Walking the halls. Pacing a cage.  Dragging feet past doorways to rooms where some are crying, laughing, talking to themselves, and yelling, let me out of here.

The walls are white. Some pictures of sunrises, daffodils, and smiling faces are taped instead of nailed or hanging from a hook. Nobody notices.

Patients are silent. Their heads down, looking at the grayish floor below. Occasionally, they look up and smile or cry. Bottoms of socks grip the tile.

Music plays throughout the 12th floor. Soft soothing songs help ease tensions in the air. Meg hangs out at the desk where doctors and nurses congregate; going over charts, talking about patients before morning rounds. A psych tech offers her a cigarette and walks Meg down to the community room where breakfast trays are being placed on a metal rack; tables wiped down with Comet and paper towels.

Meg sits in the corner and looks out over Manhattan. She feels unsafe here at Bellevue. No johns slapping her, no crack pipes burning her lips, no sleeping under bridges and parks. She misses the high. And she does miss Ben and Frank. But it’s three meals and a bed. Something new to her.

The time is 9:08 here in New York. This is Bird Flight, and I’m your host, Phil Schaap. I’m taking you through Bird’s later years this morning. Just before he passed away. It was the beginning of a whole new jazz; Bop. Or as some say, Beebop. 

I know this radio show, Meg tells a dietary aide. A friend used to listen to it all the time. I love his voice.

Who’s voice?

Phil Schaap. His voice. Pretty soon, he’ll be telling us the time again and saying, this is WKCR 89.9 in New York. It makes me think of him.

Who?

Ben. My pimp. My friend. I hope he’s OK.

Who’s that?

Nevermind.

It’s 9:27 in the morning, and you’re listening to WKCR here at Columbia University in New York. I’m Phil Schaap. And this is Bird Flight.

Meg turned back and looked again at the city below. She was a long way from Iowa. It had been a long time since she’d met Ben at that truck stop. She longed for a cup of coffee and a Western omelet. She wanted white toast with butter dripping off it. She wanted to talk to Ben.