323

The last notes fade away and my breath catches in my throat. I look up and they are all staring at me. All of them in white. Some of the Others stare too, the ones who are able to take notice of anything. I don’t exactly know why they’re staring, but it seems that if I were them I’d be staring at me too. I feel liberated, alive, on fire with the power of that song and these memories. I can remember the notes. I can feel the melody inside me somewhere, accompanied by events and moments and days and nights and years. As I played, I could see a room. It wasn’t room 323, all white and barren. It was a room with colored walls, a soft floor and another piano glassy and black. In the room there was a large window looking out over a field of lights and buildings and stars.

A city. I remember a city.

I smile, but I feel wet on my face and I see three tears spill on the ivory keys and one on my hand.  I look over at My Nurse. She has tears in her eyes too. Tears for me, though why she should cry I cannot tell.

  “Max, I was just telling Dr. Reynolds how well your mind works.” She looks over at the one with the pad and adds, “It looks like you proved it.”

  “Oh, come on, Evie. Just because he can remember a tune on the piano, doesn’t mean he’s got a working mind in there. He can’t speak. Face the facts.”

  “Facts aren’t the only thing in life that matter!” She’s almost shouting, something I’ve never heard her do. The loud voice doesn’t seem like hers. “You just won’t give them a chance, any of them! How can they have any hope of recovery---“

  “Evie, lower your voice.” He whispers, drawing her over toward the wall.

 “---when none of you, the people paid to help them, will give your patients any more thought than dogs.” She tries to push him away and he grabs her shoulders. I stand up.

 “Evie, listen to yourself.” His voice is cold and cynical, as if his throat were coated with ice. I shiver as his hand grips her arm. It’s the same way Their hands always grip my arms, keeping me from being free.

  “Let go!” She wriggles and writhes. “Let go of me!”

 “Shut up, do you hear me? You’re about to ruin your whole career if you don’t throw away that adolescent dreamer inside you and do the job you’re paid to do. Listen to me.” That cold throat is a snake now, hissing at her. He pushes her against the wall, rasping in her ear. The Others continue on, unnoticing and unblinking. The white workers look on in silence. They won’t help. They’re on his side. I can feel something churning inside me, deep down where those memories were a moment ago. It feels like something good and bad all mixed around and swirled together.

Its anger. And I think it’s about to break loose.