Lakewood(10)

“You’re all set.” The woman gave the men a thumbs-up.

The one who hadn’t spoken moved his hand away from his lapel and put it back on the table. Then he cleared his throat and stood up. He said that the things you would do here would benefit countless others. It was a service to her country, to the world. The United States is a symbol of goodwill, of innovation, of joy to the rest of the world. When we succeed, everyone succeeds. The studies we do here put our scientists and officials on the forefront. The man smiled at Lena. She nodded. He put up a PowerPoint presentation with white text on a black background. Disease Eradication. Economic Prosperity. Global Leadership. Innovative Solutions. You.

“That was great,” Tim said as the man sat down.

Lena sipped her cold coffee. Then the woman stood up and began her presentation. Her speech was essentially the same as the man’s before her. As she spoke, she looked around the room, smiling at times, as if she were making eye contact with several participants. It was like going to one of those restaurants that was an entertainment zone and play place for children. The woman reminded Lena of an animatronic mouse built to entertain. As she listened, Lena continued nodding and drinking the cold coffee.

Now it was Tim’s turn. Like the others, he kept saying the same words: “innovation,” “excitement,” “prosperity,” and “solutions.” It reminded Lena of when Tanya was doing her summer internship at a marketing firm and kept saying things like “pollinators” and “heat.” Tim kept beginning sentences with the phrase “You give of yourself.”

“It’s the culture there,” Tanya had said. “You use the language to show that you want to fit in.”

At the time, Lena had thought, oh yeah, it was a marketing thing. It was a job whose whole point was to get people to talk about something in hopefully the same positive way. Why wouldn’t it filter down to the way everyone spoke to each other? But listening to the three people at the table, Lena thought that maybe this was just how people in this country were starting to speak to each other now. Even when they weren’t online, people spoke as if they were bots designed to get clicks. Phrases repeated to get a person’s attention, with nothing substantial beneath them. Jokes that meant we have seen the same image on the internet. Lena’s grandmother used to say she was part of the last generation that could go for as long as 15 minutes without talking nonsense.

Tim paused and the door swung open. Another white woman, this one wearing a white lab coat, strolled in holding two bags. She placed them on Lena’s table, almost knocking over the nearly empty coffee cup.

“I’m Dr. Maggie.” She put a thermometer in Lena’s ear. Involuntarily, Lena winced. “Your ears are very small for an adult.” Dr. Maggie’s hair was luxurious: thick, curly, brown, but with shine. It made her look twice as alive as every other person in the room. “Temperature good. Arm, please.”

Lena held out her left arm and rolled up the sleeve.

“Are you nervous or is your blood pressure always this high?”

Lena nodded.

“Which one?”

“Nervous.”

Dr. Maggie scribbled some things in her notepad, turned, and gave the group at the table a thumbs-up.

Tim stood up again. He spoke about how wonderful it was to give so much of yourself, to let go of fear in the beauty of service. The national anthem came on, a boisterous marching-band version that Lena couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Everyone else stood, the man and the woman saluting. Lena put her hand over her heart and stood. She tried not to shuffle or fidget. When it was over, the three at the table filed out, leaving Lena alone with Dr. Maggie.

“It’s okay to feel a little overwhelmed,” the doctor said, her voice now friendlier. She handed Lena a bag filled with gray clothes. “I’ll take you to your room and you can get changed into your uniform. The clothes are a little ugly, but they are comfortable.”

“These are still better than the uniform for the job I just interviewed for. If I get it, I’ll be dressing as a very feminine blue corn chip.”

“What an honor.”

Dr. Maggie led Lena down the hall. Every door was identical: old, wooden, with a brass doorknob and a frosted-glass window at the top that only someone over six feet tall could easily peer through. At the end of the hallway was a large staircase.

“Did this use to be a school?”

“No. But I see why you would ask that. We’re going to go all the way up to three.”

The third floor was in much worse shape than the first. The floors were covered in a brown carpet that seemed hastily applied, with bumps and areas that didn’t quite meet the hallway’s walls. The walls were the same gray as the clothes Lena was carrying. It smelled of sawdust and mildew. There were no windows and one of the long overhead fluorescent lights kept flickering. Dr. Maggie pulled out a key and unlocked the third door on the right.

“Welcome home.” The doctor handed Lena the key, told her someone would be by in about 20 minutes to take her to the first session. Dr. Maggie paused in the doorway. “No exploring, okay?”

The bed was navy. There were three skinny windows approximately the length and width of Lena’s arms. A small desk made from brown wood was beneath the windows. It was attractive simply because it was not gray or navy. A thin notepad and an old-school boombox were on top of it. A small dresser was at the foot of the bed. Lena pulled the drawers open to reveal navy towels and washcloths, additional gray clothes, and a pair of gray slippers. Lena found a few CDs that were burned by someone who seemed to have an okay sense of humor. One was titled “Now That’s What I Call Mozart!”