The Asylum

“So, why?” the woman asks.

I turn to her, arching an eyebrow, even though I understand exactly what she means. She doesn’t see my reaction immediately, as she is focusing on unlocking the various padlocks on the enormous gate in front of her. It must be at least twenty feet tall, and sharp spikes rest on the top like crows. It rises to the heavens, then slopes back down to hell, the metal getting rustier as it reaches the floor; I assume from many failed and successful efforts of escape.

Finally, the gate swings open, creaking noisily on its rusty hinges from years of neglect, and she gestures for me to enter, unaware of my act of confusion. I decide to not respond to her question for the time being and enter the compound, mentally preparing myself for what to come.

The building that sits in front of me is a crystalline white, looking as if it were wiped clean of every speck of dust it had ever come in contact with from top to bottom, reminding me of a hospital, which is pretty similar to this institution.

The difference?

One opts to heal; one opts to maintain.

I spot many doors scattered across the sides of all the buildings. They are all labeled with a number, followed by a letter; wards. Any window there is is guaranteed to have bars on the outside; thick, black ones that leave a sliver of an inch between them, letting very little light squeeze its way through. I see many noses poking out from between these bars, desperate for any sort of freedom.

I pity them.

We walk towards the enormous door at the forefront of the building. “You never answered my question,” the woman states as she sets her hand on the handle, showing that my purposeful show of ignorance will not fool her.

She doesn’t open the door.

“Well, that was because I didn’t quite understand what you meant,” I challenge, looking her square in the eye.

I notice her blazing red hair, and soft green eyes; quite contradictory. She is built surprisingly sturdy, yet is the same height as me, if not an inch or two shorter. Her appearance gives me no hint to her personality, so I’ll have to dig a little deeper to find out more.

She chuckles as if I am a child who just threatened to beat her up. “Don’t act stupid. I was asking why you would want to work here.” As she says this, her hand gestures towards the rectangular metal sign sitting a few feet above the door.

“PSYCHIATRIC ASYLUM FOR THE INSANE”

As a side note, as if I need confirmation, she adds, “No one wants to work here.”

I put my hand on the door handle next to the one she’s holding and pull it open. “I could ask the same of you,” I say, trying to sound mysterious, as I walk through the door.

With a sigh, she follows me in.

Inside, bright lights shine on each and every inch of the room; not a single spot isn’t illuminated, and I must blink several times for my eyes to get used to them. There are medical supplies everywhere, though I notice there are no wards on the first floor. I wonder if it is to not scare away possible employees like myself.

A brunette woman with heavy eyeshadow and long, painted fingernails at the desk off to the right smiles at me, but I can see suspicion underneath it, as if I just walked into her bank with a ski mask on. “Hello. Are you lost? I can direct you anywhere you need to be.”

I don’t smile back, but lightly say, “Oh, I’m here for an interview.” As if on cue, the woman comes in behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder, showing companionship, or at least trust.

“She’s with me, Sharon.”

Sharon brightens her smile, though I imagine a snarl lurking underneath it. “Ah. Well, please enjoy.”

The woman smiles back at her and leads me down the hallway, muttering, “As if that’s possible.”

I look to her, knowing she wasn’t trying to hide her hateful statement. She isn’t doing a very good job of encouraging me to work here. But at least she’s being honest, I think, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. I want to know what I’m getting myself into.

“So,” she says, turning to me. “You asked why I work at such a place.”

I nod, studying her facial expression. She seems to be genuinely interested in my curiosity, her eyebrows slightly lifted, like balloons that are about to float away but are tethered to the ground, and the ends of her lips curl up into a smirk.

“I’ll answer, but you go first.”

Of course.

“Well, in all honesty, I’ve never been able to hold down a job for long.” I start. “I have a pattern; I’ll get an interview, get hired, spend a few weeks there, and then get bored and quit. I’ve been almost everything you can think of; I once bought land to start my own business before cutting off the deal after a few days.” I smile, thinking of the man’s confused look as he returned the money I had given him for the land less than a week before.

“The problem is that I can never stay interested, and it’s amazing to me how some people can keep the same job for months, let alone years,” I continue. “I thought that an insane asylum should have plenty of material to keep me occupied, at least for a while.”

I turn to her, wondering if I’ve lost her in my train of thought, but her eyes are glued to my face, mesmerized.

“Wow. What an amazing lifestyle!” she says, grinning. “When you’re on your deathbed, I doubt you’ll be ashamed of what you’ve done with your life.”

I smile, giving her a playful look. I haven’t told that to many people, and the ones I have have never responded like that. “I doubt it too. But you’re not fooling me; it’s your turn.”

Her chin tilts to the ceiling, like a dagger pointing towards its target, ready to jab, and her eyes scrunch together. “I’ve never been able to hold down a job either, but not because of disinterest.” She looks at me, her eyes sagging with something between sadness and sarcasm. “I’ve just never been good at anything. There were openings here, so I figured I might as well, or else I’d be on the streets.” She lowers her head back to its normal level.

I nod, trying not to show pity; I hate being pitied, and I imagine she does too. “How long have you worked here?”

“Almost a year. And you’re right; there’s enough crazy here for multiple lifetimes.” We pass many art pieces hung on the walls as we walk through the hall, people dancing, waterfalls flowing, the sky lighting up with an array of hues, until the woman finally reaches the end of the hallway and stops in front of the last door. I am lost in the artwork, and I jerk to a stop inches in front of the wall before me.

“Well, this is where your interview will take place,” she says.

I look around, searching for more applicants. “There’s no one else here.”

She laughs. “I don’t think I can emphasize this enough; no one wants to work here.”

She pats me on the back; for encouragement? “I doubt you won’t get hired, so I’ll assume I’ll see you sometime this week. My name’s Claire, so in case you can’t find me, you can ask around, and I’ll turn up somewhere.” And before you could snap your fingers, she’s disappeared, turning the corner at the opposite end of the hallway.

I watch her figure disappear, my eyes glued to the heel of her shoe as it disappears around the bend, and then breathe in.

Turning to the door, I place my hand on the cold doorknob, my hand turning slightly reddish, and push open.

Sitting inside is a stout man, with a soft gray beard that seems to touch the floor, and reminds me of clouds. He sits in front of a desk scarcely taller than himself, covered with stray papers and small trinkets. A little stand sits on his desk that reads Mr. Green.

His walls are a soft lime green, and he has pasted several different colored pieces of paper across the walls, giving it a soft yet harsh atmosphere. I feel as if I’m standing in a multicolored rainshower, feeling the colors descend upon me.

As I walk in, he smiles welcomingly.

“Why, hello. You must be Amy.” He stands and offers his hand, and I must bend at the knees to take it, though I try not to show it.

“Yes, that is me. And I must say, I love your wall decor.” I use my hand to gesture at the walls, as if he wouldn’t know what I meant.

“Oh yes,” he says, smiling fondly at them. “One of the patients here gave me the idea. They are quite interesting, you know.”

Not knowing if he’s talking about his walls or the patients, I reply, “I could imagine.”

I sit in a relatively small chair facing his desk. He sits back in his, and we are soon looking at each other eye to eye.

“So,” he says, matter of factly, not wasting a second, “let’s begin.”

I am back outside his room, staring at his door. Mr. Green’s words echo in my ears; You’ll start in two days, Amy. I look forward to seeing you.

I had smiled. I look forward to seeing you too, Mr. Green.

Satisfied, I start down the hallway - and almost immediately bump into a nurse escorting an elderly man across the lobby. She smiles apologetically at me, but the man she’s holding by the shoulders shows no expression when he turns to me, as if I am transparent, and he’s looking right through me. The way he looks at me makes my stomach drop, and I feel sick. He wears raggedy pants along with a colorful shirt, and he has a scraggly beard that is growing out in patches.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I should’ve looked where I was going. Do you need help finding someone, or a room?”

“I’m fine,” I say, reflecting her kind demeanor. “I was just finding my way out after an interview.” I turn to the man at her side. “Hello, sir.”

He whispers something that I can only make out to be, “Boom boom, boom boom.”

I furrow my eyebrows.

The woman laughs nervously, masking her bewilderment at the mention of my applying here unsuccessfully. “I’m sorry, we’ll be out of your way.”

As she walks off with the man, she squeezes his arms gently, kindly yet pushing. “Be polite.”

“Boom boom,” he responds.

I shake my head, ridding myself of the strange encounter, and find my way out of the hallway and towards the lobby. I pass Sharon at her desk as I exit, and give her a small smile, offering friendship. She returns one, but as soon as her gaze drops from mine her smile melts back into her constant frown, like ice cream under the sun.

Finally, reaching the door, I leave the asylum, just to be surrounded by the insane once more in the next few days.

Hopefully I won’t fall into insanity myself.