Chapter Five
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My cell- as so equitably deemed- is a stark-white room complete with two cots, two bedside table drawers, a small lavatory and blinding white (headache-inducing) lights pouring from the ceiling. There's an intercom overhead too, and a dome-shaped camera that whirs and blinks blue occasionally. The wall is padded with cushions, which befuddles me. I would think a research facility would look less like a mental hospital.
"For safety purposes," the male Nurse behind me points out.
"We've had patients before who tried to off themselves, so we had to take some precautions."
He stares at me warily and I wonder how many of those patients he has witnessed and if no one here knows anything about using euphemism when mentioning the dead.
I'm handed a pile of dull gray garbs and a transparent cup with a single blue pill inside.
"Prep for your treatment. Take it right after you eat later. For now, settle into your cell and get acquainted. Good Luck."
The metal door slides shut at his departure.
I notice there are no handles in sight, just a blinking red dot at the jam.
I flex my fingers nervously. Surely I'm not locked in? I fumble with the door, but it remains sealed shut. A low hum sounds from somewhere in the room, and the padded walls consequently swell and close in around me. A wretched heave erupts from me, one liken to Ellen's. The irony makes me laugh, then pause when I hear the familiar scrape of an oxygen-carrying tank dragging against the floor. I shudder and close my eyes, willing my mind to eradicate such absurd apprehensions.
I'm seconds away from having a mental breakdown when the door slides open.
I whirl around dementedly, half-expecting to see limp brown hair and nasal-tubes.
Instead, long red hair, big brown eyes, and an upturned nose face me.
"Uhm, are you okay sweetie? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I clear my throat awkwardly, then give a mirthless chuckle. "I just couldn't get the door to open."
She steps pass me wordlessly, and the door closes again. I realize that she's wearing the same gray apparel I was given.
"All you've got to do is swipe your wrist against the red dot-"
She does so, and the door slides open."- and there you go."
My face heats up in embarrassment. "Thank you, I feel stupid now."
She shrugs, then crinkles her nose in my direction. "Erm... Your nose is bleeding."
I wipe at it, flushing red, but she doesn't seem to notice.
She tells me that her name is Angela [but call me Angie, sweetie], that she's my roommate, that she loves my hair and that she would love it if I could stay on my side of the room.
There's no dissent on my part.
I place my gray pile atop my cot. My foot hits against a small suitcase beneath it.
"Oh yea, your stuff was delivered here a few hours ago," Angie informs me.
She's propped up against her pillow with an Anatomy of the Human Body book in her hand. Her hair spills over her face like a hemic waterfall. She casually swipes it away.
"Oh, thanks."
The humming sound starts again.
"What's that sound?"
"It's the pipelines I think," Angie says. "I'm surprised we can hear it through these padded walls. "
She pats at the wall for emphasis. "Just give us straitjackets now, will they?"
We chuckle at this, and I find myself relaxing a bit.
"So, what kind of cancer mojo do you have?"
Angie is sitting up now and staring at me. I feel a bit uneasy (like I'm being probed), but I tell myself that she's just being friendly.
"Brain. How about you?"
"Oh brain, that sucks. I have a friend who's got that too. Makes him a bit looney, split personalities and all. Is that the one you've got?"
"No," I realize she didn't answer my question but I let it go. "Personality disorder? He must have it pretty bad."
"Meh. He's a tough guy, he'll be fine. So, how bad is yours?"
I shrug. "Not as bad as most. I just get very terrible headaches that mess with my vision and make my nose bleed. I'm dizzy or nauseous most of the time. I sleep a lot too, but I don't mind. I like to think of it as a prequel to the real thing."
She grunts at that.
"I have seizures, but seldom. I get a twitch sometimes."
"Yes, I noticed that. Your fingers have some weird movements."
I laugh. "I guess you're right. Also, I have a bump at the back of my head where my tumor is."
I part my hair and show her the spot.
"Sick."
She sighs dramatically. "Here I am stuck with Leukemia. It's no fun."
"Really? I wouldn't have known. Most people I know with it have red dots all over them."
"Oh? Maybe my red dots are on my treasure box."
We laugh at this and continue with our exchange. Conversation flows easily between us. I tell her about Jécob and the Children's Home. She tells me about her friends, her pet snake Roscoe and her extended family back home. She lives in Tier Two but sadly doesn't know Willow.
About thirty minutes later, a robotic voice crackles over the intercom, telling us that supper will be served in twenty minutes.
"You should get changed, Skye. They're very strict about time here."
The bathroom is small (only holding a wash basin and a toilet), but very comfortable. I take the time to peel out of my old clothes. I use a small wash-rag to quickly clean myself, then splash some water onto my face.
The foggy mirror reveals my features. They are the same as they were this morning. I've always had a fear that change would change me if that makes any sense. But I am still me.
My saucer-like, almond-colored eyes are still the same. So are the constellation of tiny freckles that span across the honey-toned skin of my nose.
My hair is re-growing though, an ongoing change. Nothing as a result of my drastic life change situation. I had cropped it short a year ago and it is now springing from my roots in dark ringlets and curls. I stretch one to see how long it is, and I'm surprised to see that it touches the base of my shoulder blade.
"Skye?" Angie signals from behind the door, "They'll be calling us soon. Hurry up."
I dry myself and pull on the dark grey top and trousers we are expected to wear. Angie complains that it is much too drab, but clothes aren't a priority for me.
"Ugh, look how much that trousers sit on your ass." Angie coos at me when I exit the bathroom.
"It does, doesn't it?"
She slaps me there, which makes me feel greatly uncomfortable. She sees the horrid look on my face and flashes me a cheeky grin. "I like boys and girls, yes, but don't worry. I'm on a relationship cleanse."
I'm relieved by her statement. I don't swing that way.
"Come on, you've got to meet Weskai. Oh, and find your friend. What did you say was his name?"
She abruptly halts when we reach the door. "Ugh, Skye, your nose is bleeding again."
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