Transient

Underwater Birdie

Bright fluorescent lights fill up the room. Hanging bulbs glow from inside artistic ceramic sculptures shaped as eyeballs. The light flows out of a hole assumed to be the pupil.

Melv sits in the waiting room. The room itself is the entertainment. The door is pink, The floor is pink, the ceiling is pink, while the chairs are white. Melv can't help but imagine the room being a resemblance of his own mouth, the chairs being teeth, and he himself as the plaque that stains them. He finally hears his name being called from a mouth shaped speaker hanging above the receptionist desk.

"Melvin Artecrus"
-

He wonders through two large red doors and into a long narrow hallway. The floors and walls are jet black with red doors. He searches for the name "Welton" carved in white on one of them. When he finally finds it, he struggles with the glass doorknob for a second, and almost tumbles inside from the force that was needed to open the door.

The man, Welton, is broad. His hair and short beard are white. His face set as if he is all knowing and has the secrets of life. It nearly convinces Melv that maybe some of his minor issues will be fixed.

"Well, Melvin Artecrus is your name, correct?"

"Y- yes."

"Seat yourself, my friend." Dr. Welton gestures his hand toward the chair. "Why don't you begin by telling me about who you are."

"I'm a mail sorter. I'm married to Eloney Artecrus. I've got a daughter-"

"But who are you?"

Who am I?

"You aren't your responsibilities. True, you are a father and a husband, and a mail sorter. But that is not who you are."

"I see what you mean. Well gee. I don't know. I'm one person out of billions, here today, gone tomorrow. What more is there to me?"

"Oh there's more. We humans are complex, unique, and once we figure out some of your ticks we can help you."

"Well I have these weird dreams." Melvin says, attempting to divert Welton's uncomfortable questions.

"Go ahead. Please Explain."

"Okay. Well, last night I dove under the dark waters. I felt water rushing into my ears and nose... my head filling up until my eyes bulged. I saw a yellow bird perching on a coral reef beside me. Every time he opened his large beak, enormous bubbles flowed to the surface. I followed the bubbles until I reached the surface. The bubbles popped on the surface and a screech blew up.. and it was then I realized it was actually coming out of my mouth."

"What might this dream mean for you?"

"I don't know. Maybe my calling is to Scuba dive? How should I know?"

"Well Melv in this dream, are you overwhelmed or afraid? How might you say you feel?"

"Very overwhelmed, Dr. Welton." Melv replies as he stares at the man's black shiny shoes against the matte black tiles.

"Perhaps it is a sign of too much stress. Maybe your screaming is the need for relief. I suggest focusing more time on hobbies. Do you like to read?" Dr. Welton points at a black marble book shelf.

The upper shelf contains a variety of how-to books on all kinds of hobbies, while the lower shelves contain books on actual psychology related topics.

"Hobbies.. I guess I'll take this How to Garden book."

"What would you like to work on in these sessions?"

"I'd like nothing more than to fix my relationship with my wife, Eloney. May I do couples counseling?"

"I suggest we work on personal issues first. After all, a pair of shoes requires each shoe to be complete."

"Well, alright."

"Very well. Our time is up. I hope to see you next week."
-
Melv gets in his car feeling far from cured from his depression and anxieties. This is his first therapist,  such progress must take time.

Seeing that it is promptly 2 p.m, he takes an antidepressants and smokes a cigarette. He drives going exactly 45 mph and counts the 6 stop signs it takes to arrive at his 3 acre, white cottage style home.

The cat that he has had for 20 years runs at him. Its tail squeaks mechanically. Its meow is consistent and sounds pre- recorded, but it knows him because its memories were downloaded into the manmade vessel. He taps the padding built into her head, a padding that is supposed to simulate touch for the cat. "Hiya Meconium."

She had been named Meconium for two reasons. The first being that it started conversation with curious guests.

Eloney would say, "Well, The word literally means a baby's first poop.."

This answer being the second reason for the name.

"We found this kitty the day our baby, Millie, had her first poo.. Her fur had the same dark colors as Millie's.. you know."

At this the guests would give an amusing laugh and almost successfully hide their disgust.

After Meconium grew old and died, Eloney had insisted that she be put into a new body right then.

"Hi Honey." Eloney says as she rotates between washing dishes, ironing clothes, and cooking dinner.

"You're rather busy."

"Yes."

He waits for her to look at him with warmth, but she does not. Her eyes stay on the task.
Classical music echos from the living room, which she used to find boring before her transition.

"Be ready for dinner at six." She commands to him in a monotone voice.

He says okay and goes into the living room to sit and watch television. He watches two sitcoms and the weather for the weekend. Then, he goes outside and smokes two cigarettes. Cicadas sing loudly as the sun sets and it's real pretty, but it makes Melv feel nostalgic and a bit sad so he takes another antidepressant.

Eloney and Melv sit at the table. They have spaghetti and salad. Melv sits silently, waiting for Eloney to say the prayer as she once did. But then he remembers she stopped doing that after her transition.

She watches him eat without looking away. She watches without fidgeting with her dress or twirling her hair or spacing out into deep thought. She is poised, placid, eyes vacant like there's no one home, Like a plane on autopilot.

"It's good."

"Yes. Thank you."

He wishes he could just scream. Slam the plate on the ground and say he loves her. Tell her she's still his.

Alas, she is not his. Not in the same way. He reminds himself he at least gets to have a small piece of her. At least he's not completely alone. That's all that should matter, or, at least he tells himself so.