Charlie took her hands. “Are you okay?”
Lena’s head felt like someone was pushing it. She slapped at the area above it, but no one was there. Felt tears coming out of her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. She reached for her face to wipe away the wet, but Charlie grabbed her hands and kept them still.
Dr. Lisa bent over her. Some of the observers were pushing everyone back, some were taking feverish notes.
“I need help,” Lena meant to say, but it came out as “wrapping paper.”
19
Dr. Lisa and Smith showed Lena a picture. A few other people wearing lab coats watched. Lena stared at the picture: four legs, a bottom, a back. The name was on the tip of her tongue.
“It’s something you sit on,” Smith prompted.
“Froideur,” Lena tried. The word felt important.
Dr. Lisa told her to walk around the room. Lena waved her arms in big circles. “Washing machine, dude.”
“That’s not right,” Smith said.
He asked Lena to tell him something about her childhood. She told a story about one of her childhood best friends, Saturday. She and two other kids in the neighborhood learned how to sign because they liked Saturday and because they could say whatever they wanted. But the neighborhood parents made such a big deal about Lena and her friends being “good kids” that the whole situation became awkward, made them self-conscious about signing. It strained their friendship; it made Saturday think that they did this only to feel good about themselves, not to be friends with her. When her mom found out, she said, If you’re doing something good—and you’re enjoying it—don’t let other people spoil things for you. Try to remember this your entire life, if you can. It still took years to sort out all her feelings about how everything went down.
As Lena spoke earnestly, Dr. Lisa and Smith struggled to keep their expressions neutral. They kept glancing at each other. Lena heard her mouth saying “cheese” and knew she meant something else but couldn’t find the word. They seemed to understand the story at least a little, maybe because Smith was nodding as she spoke. Her mouth said, “lipstick.” She made a frustrated noise, tried to find the right word again. Her hands shook. Everyone in the room was smiling, but she understood it was because they were trying to reassure her. Lena covered her eyes. Blotted all the people out because they were making her more scared. The man in the lab coat said Lena needed to relax. He gave her a shot.
Lena woke up. Her body smelled sour, the stink rising from her mouth as if something inside her was dying. Her eyes adjusted to the low light. An observer was sitting in the chair next to her.
“You’re awake?”
The observer spoke to Lena in a low, patient voice. She explained that she was going to walk Lena around the facility. That the doctors thought it was best that she kept walking and moving. She helped Lena out of the bed.
Lena’s arm looped through the other woman’s. She kept her face slack. She still felt sleepy, but more like herself. Before, thinking for her felt like trying to read a page that had been scribbled over in black permanent marker.
They walked out into the hallway. The walls and tile flooring were the same white. Lena blinked against the bright. At the end of the hallway, there were two large open doors. Inside one room were two large cages. In one, a cat-sized rat holding a strawberry in its paws. As they got closer, Lena could hear it slurping and enjoying the strawberry, its large mouth smacking in delight. She was sure that she was dreaming or hallucinating.
“Roscoe loves strawberries,” the observer said. “I mean, subject R.”
They went into the room. Lena went over to the cages to watch the large rat eat. Kept herself still. This was all happening, she told herself. Lena had no idea why this woman had her here. Her impulse was to find a way to disappear, to keep exploring, to find something to steal, to find a way to take a photo of this whole operation. But it was better to act like she was still sick, still very confused.
Lena turned. In the back of the room there was a zoo-style enclosure. Inside were two oversized fawns eating grass. They looked closer in size to ponies than deer. A cage against the wall was filled with large bats that grossed her out more than the rat.
“Roscoe, you beautiful boy,” the observer whispered. She gave him more water, stroked his white head.
Along the walls next to the doors were computers on standing desks and potted plants. Some had leaves that looked as if they were made from pastrami—the new growth light pink and looking especially raw. Another plant was the color and texture of orange cat fur. Lena wanted to touch that plant, see if it felt like it looked.
“How are you feeling?” the observer asked.
Lena stared longer at the plant. The rat squeaked.
“Lena, how are you feeling?”
“Seeds,” she said.
“I hope you’re not too worried. I can’t imagine what it would be like,” the observer said in a soft voice. “Let’s get you walking some more.”
She helped Lena up out of the chair. Walked her to the back of the room. The fawns were sleeping. They didn’t startle as Lena and the observer moved closer.
“That’s King Kai, that’s Goku.”
They walked back to the hallway, went into another room where the walls and ceiling were covered in grass. Thick and lush. Lights were installed in the ceiling, and in those spots the grass around them looked golden. On the floor, corn was growing. Some stalks were too big, like the animals in the next room. Others were slate gray. A woman was bent over photographing the gray corn. She turned.
“Hey, Helena,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m helping out T group. One of their subjects got fried again.”
The woman with the camera rolled her eyes. “The shit people will do for money.”
The observer—Helena—laughed, but it sounded fake.
“I hope you feel better,” the woman said, turning back to the plants.
“Sausage,” Lena said, making her voice slow and dreamy.
The soil beneath her feet felt warm. Lena thought a room like this would be incredible to have in a house. It was probably so expensive, and you would have to cut all the ceiling grass by hand while standing on a ladder.
“Anyway, I need to make her walk around for a while. I’ll be back to help in an hour or two.”
“No worries. Almost everyone’s at the presentation, so we probably won’t do all the cage freshening until late tonight.”
Lena and the observer went out to the hallway. Lena let herself go limp, sagged a little in Helena’s arms. Here, everything was so white and clean. The dirtiest thing was the soles of her feet.
“You have to keep working,” the observer said. “This is the foundation for the rest of your life.”
They walked past a large door where three people were showing a man in a lab coat their arms. Growing on them were lines of mushrooms, the exact color of their brown skin. They looked close in shape to the baby bellas Lena liked to use in spaghetti.
“Did it hurt when they sprouted?” the man wearing the lab coat asked. He reached out, gently touched one of the mushrooms. “Slimy,” he said in a bored voice.
They walked on, the observer leading Lena to a bathroom. “Can you do this?” she asked Lena.