Neither Here Nor There

My thumb hurt. No, not just my thumb, all of me hurt, but my head was the king of all pain. It felt like if I moved my head just so, the pain would crack open like a delicate egg shell and it would leak out all over the floor. The smell of urine and other suspicious odors were almost overwhelming. I slowly opened my eyes and the lights blazed like a burning inferno into my eyes. I quickly sat up and paid dearly. What felt like a spike in my head dug in deeper.

I vigorously rubbed my temples. I looked down and found the source of the smell. I was sitting on what looked like a dingy army cot with stained sheets. I tried not to think that I was just laying down on it. I don’t recall how I arrived in this room, but with the flickering fluorescent lights and the pee-stained cot, it wasn’t some place I wanted to be. I just noticed that I was wearing a black tracksuit with white sneakers. I don’t recall owning a black tracksuit and certainly not white sneakers. The fear of scuffing them would be too great.

It was a cold metal room with no door. Why wasn’t there a door? How did I get in here without a door? Besides the pee-stained cot, there was a cheap white card table in the corner and on top of the table was a dusty plastic plant. Next to the table was a gray metal folding chair.

A small black thirteen inch tv was mounted on the wall behind me. Nothing was on the screen just static. I tapped on the monitor, and it blinked into life. It was a bright white at first and then images flashed by at a frightening pace, but what I saw were images of me at different stages of my life. I fell back suddenly, and I landed hard shaking my head the whole time. I don’t remember a creepy stalker following me around my whole life with a video camera, and there was a lot of material. 

“Hey! Get me out of here,” I yelled. There was no answer, only the echo of my voice. I started pacing. I had trouble remembering yesterday or any of the events that led me here.

  Suddenly a disembodied voice spoke, “How do you plea?”

“What do you mean, how do I plea?”

With an uncaring monotone voice, the speaker said, “You have been presented with your case. How do you plea?”

“Uh… Have I been accused of something?” I gestured with my hands as if the voice could see me even though I couldn’t see them. I started to walk around in a circle. Frantic to get out of the room. “Fine. I plea not guilty.” Suddenly everything went black. 

I woke up to the smell of urine once again, and I was laying on my side. I jolted up. My head still felt like it was going to be very messy, but I didn’t care — I had to get out of this room. I took a quick look around again and it was the same room, but this time there was something different. I tapped my thumb against my thigh and noticed that my tracksuit looked different. It was a dark gray instead of black like it was before, and my once pristine white sneakers now had a scuff on the outside of each shoe. I looked again at the table. This time I saw it. The plant was gone. 

The voice spoke again, “how do you plea?” 

It might have been my imagination, but the voice seemed to have taken on a more sinister tone than it had before. 

Squaring my shoulders toward the tv, I lifted my chin stubbornly in the air. Two traits that often got me in trouble with my mother. She used to say that she didn’t like that I had a mind of my own. I spoke in a confident, clear voice, “Not. Guilty.” Suddenly darkness once again.

I awoke with a bang as I hit my head on the metal floor. The cot was now missing. Good riddance, the smell was nauseating. My tracksuit was an even lighter gray color and the sneakers had more scuffs on them.

I stood up and marched over to the table with the chair. I was quite pleased that the chair was still there. I picked it up and stomped over to the tv. I swung the chair with glee and right at the moment of impact the chair dissolved into thousands of metal flakes like tiny insects scattered in the wind.

Feeling dejected I collapsed to the floor. As I lay on my back staring at the flickering fluorescent lights, I tried to pick out the different colors and the pattern. There had to be a pattern. I remembered when I was a child trying to perfect my touch for basketball. I would lay on my back and toss the ball up in the air, letting it roll off my fingertips until I formed blisters. I started to do the same thing now except with an imaginary ball.

“How do you plea?” The voice no longer sounded monotone. It now sounded most definitely impatient with a snappy tone.

I laughed. “I answered your question. I’m not going to give you a different answer.”

The tv exploded into sparks. “You will give us what we want. In the end everyone always does.”

Clearing my throat and instead of merely speaking the words, I sang them. “Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty.” Suddenly darkness.

I awoke with a bang as I hit my head on the floor. I looked around and all the walls were gone, just an endless blackness where they once were. Somehow there was still a ceiling with flickering fluorescent lights and there was a drip, drip, dripping sound off in the distance that I hadn’t noticed before. The tracksuit was gone and I now had a paper hospital gown on and paper slippers on my feet. 

“How do you plea?” A man asked as he walked into the room. He took a long drag of a cigarette and gave me a hard look.

“What’s the charge?” I sat crossing my feet not caring that I didn’t have anything on under the thin nightgown.

He crushed the cigarette under his patent leather shoes. “The charge isn’t important.” He splayed his hands out. “Just give us what we want and this all ends. You’re broken and we can fix you. It’s as simple as that, but you have to admit it.”

“Can you tell me where I am?” I asked.

“Ah. Now, that’s an interesting question,” he said. He walked over into the darkness where there was now an old leather chair that you might find in a movie trying to depict stateliness. He sat down and offered me a less comfortable looking chair. “You see, you are neither here nor there. You are basically nowhere while you wait.”

“Wait for what?” I ask.

“Now, now Clara. Think back to what you remember last.”

Sitting back, I closed my eyes. I remembered bright lights. I was driving. I had too much to drink. I was celebrating something. I gasped. I shook my head. “It was an accident!” I stood up. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Tell me what happened.”

I plopped back down and stared off into the distance trying to forget, but now the memories were here and they weren’t going anywhere.

“There was a little girl on a bike. I swerved, but it was too late.”

“Then what?”

“I ran her over,” I yelled. “I don’t remember anything after that.” I started to cry. I couldn’t believe I was the kind of person to run somebody over.

“Oh, I think you do remember more. You kept driving. Didn’t you? And then you drove head-on into a semi-trailer truck while you were reaching down on the floor of your car looking for the flask. And now you’re here.”

“Is here jail?”

He laughed. “Oh no. You wish it was jail.”

“You said you could fix me. What does that mean?”

“Well, you go to hell. Of course.”

I jumped up. I was so close I was almost nose to nose with him. “No. You. Do. Not. Tell Me. What to say.” I punctuated every word with a shake of my finger in his face. “I. Am. Not. Guilty.”

Suddenly darkness.