Screen (5 page)

There
was the Love Channel, on which aired an educational program diagramming how
love operated on a molecular and physiological level. Love was, the show
proclaimed, the most pure source of fuel for the human race. The show went on
to describe how love reached a new spiritual dimension in the big screen,
according to a team of researchers. Virtual love could cure illnesses like the
buzz, promote feelings of well-being and happiness, and lead to equality for
all.
Misha
wanted to vomit out what she was
witnessing.

The next
channel, called ‘Perfect Diet,’ dedicated itself to helping humans transition
to a spiritually conscious and optimal diet. Refined sugar was currently on a
bill pending in Congress to be banned from the human diet completely.
Researchers had shown that sugar lowered the I.Q. of newborn babies, destroyed
the digestive tract over time, and led to overly aggressive behavior. Nuts also
headed the lengthy food hit-list. The Perfect Diet network was one of the
highest rated channels on the screen.
Misha
listened
while Kathie Lee Donner, a leading expert in nutrition, explained the benefits
of a recently popularized diet. “The Ballard Research Facility has found a
direct correlation between the Veggie Popsicle diet and increased intelligence
in certain populations…” Kathie held up a ball of frozen broccoli with a
popsicle stick poking out the end of it. “These are super easy to make at
home…” she chirped as she periodically nibbled on the frozen broccoli ball.

Misha
stopped listening to what the expert was saying as Kathie’s face began
to violently twitch from one facial feature to the next. An eye twitch moved to
her nose and then to her earlobes. Kathie’s mouth twitched a couple seconds
later and quickly spread into a full smile in a hopeless attempt to cover the
phenomenon. In response to Kathie’s act of suppression, all her features began
to twitch in an orchestra of spasmodic buzzing.

Misha
switched off the big screen and re-composed her own body. It took her a
few minutes to shake off the feeling of veggie popsicles and messages about
eternal love. Enough was enough. Maybe it wasn’t enough for the rest of the
world, but it was for
Misha
.

--------------------------

A few
days later, Tsai asked
Misha
to meet her at the
doctor’s office. Her specialist was called a “
neuroendocrinologist
,”
a fancy name for a doctor who knew the connections between the nervous system
and the hormonal system. The doctor’s office was located on the curvy and steep
Lombard Street so
Misha
decided against driving and
instead walked there with Poof who hadn’t been out in a while. The air had a
saturated quality that
Misha
often felt during a full
moon, which was slowly revealing its outline in the twilight. Dusk hours, when
the sky turned blue and was still lit by a fleeing sun, were
Misha’s
favorite during the day. Poof seemed to like them a
lot too.

Misha
tracked street addresses until she arrived at the right one: 411
Lombard. Lombard Street had changed a lot over the years, but staring at the
building ahead of her, she was surprised she had never heard of this location
before. From the outside, the building hardly looked like a medical
establishment and instead resembled a church crossed with a library. The heavy
rust-colored bricks suggested there was a lot of universally accepted and
important information housed inside. But the stained glass windows held
stirring images of spiritual figures and emblems, those long forgotten along
with some recent ones.
Misha
circled the building
trying to find some sign that she was at the right place. Other than the number
on the curb ‘411,’ there was no professional signage or clinic name displayed.

Misha
pulled out her portable screen to call Tsai while Poof urinated on the
building’s front step. Tsai answered after five rings and said, “Hello?”
Misha
felt annoyed, but tried to brush the feeling away for
the sake of her sick friend. She needed to be there for Tsai today, but of
course Tsai should have known who was calling. The alert “Call From
Misha
” must have even flashed on Tsai’s screen display.
There were more than enough clues.
Misha
chastised
herself for thinking these thoughts and quickly got to her point in as gentle a
tone as she could muster. “Tsai, I don’t know if I’m at the right building. I’m
at 411 Lombard, but I don’t see a sign and it doesn’t look medical to me. Can
you tell me which way to go?”

Tsai’s
voice softened as she answered, “Sorry
Misha
, I knew
it was you. I’m just really scared. You’re at the right place, just use the
front entrance. I’m in the waiting room filling out paperwork. And
Misha
—thanks. You’re a really good friend.”
Misha
apologized to Poof as she put him into a loose
backpack before going in. She didn’t want the receptionist to order that Poof
be tied up outside. She opened the heavy opaque glass door leading into the
building and stepped inside.

The
waiting room had four stark white walls and a few decorative paintings. A half
dead plant stood on a circular end table near a yellow couch. Five folding
chairs accompanied the other furniture and a bunch of health magazines were
neatly stacked, untouched, on the coffee table. The carpeting looked like it couldn’t
have been purchased any thinner and was a grayish brown tone. A water cooler
stood next to the receptionist’s window with paper cups teetering on top. The
receptionist looked up at her when
Misha
entered and
frowned slightly. The only thing missing from the fairly predictable setting
was Tsai. Where was she?

Misha
walked up to the receptionist and felt a slight chill travel down her
spine and limbs. “Hi, I’m actually here for my friend. Her name is Ann Tsai.
She said she was filling out paperwork here in the waiting room. Has she gone
into her appointment already?” The receptionist’s name, Betty, was etched in
black on a nametag pinned to her lapel. It looked like a nametag that waiters
and waitresses wore at
Misha’s
neighborhood
restaurant. Betty was appropriately brunette and bored, not unlike other
receptionists
Misha
had run into at doctors' offices.
She snapped her gum and replied, “Your friend Tsai has gone back to provide a
urine sample for the lab. Please wait out here for now.” She then returned to
her screen and whatever she was doing there. Betty should have looked pretty
based on her features, but her face was surprisingly loathsome to
Misha
, and she didn’t know why. Again, she felt guilty for
snapping to quick judgments about people like she had with Tsai earlier.

As
instructed,
Misha
sat down on the yellow couch and
grabbed a magazine called Picture Perfect Abs. She couldn’t believe a magazine
was dedicated to the topic of abdominal sculpting alone and that it was sitting
here in a
neuroendocrinologist’s
office. Poof whined
softly in the backpack next to her on the couch.
Misha
unzipped the bag a little so Poof could stick his face out and whispered for
him to stay inside. Betty’s eyes shot up and stared at
Misha
.

Fifteen
eventless minutes passed by and
Misha
wondered how
long it took to provide a urine sample these days. When she was younger, you
just peed into a cup. Maybe technology had invented fancy gadgets to reduce
urine spillage.
Misha
marveled at the randomness of
the thoughts running through her head and knew she wanted to get this
experience over and done with as soon as possible. She wanted to be there for
Tsai, but she had never liked doctors' offices and this one was no exception.
Her eyes glazed over the article in front of her titled “Celebrity Abs in
Seconds.” Three pictures of chiseled abdominal muscles were displayed next to
the article. How much time could people possibly dedicate to their abs?

Finally
after fifteen more minutes, what must have been a medical assistant staggered
toward
Misha
like a man who had been inebriated the
night before. His nametag displayed the name “Chuck.” “You can go back now,” he
slurred and turned quickly, leaving
Misha
to catch up
with him.
Misha
walked the twisting hallway from the
waiting room to the clinic’s innards, following behind the silent medical
assistant.

Misha
didn’t know how long they had walked, but Chuck eventually opened a door
and motioned for
Misha
to wait inside. Leaving her no
time to reply, he left and shut the door. Inside the exam room were the typical
medical supplies. A high-tech exam table stood in the center covered with
crinkly white paper. A sink in the corner was surrounded by clear glass storage
canisters containing items such as cotton swabs and tongue depressors. A chair
stood lonely close to the door and the floor was superbly clean, without even a
stray piece of lint. What was missing from the room, yet again, was Tsai.
Misha
was starting to get annoyed.

She sat
on the exam table hugging her backpack and noticed something that was not
standard in most medical exam rooms—video cameras. Two video cameras were
mounted in the corners of the room, one by the sink and one close to a generic
floral painting.  Who was watching her?
Misha
got out her portable screen again to call Tsai, even though a sign on the wall
cautioned “No portable screen calls” within a red circle with a diagonal slash
through the words. The phone line began to ring and there was sudden knock on
the door.

Misha’s
heart skipped a beat as a man entered, wearing a white coat
and approaching her with outstretched hand. His hand was warm as
Misha
shook it and she felt slightly more at ease. His
sandy brown dark hair was combed in a stiff gel-sculpted wave to one side, and
his slightly pinched nose was framed by a typically handsome face. He looked
very familiar to her somehow, as if she had met him before. “Hi
Misha
, my name is Dr. Little. Sorry about the unusually
long wait today. Your friend Tsai felt somewhat ill while we were obtaining her
vitals, so she is resting in an exam room and has been administered low-flow
oxygen. Rest assured she is in good hands. You can visit her in a few
minutes…minutes…minutes…minutes.”
Misha
rubbed her
ear. She was suddenly having trouble hearing, echoes resounding through her
eardrums. Dr. Little’s face spread slowly into a low pitying smile, one that
seemed oddly permanent.

Misha
felt a sore throb building in her right hand and looked down to discover
a small bleeding pin prick on her palm. Nausea cascaded in waves from her eyes
to her throat, down to her stomach and then up to her head. Her vision was
becoming blurry and confusing, and she became unsure whether Dr. Little was
still in the room or not.
Misha
tried to speak to him
and felt panic seize her as she saw his isolated smile flash in front of her
eyes. Scraps of color and darkness swam before her like messy paper
mache
art right before she felt her body involuntarily
slump and fall off the table, ending up limply in front of Dr. Little’s shiny
black shoes.

--------------------------

 
Misha
awoke to the sound of faint classical music, her body
aching from any trace of movement. Dr. Little was stroking her hand and she
tried unsuccessfully to pull it back from his reach. Shifting her body weight,
she discovered she was securely strapped into a chair and felt her stomach sink
into the steel floor. She was in a laboratory. About ten other people were
strapped to nearby chairs and were slowly emerging from their own drugged
stupors. Scientists and lab technicians busily swarmed the expansive floor like
an ant colony, hopping from screen to screen at shiny lab tables. Dr. Little
stepped away from
Misha
and toward a nearby screen,
pushing buttons and levers
Misha
had never seen
before. On the wall,
Misha
saw a silver plaque that
read in large digitally rendered letters “SciTech.” Leaning against a nearby
wall stood Tsai, her eyes averted toward Dr. Little. Poof was nowhere in sight.
Misha
suddenly spotted her backpack on a lab bench,
Poof’s trembling nose sticking out.

“Don’t
worry,
Misha
. We’re all very nice here. We’re not
going to hurt you; in fact, we’re here to help you. How kind it was of you to
accompany your friend, Tsai, to her doctor’s appointment.” Dr. Little’s mouth
curled into an even deeper smile that conspired with his vacantly glossy eyes
as he caught
Misha
looking toward Tsai. “Go ahead
Tsai,” Dr. Little continued, “tell
Misha
how we
offered you a little notoriety in exchange for bringing in our little
Misha
. How you were recruited because of your past
friendship. How you assured us that
Misha
would trust
you even after fifteen years. We were easily able to coax out of you the
appropriate, and might I add, highly compelling, emotions that were needed for
the task. Tears, sentiments, victimhood, familiarity. You even endured the
slight discomfort of the injected neurological toxin so that your body could
truly mimic severe buzz symptoms. You were great! We couldn’t have asked for a
better performance. Bravo.”