At Least They're Committed

Would I be able to change it? Did I have the key? Do I even have a clue what I would have been trying to change? Not really. But I do know I was on the top floor of the big building and that Ellen was there and that she was going to wait for me in the hall and I thought it was a little odd that she laid down on her back on the cold linoleum to wait.

They’d showed us a film earlier, black and white, of the history of the institution and two of the way-high-ups’ dads were talking at a podium and it made me understand how they got where they were at despite a lack of credentials. In truth, I don’t even know or care about their credentials. I’m only vaguely aware that they’re there. I just remember winking and nodding at my coworkers as if to say, “ah-HA!”

I had my ID, I sneaked into the classroom filling with students and fumbled around the first aid cabinet until I found what I believed to be the key. It was on a pink, flat, plastic key chain and I thought that was weird. I wondered if it were the right one, or if someone named Penelope had stuck this one there in its place.

My friend Chris with cerebral palsy was in front of a different classroom sitting behind a table that had various scholarly choices. His speech was fixed and he could walk again, not the twitsted amble in college before having to take to the wheelchair, but regular-like . . . though maybe a bit girlish. I complimented him on his found abilities and he dismissed my comments, as if I’d taken too long to notice or he didn’t want to notice himself.

The door to the rooms in this hall were indiscernable. No moulding, all painted flat gray. Difficult to discern save for the subtle rectangular slit that, once you saw that, enabled you to run your hands along the edge and find the invisible knob.

There weren’t usually students in this room, the one with the portal for change. But there were this day. I pretended I knew what I was doing and went to the far corner and looked around the cabinet for the place to put the key. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was doing what had to be done, but I still had to sneak. Where was the key supposed to go? What is the password? My ID was at ready, I slipped the key along the edge waiting for it to bury itself in some unseen oraface. The change would be good, it would be necessary and subtle and nobody would even be more aware for what I’d done . . .

Except Mina jumped on the bed just then and woke me up. Drat. Nothing changes. Oh well. Morning dreams are weird.