Sequence of Events

As promised, a continuation and conclusion from last week. Click here to read Part 1.

I jumped at the sound of my name and the phone left my hand, spending a split second in the air before I caught it again.  I saw a petite woman, close to my age, with shoulder-length brown hair; dressed casually in five-pocket jeans and a multi-colored blouse.  Not unlike the discrepancies between the marketing photos of the building and its real-life counterpart, her picture on the company website was a highly filtered version of what I saw in front of me. 

She held the door open, leaning against it with her back, and waved me over, smiling as if we were old friends. Abandoning my manic master plan to flee, I smiled back as I dragged my suitcases in her direction.  No amount of trepidation or heartsickness could overpower my inner-programming to be polite.  In no way was this a situation that warranted exchanging pleasantries, but that was what I found myself doing on autopilot.     

“How was your flight?  I’m sorry our airport isn’t much to look at! They are supposed to start construction on a few new terminals next summer.  I’ll grab your bags from you.”

The plastic tag on her shirt said “Ashley,” but I already knew that was her name.  When she spoke I recognized the pitch and cadence of her voice, accented by a twang that was now becoming a commonality between every new person I encountered here. Ashley was smaller than I’d pictured her during all of those phone conversations.  At 5’4,” I wasn’t a tall person, but the top of her head barely reached the bottom of my chin.  She had the body frame of a former gymnast or cheerleader; for better or worse, Ashley was to live in the body of a pre-adolescent child for eternity.  I envied her, feeling uncomfortably large as we stood side-by-side.  

She placed my bags next to a reception desk in what looked like the waiting room for a small law office.  There was no one sitting behind the desk, but a sweater placed on the back of the chair and several used coffee mugs gave an indication of occupancy.  Besides the desk, there were four metal office chairs with blue fabric seats, and a table which served as a sad coffee bar in desperate need of restocking. In several places were pamphlets sitting in acrylic holders; free literature and information on various topics.  It was hard to believe that anyone had a need for such antiquated materials, nor did this seem like the type of place that received a lot of foot traffic; inquirers walking by who had no use for the internet and preferred paper brochures.  

There were five doors including the entry. The two on the left-hand side opened to twin office spaces, complete with name plates and employees who looked up briefly and gave small waves of acknowledgement.  The door to the largest room was also open and revealed a large, oval conference table and  flat panel lights on the ceiling which covered the room in a fluorescent glow.   A woman with hair teased and sprayed beyond repair sat waiting with a bulky Dell laptop open in front of her.  

“Come on in and have a seat.” Ashley pulled out a chair for me before moving to sit in the one across from it.  “Diane and I just need to get a few housekeeping things out of the way.”

Diane didn’t look up and barely spoke except when it came time to get my credit card number.  It was clear that she preferred working with spreadsheets and financial records over humans.  I occupied myself with staring at her hair, curious as to why anyone would willingly choose to style it in a way that aged their face ten years.  Her thick-rimmed glasses and inability to smile just further perpetuated an elderly appearance.   

In this room, I still had the autonomy to make decisions.  I could tell them that I changed my mind and make the phone call home, activating the plan I constructed earlier.  I had not made the leap from person to patient yet and we all sat as equals around this table. I kept waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt; but, as Diane typed away on her embarrassing PC with the humming motor, I let the minutes tick by without speaking.  There was not enough time to muster the courage it would take for me to speak out,  and I could not force myself to interrupt the chain reaction that began when I set foot in the parking lot.   

“I think we have everything we need,” Diane said eventually, clicking her laptop closed and pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.  

“Great!” Ashey hopped up out of her chair, eager to get to the next step.  “Now I can take you back and get you settled in.”

I followed Ashley back out into the lobby and she led me towards the only door I’d yet to enter. My suitcases were gone, already having journeyed to the other side of the building with someone unknown.  Unlike the other doors, this one stood closed, made of the same heavy steel used on the doors in schools and hospitals.  Furnished with its own security system requiring credentials to get in and out, it was a gateway separating this generic business office and something else entirely.  I watched as my petite tour guide held a flat key card against a small gray box, making a nail-head sized light flash from red to green.  She then cupped her hand over a keypad and entered four numbers; her fingers providing a barrier between my eyes and the restricted code.   

I had spent the day in a haze, disassociating from the events happening to and around me; but I watched Ashley unlock and open this door with a clear head.  It was not, as I had previously assumed, padlocked for the purpose of prohibiting outsiders entry. It existed to prevent whomever was on the inside from leaving on their own accord.  Seeing the recognition of this harsh reality on my face, Ashley looked up at me with an expression of regret as she leaned against the handle and pushed open the heavy door.  

There remained two choices; neither of them desirable.  Walking through that door meant admitting that it was time to relinquish control to someone who knew better.  All of my decisions would be made by others because, when it came to my own life, I no longer knew what good judgment looked like.  And every second after entering by way of that door, I would have to spend working tirelessly in an effort to be granted access back out again.      

At the same time, admittance to the program was voluntary;  no one was forcing me to go any further. I could turn around right now and leave, but that meant arguing with all of the people who would try and convince me to stay. I did not have the energy to be defiant; I was tired and weak and could be easily manipulated.  I also knew that there was nothing for me back home but more sickness.  The disease had progressed to a point where I couldn't stop it; affecting my ability to do anything resembling real life. I was a shell of my former self, and there was no way to keep pretending that things weren’t wildly out of control. Returning now would mean admitting defeat and disappointing everyone I loved, which completely clashed with my core need to please.  

I don’t know if Ashley had seen someone run in the other direction during an admission, but she seemed relieved when I willingly moved towards her and away from the front of the building.  She let go of the door once I was on the other side and it clicked shut with finality.  I watched as the security panel from the opposite side lit up red once again, knowing that it signaled my confinement, but not at all sure of what I would have to do to earn deliverance.

Authentically Yours,