. I’m not talking to you," I said. "Who’s there?" one of the girls called out. They had heard me talking to myself. "Hello," I said walking into the light from the woods. "I was just out taking a walk in the night air, and I heard the two of you talking. Looks like you’ve got a flat. Can I give you a hand fixing it?" "We wouldn’t want to put you out," one of the girls told me. I had heard her friend call her Cindy. She was a cute little dark-haired girl in jeans, tee shirt and sandals. She might have been twenty, but no more than twenty-five. Her friend was black and about the same age. "Look into their eyes," the voice told me. "Don’t listen to him," the lady responded. "Just give the girls a hand and go on back to the sanitarium." "No," I said to the voices. "I beg your pardon?" Cindy responded. "No... problem at all," I said and took it for granted they wanted me to help. The spare tire and jack were already out, near the flat tire. After raising the car enough to get the tire off, I loosened the lug nuts and put them in the hub cap. Cindy and the black girl stood and silently watched me the whole time. "Makes you mad doesn’t it?" he commented. "Leave him alone," the lady told him. "I’m just trying to make a point. He comes over here to help these girls. They’ll take the help, but won’t even make a little friendly conversation with the guy. Now you tell me: is that right?" the male voice said. "They’re just scared. He’s a stranger to them. They’ll thank him when he’s finished," she told him. "Look at them, over there talking. Did you see that? One of them looked over here and laughed. They’re making fun of him again. How would you feel if you did something nice for someone and that’s the way they treated you? Bad, right?" he told her. "Maybe so, but how do you know they were talking and laughing about him?" she said. "Look in their eyes, I told you. That’s how you know the truth," he said. "This isn’t going as well as I hoped it would," the lady said. "Just finish up fixing the tire, and let’s go back to the room." "I don’t want to go back," I whispered too softly for the girls to hear, but I could tell they were still looking over at me. "Not go back? What are you saying?" she asked me. "I like it out here. The air is nice. I’m not locked up," I told her. "That’s the spirit," he told me. "About time you stuck up for yourself. When we finish we can go for a walk down the highway as long as those girls don’t turn you in." "Don’t turn me in?" I asked. "Sanitarium. Didn’t you read the sign? They know where you’re from. You recognized them from earlier this week, and you know they recognized you. You’re a crazy," he told me. "They know it, and when you’re finished they might go to a phone and report you." "Stop it!" she told him. "Leave him alone. Let him finish his good deed and send the girls on down the road." "Kill them!" he said. "What?" I asked. "Kill them. If they’re dead, they can’t report you. You won’t have to go back to the sanitarium. Kill them, and you get to keep this nice car. You’d like that wouldn’t you?" he asked me. "Stop it!” I said. “You can’t do that. Those girls didn’t do anything to you. Fix the tire and go back to your room. Do it now! If you don’t, you are crazy," she said. The lady was making me mad. "I’m not crazy," I told her. "Stop saying I am." I was getting confused about what to do. I noticed I was sweating in the night air. The girls weren’t talking to me, but they were laughing and looking my way. That was wrong. What if I was crazy? What if I was here to kill them? How could I do it? He heard me thinking. "Put the spare on, get the hub cap back in place, and put the old tire in the trunk. Get the jack and put it in the trunk, but leave the tire tool. Leave the trunk up and say, ‘Oh, I forgot the tire tool.’ Then go get it. While the trunk is up, use the tire tool to kill the girls. Dump them inside, and then we can drive to the river and throw their bodies in. After that, we’re home free." "You can’t do that," she said. "Don’t be crazy!" "Stop calling me crazy! I’m not listening to you any more," I told her. I followed the plan exactly as he had told me to. The spare was on, the hubcap replaced, and the jack put in the trunk. The girls had come over and stood near the front of the car while I was putting everything away. Before I had the chance to speak, Cindy came around, closed the trunk, and said, "Thank you for fixing the tire. I don’t know what Tanisha and I would have done if you hadn’t come along. Here, take this for your trouble." While I was looking at the five dollars in her hand, the male voice said, "Well will you look at that? Five bucks. You come along to do a favor for somebody. You don’t expect to get a dime, and she offers you five bucks. If you were going to charge somebody, you’d expect at least twenty, but she offers five. Is that all you’re worth to her? Look into her eyes. She thinks you’re trash on the highway. Tell her to open the trunk. You’re not done yet, remember?" I smiled and said, "No thanks. Glad to help out, but I need you to open the trunk again. I forgot the tire tool." While she was putting the key in the trunk I decided Cindy was the one to kill first. The five bucks was insulting. The trunk popped back open just as I was turning around. The other girl, Tanisha, had already picked up the tire tool and said, "Here it is, Wacko." Her eyes were the last thing I saw. They were filled with hate. The tire tool came at me like a baseball bat, struck me across the temple, and crushed in my face. My nose and other facial bones were shattered, and blood went everywhere. Drifting out of consciousness, I felt them pick me up and carry me to the trunk. Then I heard the slam as it closed. Darkness. The pain was beyond description. Life was spilling out of me. Muffled voices were laughing in the front of the car. "That was too easy," Tanisha said. "How did you know he could get out?" "Dad told me," Cindy answered. "He’s the facilities inspector for all of these sanitariums. He’s been dumping lye on those bars for weeks. Makes the mortar breakdown. He hates the crazies more than I do, hated them since one of them killed my baby brother before I was born." "Where do you want to dump this one?" I heard Tanisha ask. "There’s a bridge about three miles up the road," Cindy answered. She must have been looking at a map. A few minutes later I felt the car stop and the girls got out. The trunk was opened again. Unable to respond, I felt them pick me up and carry me to the concrete bridge barrier. Then I heard Tanisha ask, "What about tomorrow?" They lifted me up and put me on the support. Cindy told her, "Dad told me there’s another sanitarium in West Lake." The last thing I heard the two of them say was, "Bombs away!" There was the sound of laughter in the air before I fell into the river below.