He stared out the window at the surroundings that he had passed many times before. The asphalt. The ditches adorned with brush. The houses. The scene was so familiar, yet so different. The usual chatter was halted, and the silence was so loud that it pounded mercilessly against his eardrums. In that moment, he was completely deaf, and his clock stopped ticking. His hourglass slowly ran out of sand. Grain by grain. Mile by mile. He knew this tension from previous experience, and he pondered why cars were not pulled over on the shoulder of the road. Instead, they zoomed by his window, unaware of the current necrosis. There was no carefully uniformed officer standing at the intersection, hat unglued from head. There were no other cars in front or behind, traveling to be apart of what felt like a final journey. There was no six-foot hole in the Earth, flowers that were delivered, or sea of black fabrics. There were no slow tempo songs, tearful eulogies given by suited clergymen, hinged boxes, or a suited driver behind the wheel of the vehicle everyone is destined to. The situation was not accompanied by its usual friends and sentiments, but one thing remained true: death. The voyage was just like the slow, silent ride to the graveside, only the corpse was strapped in the backseat with a pulse.
His backpack, filled with Calculus homework and literature books the day before, was now occupied with no vacancy, filled with a week’s worth of clothing and everything he needed to survive. The bag sat beside his body, motionless, anxiously awaiting its new home. He could read the expressions of the people around him, their faces full of uncertainties. Their silence filled with inaudible questions. If he didn’t know better, he would have concluded that he had disappeared from the face of the planet. Invisible to the world around him.
After 45 minutes and a head full of anxieties, the car finally geared into park on the lined asphalt bearing the name “visitor.” The soles of his shoes collided with the pavement as his fingers clutched the ID card of a stranger. The insurance card of an outsider. As he approached the entrance, the double doors were locked until the receptionist let him in. She asked him what he was there for. “Assessment,” he muttered. He exchanged his ID for a clipboard that requested the same information that he had written many times before. A few page turns and several pen strokes later, a lady in mint green scrubs escorted him into a single room through the doors that required a badge for entry. Two desk chairs separated by a single desk. “Are you anxious?” she chuckled as his blood pressure displayed on the small screen. He had done this before, but let’s just say handling anxiety wasn’t his strong suit. The yellow paper slowly filled up with the nurse’s handwriting as he responded to each question that she asked. Yes, no, and everything in between.
When the questions ceased, the kind nurse walked him back to the brown leather sofa that he had sat on before. All he could do was wait. Receptionist behind him, TV on sports to his side. As he sat there, patients made their way back to their rooms from the cafeteria through the locked doors. Time intervals were printed neatly on the paper that he carefully looked over in his waiting. Visitation hours. Mint green scrubs appeared once again in the waiting room to lead him back for round two of questions. He struggled to elaborate on his feelings that he had previously described to her. The truth is, he really didn’t understand himself either. Finally, she explained the outcome to him, and he returned to the sofa in the waiting room that the aroma of pizza freely floated around in.
She sat beside him, list of referrals in hand, best interest at heart. His plans were changed once again, another bounce in the pinball game that he called his life. “Would the ball ever stop?” he subconsciously wondered. The mint green scrubs walked away as he was buzzed out of what he thought would be his new front door. He walked into the humid fog as the darkness settled in around him. He took his seat beside the backpack once again, only to face another day in the life he felt he wasn’t strong enough to live.
But he would fight.
