Screen

by Aarti Patel

  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.

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  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.”

  Tsai looked like a little girl who felt both indescribably scared and guilty. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her,” she whispered. Dr. Little flung his head back and issued a fake laugh. “Don’t
be so stupid. Tell Misha what you’re getting in return, Tsai. How we were planning to air your TV show in exchange. Except we’re not. Sorry, your ideas are just dumb. I guess you were fooled too.”

  Misha blinked back tears as her eyes met Tsai’s. It had always hurt to assume people didn’t care, but it hurt even more to be tricked into thinking they did. Now was not a good time to cry, she realized. “Why were you looking for me?” she asked Dr. Little. She gestured to the small group around her. “Why were you looking for us?” She suddenly realized who “Dr. Little” really was and why he looked so familiar to her. He was Brent McKenna, the host of the old reality TV singing competition called “Bring It On.”

  Brent spread his arms wide and projected his voice so that everyone could hear. “Welcome to SciTech, also formerly known as the Sacred Touch Company.” He began to applaud. “We are the largest, most advanced biotechnology company in the world. The big screen that you are not a fan of, Misha, was invented by us years ago…pioneered by the computer programmer and entrepreneur, Matt Stills. He was a spiritual and technological visionary and revolutionary. We continue his vision today—toward a more unified and compassionate world.” The employees of SciTech nodded and clapped in unison. “I myself have been in the entertainment business for years. You may be familiar with the multitude of shows I hosted and produced. I owe my life to the big screen. Growing up, I was called an “ugly nerd” and ostracized at school. In the big screen, no one could push me around anymore. I was the cool one, the trendsetter, and I called the shots. Using my extensive background and accolades from the big screen, I now stand as the proud figurehead for SciTech.” He bowed to more rowdy applause.

  “The scientists here at SciTech are the most innovative in the world at running the big screen and keeping it current to the trends. But today we stand together facing a bit of a challenge. As the screen developed and spread across a global audience, copycatting reached unforeseen levels. Television shows that premiered were consistently knockoffs of previous shows. Electronic books became dull and redundant, new authors seldom standing out. Musicians rose to number one overnight and flopped the next week. Only five played out songs ran on the radio, over and over again. This has all affected the economy over time. People are not spending as much money in the virtual environments we created especially for them long ago. We are just not entertaining effectively.”

  Brent paused to choose his wording carefully. “It seems, people, that real character is lacking today in the big screen. The screen is becoming devoid of a real life force, if you will. True creativity. Daring. Originality. Without these elements, we can’t sell anything. We need character back. Don’t worry, though, this will all change soon.” Brent gestured to the people restrained in front of him. “We’ll be extracting character straight from you.”

  The group sat in shocked silence, trying to interpret what Brent McKenna’s sentence meant. “Oh, don’t be alarmed,” Brent continued, “SciTech has been researching the process for many years. We identified the parts of the brain that most contribute to human character, and we can infuse the energy found there into the screen. The whole thing is much simpler than you would think, using the advanced technology of our day and age.” Brent beamed proudly and his face seemed to shine like a brand new yellow light bulb. “The hard part, though, was finding people who had enough character left to extract. We looked long and hard. Most people were too far gone in the screen to be of any use. But not you folks. For some reason, you’ve been bucking the system, which is pretty annoying. Employers in the virtual world have marked you as essentially unemployable. We’ve quarantined and examined all your virtual files.” Brent shook his head at them. “But at least you have a stockpile of character left for us to 'borrow,' so to speak. We’ve hand-picked each of you, you should feel honored. When we’re through, you’ll be better adapted to today’s society. Too much character in one individual is never a good thing.

  “Don’t think of yourselves as special just for having character, though. Everyone in the world has it. Some people have a larger responsibility to the world to share with others and so they run out of it faster. Take me, for example. Character is not unique. Using your brain waves as fodder, SciTech employees will be able to weave your character seamlessly into the screen in real time using mathematical algorithms and equations. It’s all a bunch of numbers at the end of the day, that’s what is so beautiful about it. The numbers you give us will help SciTech build a more creative platform for sculpting and enhancing the virtual environment. As long as the audience responds once more to what they see in the screen, we have done our job. You can thank us for having had the chance to participate after we’re through here. And no—you won’t suffer detrimental side-effects from the procedure. In fact, you may notice you're new, improved, and better able to adapt to this world.”

  Brent McKenna pulled on a green lever attached to his screen and Misha felt a small steel dome lower loosely around her head. Around her, she heard everyone screaming as the same happened to them. Electrical wires sprouted from the domes and attached to screens all around the lab. The screens emitted a soft hum of sound while the domes warmed up with electricity. Misha’s forehead began to feel warm and unsteady and the screams around her began to die down.

  As streams of numbers and letters appeared on the screens, Misha felt her panic rising. What were they going to do? Brent McKenna was seated on what looked like a throne, watching the spectacle as if he were at the movies. Misha’s brain felt softer and mushier with each passing minute and she didn’t know how much longer she could last. Her body felt like that of a ghost, slowly floating through the air and hovering nearby instead of staying attached to her. She looked at those restrained around her and saw people squirming with what energy they had left. Misha felt like throwing up and saw the Love Channel flash before her eyes. Rock Hard Abs. Veggie Popsicles. Her muscles twitched aggressively in response and a buzz took over her whole body.

  Misha tried desperately to remember what she had talked to Earl about the other night at dinner. Her mind slowly pieced together fragmented memories of words and images. The thing that can’t be pegged makes people scared. Who was she while she was in the screen? Misha could feel the answer on the tip of her tongue, and then it came hurtling from her throat all at once and she screamed it out with all her might.

  “Nobody! Nobody!” The group of faces around her turned and tried to look. “There’s nobody in there, in that screen. Own who you are, what you have, and they won’t be able to use you for it! Take ownership of what you got. Right now! You already know how!”

  Misha’s words kept coming and she saw Brent McKenna yelling at his lab techs and rising angrily from his throne. “Shut her up, immediately! She’s infecting the screen, she’s infecting the virtual environment!” Misha kept shouting at the top of her lungs until she felt her voice would give out, and then she strained to yell out some more. Wisps of smoke started to rise from the screens attached to the group. The wires were beginning to fry and the heat in the helmets covering the group was diminishing in intensity. The lab techs were too slow in responding to Brent’s order. They seemed to be mulling over what Misha had said. “Stop her!” Brent shrieked as he started running toward Misha’s chair. He was within twenty feet of her when a white blur shot out in front of his foot, tripping him and sending him sprawling to the ground. Poof panted in Misha’s direction and decided to finish off the job. He hopped over to Brent’s hand and bit down hard. Brent wailed in agony and writhed on the ground. Then Poof went after Brent's nose and was quick enough to get away once the celebrity's face started gushing blood.

  Misha looked around her as all the lab screens simultaneously short-circuited and died. The helmet above her head lifted as Poof ran over and jumped in her lap. The small group of individuals around her rose from their constraints and looked at each other in utter amazement of their newfound freedom. The scientists and lab techs were helpless, staring into black screens that no longer communi
cated with them. Brent cradled his hand on the floor and ordered his team to do something.

  A man picked up his blue and red baseball cap from the floor and replaced it on his head. A petite woman shivered and ran her hands over her arms and face, making sure everything was still there. Another lady patted Poof on the head, silently thanking him for his unexpected heroics. A gangly teenager with messy hair and ripped jeans wondered out loud, “What now?” Silence filled the air for a moment as they all shrugged. Misha turned to everyone and said, “I guess we just keep on living. Out here in the world.” Misha turned to go retrieve her backpack when she heard commotion over her shoulder.

  "Watch out!" The man in the baseball cap blurted out in her direction. Poof yelped in alarm as Misha turned and saw Brent charging at her, his broken and bloody nose leaving a crimson trail behind him on the steel floor. His cool attitude and control had evaporated along with the smoke from the broken screens, and the madman that he really was twisted into all his features. "You aren't worthy, you aren't worthy," he was chanting with wide eyes as he closed the space between himself and Misha.

  There may not have been anything inside those blue pills, but Misha knew she had what it took inside of her. And she was ready to end this. Instinctually, she cocked back her fist and released just in time to see it meet square with Brent's face. He staggered back and grabbed his precious nose, which was now fully broken thanks to Misha and Poof's combined efforts. Something intangible had broken inside of Brent too and he crumpled limply to the ground. He had given everything up. A lost soul, his gaze lingered toward a big screen on the wall that could no longer verify his existence for him.

  The crowd started to thin as everyone regained their bearings and exited the hall. Misha found an unmarked exit door and left through it with Poof in tow. The two of them welcomed the fresh air of the world around them and stared up at the full moon in the sky. Tree branches were silhouetted against the midnight brightness and birds were unexpectedly chirping as if throwing a party for a new day. The heady scent of spring rode the waves of breeze around them. Misha stopped to sit on a park bench down at the bottom of the hill and, with Poof’s help, examined her fingers. They were all there, one of her fingernails longer than the rest.