The White Room
My boss told me I needed to take a week off of work, and I actually believed him. It felt like I was in a Salvador Dali painting: a portrait of my life melting away into a pool of slime, waiting to be mopped up and discarded. It was clear I needed to get away for a while and think things through. It was time to get off the train and walk alongside it for a while.
…
After work, I picked up one of those dummies books on “how to relax the right way!” I figured I’d flip through it before I had to go see the company physician in the morning. My boss said that the doctor would figure out what was wrong with me. I wanted to believe there wasn’t anything wrong with me, but what did I know?
Nearly halfway through the book, my eyes strained to decipher the small print. My head ran in circles trying to keep track of the countless “tips and pointers” the book had to offer. “How many ways are there to relax?” I said, sliding the book under the couch to be forgotten. I closed my eyes and started to doze.
The clock in the corner of the room struck noon, announcing the third painful hour I had been stuck in that damn hospital room with Dr. Jones, the friendly corporate doctor. He flipped through the pages of his clipboard while I sat on the examination table, swinging my legs into the hollow metal base trying to get his attention. He looked at me over the top of his glasses and said, “Mr. Williams, it’s been three hours and nothing seems to be getting us anywhere. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what I need to know.”
He held his stare. “How can I tell you what I don’t know, doc? You’re the one with the PhD, not me. Don’t they pay you guys to figure these things out for us?”
I hated doctors.
“We’ve run all the tests we can, Mr. Williams. You’re showing up negative in every one of them.”
The tissue paper from the table clung to my legs as I stood up and yelled, “Well try them again, doc! I can’t help you help me! That would defeat the whole purpose of having a doctor. If I knew all the answers I wouldn’t be here!”
“Mr. Williams-”
“Stop calling me that, dammit! My name is Steve! S-T-E-V-E. Steve!”
“Alright then, Steve,” he uttered my name through clenched teeth.
“Calm down and breathe.”
I sighed, took a deep breath and sat back down.
“I think that what you need is something I can’t give you here.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I’ve decided that your problem is more mental rather than physical. I know a colleague downtown that could diagnose you better than I could.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You’re sending me to a shrink?”
“I’m not sending you anywhere, Mr. — Steve. If you go, it would be purely on a voluntary basis.”
“I might as well, doc. You people are amusing the hell out of me anyway. I could do this all day. Maybe this head-shrinker guy will at least have some candy in his office.” I stood up from the table once more and shook the doctor’s hand, “Though you’ve been a complete waste of my time, I thank you, Dr. Jones. It’s been a real pleasure.”
The doctor nodded curtly and handed me the shrink’s card with one hand while he ushered me out of the room with the other.
…
I made myself quite comfortable in the ten minutes I was in the shrink’s office. I lay back on his leather couch, kicked off my shoes, and savored the peppermint candy I fetched from the jar on his desk. I let it hit my teeth every once and a while to see if it annoyed him, but it didn’t. He sat in his padded chair next to me, his canvas-bound notebook in hand, and started asking questions. “So, Steve is it? Tell me a bit about yourself.”
He called me Steve; I liked him already. “Well, let’s see. My job sucks, I live in a shit-hole apartment, and I haven’t been laid in about seven months, other than that, it’s been pretty peachy.”
He scribbled something down on his pad. That made me kind of nervous. “Should I talk slower, doc? I don’t think you’re getting every word down.”
“Oh, excuse me. This is just something I do to keep track of your thoughts. Don’t let it bother you, there’s nothing in here to worry about. Here, you can even read it for yourself.” He handed me the pad.
Sure enough, my thoughts were written on the page: Unhappy with job, housing, and sexual activity (or lack of.)
I chuckled and handed it back to him. Something about this guy made me feel different inside, some feeling I couldn’t pinpoint, but I knew I hadn’t felt it for a long time.
“What is it that brings you here, Steve?”
“Well I don’t really know, doc. My boss told me I needed a week off and that I should see the company physician. That asshole– the doctor, I mean– had no idea what was wrong with me, so he sent me here.”
“And here you are, indeed. But, I was really asking more for the reason why you are here.”
“Well… I guess you could say I’ve developed a complete lack of interest in my job. My boss says I’m ‘less efficient’ than I normally am and that I haven’t met my quotas in months.”
The doctor wrote some more in his pad. I pondered on what he would be writing. Shows a signs of a severe case of work apathy.
“Why haven’t you been meeting your quotas, Steve?”
“That’s a good question, doc. I would assume it’s because my lunch break usually starts around ten and doesn’t end until I get back around one.”
“Where do you go for lunch, usually?”
“Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but there’s this neat place down in the basement of our building. It’s this little room nobody knows about but me. I think it used to be a closet or something, but now it’s all empty.”
“And you eat lunch there? For three hours? Everyday?” he said, scribbling away at his pad. Patient is hiding from something.
“Well, not exactly… I don’t usually eat much while I’m there. I really just go there to get away and think for awhile. It’s the perfect hiding place.”
“What do you think about when you’re down there?”
“Women, money, what’s on TV that night, what’s for dinner, the meaning of life… You know, normal things. Sometimes I’ll leave the light off and try to think about my real life.” “Your real life? As opposed to the facade you’re living now?”
“Exactly. This life is just a cover until I can get the means to escape.”
“What would your real life be like? Once you escape, that is.”
“For one thing, I wouldn’t need to see you in my real life. As much as I like you, doc, I wouldn’t have a need for you. I’d be married to a wonderful woman, have two boys, a nice house and a great job; probably something in real estate. My real life will be perfect.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got everything figured out. What’s keeping you?”
“I don’t know. Something’s holding me back, I just can’t figure out what. Sometimes I wake up at night, confused, like I’m lost at sea. I try to work things out in my mind, but I can never quite grasp it. I… Sometimes I get this horrible pain in the back of my head and, well I…”
“Steve, it’s alright. You don’t have to talk about this right now if you don’t want to. We’ll figure everything out in due time. Just relax. Lay back down and we’ll talk about something else.”
I still didn’t know why I was telling him everything, but I was relieved he stopped me when he did.
“So, let’s go back to your job, then. There has to be something else going on, other than long lunch breaks.”
“You’re right. Now that I think about it, I am beginning to do some stupid things. For instance, I sometimes file cases under the wrong headings. For fun I’ll put a file for a domestic assault case in the fraud section, or I’d stick something like a misdemeanor under grand theft. You know, stuff like that.”
Malicious file mover. (Remember to lock filing cabinet.)
“And why would you do something like that?”
“I dunno. Complete and utter lack of interest, maybe? I just don’t care anymore, you know? I’ve come to loathe myself and my job. It’s come to the point where every time someone comes through my door or tries to speak to me, I blow up at them. I suppose I’ve always known something was wrong, but I never wanted to tell it to myself.” I stopped, reconsidering going further. “But, uh… Can we talk about something else, doc?”
“Alright, that’s fine, Steve. Tell me a little bit about your past. Where did you grow up? What kind of family did you have?”
Right then, it felt like a brick had slammed into my head. Family? I hadn’t thought about my family in years, and now that I had I couldn’t remember them at all. “I don’t remember my family.”
“Oh… Why’s that?”
“I don’t know… I just can’t remember them!”
I panicked. I thought about it more but I still couldn’t remember a single thing. Where were they? Who were they? “My God, I can’t remember them!”
“Alright, calm down. We’ll figure this out. What’s the first thing you DO remember?”
I thought hard, pressing the rewind button on my memories. 2005, 2000, ‘98, ‘96, ‘94… “That’s it! The last thing I can remember is from 1994.” I said, coming very close to choking on the candy in my mouth. I had been living without memories for 11 years, and I didn’t even know it. “What the hell happened in 1994?”
…
After my panic attack, the doctor and I made several unsuccessful attempts to uncover my missing memory. Nothing worked. Hours passed and I still couldn’t remember a single thing. Eventually, the shrink decided to try hypnosis. He told me it was a rather unconventional method, but that it also was sometimes very effective in cases like mine. If I were submissive enough he would be able to tap my memory and help me recall the part of my life that was somewhere hidden deep inside my subconscious. For some odd reason, I agreed to let him do it.
Unlike it is in the movies, there was no shiny gold pocket watch dangling in front of my eyes, beckoning me to sleep. Instead, the doctor told me to close my eyes and clear my mind. I concentrated solely on my breathing. “Okay, Steve. When I snap my fingers, you will go back to 1994 and remember everything exactly as it happened. Understand?”
I nodded.
His finger snapped.
…
Whatever happened after the doctor snapped his finger I couldn’t remember, but the after effect felt like a bad acid trip. When I woke up, I had no idea where I was or what I was doing. It felt like I was in a dream, yet everything was so vivid and real. I opened my eyes and found myself in an empty, white room. The leather couch from the shrink’s office had survived the journey with me. I sat up and looked around the room, noticing tiny specks of substance crystallizing in the air. When I tried to stand, I was attacked with an immense feeling of what could only be described as a giant syringe injecting countless years of memories and thought into my mind. The brutal pain following it shot me back down into what would’ve been the leather couch, but instead was a cheaply decorated armchair.
Before I could stand again, something strange happened. I noticed my arms were growing shorter and skinnier by the second. My chest deflated like a balloon as my waist shrunk three or four belt sizes. I could feel my shoes disappear from my feet as they rose off the ground. The cuffs of my shirt shifted and moved up to my shoulders and the hems of my pant legs raised a couple of inches. Various other parts of my body began to shrink that I wished hadn’t. “What’s happening to me?” I screamed.
Completely shocked and appalled by the assault my body had taken, I had forgotten about the white room and the objects appearing around me. I looked to see if anything had changed, and standing there before me was a man. He was tall and broad and towered over my newly-frail body in his brown leather loafers and his red bathrobe. He was like a grotesque statue, holding a white mug in his hand, looking ready to throw it to the ground. A switch in my brain flicked on, and instantly I knew it was my father. Somehow I knew it was him; like I had seen him every day of my life. “This has to be a dream,” I said. “This can’t be real.”
Next to the statue of my father, something else appeared. My mother! “Mommy!” I screamed.
“What the hell was that?” I thought, cupping my mouth and pulling myself back. My voice was different. No longer was it deep and gruff, but quite the opposite. “My God!” I thought. “I’m a kid again!”
The figure of my mother was complete. In the corner of the room the final figure appeared, much faster than the others. Without even looking, I knew it was Jimmy, my little brother. He was cowering on the floor by the couch, hiding from something.
Suddenly, the white walls began to bleed. A liquid resembling paint leaked down from the cracks in the ceiling and covered the entire room. We became engulfed in the stuff, and in moments the room was changed. We were now in the living room of my old house. The furniture, the windows, the pictures on the wall… Everything was there; even the large paddle under the couch was there. It was my father’s favorite weapon to use on us when we misbehaved.
Something else happened. Like a bucket of cold water poured over my head, a sense of fear came over me. I felt weak, cold, and scared. Something awful was about to happen. In the blink of an eye, the room was set into motion.
“Goddammit, Janice!”
Smash! The mug in my father’s hand slammed to the floor, sending thousands of shards sliding across the floor. My fingernails dug into the fabric of the armchair as my legs shot up onto the cushion under me. The sound of father’s shriek struck my spine and left me paralyzed. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t move.
I watched as my mother tried to get away, but she was soon caught in the bear-like grip of my father’s hands. His immense weight and tightening muscles kept her in his grasp. With all of his might he pulled her in close and slapped her across the face. She fell to her knees but he pulled her right back up again. “Mommy!” I screamed again, eyes wide and tears streaming down my cheeks.
“You went behind MY back and slept around with another man? After all I’ve done for you! All I’ve given you?”
Mother was hysterical. She tried to answer, “I’m sorry! I didn’t know what I was doing! I… I… I’m so sorry!”
“You’re damn right you are, you fucking bitch!” he slapped her again, this time letting go of her wrist and sending her flying head first into the coffee table, shattering the glass and splintering the wood.
“Don’t hurt my mother!” Jimmy screamed, standing up behind my father.
He turned around to look at Jimmy; his eyes widened and fueled with rage. “You! You knew about this, didn’t you? And you didn’t tell me?”
I took my only chance and ran for it. I headed for the closet next to the kitchen to hide. It was the safest spot in the house; the perfect hiding place. Every time my father was in a rage like this one, I ran straight to that closet and stayed there until things were over. Something in the back of my mind told me that this time I might not be so lucky.
I tried not to slam the door behind me. Jimmy was struggling with my father, screaming for help while battling the monster alone. I wanted more than anything to help him, but I couldn’t.
In the dark I crawled back into the far corner, hiding deep under the jackets and blankets sprawled across the floor. I prayed to God he would save my family, but then it happened. I heard the familiar crack of the paddle. Jimmy was still crying for help. Another crack, followed by a loud crunching sound, quickly silenced him. I shut my eyes tight and gripped the blanket under me, still praying.
I heard footsteps. They stopped abruptly, and yet another crack sounded. I didn’t want to know what was going on. I buried my face in the blanket, trying to muffle my cries.
More footsteps. This time, they were getting louder and heavier. Before I knew it, the closet door slammed open. My father stood in the penetrating light. A silhouette of his big, burly arms reached down and grabbed me by the collar. My heart pounded like a jackhammer.
He took me back towards the living room. My body went limp. As he dragged me along, my bare feet squeaked across the wooden floors of the hallway. We stopped. He turned me around and I saw everything. My mother still lay in the rubble of the coffee table, motionless. Jimmy was lying on the floor in front of the couch, quiet and still.
“Look what you’ve done, Steven. Just look what you’ve done.”
For some odd reason, I believed it was my fault. More tears fell from my eyes as I took one last look. “I’m sorry…”
Everything went black. I fell to the floor. A loud cracking sound echoed through my ears.
…
I opened my eyes; they felt heavy. I rubbed them, trying to get a clear view again. I caught a glimpse of the doctor crumpling up a piece of paper from his notepad, but I figured it wasn’t important. I sat up, rubbing the back of my head. “Well? Did it work, doc?”
He looked up at me, seeming rather flustered, “Oh no, Steve. You just fell asleep. It’s alright. Like I said, it doesn’t work for everybody.”
“Okay,” I sat and waited, feeling lost. “Well… What do we do now?”
…
Days passed by and something felt different. I couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but I felt lighter. That’s the only way I can describe it.
I finally cleaned my apartment. I changed the sheets, cleaned the dishes, swept the floors and washed the windows. For once I got around to cleaning out the stockpile I had collecting under my couch. I salvaged countless rubber bands, paper clips, gum wrappers and the occasional dime or a nickel. I put them all into their own separate jars and set them on the shelf above my TV. I even found the “Dummies” book I bought a few days before. Laughing at the dusty yellow cover and the silly words inside, I walked over to the trashcan and tossed it inside.
…
Soon it was time to go back to work. During my lunch break, I went down into the basement to find a place to store some old files from the office. I rolled the two-wheeler down the hallway until I passed a familiar door. I put the wheeler down and stared at it for a moment. I reached for the handle and turned, slowly opening it.
The light inside was still on. I grabbed the boxes from the two-wheeler and stacked them inside the room. Taking one last look, I turned off the light, shut the door, and headed back upstairs.