"Name?"

Why is it that secretaries always have these hollow voices? It's like they're not really talking to you or something. It's probably because they have to talk to people all day. If I had to talk to people all day long I'd probably move away and live in a tree house a long ways off where I wouldn't have to talk to people again. But I've never held a high opinion of people really, so I suppose there are people who could manage it.

I don't understand people who always find it necessary to speak. Like on busses and airplanes, because you can't really get away, and they just lean over and start talking to you. Which is like the last thing you want. Busses and airplanes make you sleep and think, and then all of a sudden some moron leans over and tries to convert you to Christianity. Not that I have anything against Christianity, but I have everything against people who think that it's necessary for everyone to think they way they do.

"Name?"

"Adelle Chase."

"Take the pink form and a pen and fill the whole thing out, then bring it back here."

I sat down in one of the waiting room chairs and started to fill the form out. It was this horrendous pink carbon paper colour, and it made the blue ink from the pen an even weirder colour than it was originally. It looked absolutely horrid, and I wanted to find some way of changing the colour of the stupid paper because it was bothering me.

The questions were ridiculous. I mean, straightforward ones first: name, age, sex, birth date, occupation… I half expected them to ask rank and serial number. Then they moved on to medical history.

27. Have you ever considered/attempted/planned suicide? Yes/No.

If I had, which I haven't… well considered once, but not seriously considered, but if I had actually considered there's no way that I would admit it on some stupid medical form. Ever.

37. Have you ever been classified as insubordinate? Yes/No. And, 38. Would you classify yourself as insubordinate? Yes/No.

Does anybody, beyond the army, ever call anyone insubordinate? I've certainly never heard it.

49. Have you had regular bowel movements? Yes/No.

Well… that certainly qualifies as damn personal. Besides, what has this got to do with psychiatric evaluation anyway?

It took me a good ten minutes to finish with the stupid form, most of which was spent strategically answering stupid questions, and deciding which ones I would answer truthfully or not. And in the end, I left about five blank. I figure it can't be that important.

I handed the form to the secretary and sat back down in the chair. It had weird threads coming out of it, like it was fraying. It reminded me of my friend's couch – she has a cat and it claws the couch all the time. They looked stupid, kind of sticking up like some kind of dysfunctional hairdo, so I busied myself by pulling them out. I managed to get this entire section hair free… it actually looked nice, I was proud of myself for it. The pattern on the fabric was, of course, horrid (I've come to the conclusion that all public things are – particularly bathrooms), but at least it wasn't hairy anymore. In a spot, the rest of it still was. I would have finished it, but I was interrupted.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't ask it patronizingly, like most people would have, but the very fact that he asked annoyed me. Wasn't it obvious?

"I'm de-hairing the chair."

"I see. Well, perhaps you can finish it later, I would like to speak with you now."

I wanted to finish the chair. I mean, it looked dumb, all fuzzy with just one spot that wasn't, but he was all right as far as people went so I followed him. He reminded me of a doctor I had when I was a little kid. He was really nice, and always gave me lollypops when I was done. Maybe he'd give me a lollypop? I'm not ashamed to say I still love them. Some things you can never outgrow.

"Have a seat Adelle."

I looked around his office. It was clean. Hell, it was Spartan. He had the bare minimum of furnishings, one or two photographs around the room and one of those plaques with the doctor's name on it on his desk, his read 'Dr. J. Brown – Psychiatrist.'

What's the difference between a psychologist and a psychiatrist anyway? I can never remember…

"How are you?"

"Annoyed."

He smiled, but it was an indulgent smile. Like he was just smiling because he didn't know what else to do, and he didn't want to upset me, or something. Not because he was happy, or found it funny. I hate that kind of smile. Do people realize that you can always see right through it? It's like a translucent expression that people use when they can't think of anything else to do.

"Why are you annoyed?"

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes, "I want to go home. I'm not interested in being here, and I wouldn't be if it weren't for my incredibly paranoid and occasionally frightening mother."

"Does your mother frighten you?"

I regretted saying that immediately. I hate psychiatrists, you have to watch everything you say, because they'll take anything you say and take it to the furthest possible meaning.

"No."

"But you said she did."

"I didn't mean she frightens me, just that she can be intimidating and persuasive if she wants. That's how I wound up here."

"You don't want to be here?"

"Do you ever get people who DO want to be here?"

I should really learn to hold my tongue. But I never do. I always wind up saying what I think. Though, occasionally the people do need to hear it.

"Yes. I take it you are not one of them?"

"Err… no."

"Why not?"

My head is swimming with sarcastic responses. I mean, it was such a perfect question that I couldn't decide which snarky response I liked best.

"I'd just much rather spend my time doing something useful than sitting here talking with you."

There. That was suitably snarky.

"Like what?"

"Reading. Drawing. Thinking…"

"Do you think often?"

Okay, you have to admit that was funny. What kind of person doesn't think often? Imagine how you'd be if you only thought once and a while…

"What do you think about?"

Hmm… he's persistent.

"Life. The universe. Everything. 42…"

"Ah, yes. That was a good book…"

I was completely shocked for a moment. I couldn't believe that someone who had actually become a psychiatrist would have read "The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy." I mean, it's weird. There are some people in life who you don't really think of as people, but they are. And then you find out they do things, some of the same things you do. It made me feel gross.

I was suddenly worried about breathing the same air as him. I mean, was there some sort of essence you breath out? Could I like, breathe part of him in? Imagine if every person you met, or breathed air with, had some part of themselves in that air. Then you'd be breathing in people in all the time.

"Adelle. I'm not going to force you into this, but I believe it would be best. I don't think staying in your home will help things, so perhaps you should stay in… another home."

"Where?"

"Riverview."

I wasn't stupid. I knew what Riverview was.

"I'm not crazy."

"I just think that being away from your family would be good, and Riverview is the best place for you to do that. They're very capable. It's a very good…"

"Institution? No."

"Adelle… It would be best."

I don't remember agreeing. I remember disagreeing, but I don't remember agreeing. But somehow I wound up in a taxi, and subsequently at Riverview. I don't know why I signed myself in. I shouldn't have. But I did. Maybe it's because I didn't think I had somewhere else to go, or maybe I really was that desperate to get away from my mother. Or maybe I did agree, and I just don't remember.

I wasn't allowed much. And they searched everything I brought. I don't remember packing my bag, so maybe somebody did it for me. It was mostly clothes anyway. But whoever packed it, in a rare display of compassion, packed my teddy bear, George, and my music. They set limits on my music of course. Not after lights out, and batteries came once a month so they had to last. But I had music.

Then I was given my introductory tour.

There was a cafeteria type thing. I remember once hearing someone say that the 'cafeteria is the embarrassment capital of the world.' It's true. I hate cafeterias. They're large, and repetitive. I mean, all the tables look the same, and it's so square. And plus, cafeteria food is always crap.

A music room, an art room. A TV room. The last one was my favourite, though I was curtly informed that TV use was restricted. I guess some things are universal. A hatred of TV seems to be one of them. And 'ow'. I heard that that's the international expression for pain. No matter where you go, if you say 'ow' people will know what you mean. Which is pretty cool. I guess it's like an automatic response or something. Like if you hit your hand with a hammer the first thing you say even without thinking is some derivative of 'ow.'

We were allowed to make and take phone calls, but only with permission. Not that I had anyone to phone anyway.

Then there was my room. A bed, bland white walls, a desk, a closet and a carpet. I had a small window, but it was barred which was even more depressing than having no window.

I was instantly reminded of a poem that I'd heard about once. It's about a woman who's walking along a beach, and behind her there's two sets of footprints: hers and Gods. But when rough times hit, there's only one set behind her. Finally she asks God why he was never there when he needed him and he replies, "My child, I was there. Those footprints were mine; I made them when I carried you." I'd certainly never needed to be carried more than now, standing alone in the sullen room, which was going to by my home for the next four years.

There's something about white walls that screams bland. I mean, there's nothing to do with a white wall. The more you stare at it, the more infinite it becomes, which is just scary. Like, you look at this one spot on the wall, and then eventually there's just that one spot of wall… and white is all you can see. And then there's just white. And everything is a never-ending white… nothing. Most people associate black with nothing, but white is everything. It's so much something it's just like nothing.

The whole room was lit with horrible fluorescent lighting, which made the room unbearably bright. Until lights out, when it became unbearably black.