The Experiment

Of course there’s no pressure, the doctor says, probing my hair with rubbery hands. His eyes squint over his mask. This is entirely voluntary. But should you decide to participate, all I ask is that you report back to me in the morning. Do you understand?

He fades into my eyelids. The room is dark, except for the blue glow of a blinking 12:00 and the horizontal shine of a streetlight through the blinds. The light makes circles in the water glass and the empty green bottle on my nightstand. Thunder makes it sound like the sky is breaking. I pull the blankets up around me.

He is back; I am lying in a dentist’s chair, the room blue, him towering over me still talking: And I trust you’re aware of the monetary incentive?

I turn my head away. Headlights pan left to right, casting lamp-shaped shadows onto the floor before leaving me in the dark again. The windows are ghostly rectangles of gray. I turn over and face the wall, close my eyes again; I feel my thoughts start to detach; the doctor is replaced by the woman I met at his office today, walking toward me, his assistant, maybe. Oh, hello, she says, thank you for being on time. It’s nice to meet you. Are you ready?

Her eyes are lined with black but otherwise empty. She is wearing a lab coat. She doesn’t wait for me to answer.

Thank you for answering the ad. We need as many volunteers as we can get. She opens the door and stands back, serenely watches a bird fly by. We’re in an airplane. White eyes look expectant. More birds fly.

Jump, she says.

A flash of lightning and angry thunder. I turn over again, blue light blinking. The bed seems to stretch halfway across the room, vast and empty like a minefield. It is taunting me: look how much space you have when you have no one to share it with.
The sheets are tangled and the blankets in a big heap around me. Across the room there is a crowd, a party, in my kitchen. There is music and people I don’t recognize. The far wall looks to be on fire. No one notices the smoke crawling across the ceiling.

I walk in. There is boxed wine and a vat of soup, people talking. They turn when they see me. You came!

Hello, you came! Thank you!

I greet them nervously; I’m supposed to know who they are; I have the vague suspicion that if they find me out, they’ll be angry. I smile and keep walking, hello, nice to see you too, thank you for coming.

The crowd parts as I walk through; I realize I’m the guest of honor. All these strangers gathered to greet me. Their smiles are maniacal like clowns and I don’t know if they are mocking me. If you’re here to see the doctor he’s not coming, someone says. Yes, I am, I say. Then you need to go to the cellar, he is waiting for you. It is down through the stove. The crowd ends and in front of me is a fire where the stove should be; everyone looks, waiting.

The fire rages, tall as the ceiling. My face burns.

There. Noah is waiting for me. His hair falls over his face, over his blue blue eyes. He is wearing his black t-shirt and the firelight dances across it. My heart jumps, I am safe here, something warm swells up inside me.

The crowd fades behind me. You came. Noah.

He is staring into the fire. He is still; the fire rages; his eyes glint, like ice.

He holds a glass of red wine. It’ll be okay, he says without looking at me, it only hurts for a minute. I need you to go.

My breath is squeezed out of my chest and I feel the fire burn. No, this isn’t right. Not again. My body fills with nausea, like his words are a virus and my cells are rejecting it. Please Noah, don’t do this.

He still doesn’t look. His eyes are in the shadow of a lock of his hair. He shakes his head and my heart compresses, my lungs fill with smoke, I am choking; my breaths come short and quickly, my stomach is a weight. Noah.
I’m afraid, I tell him, I’m afraid my eyes will melt in the fire, that no one will be down there, that there will be no way back.

He is unperturbed. Feet first, he says matter-of-factly. Besides, the doctor’s there, he’ll help you.

I am cocooned in sweat. Noah is behind me now. He puts his hand on my back, and my whole body relaxes; I feel his breath on my neck. I can breathe again. He wants me to jump. He says, If it hurts, just wait and you won’t remember it. My mouth, dry as fire, my hair, soaking wet. I want: his hand on my back, to do what he wants. The fire blazes. His hand doesn’t move. I jump.

I can breathe again when I stand up. The cellar is blue and the edges are in shadow. There is a table filled with papers and bottles, and the chair again, cushioned and adjustable; why does this chair keep coming back? In the doctor’s real office there was just a normal chair, not some reclining dentist chair, there was no procedure, only an interview and a pill—

You came, says the doctor, Thank you. He is behind the table, snapping his rubber gloves over his wrists, mask hiding any emotion. Thunder rumbles overhead.

I feel the sweat on my pillow, a sheen of cold slime that is the first thing my mind feels as it surfaces. My arm gropes to the edge of the bed and my heart drops when Noah isn’t there, like my blood is made of mercury, or ice. The sound of the party above me materializes, low and rumbling. Noah’s voice rises above it—he is there—where is he?

Snap. The doctor again. On the table, papers and bottles. His mask covers everything except his squinty eyes. He holds a clipboard and a pen over it.

So how is the experiment going for you? he asks.

I don’t know, I lie. I just fell asleep a minute ago.

Is it what you thought it was?

I didn’t think you’d be here. Is that part of it?

He laughs. Don’t be ridiculous.

I hear Noah’s laugh upstairs, his flirty laugh; my stomach tightens again.

What’s the matter? asks the doctor.

What do you mean? Nothing.

So how is the experiment going for you? he asks again.

Noah laughs again, this time accompanied by a nervous female one. I am falling, I cannot breathe, who is he with? What are they talking about?

I told you, I say, angry, it’s…it’s…

It’s not what you thought it was?

I want to get out.

What’s that? he asks calmly.

They laugh again in harmony. The laughing comes more quickly now.

This is…this is not what I thought it would be.

What did you think it would be?

Well—I mean—I thought it would be…I thought it would be exciting, like a—an escape—

An escape? Inside your own head?

I know—but I thought—please make it stop, I don’t want to be here—

The pill lasts about eight hours, so you’ll just have to wait till morning.

Again they laugh, but it gets quieter—are they leaving? Are they going upstairs? My eyes dart toward the fire-door and sweat pours down—

The doctor sees. Ah, he says.

What? I demand.

I’m sorry, he says sadly, I didn’t realize about him. That could make tonight difficult, I’m afraid.

What are you talking about?

He sighs. Dreams can be just as painful as reality. They themselves are an illusion, but the feelings are real. I’m sorry.

I think I’m going to vomit. What do you care? Don’t you just need data?

Well, yes. I’ll need you to come back when you wake up and answer a few questions.

The laughing is gone, which is worse than when it is there. Even my eyelids feel nauseous. I am shaking. There is nothing around me to hold onto.

Please let me out, I beg him.

I can’t, says the doctor. Nobody can help you here. Just relax. It will be morning soon.

I don’t want to be down here. I don’t want to be in your experiment, I just want to go to sleep. Please, just let me sleep.

You are asleep, he says, and he starts to get fuzzy; I see the table with the potions and papers and dream-remembering pills on it; I see the backs of my eyelids. I turn toward the wall. I can’t hear the laughing anymore. Did he take her upstairs? Where is he? Wherever he is, it isn’t him, he’s an illusion, this isn’t the real Noah, or the real doctor—

Are you sure? he’d asked me today, are you sure you want to do this. Yes I’m sure, I want to get away, see what my dreams are like, I want to see what I forget when I wake up.

Well, this is it, he says now. Thank you for participating in this experiment. Your experience is very valuable to us.

Please. Please, let me out.

There is nothing to do but wait, he says.