>>forever in a day<<Cici

There’s something about the white walls that I like. [/i]I can’t exactly put my tongue to it; maybe it’s the way they so effortlessly block out the wilderness beyond this little building. Maybe it’s the way they don’t scream at me to feel something or be something or have some sort of greater meaning. They’re just there. I’m just here.[/i] The world doesn't have to be much more complicated than that to work. When I was six, my mother took me to work for the first time and I asked her why the hospital walls were white. She told me it was because different colors mean different things to people;[/i] red might make someone angry or blue could trigger sad memories. She said it’s most prominently an issue with patients who have mental illnesses. Back then, I hated the blank walls; they made the hospital feel like a prison. It took me several years to realize that sometimes we all need a little imprisonment to keep out the nightmares.[/i]

I feel the same as anyone else in my white jacket, standing beneath a white ceiling, surrounded by white walls. It’s nice – that feeling of knowing you don’t have anything to prove,[/i] that you can just be the same as anyone else and no one will judge you for your lack of character. I don't want to be unique or different. Is it such a sin to just be?[/i] I walk down the hall, my hands plastered stiffly to my side. Another morning, another day, and I’m left doing the dirty work: making sure people have their medication, making sure everyone has their breakfast, making sure patients don’t fall off their freaking chairs and die, although that’s a pretty likely thing around here. [/i]But first, I need to find Thomas, the other intern. He should be in room 223. I turn the handle and open it, just as he’s approaching the patient in the room, Abily. “Thomas, you haven’t given Martha her medication today, have you? Because I’m just about to”—

“I haven’t, but good idea; I should do that now,” he says quickly trying to escape from the room. “You can look after Abily for a bit.”

“No, I’ve got”—but he’s already out the door. I roll my eyes; I just want to be done with all of these nursing jobs. From what I’ve heard about Abily, she’s not getting better.[/i] Thomas always complains about having her as a patient and about how it’s been months since she could remember his face for longer than several hours. I think the entire hospital’s lost hope on her, but what else can we do but keep her here? Supposedly, she can’t even remember where she’s from! Hopeless patient, hopeless intern: what a fantastic team we’ll make, huh?[/i] Before crossing over to Abily, who’s oddly quiet at this point, I sit down at the computer and pull up her files. "What's wrong with me?" She whispers softly. I’m not sure if she even realizes that someone new is in the room; she hasn’t lifted her face yet.[/i]

“Nothing wrong,” I say nonchalantly. “Be happy you don’t have to remember. It’s a gift, really. The past is a brutal thing.” Wouldn’t it be nice to forget myself? To forget all that fear that once struck me to the ground before I could pull myself up again? It’s difficult to speak to her and read her files at the same time, so I go silent for a couple of minutes, scrolling through her records. I like filling my time with things that can easily distract me from the haunting thoughts that often like to visit. [/i]When I’ve finally scrolled through the gist of Abily’s records, I stand up and cross the room to her bed. I look at the monitor curiously, but having no idea how to read and interpret it, end up ignoring the machine. My eyes wander from the monitor to Abily and I see that she’s strapped to the bed. “Jesus Christ, Thomas. This isn’t the Detention Center.” I undo the straps, but I realize that the more words I say, the more confused this girl’s probably getting.

I know I’m not supposed to undo the straps; heck, I’m not even supposed to be looking after Abily. But we can all thank Thomas for that later. “Now, you need to stay on the bed, okay?” I say, as though I’m a parent trying to make sure my kid goes to sleep. Not at all sure what I’m supposed to with her at this point, I improvise. “I’m Reve,” I say. Sadly, it’ll be a while until I can introduce myself as Dr. Fosco. “I’m an eighteen years old girl, I’m an intern at this hospital and also a college student, my parents’ names are Marcus and Cynthia, I’m an only child,” (at least at this point),” I live on the north side of District Six, and my favorite color is white.” I walk over to the computer, ready to document whatever she says next. “Now I need you to do the same thing I just did. Introduce yourself to me. Anything you can remember.”
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