Emotionless State of Mind

The clock on the wall read 12:30. He had watched the minute hand finish one full circle and was about to follow its path toward another. Normally by this point, he would have asked the receptionist if he had been forgotten. But the receptionist was not present. No one was for that matter. In place of this clerk was a note that read ‘Good afternoon Winstrom, please have a seat and we will be right with you.’ Lunch break, the man named Winstrom thought. So he followed the instructions of the note and continued to wait.

While Winstrom waited, he attempted to access the internet via his phone. There had been no signal since the moment he entered this particular building. He had walked through the lobby and up to the 3rd floor and his current location searching for a signal. In the office space where he now sat, he had tried it again. Still no luck. The lights in the hallway were flickering too. Winstrom questioned if this was all related. Either way, none appeared to be promising signs of his potential new client. 

Part of the reason Winstrom was so desperate to use his phone was to better prepare for this meeting. He simply did not have time to do so prior and as the embodiment of wisdom, it was an uncharacteristic behavior. But Winstrom had been in a hurry from the moment he received a call for this position earlier that day and had solely an hour's notice. Not that it appeared to matter after all. Time apparently was something of an issue for this client, Winstrom thought.

Winstrom knew that as a being of wisdom, he should be a sought after sentiment. But the jobs were hard to come by for an aged emotion like himself, so this potential interview was important. Clients were seeking more impetuous and courageous abstractions. At least, that is what Winstrom had heard. His specialty in wisdom equaled a cautious approach to life and simply resonated hollow with a new generation. Winstrom’s initial employment search had taught him this much. A week of zero callbacks supported that notion. And after an exhaustive online search into an assortment of jobs, all of which failed to materialize, Winstrom began to see one particular ad repeatedly. He passed it many times until eventually clicking on a it's link. Its description piqued his curiosity and read:

'Seeking an Emotional well-being able to express feelings and navigate a challenging sensory deficient environment. Be a part of jump-starting something new and let your emotions transform a life. If you measure up, the position is yours.'

Winstrom was intrigued and submitted his resume. Then a few days later, he received a notice of interest for his services. That had all led him to this place, waiting to find out what exactly he was getting himself into.

For the last hour, it had become apparent to Winstrom that all was not well with this client. Being of wisdom, Winstrom was perceptive. There was a vacantness to the user of his current space. These were obvious to Winstrom from recognizing how behavior could be emitting from the surroundings. For one, his current environment was not lavish as with most clients. Normally, when Winstrom's services were requested, he was asked to offer an objective voice to those struggling with an important, maybe even life-altering, decision. But this did not appear to be the case here. It was hard to grasp at precisely what wisdom he could impart. Everything was bare, and that was a relatively disturbing attribute. Plain undecorated walls, white linoleum flooring. Such absence of color ad creativity often indicted a simplicity found in a low intellect. Maturity might be an issue, Winstrom thought. Or perhaps the surroundings were due to this client's limited life experience as that could certainly lead to difficulty creating realism. Either way, as emotions go, Winstrom was in an emotionless site. He became unsettled to think that perhaps this job was to treat a deranged or psychotic patient. These could be complex and if not handled delicately, quite dangerous. Winstrom was uncertain how as an emotion he felt about that. 

Winstrom also perceived an oddness in the layout of this construction appearing as a waiting room. One would expect the host to envision more. Perhaps a couch accompanied by a coffee table filled with at a minimum some magazines of culture and current events. There was none of that. Without simple reading material, Winstrom was concerned about illiteracy. The room simply had two chairs facing each other just a few feet apart. Winstrom had occupied one of them and had thought that was a decent enough sign. Two chairs indicated the host had some social interaction behavior, and that would allow Winstrom to eliminate this being a dangerous case after all.

Lastly, the proportion of the room to the chairs just seemed off. The space was on a level of claustrophobic portions diminutive. Winstrom surmised spatial reasoning could be another issue. A possible injury to the cerebral cortex was the leading candidate for why. Then, the only possible truth hit him. The client was immature in development. He was stuck. At least mentally speaking, this client was a victim of their own mind. Somewhere in their subconscious they were lingering and unable to move time forward. Essentially trapped and perhaps had been so for a very long time.

No sooner had Winstrom grasped at that knowledge than a noise outside the office space alerted him that he was no longer alone. Almost immediately the door from the hallway opened and a pair of brown eyes followed with it. A hand appeared on the door's edge to hold it from fully swinging open. Cautious, soft eyes surveyed the room from the still dimly lit hallway while a light in the corridor flickered. Then the same hand that had stopped the door pushed it open further. The figure behind the eyes stepped into the room and into Winstrom’s vision. Winstrom was now looking at a version of himself. 

There was a pause from Winstrom as he took in...well, himself. Not an exact version. No, this Winstrom had a childlike quality. He had the same physical features and wore the same clothes, but in the eyes, there was a lacking in awareness. What Winstrom could see was everything equal to him minus an understanding. The eyes told it all. And then, when the new arrival spoke, his speech confirmed it even more. 

”Ssssir, ” the innocent-looking man stuttered. ”Are you...reeeaaaal?”

Winstrom slowly stood. He had an infectious smile that he placed upon his new client's sight. It was to ease and alleviate fear. He responded gently. 

”Hello Winstrom. So good to see you. I imagine you have been waiting for...." Winstrom paused and then redirected. "You’ve really helped me feel at home. Thank you.”

While still talking Winstrom moved toward the door to the still hesitant version of himself.

”I am sure you have felt alone for a long time now. I am so, so sorry.”

The other end was receptive and so Winstrom pressed on.

”But you don't have to be alone anymore. I am here. I am really here. And I am not going anywhere.”

As the last words left Winstrom’s lips, the lonely eyes he had been starring at widened. Brown pupils dilated as though letting in long since hidden light. Where once there was vacantness and timidness, there was more peace and relief as though mercy had met a long overdue clemency.

Only one word was then spoken from the lost soul.

”Really?”

Wintrom, the wise emotion, broadened his smile and simply nodded. His infectious and genuine smile carried over to his other version. Then Winstrom stepped forward and towards his other half, this time less cautiously. ”I don't know how you did it, how you reached me. But I am indeed here. We are here.”

On the other end, Winstrom’s image was increasingly becoming more reflective of him. The two emotions, one of pure innocence but lacking wisdom, and Winstrom, met in an embrace for the first time in perhaps forever.

The emotional connection forged a light. A brilliant light. It filled the room and inundated the halls. A light to drive out the darkness. To look at it would be akin to directly looking into the sun. Blindness.

When Winstrom opened his eyes, he was alone. He was singular Winstrom. But not solely an emotion anymore and not in a construction of his own mind. Soft brown eyes peered into a familiar and yet so very different room. The brightness that had momentarily blinded him was not the culprit. His eyes had not born witness to this authentic light since he was overtaken by darkness. It was a tragic accident that had occurred just blocks from his house. Winstrom had just left his elementary school. He was waiting at a stoplight, focusing more on the ticking movement of the minute hands of his new watch than the traffic. He never saw the car careening off the road, heading in his direction until it was too late. That accident had taken away his childhood, and adolescence, then nearly stolen his adulthood.

In time Winstrom would learn of his long-term stay in the hospital. The staff would tell him about how his now deceased parents had refused to give up on him. From his small plain room with the white linoleum floors, his parents would arrive each day and pray at his bedside. Two chairs were always positioned on opposite ends of his bed facing each other and after the parents passing years ago, the faculty had refrained from removing them. Then, Winstrom’s older brother began to follow suit. He would sit at his camatose brother’s side and confided in him about life struggles. It was where his brother most recently spoke of a potential new job and insisted to Winstrom that he all would be okay telling his little brother ’we are here’.