Pareidolia

Dr. Sidorov didn’t like the windowless consult room he’d been assigned. He was a senior member of the psychiatric staff and he deserved better. He swore the room had originally been a walk-in closet, so uncomfortably small he suspected it made even his sedated patients anxious.

The wallpaper selected by the interior designers covered one complete side, floor to ceiling, in an abstract design. “It’s a horrible pattern––much too busy to be appropriate for a behavioral health facility,” he thought. Still, he tried to make the best of it.

Sidorov entered the room. His elderly patient sat on an upholstered bench close to the wall, staring motionless at the wallpaper in front of him. His arms stretched outward with his fingertips barely touching the surface. He had not been distracted in the least when the doctor walked in.

“What are you looking at, Arthur?”

Since he and Arthur had begun using this particular room, this was the question that started each of their private sessions.

The old man stretched and straightened his back before he replied. His bushy white eyebrows lifted in awe and wonder. “Airemia,” he said. “Beautiful Airemia.”

“Sounds very nice. Can we go there?” asked Sidorov.

Arthur smiled and the thin skin on his face stretched taught as his cheeks bulged, growing blushed. Lifting his shaking index finger from the wall, he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He turned his face toward the doctor. His eyes twinkled. “Of course we can. Any time you wish. Right through the door.”

“Is that where George Grey is?”

Arthur nodded. “Oh, yes. I’m quite certain that’s where George is.”

“His family misses him, Arthur. Is he alright? Do you see him?”

“No, I see a clear blue lake, some lovely animals around the shore. Many grand, colorful flowers, some large beasts––dark, with dark eyes. I believe they’re called Maglados.”

Doctor Sidorov cupped his chin in his hand. “That’s a fascinating vision, Arthur.”

“Yes, it is remarkable. So peaceful and serene.” Arthur continued to smile as he faced the wall.

Sidorov laid his notebook down on the chair where he would usually sit during a session. Today, he moved to the upholstered bench. There, he sat on his hands alongside his patient. The two men stared silently for a few moments at the wallpaper facing them.

“You know, Arthur, I told them when they hung this wallpaper that the patterns could cause vertigo. Do you know what vertigo is?”

“It’s disorientation, I think. Dizziness, isn’t it?”

“Yes, exactly. But you’ve found an entirely different effect. To you, this wall, this design, is like looking at a summer sky. Remember seeing cottontail rabbits and fluffy sheep in the shapes of the clouds?” Arthur chuckled and Sidorov continued. “You look at these striped lines and the curls and colors, and in your mind you see a whole world.”

“No, no, no. I just see a small, a small part of Airemia. Just this much.” Arthur showed the doctor his thumb and forefinger, a gap of half an inch between them.

“What’s happening is called Pareidolia, Arthur. It’s your brain's attempt to make sense of the chaos and the patterns in the wallpaper.” Sidirov drew his right hand out from beneath him in order to gesture.

“Our minds work very hard to find reason where there is incoherence, and order where there is chaos. What you see when you look at this wallpaper actually comes from your mind’s eye––your imagination. It’s not a bad thing, as long as you can tell the difference between what you see and what you imagine.”

Arthur tilted his head, dismissing the diagnosis. “If it is only in my head, then how can it be that George saw it, too?”

“Did he?” asked the doctor.

“He is the one who showed me.”

Sidorov sighed. “Then I would like very much to ask him just that question.”

“Doctor, I believe you already know the answer.”

“Arthur, I’m a scientist. I would not be asking if I did.”

The old man tapped the doctor’s knee. “Very well. Let me propose an experiment that might help. Would you be interested?”

“Of course.”

“Then face the wall and close your eyes, Doctor.”

Sidorov complied.

“Are your eyes tightly shut?”

“Yes, they are. I promise.”

“No light?”

Arthur saw the doctor squeeze his eyes tighter. Creases formed on his face. “No, they’re shut.”

“Can you see the wall, Doctor?”

“Of course not. I can’t see anything.”

“Well, that’s it then,” said Arthur.

Sidorov opened his eyes and wiped them with the back of his hand.

“What was the point of that, Arthur?”

“It should be clear. In order for you to see, you must open your eyes.”

The doctor was not amused. “Where is George, Arthur? If you know, you really should tell me.”

The old man stood and walked around the bench to the center of the small room, leaving Sidorov seated alone.

Arthur raised his right hand and pointed toward the wall with his hand extended and his twitching fingers spread wide. “He went through the door . . . to Airemia.”

“What door?”

“Don’t you see it?” Arthur drew the words out as though pleading.

Sidorov pointed at the wall in front of him. “Is that it?”

“You don’t see it, do you.”

“Well, help me to see it then.” Sidorov sounded sincere.

“Very well, but you must get down on the floor. Push the bench back. Make room. Go on, get low, and move to your right. More. Now, approach the wall, reach out. Touch it and find the handle.”

Sidorov complied. He hoped it would prove something to Arthur if he witnessed reality confront and defeat his delusion in the presence of his psychiatrist.

“Is this the handle?” Sidorov placed his right palm on the wall.

“Yes, it is. Push, doctor. That’s it. Can you see how beautiful it is? Isn’t Airemia the perfect name? Oh, do take care not to startle the Maglados.”

Just then, a young woman in a white lab coat entered the room unannounced. Arthur recognized her as one of the nurses.

“Hello, Arthur. Have you seen Dr. Sidorov?”

“Yes, I have. He was here just a moment ago.”

“Oh, I see he left his notebook. He might need it.”

She picked it up.

Arthur nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I imagine he wishes he had it right now.”