I wake to the familiar sight of my cell. A few toiletries are scattered about the room, which I feel is of adequate tidiness. Beneath me is my mattress, which is comfortable given its age, and I’m even allowed to put up some decor. I notice the familiar sight of string swaying across the entrance. A family of spiders finds themselves in the same bind I am – stuck in this facility whether or not they wanted to be. Using a napkin, I brush the cobwebs away from the entrance, careful to not harm the spiders which call it home. I try my best to leave the critters be, as like me they did not choose to be here; however, even the most tolerant would be perturbed by a spider hitching a ride when unexpected.
On the wall, the analog clock reads 8:19 AM – just in time for my 8:30 shift. I try to muster the courage to brush my teeth, but something about it feels monumental. Maybe it’s the self-imposed shame of not having brushed in two days, or maybe it’s because I hate the foaming toothpaste I am stuck with. I could buy a better toothpaste from the commissary, but with my wages I convince myself that I should just appreciate what I have. No matter, tomorrow is another day. Moving on!
I pull my uniform over my plump body. At 5’10” and 320 pounds, one would reckon I would be sizeable everywhere, yet my stick-like arms and legs poke out of my uniform like leaves budding from a rather dense stump. Much unlike the budding leaves, my stomach droops unevenly below my shirt. Unsightly. No matter how I wear my shirt, it doesn’t quite cover the stowage. Luckily, the pants provided today are too large in the waist, which at least lets me tuck my stomach into the pants. This arrangement, while cosmetically passable, gets rather uncomfortable after a day at work. I slip into my pants with ease and proceed to tuck my stomach with a bit less ease. A glance at the mirror confirms that I look alright. I take my morning medication, give my hair a quick brush, and leave my cell to go toward the commons.
I have a rather lavish life at the facility. The food is admittedly decent and there are plenty of accommodations. In the commons, we have a TV, microwave, and even a cooktop provided there is meat thawed. There are two cats that roam the facility – allegedly they are for emotional support, but they seem to get the most freedom here. Often, they choose to hide in a cell or in one of the work rooms. As a resident of the facility, we are tasked with the day to day errands and care of it. Cooking, cleaning, and all sorts of other errands are handled by the residents. Based on the state of the common area, last night’s occupant had not taken care of their duties. That person was me. Dishes occupy the sink, grime of unknown origin is splattered across the counter, but fortunately the microwave is clean enough. I transfer a frozen egg burrito from the freezer to the microwave. The instructions state to remove the wrapper, but I prefer the sogginess you get when you leave it wrapped.
Watching the burrito complete its scheduled flight within the microwave, I attempt to tidy up a bit but by the time my food’s arrival is called out by the microwave, the common area somehow looks worse than when I started. I’ll get to that after my shift, I tell myself with an empathetic lack of confidence. Double checking that my uniform is on right and my burrito is still in tow, I enter my workroom and take a seat at the computer.
8:36 AM. Close enough. Anxious if my absence was noticed, I log in for my shift. Through a flurry of messages, tasks, and reminders, I glance again to realize that over four hours had passed. The computer notifies me that it is now time to go outside and exercise – advice well intended. I walk to the common area, view out the window, and admire what a lovely day it is. Leaning on the counter, my mind is captured by the mysterious grime that has now been spread to my forearm. Gag. Cleaning the mysterious substance, I identify it as liquid from the cat’s food based on the fishy smell. Throwing away the garbage left on the counters adjacent to the grime, I realize the pail full and take the garbage to the bin. Things are looking better. I prepare myself to go on my walk, mulling over the health benefits vs the dread I feel doing it. Finally deciding to do it, an alarm echoes out from the workroom informing me my time is up.
Shuffling back to the workroom, I try to pick myself up mentally. I cleaned up! The kitchen does look better than last night. Thankfully, no wardens roam the facility to inspect the cleanliness, otherwise I’d likely be in solitary.
“I deserve to be in solitary.”
“Nobody should live like-”
Feeling the tears weep into my eyes, I interrupt that thought. I take my seat and return to the tasks on screen. Thinking for myself is unpleasant, so I pour my effort into thinking for somebody else. A quick crack of the fingers and I fly through them like my financial safety and future depend on it. The alarm calls out that it is 5:00, and my shift is done. Like clockwork, the computer is shut down, and I return to the common.
Not having eaten lunch, I am feeling a bit peckish. They say that the brain uses the most energy of all the organs in the body.
“If only my brain could use the energy reserves stored across my midsection…”
With how much I overthink, I can’t help but chuckle at the notion. Looking into the cupboard, I see the standard rations for when the budget is tight. Must be the end of the month. I gravitate toward a box of noodles with cheese-flavored powder. The instructions require two cups of milk, one pound of ground beef, and seasonings to taste. A quick review of the fridge informs me that last night’s shift neglected to thaw meat. He also forgot to throw out the rotting meat that was meant for dinner three days ago. Ick. I’ll throw that out now, into the bin with no bag, then….
Egg burrito it is.
Watching the burrito complete its return flight, I distract myself with my surroundings. The TV is a bit dusty, but not so dusty that you’d notice when it is on. The floor shows traces that the cats had been there recently, with small tufts of hair and litter strewn about. I’m very thankful they budgeted an automatic vacuum, because this would be a lot to keep up with otherwise. Hearing the beep telling me my dinner is served, I grab my food and return to my cell.
Armed with the ever-faithful soggy frozen burrito, I sit on my mattress and think back to what the facility’s psychologist had told me. She advised that I practice appreciation and gratitude, because positivity sparks positivity. The assignment was to say three things you’re grateful for, then three things you like about yourself. Seems simple enough!
“I am thankful for frozen burritos.”
“I am thankful that this bed is comfortable.”
“Though the cats can be a bother, I appreciate them very much.”
Smirking a bit thinking about the antics the cats get up to, I start to wonder if this credentialed psychologist was onto something after all. The smirk doesn’t want to go away, and I’m only half way there! Moving forward,
“I am good at work”
“I am kind”
“I belong here”
Feeling the smirk wash away, I try to dissect why that might be. Do I belong here? Am I kind? Am I good at work? I helped with plenty of requests today. But I was late! Only six minutes shouldn’t matter much, but what if someone noticed? Do they think I’m a bad person? Am I a bad person? Do I belong in this facility after all?
Inhale through the nose.
Hold.
Exhale through the mouth.
Repeat.
A sequence all too familiar to me – a ritual to capture the racing thoughts and stuff them back into the box I accidentally opened. I’ll tape that box shut and open it back up in therapy.
The box bursts open anyway.
Why? Why am I here? What is this facility? When can I leave? Do I want to leave? How do I leave? How do I love myself? How do I know I’m okay? Will I be okay? What is okay?
Thoughts pour out of the box in my mind like a dam releasing its reservoir. This is bad.
Breathe in.
Breathe in.
Faster.
Breathe out.
In.
Faster.
Faster!
You can’t even breathe right? Pathetic.
The air must be stale. It’s the air. The air in Sedona must be lovely right now. Or the ocean breeze in Monterey. Imagine how lovely that would be. But you’re stuck here in the facility, and you don’t even want to leave. I frantically search for my admission paperwork. When can I leave? Scrubbing through each line, I read:
ADMITTED: 1997-04-17
RELEASE: 2064-04-17 [ OR UPON DEATH ]I round 1997 up to 2000, then add 3 to 2064 to get 2067. Subtract 2,000 and you get…
67.
I will be free when I am 67.
My spinning mind begins to slow as waves of grief rush over it. The concept of time, already incomprehensible to me, begins to bury me. Sixty-seven years. I’ll be quite old by then. Will I be able to go to Sedona? Can I see the ocean from Monterey? I look down at my stomach. I feel the clicking in my joints. I’m pushing 30 and I am already feeling the wear from time penetrate my body. 67? Will I even be alive? Will I be stuck in this facility until my body fails me?
A shiver runs down my spine as my hands flail uncontrolled. Locating the nearest soft object, I beat into my mattress to avoid injuring myself. Flailing about without any control, I exhaust myself to release the adrenaline in my veins and curl up on my mattress. Unable to rest with nerves twitching throughout my arms and legs, I shake to soothe myself. Rocking back and forth, the world ceases to spin and my thoughts quell themselves. Planted on my surprisingly comfortable mattress within my cell, I shut my burning eyes and find myself lulled to sleep.
…
I wake up to the familiar sight of my cell.
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