He spoke of room 101 and asked me if I had read the book in which it was mentioned. I answered yes, but then wondered if I really had…
Maybe I only thought I had because people talk about it so much, I couldn’t remember.
I wondered for a moment why I did that, why I said yes before I had really thought about whether or not I really had read this particular book. I had read many of this author’s other books, but had I read this one? I decided to utter something lame like, “it was so long ago I don’t really remember,” or, “I read so many books…” but this boys voice had captivated me and what he was saying made my mind wander into something entirely different.
He spoke of his country, somewhere I knew nothing about and would be terrified to visit, yet as he spoke I could see through the differences of our homelands to find the many similarities; some of which I was comfortable with and some that were beginning to make me nervous and others which did make me nervous.
“I think I should quit watching the news,” I said awkwardly when I realized that my defensive arguments for my country sounded weak.
I didn’t like the uneasy feeling I had in my stomach when he didn’t respond. I sat in silence wondering what I should say before he answered, “Just don’t end up in room 101, OK?”
But as my condition worsened I became increasingly uneasy and was rushed to the hospital the following day. I’ve never been an entirely stable person, so nothing about this was surprising; the same gray hospital, the same chemical smells, the same questionnaires.
What did you do before coming to the hospital today?
I started to write about how my entire life happened before coming to the hospital this day, therefore everything I had ever done…but then my husband gave me that look that said “please don’t pick today to make a statement,” so I erased that and wrote “watched TV.”
When I was finished with the forms and mindlessly stupid (and I mean really stupid) questions, I was taken to a room with a nurse and a policeman. The policeman took my belongings and put them in a sealed envelope that I then signed to ensure their safety. The nurse was there to inform me that my room number would be room 101.
I’m not sure what the chances of this are, but I doubt they are high. Very frightened, I begged her for any other room number but she told me that there was no way they could give me a different room and then snapped a Polaroid of me so they would be able to show me what a mess I was when I checked in and presumably how much better I would be when they let me go. Trying to keep my composure, I told her I needed a moment to myself, but she would not leave me alone. I backed out the door but she followed me…repeating my name in a strange bleating manner like a nursing lamb following its mother.
Not knowing what to do, I raced down the hall slamming doors while security guards chased me until I came to a lone quiet room. I do not know what the number was…109, or perhaps 111; its so unimportant as long as its not 101. A man lay there quietly looking at me with his quizzical face, so I felt it only polite to ask him through my tears if I could stand there for a moment.
“Sure, I don’t mind,” he answered calmly, smiling peacefully at me.
I liked him.
“Have you ever read 1984?” I asked.
“No,” he answered quickly.
“Are you positive?”
“Yes,” he chuckled, ”I’m pretty sure.”
“Good,” I smiled back. “Don’t.”
