Page 8 of In a Haze

Now alone, I walk normally toward my bed. Something tickles my brain, and I wish I could go for a run. I get the feeling I haven’t done that for a very long time. At least in the privacy of my room, I don’t have to act like I’m carrying multiple sacks of potatoes on my back.

Or do I?

I lie on my bed, hoping I still seem casual, and then I look around the room, paying attention to the corners. There are no big cameras, although it wouldn’t have surprised me. After all, I don’t get the feeling I’m here of my own free will. I determine after some time that if there are cameras in here, they’re small. But I’ve walked a couple of the halls now and seen at least one, which would mean they’d be observing a lot of people if they did have them in all the rooms. The one I saw in the hall was big, and there’s nothing like that in here.

While I know it’s still possible, I relax just a little.

Then I sit up. From this angle, I can see out the window, but I can’t see the street. I’d have to stand for that. I look around the entire room again, shocked that there is nothing but a bed in here. No dresser, no closet, no sink, no chair.

Just this bed.

As I look toward the door, I see a shadow outside, but when I glance up to the window, there’s no one there.

A shiver runs up my spine, because that can only mean one thing: the woman in the wheelchair. I pray she either can’t or won’t open the door, because I don’t know how to communicate with her, nor do I want to.

All but holding my breath, I swallow, waiting to see what’s going to happen next. After what seems like an eternity, the shadow slowly moves past the door going the other way, leaving me hoping she gave up.

What is that she says to me anyway? It doesn’t make sense. I realize it might be two different words the way she says it,represent, but somehow they feel like they go together. If she’s saying two different words, what would that mean?Resentcould mean that she resents me or she thinks I resent her. I don’t resent her; I just feel uneasy around her—but maybe I should let her know I have no issues with her.

Or maybe I should wait. I don’t know what’s transpired between the two of us in the past.

But what wouldrepmean? It immediately brings to mindrepresentative—like someone representing a group. But what would that have to do withresent? Andrepresentativesounds like what I’ve thought she’s been saying all along anyway—represent—just drawn out.

It makes no sense.

I lie down again, resting my head on the pillow. I feel a little sleepy now, but part of me is afraid of drifting off. What if this tiny window of time is a fluke, this short span of lucidity my only respite from a world of not knowing, not remembering?

Despite the possibility, I can’t stop myself from slipping into slumber, and the sunbeams coming through the window warm my skin, making my eyelids too heavy to hold up.

I give in to darkness, hoping I’ll once again wake up.

4

“Anna. Anna?” I stir, hearing my name pierce through the dreamless darkness. Unlike the way I awoke earlier in the morning, there are no images, no emotions following me from the shadowy world of sleep.

I recognize Joe’s voice before I even open my eyes, and my heart flutters a bit with joy.

Joy.

I already know that emotions have been a rare commodity in my drugged state. I just know that to my bones—without evidence, without corroborating facts. And I have this strange thought that, perhaps, that’s why we’re all here—our emotions are too dangerous, too scary to deal with on their own.

But it’s a weird idea that flits away as I open my eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I say, inhaling a deep breath through my nostrils and shrugging my shoulders in my first moves to stretch a bit.

“Did they make you go to your room?”

“No.” Taking a chance, I decide to be completely honest with this man. “I came in here to get away from that lady in the wheelchair.”

At first, his eyes tell me he’s not sure what I’m talking about, but then they light up in recognition. “Oh, Sharon.”

“Sharon?”

“Yeah, therep-resentwoman?”

“Yes.”

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