Lakewood - Megan Giddings Page 0,59
observer helped Lena wash her hands.
“I do hope they’re paying you enough for this,” the woman muttered to Lena, “because they’re definitely not paying me enough.” Lena pulled out her phone. “You have to walk for at least ten more minutes.”
Lena moaned.
“I know. But if you could remember this, you would thank me.”
They went back to the hallway. Lena’s feet were cold. It was harder than she expected to keep her face slack, uninterested. She was certain if this woman wasn’t so sure that Lena was “fried,” she would see what was right in front of her. But this woman was sure she was sick, didn’t really see her as a person. She seemed only to care about doing what she had been told to do.
Where were they? It was so quiet.
No street noise, birds, or dogs. No windows. The observer and Lena paused near a room where three women were playing around with what looked like a robotic Bigfoot. One was using her laptop. Another was saying, “Now make him look at Beatrice.” The robot didn’t move. The third woman, presumably Beatrice, was taking what looked like a cat brush and combing the robot’s chest fur. Bigfoot gazed at Lena. Its large eyes were yellow-brown. Its mouth curled down, as if it had just heard some real bummer news. Lena thought no one would believe this Bigfoot was real. He should be filthy, covered with brambles, soaked with mud, not looking like a great throw blanket. Bigfoot gazed up at the ceiling. “I think I messed up a little writing the code,” said the woman working on the laptop.
The woman combing Bigfoot’s hair glanced at Lena. Her hair was dyed green and she was wearing a black headband with pens clipped to it. “Fried?” she asked the observer.
“Yeah.”
“Make sure to have her move her arms, too, after you do the walk.”
“I feel like I’m in Weekend at Bernie’s,” the observer said.
“I’ve never seen that movie.”
“Oh, well. It’s about these two boys who try to scam.”
“We don’t need a recap,” said the woman on the laptop.
“Oh, right. Sorry. We should keep moving anyway.” The observer adjusted herself so that her right arm was around Lena’s waist. Then moved Lena’s left arm and dipped her head underneath it so that it was resting on Lena’s shoulder. “I think this is a little better,” the woman said.
They walked on. The woman opened another door and stepped into a room that looked exactly like Great Lakes Shipping Company. The combination of brand-new and terribly outdated computers. Judy’s dumb STRESSED IS JUST DESSERTS SPELLED BACKWARD! poster. At what would have been Lena’s desk was a copy of the photo she had at her own work desk: she and her mom laughing on their front porch. A bunch of Great Lakes Shipping Company pens in a blue-and-white Cedar Point mug. The dark spot on the ceiling all the study participants said looked suspicious, like black mold, and the observers said was just an old tile that needed to be replaced.
The observer had Lena sit in a chair. She lifted Lena’s arms over and over. Took one and made it turn circles. Lena thought it felt good to let someone else gently stretch and massage her arms. She sighed.
“Soon, I promise, you can go back to bed.”
The woman spoke at her about neural pathways and movement and the brain’s wiring in a way that Lena couldn’t really understand. When she was done with both of Lena’s arms, she helped her up again.
They walked in a few circles around this replica office. The wall next to the break room was covered in neon notecards. There was a picture of each office worker, and below there appeared to be plotlines. IAN COMES OUT TO THE OFFICE. LENA THINKS ABOUT GOING BACK TO SCHOOL. MARIAH TELLS EVERYONE SHE WANTS TO CHANGE HER NAME TO GEODE. TOM FORGETS TO BACK UP A SERVER. JUDY SAYS SOMETHING RACIALLY CHARGED TO CHARLIE. CHARLIE QUESTIONS HIS FUTURE. There were many more, with big and small details. They must’ve been meant for their daily sheets, the things they were supposed to tell people when they were asked about work, about their days.
Lena felt distant from her body seeing the next eight months of her life spread out and annotated like that. There were notes for interactions outside of work: barbecues, a trip to the county fair, happy hours. Maybe nothing in Lakewood had been real. Maybe they had planned Charlie’s party, smashed her windshield,