“I saw you in! Get back devils, I am God!” Pandora began shouting and slamming the glass harder and harder with her palms.
I panicked and backed away in horror. I was afraid to turn my back towards her, in fear that she would lunge at me, but I drew enough courage to disengage my view of her to unlock the door and run to get help.
Chapter 49
I ran and ran until I got to the front office where the night nurses were usually stationed. I was panting and my heart was pounding so hard, I almost couldn’t hear myself. I told them to hurry, that something was happening to Pandora, that she was hurt. I told them that she was in room ‘6C.’ and they began sprinting to our room and calling the other night nurses. I tried to follow, but I began having trouble, I couldn’t catch my breath and my head spun. I began making my way out of the front office, when one of the night nurses, Stacy, told me to sit down and that they would take care of it.
Several minutes passed when paramedics entered the Center’s front office. Stacy came down, and together, they rushed upstairs again.
The night’s air grew still for a moment, then the sound of the Center’s elevator opened, revealing Pandora strapped to a gurney, immobile.
The paramedics rushed outside, and as they passed me, I noticed that Pandora’s hands sat on top of wet cloths. She bled onto them, giving them a dark, velvet hue.
“Get them,” Pandora mumbled as the paramedics hauled her.
“Black and white and gray are the demons,” Pandora mumbled. “They went into the mirrors. They are going to hurt others!” she shouted as they dragged her into the dark, cold night.
Chapter 50
When I asked a few of the other nurses what had happened, they told me that they weren’t quite sure themselves. When I finally got around to ask Stacy, she said, “Dr. Alvarez believes that Pandora had an episode,” Stacy explained. “None of us know why her treatment wasn’t going so great.”
Pandora once told me that she had been having issues with her treatment and when she spoke to Alvarez, Alvarez switched Pandora’s antipsychotic prescription, hoping for better results.
“Regardless, we are just nurses, Sam,” Stacy added. “They don’t always tell us the specifics. A lot of times, a patient’s medical history and treatments are kept confidential, so that’s all I know of.”
Two weeks went by and Pandora hadn’t returned so I finally went to Dr. Alvarez’s office to talk to her.
When I asked her what had happened to Pandora, Alvarez told me that she wasn’t showing improvement and that the Center decided to relocate Pandora.
Alvarez said that Pandora needed more professionals to look after her, but if there is one thing we learned as patients here at the Center, is that relocation is not a good thing. It means that the patient is going to be in another hospital for a lot longer, because their schizophrenia is much more severe and signs of recovery within four years were slim.
I felt a small, but deep pain, remembering that Pandora had once said, “everything is not as bad anymore,” with an optimistic smile that could have even rivaled Mr. Jenkins’s.
When it seems like we are winning, fate proves otherwise.
Chapter 51
The breeze outside the window picked up again and then subsided. I looked over at the clock. It read: 11:25 P.M.
Surely, everyone would be asleep. I laid my hands behind my head and stared into the ceiling. “Another night of not being able to sleep,” I whisper.
I wonder where everyone went? Everyone from high school; what kinds of schools they got into. They must have been so happy to receive acceptances. The smiles. I’m happy for them. They got their high school diplomas and went on to study.
I wonder who got into UC Berkeley.
Or UCLA.
Or Chapman University.
Or UC Irvine.
Or UC Santa Barbara.
I wonder if they were happy when they got in? Ten or eleven months ago, everyone would have been sending college applications right about now. I wonder where all the ‘AP students’ ended up going. And where the valedictorian decided to go? And then there was my group of friends that I had, where did they decide to go? Right about now, September 21, high school graduates could be starting classes in their new college. Aspiring to become engineers, chemists, journalists, designers. The list goes on and on. I wonder if their counselors helped them? What kind of things they had to mail? What classes they signed up for? How many loans did they have to take? And if anyone even got a scholarship?
I also wonder if anyone from my graduating class decided to articulate great things even before going to college. I wonder if we had 17-year-old novelists, 17-year-old published poets, or 17-year-old music producers. Even 17-year-old high school actors would be amazing, instead of always casting twenty-year-olds.
Or what if students just waited for a college degree to impact the world? Or if college students weren’t concerned and didn’t want to impact the world at all, and instead, just wanted to land some job? I wondered what kind of people would be getting Bachelor’s Degrees? Colleges always want students who ‘aspire’, but to be honest, the people around me didn’t seem to ‘aspire’. A lot of the students that I was with kept to themselves and few were actually outgoing. I wondered if colleges knew what kind of students they were actually accepting?
But then again, most college applications are done by typing information online. Anything goes, I guess.
Chapter 52
I made another attempt at falling asleep. I closed my eyes, only to later open them to my alarm clock. The clock displayed 11:55 P.M. I felt as restless as ever.
I lay still, staring at the ceiling above me. Nothing specific ran through my head, but it seemed like every thought did.
I felt time running across my body, pouring against my skin, and slipping away. I felt the stillness of the room, the night, and the hospital.
Suddenly, I started thinking about how much I detested Ivy League schools and other super prestigious universities like Stanford. I didn’t dislike the universities themselves, but I disliked how the media always glorified them.
When I was still in high school, I would sometimes turn on my T.V. to watch a television series or a movie. Occasionally, when I would be scrolling through channels, I would come across movies like Stranger Than Fiction, The Devil Wears Prada, and Varsity Blues. Those movies always upset me because there would be characters with flashy Ivy League titles under their names.
In Stranger Than Fiction, there was this one character named Ana Pascal, and the screenwriters came up with the idea of saying that she had once attended Harvard University. So as the movie begins, Ana reveals that she dropped out of Harvard University. Ana explained that she “barely” got into Harvard—which already upset me, because people don’t just “barely” get into an Ivy League school. Ana explained that she attended study groups and that she would bake for them. Eventually, she became consumed by her passion for baking, causing her grades to plummet, ultimately leading her to drop out of Harvard Law School.
I agree with her that everyone should follow his or her passions, however, Ana’s character background was unrealistic. To get into an Ivy League, SAT and ACT scores are essentially required for admissions. That means that Ana should have at one point, have taken one, if not both of those exams—of course, assuming that we are being realistic in terms of the admissions process. Ana would probably have to hit in the 75th percentile or better on her exams for her application to be moderately considered. That means that Ana would have to score better than 75% of all the other students in the United States who took the same SAT or ACT. Scoring better than 75% of the other test takers, means that she would have to receive a very high score on her exams. Ultimately, this means that Ana most likely would have spent hours and hours of studying for these exams. Reviewing prep books, practice exams, online guides, hundreds of vocabulary words and several math problems that can be more than tricky or difficult then they should be. This, plus the extrem
ely high GPA she would have had to maintain—is an implication that she must have been a very studious individual to achieve a high GPA. Countless hours put into her academia, and trust me, if she was accepted into Harvard University; she is very familiar with the feelings of exhaustion and staying up very late. To top it all off, she would have also been very involved in extracurricular activities, and so much more.
My point is, that despite all of this, Ana decided to throw away hours of effort, and sleep-deprived nights, just because she suddenly got the urge to go bake pastries and such. You would think that Ana would reconsider the past years of unrelenting dedication and stressful days and nights, but Ana decides to simply “drop out.” For someone who had spent a large portion of their life studying, Ana sure had a funny way of forgetting how to study in college.
The list goes on. In The Devil Wears Prada, the main character, Andrea Sachs, graduated from Brown University. In Varsity Blues, the main character, Jonathan Moxon, gets into Brown University. In Dead Poets Society, another main character, Neil Perry, is pressured to go to Harvard, because studying anywhere else is not an option; and the list of T.V. programs go on. I always hated the Ivy League names being thrown around. Screenwriters aren’t very considerate of those things. Screenwriters just like to impress their audience by making the characters attend these ‘fancy,’ ‘prestigious,’ not to mention, ‘expensive,’ private schools. It’s so ridiculous—that Ivy League names are just thrown around on T.V. shows and films. It makes me feel like other college educations become absolute.
All of those things are just flashy titles: ‘I went to study at Harvard Law,’ ‘I graduated from Columbia University,’ ‘I got accepted into New York University.’
I hate it when characters go to these absurdly competitive schools. Is a Bachelor’s Degree from damn Harvard University really necessary for a main character? For Christ’s sake, the main character from Dead Poet Society committed suicide because he was being brutally pressured to attend to Harvard University.
It’s all this ridiculous glorification of these Ivy League schools and other prestigious schools like Stanford. It gets me so frustrated. I don’t need television programs showing me how every single main character in the series went to a top-tier, exclusive university. I want to hear about student’s who attend Fresno or Louisiana State University, because believe it or not, the majority of high school graduates don’t attend Ivy Leagues.
Screenwriter’s are alienating their audience whether they know it or not. And what happens when some kid wants to be just like Jonathan Moxon? And get’s rejected by Brown University, because to his surprise, more than 80% of applicants are rejected, and that kid was no exception, not even if he tried his best.
On a similar note, the glorifications of ‘prestigious’ scholarships are just as ludicrous. ‘The girl who applied to Columbia University is hoping to get a full ride through a scholarship. Will she get it? Watch the hour long special premier to find out!’
The whole thing is so unrealistic, because in the American education system, there are more students who work to pay for their education than students who receive scholarships. At least, that’s what I can say from my thirteen years of being part of the Greenwood Unified School District. Similarly, this happens in universities as well. A good amount of college students will get jobs to pay for the rest of their tuition because their second or third loan was not enough money to cover the rest of their college expenses.
Not all of us are Brown University alumni riding on some big scholarship. It’s all just magical garbage that the media likes to feed us.
It’s not realistic. It’s not a correct representation of students attending the American collegiate system.
Chapter 53
I took a pause to look over at the empty bed on the other side of the room.
“Devils, huh,” I sighed. Devils hidden in a mirror.
I never really tried to make sense of what Pandora was frantic about. Why would I though? It was just a schizophrenic episode that she experienced. I guess the reason why I distanced myself from her episode was because I know too well what its like to have frustration, or having crowded thoughts running through my head, or things being completely out of the ordinary. I didn’t make much of Pandora’s last episode, mostly because I didn’t want to get pulled into something like that. I can barely maintain my focus with the physical world. I find myself quiet around others and sometimes; I have had trouble getting my points across to others.
My eyes felt heavy finally. The clock read 1:35 A.M. I would have to be up in the morning for breakfast in a few hours. And then we have that drawing session later on too.
The room grew pitch black.
“Sam!” a woman shouted. My head felt fuzzy, and blurry. My focus was completely groggy.
A woman began dragging me by my hand. We ran down a hallway, and I couldn’t concentrate. I felt as if I had trouble breathing, but my focus was muddled. I couldn’t make sense of anything.
She kept dragging me. “Hurry, Sam! We need to get out!”
We kept running, despite my head feeling so heavy. We pushed through the doors of the Center and reached the outside.
“Sam! It’s burning!” the woman shouted.
I finally looked up. I felt a strange wave of heat brushing my face as the Center became engulfed in flames. Parts of the roof crumbled and things began to collapse. Smoot entered my eyes and I lost my ability to see, everything became dark.
I backed away from the building in hopes of recovering my eyesight.
“Are you okay?” the woman said. I looked up despite the intense pain and beclouded eyes, and I was barely able to recognize the woman. It’s Malory.
“What?” I ask her.
“Are you hurt?” she said. My head still felt heavy for some reason. My focus is completely off. Suddenly, my eyes began to itch increasingly from the soot, and what little was left of my vision, went away.
“Sam, no!” Malory screamed. “Sam!”
Everything went black.
Suddenly, I found myself in my bathroom, the one in my bedroom where I sleep. I was alone.
There was no fire anymore. The bathroom was very dark, and I realized that it was nighttime. I felt my heart pounding heavily.
With no explanation, I felt as if I had to do something. I looked around and suddenly, I found myself watching Pandora being dragged away by nurses and paramedics. I couldn’t move. She was dripping blood and disappeared under the darkness of the hospital.
I looked around the room, and I realized that the mirror was partially broken, with a good portion of it covered in hand soap and blood.
I was alone. Pandora was taken away and everyone else was gone too.
A funky and awkward sound began to echo from the shower drain. I turned my head and my mind couldn’t rap itself around what I was seeing. I found myself watching the shower drain as it began to spew water.
The room began to fill with water and I was terrified. I felt it rise to my ankles, and in a matter of seconds, I lost focus and I went blank, and the water was up to my knees. The room was filling rapidly. I looked over at the bathroom door from where they took Pandora, but the door was now shut. I dashed over to it and attempted to open it free, but it simply wouldn’t budge.
I began to panic and my poor focus was not helping me at all. My vision was going dark, and my thoughts were going blank. I began crawling on top of the sink trying my best not to slip. Something in my chest sparked, and it told me exactly what I needed to do. I intuitively, with almost no reasoning or thought process, began to push my arms against the mirror. I sank in, and I was transported into the mirror’s reflection. I was on the other side of the mirror. But instead of being a replica of the bathroom, it was completely dark and void, and I was alone.
I turned, and looked into the mirror from where I came from. I could still see the bathroom being flooded with water, but it didn’t spill into the dark space that I stood in.
Within a matt
er of seconds, the whole bathroom was submerged with water.
I don’t know where I am. I slipped through the reflection, but the water didn’t. I am in a dark area; it appears to have no walls or anything, just miles and miles of pitch-black darkness.
Suddenly, I found my mom standing next to me. She lifted her hand and pointed at the mirror. I found myself staring at the submerged room, and I couldn’t help but feel that the mirror that I had entered from was more of a window at this point.
“You see, Sam?” she said. “Sometimes, windows have their purpose, even when they don’t open. Sometimes, windows are here to protect you from dangerous things. Just like a ship, remember?”
Suddenly, the water on the other side of the reflection transformed into fog. It still refused to spill over onto my dark side of the mirror. She is right; it feels as if I’m staring through a window.
I looked over, and my mom was gone. I was lost within a dark abyss.
I found myself walking with no direction, but soon froze in utter horror. I found a replica of my own body, suspended in time. I stared at my replica; it was completely immobile.
My heart thumped harder against my chest and I took off, walking even faster. Without fully realizing, the darkness seemed to fade into shades of grays and silvers, and I suddenly found myself outside of my old apartment. It was foggy, just like when my mom would take me to school when I was very young. A foggy day just like that.
“Sam!” a voice screamed at me. “We have to get out of here! It’s not safe!”
It’s Malory again. I looked around, and the dark space that I came from was now gone. I was standing right in the middle of my apartment complex, and it was very humid. I could see from about thirty feet away before everything became indistinct and concealed by the foggy-misty weather.
Stand Tall My Sweet Dandelion Girl Page 18