Page 3 of In a Haze

“Yeah, get t’ the back of the line, man!”

He’s trying to tell me something with his eyes, but he doesn’t realize I don’t know him from Adam. I would love togetto know him, but the timing’s off, and whatever he’s trying to say is lost on me. With a frown, he shrugs and goes away.

Whatever they’re cooking in here smells good. There’s a scent of sausage and maple syrup, and I can’t remember if I like those things or not. My nose definitely does.

I glance around the room. It’s noisy but bright. If there were windows in here, it might even be cheerful. The buffet line makes me think of a university cafeteria while the brown café tables with comfy looking green dining room chairs feel like the continental breakfast area of a middle-class hotel.

How the hell do I know all this stuff? And why does that all come to mind easily while everything else in my head is covered in cobwebs? It’s disconcerting, making me feel like I’m in a strange movie. All of a sudden, when I hear someone yelling, I turn around to see a woman sitting at one of the tables all by herself. She keeps shouting, “No! No!” over and over, covering her ears and shaking her head. Someone behind me starts laughing and, soon, Rose is back there with someone else dressed in the same powder blue scrubs.

“Denise, honey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath.”

“No! No! Nooooooo!” She’s screaming now like someone’s pulling her fingernail off with a pair of pliers.

“Denise, look at me.”

“No!”

Rose looks at the other worker, a huge white guy. He hunches over so he can make eye contact with the woman named Denise. He says, “Denise, it’s okay.”

“No!” This time, she lashes out at the guy, grazing his cheek with a fork. It’s a plastic fork, but I imagine it could still do some damage if it connects.

Then I hear a tray clatter somewhere behind me and, in the instant it takes me to turn, look, and then spin back around, there’s another person in scrubs joining Rose and the white guy. “Denise,” comes his soft, soothing voice. “What have we talked about?”

Still screaming at the top of her lungs, she yells, “Lots of stuff!”

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Alice won’t shut up. She said the pancakes are poisoned.”

“How does Alice know this?”

“She said she talked to the cooks.”

One older guy is finished going through the line. When he picks up his tray of food, he finds a table as far away from the commotion as possible.

“Is it possible she’s lying to you?”

“Probably.”

“Can we go to the rec room to talk? We can get you something else to eat later.”

For some reason, Denise trusts the man with the gentle voice. Nodding, she follows while Rose and the other person who nearly had his cheek pierced begin cleaning up her mess. In a couple more seconds, I’m up next in line. Watching the person just in front of me, I do what she’s doing, taking a plastic tray and placing on it a fork, spoon, and napkin. Then I set the tray on the rails in front of the buffet and begin sliding it down.

“Pancakes?” asks the friendly server with her brown hair in a bun.

After what I just witnessed? “No, thank you.”

“Eggs?”

The tray of eggs looks runny, slimy, and completely unappealing. “No, thanks.”

“Sausage?”

“Yes, please.”

It looks greasy but I need to eat something. I think I’m hungry. Once I’m past the hot food, there’s a refrigerated section, and I find a slice of watermelon. I carry the tray, continuing to follow the person I’m copying, and we set them in the next station. There I see some cold cereals, a few different types of bread and a toaster, plus milk, water, and juice. I have to move farther down to find coffee. I fill a small glass with apple juice, another with water, and then get a cup of coffee before I wander out into the land of tables.

This is so surreal, having hardly any history in my head. I don’t know any of these people, but their eyes tell me they know me. It’s unnerving. But one thing at a time. I’m going to try to eat some of this food and then attempt to figure out what to do next. This place has to have a psychiatrist or a psychologist, someone who knows my history and might be willing to fill me in, explain why, all of a sudden, my brain is a blank slate.

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