Kasher in the Rye: The True Tale of a White Boy from Oakland Who Became a Drug Addict, Criminal, Mental Patient, and Then Turned 16

by Moshe Kasher

I went to bed at 10 p.m. on New Year’s Eve that year. Celebrating from in bed, behind thick Plexiglas windows and walls, and hospital corners, determined never to have to come here again. Every second in that place was a screaming reminder: YOU ARE NOT NORMAL. At the same time, I found a comfort in that place. There was one normal kid there named Nate. He was an older kid, at least sixteen, and I thought he was as cool as anyone I’d ever met. He and I would hang out in group making fun of the real crazies and talking about all the pot we were going to smoke when we got out. I wanted to impress him with tales of how much I got high, and it never occurred to me that anyone was listening. Not too bright, but I was pretty medicated at the time. He wasn’t just cool, he was tortured by his life like me. We used to knock hello to each other from across the walls of our kitty-cornered rooms at night. I’d knock “shave and a haircut,” and he’d answer back, “two bits.” I guess we did that just to let each other know that someone else was there who understood. One night I knocked and no one answered. Nate was gone. He’d been released. That night, I cried myself to sleep, hyperventilating, terrified, and I really didn’t know why. I remember I cried when I got out, too. How quickly you get institutionalized. A two-week stay and I was ready to move in. Ready to be a thirty-year vet with my ass hanging out of a hospital gown doing the Thorazine shuffle, yelling about how the pudding on Tu...