Tasya
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Hugh sat back in his chair and was surprised at how easy it was to speak about his hallucinations.
Hugh decided to continue with his monologue.
“Even though my hallucinations and reality overlap with one another, I'm able to distinguish what is and what is not fiction. If a cat stands up on his two legs, pulls out a soap box, leaps onto it, waves around a crusty old walking stick and starts to criticize the news on how they are fear mongers, I have no doubt that this cat is a projection of my mind.”
“Mr. Mechta, if I'm correct, you haven't spoken to anyone about this before.” Dr. I said after half a minute of silence and contemplative mustache rubbing. “Why have you decided now, of all times, to seek professional assessment?”
Hugh wrinkled up his nose and traced his finger across the bridge. His nose was a tad crooked, but he had never seen that as a flaw. It was a part of him and made him who he was. The hallucinations, on the other hand, Hugh found harder to not view as flaws because everyone had a nose, but not everyone had hallucinations.
With that thought in mind, Hugh proceeded to answer the doctor's question.
“I've chosen to speak to someone about this because I have a burning desire to know why this is happening. Is there something fundamentally wrong with me? I don't mean neurologically, but as a person, as a member of society. Am I a broken baby chick or does my curious condition reveal something special about me?”
Hugh was confused about his emotions. He wasn't sure if he felt proud and strong for speaking about his inner self. He felt that he had spoken about it confidently. On the other hand, he also felt vulnerable for exposing himself. So, should he feel confident, vulnerable, a concoction of both? Or something else altogether?
Hugh brought his hands to his face and rubbed where a mustache and goatee would have been if he had ever decided to grow one. He knew that he'd have to wait for the doctor's response to get a better sense of how he should feel about what he had just said.
And wait Hugh did, because the doctor spent about five minutes rubbing, massaging, caressing, and twirling his facial hair in silence. Every time Hugh opened his mouth to speak the doctor held up his hand, signaling Hugh to remain silent and not to break his train of thought. It seemed like the doctor was processing all the information that Hugh provided him with and was waiting to download a response from some external server that would tell him how to respond.
The doctor's answer was not one that Hugh expected, and evoked disappointment more than anything else.
“Mr. Mechta,” Dr. I said with a deep exhale, “I find you to remarkable baby chick. With that said, I cannot help you personally, but I can pluck you off the conveyer belt and ship you off to someone who can. I'll jot down some contacts, who specialize in neurology, and you can schedule an appointment with them.”
The doctor wrote down his mentioned contacts and tore out the sheet of paper from his clipboard.
“Doctor, I know that there are different medical specializations, and you may not specialize in people who have hallucinations, but can you give me some feedback based on your own medical training?” Hugh asked, glad that Dr. I could refer him to some other specialists, but still wanting the doctor’s take because he was the first-person Hugh had opened up to about his hallucinations. “Other than me being a ‘remarkable baby chick.’”
“No. I cannot.” Dr. I said curtly as he folded up the paper and passed it to Hugh.
Hugh tucked the paper away into his breast pocket and gave it a reassuring tap even though he knew there was no way it could fall out.
“That seems to conclude our appointment Mr. Mechta.” Dr. I said. Hugh half expected him to starting playing with facial hair again, but he didn't. All he did was give a shrug. “My next patient won't be here for a while, maybe you would like to stay a little longer? We can chat more about my vacation if you'd like.”
Hugh stood straight up from his chair, eager not to fall into the trap of a one-sided conversation, and fumbled out a fib that needed to care for his niece and tend to his garden.
Dr. I brushed his goatee and gave Hugh a dubious look that said that he hadn't believed one word about the niece nor the garden. Not wanting to test to what extent the doctor had believed him, Hugh expressed his thanks for the list of references and hurried out of the room before Dr. I's hand could transition back to mustache twirling.
Hugh cut through the empty lobby and out into the street, wondering when the next patient would arrive.
Hugh got in and off the metro. During the entire journey home, his thoughts were focused on the imagery of himself as a chirping little bird riding the convey belt of destiny to a grim nugget ending.
Although the doctor had used this framework as a medical tool for understanding patients, Hugh couldn't help but extrapolate it and see it as a metaphor for contemporary society. Was everyone just coasting on the conveyer belt of life to a meaningless doom? Were they all just hapless riders, oblivious to the void at the end of the tunnel, whose only reprieve on the track towards death depended on the whim of an omnipotent hand that would scoop them away, only to return them to a fate which everyone must face?
Dr. I's framework left Hugh with a sense of dark unease, that in the very end, there is only death.
Scenes of chicken nuggets fled Hugh's mind once he exited the metro. The bright rays of the sun shined down on him and the warmth coming from overhead tickled his skin with tiny reminders that he had yet to inspect the list of contacts in his pocket.
Hugh slid the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and had a sense of joy at who he would call and who he would continue his voyage with next. He felt himself on a sort of hero's journey, one in which the ending would see him having a better understanding of himself and why he had hallucinations.