Short Stories: Get Out of My Grape Factory

By R. Burrow

I've amassed a collection of short stories over the past many years, and I've chosen the best of the batch. Some stories are sad, some will make you laugh, others are simply entertaining, and some are highly informative. I hope you'll enjoy reading as much as I've enjoyed writing. Includes, "My Escape from the Psychiatric Unit," "Get Out Of My Grape Factory," and "Jill's Job." Twenty-five plus stories!

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Burrow
• Release date: Oct 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310621109

R. Burrow

R. Burrow grew up in a small, hilly town in West Virginia. In her teens, she traveled to various parts of Europe with her family, and went to school in the U.K. Before graduating high school, she began to suffer from symptoms of schizophrenia, and would continue to struggle with the illness for the next ten years of her life. During this time, she was able to travel to Buffalo, and attended the State University of New York, where she earned a Bachelor of Arts degree. She made great strides in fighting the long, hard battle with mental illness and married a man she loved, Martin, and settled in Upstate New York. After years of living a quiet home life, she felt a sudden and strong desire to tell her story; it was then, at age 31, that she began to write about her experiences, in the hope that it would educate and inform others from the rarely-heard point of view of the patient. The material seemed to flow almost effortlessly, and the novel was completed in a year and a half. About the same time The Tree Outside The Window was published, the author was blessed with a beautiful boy, James. In the following years she wrote a collection of short stories as well as another long fiction novel about her problems with opiate abuse, entitled In Handcuffs.

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GET OUT OF MY GRAPE FACTORY

And Other Short Stories

by

R. Burrow

Smashwords Edition

Published on Smashwords by:

R. Burrow

Get Out of My Grape Factory and Other Short Stories

Copyright 2021 by R. Burrow

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Dedicated to Grandma Esther who tirelessly reads all my stories.

CONTENTS

A Night at Old Mayer

Honeymoon with Joe

Darcy

In Memory of Sweetpea

Kronski

My Escape from the Psychiatric Unit

In Memory of Gracie

Phoenix? Loudoun? Germany? Russia? Ussr? Africa? Congo? Israel? Where You B

Eddie at Midnight

Small Compensations

Manic Halloween

A 4-Year-Old Murderer (Memoir)

Stanley

Manic Experiment

The Birth of Baby James

Wade

Benzo Withdrawal

Jill’s Telemarketing Job

Xaxia

God?

The Jerk

Get Out of My Grape Factory

Marty’s Birth/Marty’s Death

For CPS

My Mother’s-In-Law How-To Book Elinor

Julie’s Madness

Martin

A NIGHT AT OLD MAYER

Jill, a delinquent teenager, struggles to avoid losing her freedom, and her dysfunctional home...

Jill was losing the war. The rage brewed in her daily, like the fiery lava of a volcano, with no viable outlet. Her psychiatrist, Dr. Kenneth, had insisted that she repair the holes in her parents’ room wall. With putty knife in hand, a bucket of plaster at her feet, Jill put the last few touches on the door, while her mother supervised, nodding approvingly.

Is the damn thing fixed? Donald yelled from the floor below.

I’d say so, Eve replied. She turned to Jill. Next time think about what you’re doing before you start throwing chairs around.

Fine! she said, as she walked away. Her father’s tone always made her nervous; his outbursts were sudden and unpredictable. Being in his presence was like walking through a minefield - she had to proceed with caution, and any step could result in a mind-shattering explosion.

Bring me some tea, will you, Eve? Donald shouted again from below.

His wife obeyed.

The following day, Eve, Donald, and Jill rode to Dr. Kenneth’s office. Jill was silent in the car, while Donald complained about the summer weather and how his allergies were affecting him. Eve let out an occasional, Mm hmm. Her father responded by looking down and picking at his fingernails. They arrived at their destination and entered the building.

So how has Jill been behaving lately? Dr. K. addressed Eve.

If anything, things are only worse in the house lately! Donald cut in. I can’t take it anymore!

They ignored him, and Eve had her turn. Well, she began. I discovered some empty cans of beer in Jill’s room. I’ve spoken with Debbie’s mother, and it seems that the two of them have been stealing things from the mall. Mrs. Mohrmom also informed me that her cigarettes have been disappearing. And lately Jill’s been coming home reeking of cigarette smoke. Eve looked at Jill.

Debbie and I haven’t been smoking, Jill said. We haven’t taken any of her mother’s Larks.

How can you deny it, Jill? Donald protested. He laughed nervously. The school called the other day and said you and Debbie were smoking at the fence before school.

Jill denied it once more. She didn’t care whether they knew or not.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Dr. K. pronounced. Westchester Institution might be the appropriate place for your daughter. For one thing, she needs discipline.

I’d like to avoid that if possible, Eve said weakly.

Donald looked pleased. Eve gave him a hostile glare.

Jill looked at the large plant in the corner of the room. She wanted to grab handfuls of dirt and throw it at Kenneth. She had no respect for him. He was an ally of her parents.

What if I refuse to go? Jill asked. What are you going to do, tie me up and take me there in the trunk, against my will?

We usually take kids wrapped in a blanket, Dr. K. said. He seemed smug as he smiled knowingly, looking away. Then he turned again to Jill’s parents. Think this over some more, and we’ll see you next week, he announced. The three left.

Later that night, the family became engaged in their routine, fierce conflict. Jill’s older sister Anne fled to her room and closed the door. Princess had come home drunk, and Eve scolded her briefly, then they hugged, and Princess went to bed. Jill saw it as highly unjust; Princess was never punished, never blamed, and never had to visit with Dr. K.

I can’t take this shit anymore! Donald raved. Send Jill to Westchester, Eve, that’s your solution! Why don’t you ever listen to Kenneth, he knows what he’s talking about!

Jill was afraid to go. At fourteen, a mental hospital was what she feared most, having her freedom taken away, being watched and guarded, having no control of your life.

You’re a jerk! Jill yelled at him. I hate you, I hate you all! I’m going to burn this house down and kill all of you!

Jill! Eve shouted.

I think you should take that very seriously, Donald said to his wife. "Look at all Jill’s done already… Maybe she will set the house on fire."

Sure I will! Jill screamed, and went upstairs. She didn’t intend to do it, but once the words were out, she had to defend her statement; it was a matter of pride.

Eve was worried.

Should I call Dr. K.? Donald asked her.

I will, Eve said, and went into the kitchen to use the phone.

The crisis workers arrived within the hour. They told Jill that she was going to be admitted to Old Mayer, until she could be transferred to Westchester. Jill began to cry. Anger turned to fear and helplessness. Jill felt trapped, and frantically began considering plans of escape, but she was in such a panic she couldn’t think clearly. Her eyes burned from all the tears; they flowed like a tumultuous river, overpowering everything in its path. Eve cried, too.

At Old Mayer, Jill was still sobbing. A woman in a white lab coat entered the room and told her she wanted to draw some blood.

I don’t want a blood test, Jill informed her. The phlebotomist hurried out of the room. A few moments later, she returned with two large male orderlies. We have to take your blood, one of them announced.

Okay, Jill replied, surprised that the woman had been afraid of her. ‘What did she think I was going to do?’ Jill thought. ‘Knock her teeth out and strangle her?’

A man down the hallway kept repeating the date, 1979, 1979, 1979, in a hoarse, unpleasant voice. This echoed throughout the ward for hours. When Jill wasn’t listening to him, pondering what significance that year must have, she was crying and wondering how she was going to manage in Westchester. She was unable to console herself.

A nurse walked in and suggested to Jill that she go to the lounge and watch TV. It might make you feel better, she said.

I can’t survive this place, Jill responded.

Yes, you can, the brown-haired woman reassured her.

• • •

Jill entered the lounge. There were two TV sets in the corner, one on top of the other. One had static but good sound, the other had a semi-perceptible picture but the volume was turned off. There were soap operas on, and Jill hated them. She was still upset, and tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched.

A bald-headed doctor with glasses entered and gestured to Jill to follow him. They seated themselves in a small conference room down the hall.

Why are you so upset? he asked her.

I don’t want to go to Westchester, she said. Dr. Kenneth is sending me there, and I didn’t do anything to deserve it.

Why are you here then? he said.

I threatened to burn the house down and kill people. I never intended to do it. Jill didn’t mind admitting that her words had been an empty threat; her dread of going to Westchester was so great, her pride was virtually unaffected.

Well, you see what happens when you menace people, if you say you’re going to burn the house down, people have to take it seriously, the doctor stated.

Yes, Jill said.

The doctor had nothing more to say. He seemed to be thinking carefully for several moments, looked in his file, then rose. Jill felt better; she stood herself up and walked quietly back to her room.

Eve picked Jill up the following morning. The two rode in the car home. Eve smiled but appeared disturbed at the same time.

Less than an hour after returning home, Dr. K. called and spoke with Eve. Jill could tell by Eve’s face it was K on the phone. She rushed upstairs to listen secretly on the other line. ‘The call is almost over, I missed most of it," Jill thought.

The hospital felt that she didn’t need to be there, Eve was saying. They told me there was a rapist on the ward, maybe that’s why…

• • •

I’m getting angry, I’m gonna hang up! Dr. K. hissed, and Jill heard a click. The bad guys were defeated for yet another round.

But after such a terrible trauma, Jill realized the serious consequences of making threats, and knew this was something to completely and absolutely eliminate from all troublemaking. She knew this would be the lesson of a lifetime. Never let anyone in on your plans. Get smarter. Threats were the height of stupidity. Maybe the house was going to burn down and perhaps she was going to kill people. She would think about it, consider it, ponder it, rage about it all she liked, but never utter a word again. Not a breath.

HONEYMOON WITH JOE

Marie turned to look out the thick glass window. She saw houses as small as matchboxes, swimming pools that looked like props behind miniature dollhouses, and people no larger than dots, scattered everywhere, walking slowly, or hidden inside colorful toy cars. Then the scene disappeared under a long stretch of dense, foamy white, and she wondered if this cloud was solid enough to stand on.

She didn’t particularly want to go to Las Vegas. It had been Joe’s idea. Gambling was his passion, and they had many heated arguments because of money that he’d lost. Marie never enjoyed playing the horses or betting sports herself but had compromised so that she could spend the second half of their honeymoon in Tijuana.

What do you see out there, Dear? Joe asked.

Clouds, Marie answered. They’re thicker than shaving cream from up here.

Well, you’re on top of the world now, he said, caressing her hand. He touched the ring on her finger and pushed it farther up towards her palm. You have to keep the ring on all the time, he reminded her, leaning triumphantly back in his chair. He plunged his hand into his front pocket, checking to see that the thick wad of cash was still there.

The two had divided up the wedding money equally just before leaving for the airport. Marie recalled Joe’s solemn promise to control his gambling: he would only carry forty or fifty dollars at a time with him and spend their honeymoon sightseeing and doing other things. She smiled with contentment and closed her eyes; she awoke just before landing in Las Vegas.

The wait to obtain the rental car seemed never-ending, and both were pleased to finally arrive at the hotel. The room was elegant, spacious, and situated right in the middle of downtown. The city didn’t sleep that night. There were more