The Void

by Christine Bernard

  When I got back out, Keri was still on the floor, her gaze to her lap, almost as if she was meditating. She’d been trying to get me to start meditation classes with her for a long time, but I had always refused to go. Why the hell would I want to waste my time doing nothing? Our time on earth wasn’t long, and I had every intention of making the most of that time. If I wanted quiet time, I could just go to bed. I turned away from her and made myself a cup of coffee. The sound of the kettle soothed me, and as I poured the contents into the mug I wondered if we would really run out of coffee before the end of our time in here like Keri said we might. Larry had assured us we had extra provisions, and it looked to me like we still had enough to keep us going for a while. I thought of making a small cup just in case, but instead found myself doubling up the coffee dosage just to prove a point.

  I didn’t want to sit on the bed, but Keri was already on the floor, so I went back to my usual spot. I grimaced when I noticed a mark against the cream wall from where I always sat. Keri would have a fit if she saw it, so I propped up a pillow to hide it from her view. I took a sip of coffee, recoiling slightly from the intensity, and then grinned as it danced down my throat. Wow. Two spoons of this stuff was totally the way forward. Maybe after this I’d finally tackle a round of exercises. If I didn’t use those kettlebells soon Keri was never going to forgive me for convincing her to bring them in.

  “Did you just make yourself coffee without even offering one to me?”

  I glanced over at Keri, who was now leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “I didn’t think you’d want any.”

  “Is that so? You know that’s the first cup you’re making for yourself, don’t you? I’ve made heaps for you. In fact, I’ve made every single other cup for you but that one. But you don’t even think of making me one. Nice.”

  “No, I made us one that first day, remember?”

  She rolled her eyes, and as she did her elbow slipped off her knee and she almost whacked her chin. I wished she had. Comedy. Now that’s what this place was missing. I let out a little chuckle.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Come on, Ke. You almost hit yourself in the face with your own knee. It was funny from where I’m sitting. Trust me. If the roles were reversed you would’ve laughed at me. Do you want some coffee? I’ll make you one.” Say no. Say no.

  “No. I’m fine. Thank you very much for thinking of me.”

  “Wow, sarcasm does not suit you.”

  She didn’t reply at first, and the two of us went back to what we were doing. The coffee tasted a little too bitter now. It needed some extra water, or some more of that powered milk they’d given us, but if I got up she might expect me to make her one. I wasn’t really trying to be nice. I just wanted her to think I was. Reverse psychology and all that. I drank it as it was and tried to enjoy it.

  “You really didn’t think of offering me one?” she said again. Clearly this was not a topic that was just going to go away on its own. I wasn’t surprised by this. Keri didn’t let things go as easily as I did. She would tell me she was fine, and then she’d bring it up out of the blue again, sometimes even after days had passed. Then she’d get angry when I was not as upset as she was.

  “I just did.”

  “Not now. When you made a cup for yourself, did it not even cross your mind?”

  “You looked like you were meditating. I didn’t want to disturb you. I thought I was doing the right thing. Wow, Ke, you don’t have to turn everything into an argument.”

  “Meditating? Since when do I meditate?”

  “You’ve been badgering me to do it with you for months. I figured you were giving it a go.”

  “Oh, so I badger you now? Nice, Jon. Nice.”

  “Come on, let me make you a cup.” I was safe because there was no way she’d say yes to this now. Her stubborn streak would take over, just as it always did.

  “No thank you.”

  “Okay then. Suit yourself.”

  She sighed. “Jon, I’m tired of this. Why is this so hard? I thought it would be easy. Well, not easy, but not nearly as hard as this. I’m going out of my mind from boredom.”

  Guilt washed over me. I probably should’ve made her a cup. Keri was a tall and confident woman on the outside, but right now she looked so small. “Come on, bunny, cheer up. Join me here.” I patted the space next to me. Sometimes I was bunny and she was funny, sometimes it was the other way around.

  She laughed and surprised me by getting up and joining me.

  “Hi, funny,” she said.

  “When did those nicknames start?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. I guess I always thought you were funny, and as cute as a bunny.”

  I wiggled my nose at her. “Is this our first romantic moment in here?”

  She smiled. “You know, I think it might be.” She sidled in close to me. “How ya holdin’ up, Jon? Honestly.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” Had she noticed that I was starting to lose it? And was it because she knew me so well or because it was obvious? I didn’t want to unravel in front of the whole nation, or, at least, however many people end up watching this show.

  “I guess I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one that’s losing my marbles in here,” she said.

  “Aye? You too? You’re the strong one. I figured you were fine. Other than constantly annoyed with me, of course.”

  “You think I’m the strong one? I wish.” She sighed, then sniffed. I hoped she wasn’t getting sick. That was the last thing we needed. “Nah, I’m not strong at all. I’m having a hard time in here. It’s not easy, and,” she gestured around her, “these cameras don’t help.”

  “I’m struggling, too. I mean, when’s the last time I went without exercising for so long?”

  “We should’ve brought something else other than those damn kettlebells,” she said.

  “You say that, but if we’re not using those, then what makes you think we would’ve used anything else that we brought in here? It’s like this place sucks the energy out of you. I’ve never felt so lethargic in my life.”

  “Lethargic? Nice word. You been doing crossword puzzles when I’m not around or something?” she teased.

  “You serious?” What the hell? Was she really just calling me stupid right now? Is that what she thought of me?

  “Oh come on, I’m kidding. You’re just not a big word sort of guy, that’s all. You’re a big muscle kind of guy,” she said as she reached over to touch my bicep.

  I flinched. What a way to make me look in front of the cameras. “Nice, Ke. Nice.”

  “It was a joke. Wow, there goes the honeymoon period.”

  I stood up, suddenly desperate to get away, and as I did my pillow fell down. I’d forgotten about the dirty mark on the wall until I heard Keri gasp.

  “What the hell is that? Is this your sweat? Gross. Wait, were you hiding this with the pillow? That’s disgusting, Jon. You know you have to put your face on that thing each night? Don’t you think?”

  Wonderful. Now I was dirty and an idiot. “I wasn’t hiding anything. I didn’t even see it. It’s just a bit of dirt. It’s not the end of the world. I’m going to shower.”

  “You do that. You need to.”

  Fuming, I stormed into the bathroom, and the moment I opened the sanity line into the small room I felt as if I’d been vacuumed inside. The bathroom had always felt like our safe place, but for the first time it felt just like an extension of the rest of the pod, only more extreme. I usually used this space as a place to clear my head of unwanted thoughts, but those very thoughts seemed to sudden multiply. Keri was having a hard time in here too, but did she also feel as if she was losing her mind? No, that was all on me. I stood there for a long time trying to figure out whether I should shower, or just pretend to, but Keri’s nose had taken on some sort of superpowers lately, sniffing out anything dirty. Unfortunately, while we had ventilation in the room, it wasn’t enough, and I was pretty sure the
two of us were emitting some rather rancid odours in here. Maybe being in a pod alone was a better idea after all. I stepped under the shower, and thought once again about Larry. It disturbed me a little that he was my first thought right now, especially considering I was completely naked, but something about the guy irked me. Left with nothing else but my own thoughts, I naturally gravitated toward him. Something was up with him, I was sure of it. But what? I was a tall guy, tall enough to be annoyed that the shower didn’t come with its own separate ceiling. The bathroom had clearly been built as an afterthought. Either that or they’d wanted to make sure we still felt mildly exposed. I’d already searched for hidden cameras, but hadn’t found any. So, unless they’d been hidden that well, I was safe to be in here without clothes on. But why then did I feel so exposed? Why could I still see Larry’s beady eyes on me? The camera on the wall! The thought hurtled its way to me, and I got down to the floor. Was that it? Was the camera just high enough to still get a good view of the bathroom? Was Larry watching me right now? Fuck him! I wouldn’t let that weirdo creep get any more footage of me. I spent the rest of the time on the cold tiles, while the warm water cascaded over me. The contrasting temperatures made me feel strange, yet good. I reached up to switch the water off, then both dried and changed while still sitting down. I felt restored, like a reset button had been pushed. New thoughts were running through my head. Stay ahead of Larry. Stay ahead of Larry.

  Chapter 19

  Elton

  Elton Rigby, picks up his towel

  In the shower where he got clean.

  He’s not what he seems.

  Waits in the bedroom, wearing a shirt,

  That he picked for the pod.

  He’s a comedian god.

  The song played over and over in my head, until I wasn’t sure which words I had made up and which were real. Was anything real? Eleanor. Elton. Who even cared? It wasn’t my real name anyway. I kept trying to figure out how the Beatles song ended. I thought it would be a nice touch to change the whole song to my own words by the time I reached the last day in here, but whether I had two or five days left I was no longer sure. Also, it wasn’t easy trying to figure out how to change the song when I could barely remember how the actual one went anymore. I tried to sing the real song again, but each time I did I’d start mixing in the words I had come up with in here.

  “Eleanor Rigby, picks up her towel…” I started, then stopped. No, she didn’t pick up her towel. What did she pick up? “La-la-la, lonely people,” I improvised. There was something to do with loneliness, I was sure of it. God damn this was annoying. I’d formed my name around this song and I couldn’t for the life of me think of the lyrics anymore. And how the hell did it end?

  I tried to busy myself by cleaning the pod, which wasn’t easy without any products. Could they not have at least given us a broom? Or were they hoping for some sort of solo version of Lord of the Flies? Did they want to watch us turn into animals? I wasn’t even much of a neat freak back home, but I didn’t know what else to do with myself in here, and no amount of cleaning seemed to be enough. I would clean for an hour and feel like all I had done was transfer the dirt from the pod onto myself. Yet I continued to do it, even if only to make myself feel better. My joke book lay face down on the floor. I picked it up and examined it. For an old book it was in great condition, which was surprising considering the amount of times I had flipped through the thing as a teenager. Except for one double page where tiny specks were dotted all over from a Cola explosion. I remember being so pissed off that day, especially when I found out that my ‘friend’ Lenny had given the can a good ol’ shake before going home. He’d phoned me later that day asking me how my drink had been. It had splattered over my new white shirt too, and my mum had been so angry at me. She’d only gotten me that shirt after I’d promised to do the dishes for a week. I barely remembered the shirt now, but back then it had felt so important to me. God, that felt like a long time ago. It was a long time ago. Why did I remember something like this but forget my lines when I went out on stage? Why did I still feel like that angry little kid when I was already forty-two? Almost forty-three actually. Which was close to forty-five. Which, really, was close to fifty. I put down the book, and continued with my cleaning. I made the bed, stopping every now and again to do something silly even though my heart wasn’t in it. I was supposed to be here to entertain. To bring Elton Rigby back onto center stage. But I felt more like Bob Store here than Elton Rigby, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend. The worst part was that I barely knew who Bob Store was anymore, so every reminder of him only made me confused. He hadn’t been a bad guy. Just…well, just boring. I tucked the duvet around the mattress like a hotel, then told my ‘audience’ what the correct way of doing things should be. That immediately gave me an idea of pretending as if I was in some sort of hotel show, and I spent some time showcasing the place as if it were worthy of five stars.

  “This room even comes with a Michelin-star restaurant,” I said as I opened the fridge with extravagance. “Think of it as part Blumenthal, part Ramsay, and maybe even a little bit of Oliver thrown in. You know, minus the taste.” I picked up a box and held it out to one of the cameras. “Or, actually, the presentation. Who am I kiddin’? This place is more hostel than hotel.”

  I wasn’t sure when I had switched from cleaning, to giving a tour, but I was exhausted, and neither one of those options appealed to me anymore. Hadn’t I given a tour of the place before? The Blumenthal part seemed familiar, and I was now pretty sure I’d said those exact words before. Was I rehashing my jokes? Was that the sort of comedian I had become? They weren’t even good jokes. My gaze fell on some peeled paint in the corner, where the floor met the wall, and I bent down to examine it. I scratched at it and some of it came off, so I scratched at it some more, watching as tiny bits of paint fell to the floor. The more I took off, the more it annoyed me and the more I scrubbed. I stopped when a small pile of cream paint had formed in front of me, like a little mountain for ants. I scrubbed so much that a bit of blood formed at the tips of my fingers, just under my far too long fingernails. Gross. I should’ve cut them before coming into this place, but I’d forgotten, and now they were all I was going to think of. Thankfully the camera probably wouldn’t pick up on them. Just in case I needed not to draw any attention to my fingers. A drop of blood fell onto the ant’s mountain, snapping me back to the weird reality of what I was doing. I laughed a little then, the sound odd and forced. Then I made a few jokes about the place being apeeling, and how being in here was like watching paint dry. Ha ha ha.

  The ending of the song came to me. Not the exact words, but the idea. Eleanor Rigby died in the end. Buried with her name were the words I could remember. An image of a tombstone came to mind, and for the first time I wondered what name would be put on mine. Elton or Bob? What name would I want on there? I stared at the buzzer. Should I hit it? I wanted to. The thought of seeing another face again other than my own was overwhelming. I thought having a mirror in the pod was a good idea, but I was now so sick of seeing my own face. Maybe I didn’t look at myself all that much, but the long moments in front of the mirror had made me see myself in a different life. When I thought of myself, I imagined a twenty-something-year old up on stage. Not surprising considering the amount of times I re-watched old videos of me doing standup. Sometimes that mental image was so strong that for a few seconds I’d still see that guy in the mirror. The longer I stared at myself, the more I began to morph into the forty-two-year-old man everyone else saw.

  There was more to the end of the song. I didn’t want to think of them, but they came regardless as I stared at the buzzer. One line played over and over again in my head. I needed to get up and do another PodBook skit, but this place seemed to have sucked out all of my energy. I hadn’t even done one yesterday. I was supposed to be in here to entertain, but I’d become the world’s most boring comedian. Unless, of course, everyone found it funny that I was spending most of my time sta
ring at the wall, or counting wrinkles on my hands. I should just press the damn buzzer but the line kept playing in my head. Nobody came.

  Chapter 20

  Melanie

  It just took that one dream of Andy for him to haunt the rest of my nights. I tried to resist it at first. I prolonged my meditation as much as I could, I drew more, and I tried to stack happy thought upon happy thought on top of the memories. Still, they seeped out, oozing like dirty liquid from a sewerage pipe. Even if I stopped them from escaping, they were still inside me, festering more each day. If I didn’t deal with them, I’d one day explode. I didn’t need a therapist to tell me that. This was Basic Humanness 101. The pod wasn’t the place I wanted to get down to the heart of my issues though, but it had some up sides to it. For one, Andy couldn’t get to me. I was safe. Even when I was out of the pod, I would remember what it felt like to be in here, walls protecting me like arms. I’d forgotten what that felt like. For years I’d lived with the sort of deep fear that nobody should ever experience. As I lay in bed now, my hands moved over my stomach, just like it had when she was inside me. I’d never given her a name, I’d never even truly known if she was a girl, but she’d felt like a girl. With every kick of her little foot, and wriggle of her body, I’d feel the sort of love that made me understand what love was for the first time. It was different to any other love I’d ever experienced, and even though I had no idea what the future held I wasn’t sure if I would ever feel that again. I sometimes felt bad that I had never given her a name, but I supposed a part of me always knew she would never see the world the way I had. When she’d died a part of me had been relieved.