The Day Room suffered from a lack of sunshine, given that there were no windows. In fact, it had become a running joke among the patients that the Day Room was the only place in all of Ronstadt Hospital without any evidence of day at all. The paranoid believed this to be a purposeful conspiracy to gaslight the patients and serve as grounds to further their madness. The despondent felt at ease, for surely a light too bright might judge their cloudy veil, but a hidden type of day, controlled, fashioned, free of change, now that might be acceptable. Manics raged, obsessives fixated, and the unhinged schemed. What management had intended to heal was largely yet another thorn to already prodded subjects.
Laura Follett oversaw the morning hours of the Day Room. She shared the office space with a middle-aged man named Winston Gibbs, and their ideas of decoration clashed in every dimension. Laura saw the room as an opportunity to foster her creative nature, largely stifled by regulations and medical protocols. She exhibited paintings of unknown artists, draped beads over the doorway, and filled open spaces with historical artifacts. Winston was more of a minimalist, in the sense that if he could design the room to be two fold up chairs facing one another, he would. If he had things his way, he would end the sessions for the day, fold up their chairs, and leave the room empty, scratching that itch in his mind that only completion could reach.
There was a charm about Laura that pulled more influence than Winston’s seniority. It wasn’t just her beauty or British accent, but a sense that she genuinely wanted to make every space she entered a little more beautiful. Ronstadt Psychiatric Hospital was in a type of civil war, between those who wanted to change and those who didn’t. Doctors and nurses stuck in their ways argued that change indeed occurred every day, but it was meant for the patients, not for them. If they changed, what good were they to the already unstable? They were meant to be a tuning fork. Laura and her colleagues countered that true madness occurred in the mind that refused to change. How could they help inspire change if they were unwilling to embody it? It would be as if the blind guided the blind.
Thus was born the Night Room. Hours and shifts became increasingly convoluted the more staff and management fractured into separate alliances. Cognitive behavioral therapy sessions were conducted in the Day Room, between 7:00am and 7:00pm, with a more experimental psychoanalytic therapeutic style given between 7:00pm and 7:00am in the Night Room. Laura worked between 7:00am and 1:00pm every day of the week and had to see a therapist of her own to help delude herself into thinking zero days off a year was a sustainable life plan. It was for the good of her patients she told herself. She could be quite convincing.
Frank Danilo sat on the olive-green chaise lounge couch and checked the time on his wrist for the sixth time. The hospital had restricted him from wearing jewelry, so he bribed a janitor his dirtiest story if he would draw a watch on his wrist. After searching the gutter of his memories, he stole a debauched act from a fraternity brother in his college days and before the nurse could catch them, he had seven o’clock marked upon more than his mind. No matter how much time had passed, it didn’t matter. It was seven o’clock somewhere. His eternal day. He had seen enough of the night.
Laura spilled into the Day Room with her coffee overflowing, purse snagged onto the door handle, and a vexation in her eyes that threatened violence to anyone who dared inquire. Frank sat patiently and rubbed his chin, studying her. He watched the way she panicked, and he nodded his head as she resolved the situation. His watch didn’t have a seconds hand, so he would tap the top of his wrist to count them out. He heard music in his head more often that not, and as she tried to explain her tardiness for the following two minutes, he had conducted a perfect reenactment of Comfortably Numb in his mind. It wasn’t until her silence struck him that he tuned in to the room.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat yourself?” He asked.
“I said it’s a pleasure to meet you, Frank.”
“Ah.” Frank nodded his head and sat in peace. Laura waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she scanned her patient form and proceeded with her introduction.
“I see that we are you’ve been having some trouble in the workplace.”
“I would say that the workplace has been having some troubles with me.”
“How so?”
“Well, for starters, I was never late for my job.” He smiled and squinted his eyes ever so slightly, watching her reaction. Laura kept her pleasant smile and didn’t move a muscle.
“Admirable.”
“In many ways. But it is not the admirable character of men that is valued these days, but the obedient technique of those who are willing to comply.”
“I mean, never being late, that sounds like you were quite obedient at least in that regard.”
“It’s a matter of dignity. And I suppose of pattern. When you are a professor, the two are linked. I’m a slave to the technique the same as everyone else. The only reason I’m in here though, instead of sitting where you are, is because I’m trying to change.”
“And I’m not?”
“Do you even follow what I’m talking about?”
“Do you?”
Frank almost cracked a smile, but he kept his gaze fixed upon her.
“They’re trying to get me to take meds to stay here. They’re not required, but they sure love to push them. Can you help me get out of it?”
“As you said, Mr. Danilo-”
“Frank.”
“Frank. You are not required to take medication, but there isn’t anything I can do about it being offered to you. They will do so at every mealtime service. Unless-”
“Unless what?”
Laura pointed to the corner of the room so that Frank could see the camera. She had numerous Native American masks forming a buffer around it to make it less of an eye sore. Frank couldn’t stop staring at it. Laura waved her hand in front of his face, but he kept his eyes on the camera, only returning his focus to her when he chose to.
“A sex tape?” Frank asked.
“You wish,” Laura sighed and pulled out a waiver. “This is a form authorizing us to film our sessions together for training purposes. In your agreeing to do so, you will be added to our Daylight Dreamer program and I can guarantee you for the remainder of your stay, not only will you not be bothered about medication, but I can schedule an extra hour in the Relaxation Room per week.”
“You say it’s not a sex tape, but I get violated either way.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way.”
Frank ran his hands through his hair. He was in his late forties and had glowing peach skin. His crown was a swift short cut of black hair that resembled a crashing wave, and his eyes were like water, shifting color based on what lied underneath. The Day Room always made them grey. Laura was more apparent. She was a more classic type of beauty, with blonde hair, blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Her eyes were like ice when she glared, but like a calm sky when she smiled. Though she smiled, Frank saw only ice.
“Well it sounds absurd,” he sighed and positioned himself as upright as he could manage. “But I’ll sign it. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You tell me why you were late this morning.”
“I apologized for that.”
“Yes, but you averted eye contact. You were hiding something. Not only do you want me to disclose my deepest truths to you, but you want to record it forever. That’s a big ask, dear. I want an offering of good faith here. Capeesh?”
“Why is it always the most difficult patients who are first thing in the morning?”
“Because you have no frame of reference for crazy yet. I’m just warming you up love.”
He spoke in a slight British accent, close enough to annoy her, but American enough to deny it if necessary. She squinted and pursed her lips.
“If I tell you, I don’t want to get any more of this suspicious and standoffish behavior from you. Trust for trust right? I’m game. Shake on it.”
She held out her hand and he stared at it. Her wrist had a real watch on it. It read 7:12. He smiled and shook.
“It better be a good story.”
“I’ll see if I can live up to your expectations.”
Laura sighed and gritted her teeth, letting out a defeated squeal. Both of them cracked and started to laugh.
“Okay, screw it. So, I live with my boyfriend, right? Wonderful man. The best man. Sweet, funny and oh so handsome. Not a robot though. Not perfect. One could say... clumsy. A better word might be forgetful. Charming in certain regards, catastrophic in others. This morning was a code red. Or should I say, code brown.”
“I already like where this is heading.”
“I figured you might. Tom, that’s my boyfriend, Tom, well Tom thought it’d be a nice gesture to cook breakfast for me this morning. He had seen how stressed work had been making me lately and wanted to take one task off my ever-growing list. Adorable, I agree. The unfortunate affair arose from one minor oversight, which is actually a major oversight, my gluten allergy. He had made me a bowl of oatmeal, and used the brand he usually cooks with, rather than my specialized brand. I was so in love that the thought didn’t even cross my mind to ask. He even added bananas and cinnamon. The doll.”
“Impressive.”
Laura didn’t pick up the sarcasm.
“So I’m driving to work, singing in the car, feeling wonderful, until a few minutes go by and I’m not feeling so wonderful anymore. At first it feels like a horde of tiny pixies are stabbing my gut from the inside out, and then, because as you know, gluten makes pixies grow, those pixies turned into a stampede of raging orcs and those knives became spears. The spears punctured my intestines and whatever horrifying picture of waste was stored inside demanded immediate expulsion. I swerved across three lanes of traffic and ran into the nearest gas station to... well... take care of business.”
“The old green apple quick step!” Frank slapped his knee in delight. Laura was practically a red alert herself with how much she was blushing.
“It was awful. And then wonderful. And then awful again. Oh, it was everything. I left it all on the field, coach.”
The two had lost all reservations and began cracking up laughing. Frank no longer saw an agent of the system, but a person in the world. She didn’t need to say another word. He reached over and signed the authorization sheet without even reading it. Laura held up a clicker and pressed the button, initiating the recording. A little red light glowed from the camera and also in the eyes of all the masks. Frank gave her a puzzled look.
“What? I thought it might help the camera look less intimidating,” she said.
“Yes, demon faces really help lighten the mood.”
Laura bit down on her lip to prevent herself from laughing again. With the camera on, she wanted to be as professional as possible. She folded her hands in her lap and began the session.
“Good morning, Frank. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Yes, Ms. Follett. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you too.”