The Room

“Please go down to the end of the hall. The door will open automatically. Go to your left. Enter the second door on your right. It will be open. Please be seated and await instructions.”

The voice ominous, cold, coming from a speaker that was not visible. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the monotone voice of an undertaker. I dutifully followed the instructions. The door as promised slid open as I approached, its green eye blinking unceremoniously as if I had disturbed it. I followed the corridor to the second door on my right and as promised, it stood open. The interior however was dark.

I put my arm through the opening and felt for a light switch. Just as I had decided to chance entering this black hole, a series of fluorescent lights began to spit light into the room. A maniacal humming sound emanated from their metal caskets that hung like cocoons from the ceiling. Then as suddenly as the rave began, it stopped. The lights hummed as if placed on lullaby mode by some unseen force, the pulsating light found stability and remained in a constant state of boredom. The chair as promised, sat alone in the middle of the room.

I sat as I had been instructed and waited. Something resembling music emanated from two large irregular shaped speakers that hung on the wall. The room was completely naked but for the chair and a desk which sat at the front of the room. It supported what appeared to be a monitor of sorts, one I did not recognize as an element of any home computer ensemble.

I sat, attempting to pose as self-assured, in case anyone may be observing my attempt to follow precisely the protocol prescribed. The monitor suddenly began to erupt with other worldly sounds and then a green series of dots appeared on the black screen. At that moment the music died. It was replaced by a voice resembling my greeter, but with a slightly more aggressive and less fictional tone. 

“You will be given a short aptitude test that will determine your ability to differentiate between some of the more commonly used emotions available to our citizenry, and a few that are not. Do not attempt to answer a question if it makes you uncomfortable, or you do not have a definitive answer. To guess will alter the outcome of the evaluation, and in our experience, will lead to an unsatisfactory appraisal. If you have any questions, please write them down on the pad in the desk drawer just beneath me.”

As the words were relayed to me, a face appeared on the screen. It consisted of green dots, and it appeared to be smiling. Not a happy smile, more of a smirk, as if it knew the outcome of the test before it had begun. Had it not been for lack of funds, and the difficulty in finding employment, I would have most likely never answered the add. I find want adds suspicious when they are vague about what is expected and yet adamant about punctuality and deviation from all rules given.

“Please, proceed to the screen, bring your chair if you wish. A series of true and false questions will appear. Along side each will be a box. Check the box by touching the screen. Give only one answer. The correct one. Should you not know the answer, as I stated earlier, leave the question blank.”

I pulled the chair to the front and seated myself before the screen. The face composed of dots melted into a river of rainbow colors and then turned completely black. I could hear the numbing whisper coming from the apparatus and waited for something to appear. Shortly a series of dots began to appear on the black background, this time purple, yellow, orange, and blue. The swirled in vortex fashion forming a cone of nearly imperceptible Mariachi dancers wildly clicking castanets made of clam shells. Out of the cone came a series of letters, also of varying colors and sizes. Some large, some barely visible, some pulsating in time to the music that now began to throb like a telltale heart. 

The white walls, ceiling and floor began to dance with the colored projection of the letters emanating from the machine. Words began to appear and disappear randomly. I attempted to read the words, but either the letters were not aligned, or they were simply gibberish put on the walls to confuse me. I realized after a few minutes that the randomness was an illusion that emerged as the letters grew, and then shrunk back into themselves, eventually disappearing, but leaving the assurance they had existed. 

I wondered if this was the test. Perhaps it was a psychological experiment to see if I was mentally capable of handling chaotic melody and the expanding and contracting letters that appeared to not belong in any sequence, that would give then meaning.

As abruptly and methodically as the music and letters appeared, they stopped. The walls became white once again and the monitor beamed, as a series of numbers appeared on the screen. They were all the number, 1. And then as if by magic, letters jumped from the walls and appeared on the screen. They formed one word over and over, filling the entire screen. Then, other numbers began to fall from the ceiling onto the screen. All the same number, 1. 

I waited as patiently as I could for more direction, but none came. I remained staring at the screen as the numbers and letters began to pulsate, dance, growing and shrinking in time to the music. Then, as if someone threw a switch, everything stopped. The green number 1, stood obediently next to the letters that combined in stoic fashion to become the word, one.

A box appeared next to the number 1. I still had no idea what was required of me, so I just sat and attempted to remain as calm and attentive as I could manage. My foot has a tendency to tap to the rhythm of my heart. It usually stops of its own accord if I ignore it. 

The music began once again, this time barely a whisper at first, but growing louder as the minutes passed. A voice, not the voice from before, but a different voice, one with more of a Hollywoodized quality. It repeated the same sentence, more of a statement really, repetitive, growing louder and then fading one again to a whisper.

“One is the loneliest number,” it repeated over and over, as if it was speaking in a manner I could only understand, if it continued to bombard me with the declaration. It was as if it was attempting to force my understanding, if not by repetition, then by molecular assimilation. Then, everything went black. The entire room was consumed by darkness. The screen ceased to glow. I had no idea what was expected of me. I was afraid to leave, more afraid to stay, but I needed a job. My foot began to move again as if it were empathizing with the darkness.

After what seemed an hour, the lights jumped back on with a sputtering strobe quality, and on the screen was a question. Just a single question, “What is the significance of the number 1?” No box!

The first thing that came to mind, was me. My second thought was about the inference of loneliness. And the third notion, that I was being subjected to a psychological test of some kind, to determine if I was suitable for a specific type of employment. I found the latter to be the most troubling. Were they looking for conspiracy advocates to propel a new line of alternative truth through our presently unstable country? Or were they looking for someone that no longer responded to anything outside the realm, of self? 

And then I heard it, this ringing sound.  I remembered it from somewhere. It reminded me, of me. I opened my eyes and Alexis was on the bedside table blinking, awaiting my commands. I’ve never liked the name Alexis, too detached, too inclusive, too… So I call her Molly. "Molly, please! I am awake."

She does not respond. The ringing continues, and then like in the room, it abruptly stops.

 I had the feeling she was watching me more intently than at any time previously, and then she spoke. 

“How was your dream?”

The question startled me. I couldn’t believe she could possibly know my dreams, but then she started to hum, “One is the Number.”

 As I untangled myself from the blankets, she asked, “What does Mr. Lonely have planned for the day?”

I began to answer, “I…” but stopped myself. I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself. No one any longer knows, if what one knows, is any longer, the only one who knows.