Disease Number One

 

            It was one of those days when everything was gray, was wet, was sad, and felt empty, like someone had squeezed every bit of juice from the last orange, every bit of light from an already diminishing day, and the last bit of joy from a previously enjoyable moment. Dr. Arlington McCreever paused for a moment in the light drizzle, the stone steps before him slightly slick and generally formidable, tempting to conquer him before he reached the top.

              Three massive doors greeted him at the top of the wide and uninviting steps, the handles, hardware, and hinges all black and ancient in appearance, having been installed, if he remembered correctly, sometime in the early eighteen hundreds. What was originally to be a place of safety and seclusion for those considered mentally unfit and possibly dangerous, turned more into a prison of sorts that confined, bound, and oppressed those locked within its walls, committed there by either loved ones or by the court system.

              The overpowering smell of bleach and formaldehyde assaulted his nostrils as soon as he entered the building, reminding him of the torments the patients here suffered from opening day until the 1950's, when the techniques and drugs used were all reassessed for humanitarian purposes. No one ever seemed to improve or grow, able to rejoin the society that labeled them as dangerous and beyond help. Since Dr. McCreever took over the role of head doctor, he eased into changes that would improve the quality of life, finally introducing balanced, healthy, and stable people back into society.

              He gave his customary smile and greeting to the ladies at the front desk before retreating to his office that faced the north rose garden, a glorious reprieve from the drab, cold, emotionless hallways and examination rooms he would spend most of his days traversing. With two meetings scheduled that day, he had time to visit the patients in the west wing of the first floor before he took a few minutes to prepare for another mundane day.

              Lifting the clipboard from the plastic tray next to the door, he quickly scanned over Mrs. Glorvskaya's data, pleased to see that she had been making progress toward mental stability and social interaction. He briefly knocked to receive an invitation to enter, to find the elderly, and in his mind, ancient woman sitting in her rocking chair near the radiator, warming her feet. The two of them chatted for a few moments, and he was glad to see that this interaction perfectly mirrored what he had read on the chart. Patting her on the hand, he excused himself and left the room.

              Repeating the process on the room across the hall, he was equally pleased with Mrs. Joplin's chart and interaction. Spending no more than ten minutes in each room, he completed the hallway and returned to his office, to enjoy two swallows of Scotch before his next meeting, a beautifully warming approach to elevate his day.

              Remaining motionless until the clicking of heels stopped echoing in the hallway, Mrs. Glorvskaya, silently rose from her chair, put on her trainers, and knocked on Mrs. Joplin's door to receive an invitation to enter. "Eunice, put on your shoes and come with me," she said, "there is something I need to show you and explain. Be quick we've only got a few minutes."

              The two elderly women moved quickly down the hallway to the stairwell with an agility that would have astounded most, considering their advanced years. With a stunning pace, they ascended three flights of stairs to emerge onto the roof overlooking the south lawn spotted with numerous other elderly people wandering about and enjoying their few moments of fresh air and social interaction.

              "Look at Agnes," Mrs. Glorvskaya said, "do you see how she's flitting from one group to the next, from one man to the next, putting on this image of friendly and flirty, while we both full well know she is nothing of either one." Eunice let out a small chuckle, a sound that Mrs. Glorvskaya perfectly understood, she and Eunice both knowing how easy it was to pretend friendliness, to pretend social interaction, and deceive the doctors and nurses, the only sure way to escape from this ridiculous hospital, or prison, as they liked to call it.

              "Do you ever notice how no one in this place ever displays even a sliver of humility?" Eunice said. "It kills me to interact with these clowns, to pretend to be nice, when all I want to do is strangle them in their sleep. Which I am often tempted to do."

              Mrs. Glorvskaya tapped on her watch and tugged on Eunice's arm, pulling her toward the stairwell. The two women hurried down the stairs and returned to their rooms, once again donning their slippers and blankets, mere seconds before the day nurse paid them both a visit.

              Fourteen hours later Eunice woke up staring at the ceiling, still in her day clothes, slippers, and rocking chair, to gently rub a kink from her neck. She remembered rising from and returning to her rocking chair before lunch, after lunch, before dinner, and after dinner, to have somehow fallen asleep without crawling into bed at her normal ten o'clock bedtime. Easing herself to her feet, she changed into her bed clothes and slid under covers to immediately fall asleep.

              The next morning arrived in a strange manner as she opened her eyes with the memory of a dream from what seemed moments ago, a very old man, small, shriveled, plainly dressed but very kind spoke to her as she and Mrs. Glorvskaya stood in a very small, very dark room, with hints of mold in the air, telling her to find him, for he had something very important for her to accomplish. She carefully studied every aspect of the man's appearance, determined to remember every detail and, somehow, find him, but looking completely unfamiliar, she had her doubts.

              When the seven o'clock breakfast bell sounded, she eased herself from the bench by the door, willing to kill for a cup of coffee and a Danish, her stomach complaining about what it perceived to be inhuman neglect. She and Mrs. Glorvskaya met in the hallway and walked arm in arm into the cafeteria for another round of socializing and fake smiles, looking forward to their first meal of the day and an opportunity to get outside for some fresh air, after being confined for so long since the previous morning.

              The two women sat alone in a far corner hoping that no one else would join them, forcing an awkward interaction that neither of them wanted. Their wish was granted, giving Eunice the opportunity to tell her friend about her strange dream of the little old man, giving as many details as possible concerning his appearance. "That's interesting because I had an odd dream as well," Mrs. Glorvskaya said. "You and I were out for a walk, in a neighborhood that I did not recognize and as it began to get dark, we walked onto someone's front porch and then into the house, to stand alone in a small, dark room. I could hear someone talking but could see nothing."

              They finished their breakfast and walked together to the north garden with is copious roses, to sit together on a bench and compare their memories of their dreams, finding too many parallels to write off as coincidence. As a nurse approached them, they quickly changed the topic to knitting and crosswords until she departed, leaving them unusually alone, as the rose garden was typically a favorite place for many of the residents.

              Eunice stood up and pulled Mrs. Glorvskaya to her feet to walk together from rose bush to rose bush until they approached the one gate in the wall that opened onto the sidewalk, a wrought iron work of beautiful scrollwork, which Eunice reached toward, turning the handle, and surprisingly found it unlocked. She unlatched the handle, paused, whispered to her friend what she had just discovered and scanned over the windows in the building behind them, to see no one.

              Taking her friend by the hand, the two slipped through the gate, closing it behind them and hurried down the sidewalk in the direction opposite the main entrance, both feeling a weight lift from them as the freedom was an unexpected surprise. With one glance backward, Eunice watched the tall brick building disappear from view as they passed into a neighborhood. "It seems that we just ran away," she said, "so let's make the most of it."

              They shuffled past four or five houses when Mrs. Glorvskaya suddenly stopped. "That's it," she said, "that's the house from my dream. Come on, let's see what happens." The two women, arm in arm, turned off the sidewalk, approached the porch and ascended the steps to see that the house was dark and empty, leaving their next move unavoidable. Eunice turned the doorknob, to find it unlocked and they entered a small, dark room that smelled slightly of mold, though it was beautifully furnished, it clearly had not been occupied for many years, as the dust was remarkably thick.

              They stood motionless for a moment, uncertain of what to do next, when the little man from Eunice's dream walked into the room with his bright, kind eyes and a large smile. "Very good, my ladies," he said. "I am so happy to see that you received and understood my messages. Now that we are all here, I want you to understand that the little place that you call your world is no different than anywhere else. Everyone has their struggles, their weaknesses, and their inclinations. You'll find that no matter where you go or with whom you interact, you will find pride is the foundational problem for them all."

              The two women squeezed closer together, relishing the security of having one another, but certainly not afraid for the little man was unarguably not a threat or dangerous.

              "I need you to return to the home and do your best to exhibit a genuine humility that will be a stark contrast to the foolishness that dominates the lives of nearly everyone on this planet. Be sure to tell no one of your dreams, your walk, or your conversation with me, instead, bring out and discuss the problem of pride and arrogance, more with your actions than your words. This is how you will change your own situations and eventually the thinking of your co-habitants and the lives of those working there. I know you'll do well, and you need to return now, for this will be a difficult path to follow."