The Water Room

The Water Room

Katie Hansen

         Infatuation isn't the right word. Obsession can't be quite right either. Love doesn't seem to capture it either. I don't know how to describe how I feel about her, we don't have a word for it in English. Love comes the closest, though. I love her.

         When I was seventeen, I worked in an unpopular fried chicken restaurant. I loved that job. I loved the friends I made when I was there. I was so happy to go sling chicken into batter and flour, cautiously dropping the meat into bubbling, boiling oil; to roll out biscuit dough, cold from the buttermilk; and even to scrub the soiled dishes until my hands were pruned beyond belief. I gladly spent forty hours a week doing these things because I knew I would see my beloved friends. I spent a ridiculous amount of my time working in that restaurant considering I was only seventeen. See, I graduated from high school a little bit early because I found it just tremendously boring that I had to get it over with. However, my friends at work were all still in high school, so they didn't work as often. I ended up getting used to the typical rotation from day-to-day of which of my friends I would see on a given day of the week. The most interesting of my friends worked on Saturday. Hannah, Tara, Kyle, and Pete were the absolute highlight of my week. They all went to the high school neighboring the school I went to (prior to my self-dismissal.)

         On a particularly special Saturday, I let myself into work by climbing in through the drive-thru window. Perhaps because I felt a bit disassociated and that nothing really mattered. That morning I had taken a fistful of migraine medicine so that my stomach would hurt, my heart would race, and my head would by just a tough fuzzy. Nothing mattered to me yet that day. In fact, I was feeling the most suicidal I had felt in a while. It was nothing new for me, though. I was just prepared to act silly at work to disguise my true feelings.

         Tara began to squeal about prom that day, showing me pictures of her dress and how she wanted to get her nails done. I acted amused. Then Hannah joined in. I was so uninterested one moment, and the next, I couldn't help but think how nice it would be just to get dressed up and spend time with my friends. I was shocked by my feelings. Who was this person that wanted to go to prom? On purpose?

         Later, while I was washing dishes, I asked Kyle if he was going to prom. He seemed so glad that I asked.

"Yes! I'm so excited for it, even though," he paused ever so slightly "I don't really have anyone to go with."

I replied. "I'll go with you." He was amused but unimpressed, I could tell he wanted this to be a romantic endeavor, not a platonic one.

"Well," I continued, "I think I may like to go; I've never been to a prom before."

Suddenly, Pete squealed. All my friends were squealing that day, and I wondered if my last words had been a grave mistake. I would find this to be untrue, though. This is because, later, Kyle casually said to me the words that changed everything.

"Hey, I know someone that you could go with."

 

         A week later, we had our first kiss by the duck pond at the city park. A month later, I told her I loved her, sitting in my car in the parking garage of the local art museum. I had been too nervous to say it while we were still in the museum. That day we went for a long walk through our favorite park, and I couldn't stop saying it. I loved her so much. I love her more now.

         We went to prom, and again the next year. She was perfect for me. She quickly became like another piece of me. We were inseparable, it's like we became a unit. Inviting Sylvia meant invited me, too; and vice-a-versa. I would cry, overwhelmed with emotion about how much I loved her. She always held me when I cried, always. It was truly magical.

         I watched her graduate from high school. We went off to college together. Everything was perfect. I knew it would stay that way forever. I dreamt of the life we would lead as a twosome. Living in our own house, cooking meals in our own kitchen, raising our very own kids to be just as kind and thoughtful as Sylvia. These thoughts helped me to work my way through college, just knowing it would all be worth it for her and our life.

         She never failed to be there to help and support me through my struggles with mental illness. I had depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder. I had them badly. Most days, despite my deep love for Sylvia and my unwillingness to leave her side, I wanted to die. It was hard to explain. I just did. I would drive here and there, wishing another car would strike me hard. I started to think that the chances of that happening were too low, or at least the chances of that happening crossed with the strike being hard enough to kill me on the spot. I began to think I needed to take matters into my own hands. The thoughts grew stronger day by day. All the while I remained infatuated, obsessed, and in love with Sylvia. So much so that I felt tremendous guilt for my thoughts of death.

         I finally got help, though. I had a brief stint in a mental hospital. Then I visited my psychiatrist more than I visited my parents. I was heavily medicated and sedated. I still wanted to die. I wanted to die badly, but the medication put a cap on whatever receptor in my brain that could lead me to act on it, at least any further than thinking about it from time to time. It was hard, to say the least. It's hard to deal with things when you can hardly deal with being alive. But Sylvia held my hand the whole time. She was simply always there for me. I could never be more thankful.

         Her whole family was there for me, similarly. They watched out for me, made sure I always had a meal, and supported me through everything. I felt like part of the family. They treated me like part of the family, and I welcomed it because I loved them all so much. The way I loved them made me realize I didn't even love my own family that much. They were my new family and I was thankful every second for their presence in my life.

         Sylvia's parents moved into this great, big house. I always thought it was a bit strange, but I liked it for that reason. It reminded me of the hotel from the movie "The Shining" with its grand staircase, long halls, a great kitchen, and even when there was no alcohol, you could always go get some without judgment.

         In the summers and winters, Sylvia and I stayed there and lived a peaceful, easy, leisurely life. We loved to be there. It was home. I never felt I had a home before, just places I had lived, but this was home, I knew it. We cooked, we baked, played games, and got to know each other more and more every day. We loved each other; we couldn't go more than a couple of hours being annoyed by one another. We just loved and lived together. It was so beautiful, I always felt I was in a dream. The best days were Sundays, when Sylvia's brother Connor could come home, and their dad didn't have to work. Being all together was the warmest feeling. I couldn't believe how much I loved these people, even after years of my life with Sylvia.

         In the house, there was a big room that we called the water room. We mostly used it to take showers, but if you'd like, the room could quickly fill up with water and become basically a pool. When it was filled up, you could enter through a door on the next floor up and slide in on a water slide.  The water was always such a nice temperature and there was a jacuzzi. I still can't believe anyone would build or buy a house with a room like that, but hey, it was cool.

         The day that things began to change, I wanted to take a shower, as one does. Sylvia had just taken a shower in the water room, and I entered after her. I tried to turn on the lights, but they wouldn't come on.

"Sylvia, what did you do?" I said partially joking.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"The lights aren't coming on in the water room."

"Let me see." She came in and flipped one of three switches, a different one than I tried, and the lights came on. The shower went on with them.

"I didn't know you could turn the shower on with a switch, that's funny." I shrugged, but I began to get ready for my shower anyway.

         As the shower ran, I noticed water pooling at my feet. I figured it was time for some Drain-O in there. I wish I thought anything else of it when I turned around and saw that the room was quickly filling with water. Maybe it was my medications that made me feel chill and carefree, but I just didn't question it. In fact, I welcomed it. I shrugged and began swimming. I swam to the jacuzzi on the other side of the room and settled in the hot water. That was the last time I felt good.

         I heard the door from the level up open. I swam away. I tried to swim as fast as I could. I was naked. I was meant to take a shower in the water room before it flooded itself, so I was naked. Sylvia, Connor, their parents, their friends, just so many people began sliding in and I was naked. I thought it must be a nightmare. There was no where to go. I yelled "Sylvia! Come here right now! I need you!" I felt this had to be a nightmare, like one where you walk in late to the school assembly, already embarrassed that you're walking in late, only to find that you're completely naked. I pleaded that it was a nightmare. Sylvia swam over and exclaimed her interrogation "Why are you naked?" I was so confused; she knew I was meant to take a shower. Where was all of this coming from? Why was this happening to me? Why, after all of the struggles and hardships that I have gone through, does this have to happen to me? I was absolutely mortified.

         I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but be furious with Sylvia. She should have remembered I was in the water room. Why would she let anyone in? I did what I had never done before and yelled at her once I made it out of the water room. I yelled because I was so embarrassed, I felt that old feeling of wanting to die so badly that I thought I might do it. It was unprecedented, neither of us could comprehend what was happening all the while that I shouted and blamed her for everything. She left. She just left.

         I cooled down, and I still hadn't heard from Sylvia. I was okay with that, she deserved to have some time away from me after how I treated her when we were out of the water room. I still couldn't believe everyone saw me naked. I still couldn't believe I wasn't in a nightmare. A big part of me actually did believe I was in a nightmare. I sent Sylvia a text. Just a quick "I understand that you're mad at me, take your time, I'm here to talk when you are." Hours went by with no reply. I started to get worried. I asked her friends if they had heard from her, they had. They had? How could she not have replied to me by now? I was scared. I had been by her side for four years. I had a message from her on my phone from her for four years. Do I exist to her anymore?

         I realize now that there is no way that this is not a nightmare. None of this would happen. Why would that happen? Yeah, absolutely it's a nightmare. Absolutely. I can do anything, right? If it's a nightmare. I couldn't have gone crazy. I need someone to tell me I was right. Someone. I couldn't find anyone. My head is fuzzy. I don't understand. Suddenly, I realize I haven't seen a soul or a body containing a soul in days. I feel dizzy. I feel as though I had been exiled to the desert, and when I found my way home, everyone was gone.

         "Okay," I think "It must be a nightmare. Officially, this is a nightmare. If it's a nightmare I should be able to do anything." I started running. I ran, and I didn't stop. I knew of a cliff nearby. I'll either run off and die or I will wake up just before I hit the ground. I'm not worried about dying, I've always looked for an excuse. I thought that if I'm crazy, well...there's my excuse. And if it's a nightmare, I'll wake up and maybe there won't even be such a thing as a water room. I just kept running with no chemical triggers telling me to stop. I always thought if I made it this far, my brain would release some chemicals and temporarily paralyze me to protect itself. But I am still going. Running, running, running, falling.

         It doesn't feel like the amusement park drop I'd felt before. I feel at peace. I'm just going. I'm ready to wake up. I'm falling, but I suddenly realize that if it's not a nightmare, Sylvia may think I killed myself on her account. I don't want her to feel that way. I love her, I don't want her to hurt. What have I done? It's a nightmare. It's a nightmare. It has to be.

         I stopped thinking; I no longer had the capability. I was simply aware of being feet away from the ground. This is the moment. I'm so far from going back now that I truly accept my death. I thought I had accepted it all those times I felt especially suicidal, but now that I no longer had a choice, I knew I was going to die. I must be three feet from the ground now. I feel as though I am seeing myself from above. A cliff that drops off just by a lonely highway in the mountains. I'm inches away. I want to wake up. About to hit the ground, and I want to wake up.

         I get to my feet. I started walking away from the cliff on that lonely highway. I assume for more than a few moments that it was, in fact a nightmare. I feel a tickle at my neck, it's hair. I always wear my hair in a bun, so it must have come out in the fall. It catches my eye, by chance, as a light breeze wisps it into my face. It's red. My hair is blonde. But it's red. I must have dreamt it was blonde and forgot that it was red since that nightmare was so intense and lucid. Everything looks a little different. That's dismissible in reference to what I just woke up from. I lost my glasses in the fall.

         "Wait." I say aloud "wait, wait, wait." I stop walking and I think. If I was dreaming, why did I wake up at the bottom of that cliff? I put my face in my hands. All I can think is that I lost my glasses. If I lost my glasses, I was wearing glasses before. Why can I see? I just need to walk. I just need to keep walking and the answers will come to me.

"George? Georgie, is that you? Oh, thank goodness. We have been looking everywhere for you son." Son? I'm fairly used to being a daughter.

I couldn't believe I found the time in my busy mind to answer this man. "Um, I'm sorry sir, I think you're mistaking me for someone else."

"Very funny, Georgie. Let's get you home, you look like you need some rest."

He walked with me down the street, I don't defy him because I don't really know why I should. I don't understand anything right now except that this man thinks he's my father. Maybe by the time we get to his home, he'll see that I'm a stranger, certainly not his son.

         He brings me inside a small house that's just a little green. The furniture is plaid. There is a lot of wood in this little house. Everything is wooden. This is not my home. This is not my family.

         My "father" guides me into a sweet little room. What is with the plaid. What is with me? Why am I just letting this happen? I suppose, I don't have much else to do.

"Lie down, sweetheart." Says a petite woman wearing plaid.

"Let me guess," I joke to the void "mom?"

"Yes, honey, just lie down. You must be so tired after this one."

This one? It can't get much stranger, so that remark really just passes through me. However, I am tired, as a matter of fact. So tired.

         I close my eyes, I don't assume that it's a dream that I'll wake up from this time.