Confusion

Sunlight fell on his face and roused him from his slumber. He was thrust without warning into a sterile reality. This reality didn’t seem to fit with the one that he had in his mind. The harshness of the light refracting dizzyingly off the walls’ whiteness made it impossible to fix on any salient detail to which he might anchor his consciousness. His head lolled to the left and a lady, also in white, kept up a steady stream of irrelevance. She was pretty as far as he could tell but her eyes lacked something human.

She busied herself around him, touching him, plumping his pillows. He flapped at her weakly as he was bodily lifted into an upright position. His anger was directed at this intrusive woman and at his limbs which seemed to be responding as if the fabric which surrounded them were drenched in treacle. She leaned across his face, one breast mashed into his cheek; all intimacy robbed from the contact by her fierce bustling. She moved away from him and out into the corridor. The further away she went the more watery and indistinct her figure became. He could still hear her gabbling distantly.

The door swung to on silent, spring-cushioned hinges and a comparative quiet descended. This gave him the opportunity to ponder his predicament afresh. Confusion still reigned, this white prison seemed to have erected itself around him as he slept. Slowly, he searched his memory for a clue. Somewhere among the jumble, he saw a door ajar, through which he glimpsed something familiar. However, when he tried to grasp for it, it either slammed to and he had to go searching again or the clarity that was promised from without, proved to be warped and indecipherable once immersed. With increasing frustration, he marched the corridors of his brain, trying each handle. Some opened onto dimly remembered scenes, incomprehensible in their disconnectedness. Others were locked and, though he pushed, they remained stalwart in resistance.

He gave up the search and examined his environment; this white prison couldn’t be bereft of clues. Allowing his head to loll left and right, he was able to see most of the cell. It was painted stark white. There was a bed, a chair and a bedside cabinet. On the cabinet was a photo. He reached for it, pausing momentarily to marvel at his old man, mottled, trembly hand, veiled in parchment thin skin. He had some issues gripping the frame. Eventually, with immense focus, he managed to flip it from the cabinet onto the bed beside him. He smiled mightily with triumph. He raised it to eye level and saw an old man smiling proudly at a young woman who hugged him in return. The corners of his mouth twitched reflexively.

He surfaced again a few hours later, the sun had moved on and now cast a shadow straight to the door. Blissfully, he was in shade. He struggled to move up in the bed. Something seemed to be fixing him. His clumsy fingers, as biddable as sausages, sought out the impediment. A wide, grey, faux leather belt was cinched around his waist. His fear spiked. He was being restrained. He scrabbled at the buckle but he couldn’t force his digits to comply. He flopped back in frustration and stared at the ceiling, not blinking, until his eyes began to water.

The swish of the door alerted him of another’s presence. He raised his head and watched the progress of the nurse, a male one this time, as he padded across the room towards him.

“How are we doing today, Mr Gormley?”

His eyes widened at the use of his name. This bloody fairy was a complete stranger to him.

“And just who the fuck might you be, sunshine?”

The nurse sighed and then smiled in a “whatshallwedowithyouthen?” manner before replying.

“I’m Jack. It’s a bad day today then, is it?”

Gormley gave him a look of consternation before beginning to struggle violently. Jack leaned gently on his shoulders, forcing back onto the pillows. He was shocked by the ease with which this man subdued him. The rebellion in him died and he surrendered - for now. Jack busied himself with sorting the room out. He watched him carefully. He didn’t have to wait long, the nurse approached his bed and undid the belt, his heart jumped mightily with the thought of his impending liberation. Sheets rolled back to expose his pyjama’d age, he was scooped up and carried like a child to a chair in the corner. He slumped, humiliated by his impotence. The cold was stark after the warmth of his blanket cocoon. He shivered a little. Jack stripped the bed quickly, replacing his clean white sheets, with cleaner sheets, starched to stiffness. As he stuffed a pillow into its new case, another nurse, in blue padded quickly into the chamber.

“Jack, you’re needed.” As he plumped the pillow and laid it on the bed, an impatient “Now!” was added. He jerked into action and swished after her out the door. Now, he was alone and cold. He shook his head slowly, struggled upright and pushed his reluctant body towards the door with as much urgency as his will could muster. The progress was slow and unsteady but he made the door, leant against it and turned the handle; it held its ground. He straightened and looked at this hindrance to his escape for a moment, then he pulled. The door responded silently, swinging inwards as he shuffled his feet slowly out of the way. He stepped through and the door swung after him, insistently urging him into the corridor ahead.

Left led to a double doors and doubt beyond them. To the right, the corridor passed for some fifty yards before disappearing around the corner. He lurched away, resting every so often against cupboards and furniture which dotted the corridor. Before long, he reached the corner and peered around. He was greeted by another set of double doors. Stealing himself, he went to them and peered through a peephole. Beyond, a set of stairs was to be seen. Though there was a great deal of business at the far end of the hallway, he felt confident that he could sneak the five or so paces to the stairwell. Willing himself to hastiness, he tried the doors, they swung apart, allowing him to squeeze through. He gathered himself and dashed for the stairs. His shuffling momentum almost carried him over the first step and from there to a potentially fatal tumble. He threw an arm out and panic leant his fingers dexterity as they latched onto the bannister. Using his shoulder as fulcrum, he pirouetted his torso to the wall.

Each step was a ridiculing testament to the frailty of his physicality. The shaking, tentative downward plunge of faith, the free fall swoosh felt in his guts, brought to a jarring halt by the shock of landing - every stage a becoming more daunting by dint of repetition. He stopped halfway and half-turned, contemplating a retreat to the relative reliability of hallway. The idea of ascension had barely manifested itself but he was discounting it out of hand. He renewed his progress towards the landing. One last stumble and he was on a square oasis. He tried to marshal his disobedient limbs. They shook and buckled, candid in their opposition. Peering around the corner, he saw another set of stairs leading to a seemingly wide open space. He guessed that this would lead to his freedom. The seduction of imminent escape, lent him some strength and he completed the second flight more quickly than the first.

The floor was wide. A couple of offices with closed doors on the left hand wall and a security desk against the right and, just beyond that desk, a revolving door whump-whoomped as it spun. This, the final obstacle to his liberty. A young, uniformed man sat with his head down while he read the paper, ignorant for a time of his surroundings. Gormley pushed himself off and started towards the door, his bare feet suddenly very cold on the heat-sapping, tile-effect, laminate flooring. He was abreast of the desk, not five feet from the door, when the boy looked up and clocked him. They stared at one another for a moment, then his quick and agile movements, mocked his entire journey thus far. He simply stopped as the uniform placed himself between Gormley and the door.

“Sir, you’re not meant to be down here. I’ll have to take you back.” He waited for a response from the haggard figure. “What room are you in?” Nothing. The old man swayed slightly, head down. The boy stepped towards him gently. “Come and have a seat, while I call somebody down to help.”

The old man watched as a hand encircled his wrist and he allowed himself to be led away from his destination, timid in defeat. He was seated and a phone call was made. His feet were very cold now and he tried to recollect why he felt so resigned.

“Dad? What are you doing here? It’s freezing.”

That door of clarity reopened and he tumbled through it. The shift in focus left him dizzy for a moment and then the cogs of memory meshed once more and he found his place in this reality. His daughter draped a coat over him. It smelled wonderfully young and still had her rejuvenating warmth clinging to it. He grinned at her gratefully. She smiled pityingly back and hugged him. He melted into her familiarity ignoring an increasing hustle as he was scooped for the second time into somebody’s arms and into a wheelchair, wheeled into a lift, out of the lift into an intimate stretch of corridor and deposited whence he had started. Only his daughter held his attention. Her acquaintance temporarily anchoring his consciousness, allowing the flow of remembrance to continue as, with each minute, he became more sure of himself.

This feeling of unity was shattered somewhat as the belt restrained him. He struggled with rising panic and not even the soothings of his daughter could prevent its wildfire spread. He felt himself sucked away from the firm and into a space where facts flew at him but only skipped on the surface of comprehension, refusing to sink to a resting place where it could be studied and then shuffled into some semblance of order. He rallied desperately and reached for her.

“I’m here, Dad, please calm down. It’s ok. It’s ok.”

Her head appeared above him, eyes glistening with sympathy, sorrow, shame. Gormley needed to tell her something. It was urgent and, as his hand clasped and unclasped her hand weakly, he grasped it finally. He pulled himself towards her. She leant further towards him. His thin, bluish lips were close to her ear now.

“Get me the fuck out of here or let me die.”