Inauguration's Eve

Sunday night I had a dream. I was just one of the many petty retail workers employed at the local iteration of a large corporation. Somehow a co-worker got himself into trouble on the job. I didn't care for him. But two lady coworkers who were more sympathetic asked me to accompany them to visit their friend in prison. As we entered the facility's community room to share a dinner, an attendant told me that the usual rules would demand a limit of only two visitors. I apologized and explained that the ladies had asked me to come. With a compassionate expression he said he would see what he could do.

As the attendant stepped away for a moment, we hung our coats while the two women greeted their friend. The attendant returned with a third dinner ticket for me, and offered the four of us a round table. I explained my presence to the man by saying “We came to see if you're okay.” The attendant returned.

The attendant looked at me and said “These are the rules.” I nodded in acknowledgment, knowing it was required, and looked straight ahead as they removed the top of my skull. Without moving my head I glanced up to watch my brain being pulled away and placed safely into a plastic wrapping. I suddenly wondered whether I would be able to think and to what degree. I silently asked myself a question, and I knew the correct answer. But the knowledge left hollow, vaporious, distant. I didn't know if I would know what I needed to know when I needed to know it.

An anxiety began to grow. It was steady and undeniable, but at least within control. I silently told myself to not allow it to overtake me. Everything was normal, wasn't it?

As they removed the brain of the man we had come to visit his head was opened with two halves of the top of his skull being opened and pulled back, looking something akin to the petals of a tulip. As the attendants folded his head back together the pieces of his head began to shift and would not stay still. He was himself unsteady and every sway of his body caused the parts of his head to slide out of alignment. It was about to fall apart. I reached up with my hands on the sides of his head to hold the parts of his skill in place and keep the aligned. I was hoping to give him enough strength for a moment, to steady himself. It was little use and he continued to sway, and his skill continued to slide apart.

My hands as a band-aid could not do the job, and without my brain I could do little more than wait for someone else to take over his care. The attendant could not return fast enough. After another brief moment the man fell unconscious, then died. As I watched him fall I had just enough in me to be aware that a series of events had led to this conclusion. What I was seeing was my fault, I could hollowly know. But I now lacked enough constitution to feel what that meant. And so, I stared.