Trevor Malthow hated going to the supermarket. The refrigerator sitting at home in his studio apartment which consisted of little more than a box of baking soda and an ice cube tray was a testament to that fact. His complete lack of even the most basic sundry items was the only event that ever prompted him to go.
It was something about being in crowded buildings. Then again, open spaces bothered him
too. Either scenario was apt to trigger
an episode which his logical mind simply had no explanation for. He would become dizzy. He would feel short of breath. His heart would race.
He had seen numerous doctors about the condition, and the
majority of them offered him the same diagnosis – that he had an anxiety disorder. There was that one other “specialist” who
said otherwise, but he came off as a total quack to Trevor. He had sounded more like some kind of new age
guru rather than a practitioner of medicine.
So, by rule of numbers and probability, Trevor was resigned to start
taking medication. It had been a month,
but his condition hadn’t changed.
And thus, here he was, in a supermarket, inspecting various
grapefruit as he desperately tried to ignore the spinning sensation he
exhibited in the produce section. A
woman bagging oranges next to him smiled at him, which only made him more
nervous - which of course made him dizzier.
He vaguely remembered one of the doctors mentioning social angst to be a
possible trigger. Then he wondered if he
would still have been affected by the smiling girl had the doctor not mentioned
it.
Actually, he probably would have. Dating had never been much of an option in
his life. He was barely making it as a sculptor
as he hadn’t had many orders lately. His
tiny, box-like apartment in the upper west side of Boston, cluttered with
newspaper, bits of unused clay, and an ancient kiln that most likely violated
his building’s health code – would that his building followed such codes anyway
- was sure to drive away any potential prospects. His sanctuary from the world definitely
lacked a woman’s touch, and would surely remain that way if the roaches had any
say in the matter.
And yet the woman bagging oranges continued to smile at
him. Said smile turned into a furrowed
show of concern however, when Trevor appeared he was having some difficulty
standing. Rather than silently excusing
herself and quickly walking away like most pretty girls would have when a
random stranger standing a few feet next to them begins to exhibit signs of
potential drug use, she addressed him by putting a steady hand on his shoulder.
“Are you alright?”
Embarrassed, he stammered in reply. “Y-yes, I’ll be okay. Sorry.
I um…I know I must sound pretty silly, but I just sort of get like this in
super markets sometimes.”
She arched her eyebrows in question.
“It’s um…well, I don’t really know. Maybe it’s the lighting or something, but I
get sort of dizzy. My doctors say it’s
an anxiety thing.” Before he even
finished the sentence, he mentally chastised himself for that. Why the hell would he mention doctors to a
random stranger in a supermarket? As if
he wasn’t weird enough in public. Now he
had to list his mental deficiencies to a woman shopping for oranges. In mid abasement, he also wondered if he
should add that the oranges she was bagging was also freaking him out for no
particular reason. Something about the
oranges was setting him off more than the supermarket itself. Should he have mentioned that as well? And why the oranges in particular? Why not his own grapefruit that he himself
was bagging? Perhaps he should have interrogated
her about it. That was sure to go over
well – a stranger you just met ranting about your oranges.
The logical part of his brain screamed at him to stop. It also yelled, “Stop staring at her, you
basket-cased freak,” which in turn led him to look at his feet instead.
And yet she still didn’t run away in fear for her life. Her hand was still on his shoulder, and she
nodded almost in understanding. That
freaked him out too, but in more of an embarrassing way, laced with a touch of
unwanted and unwarranted heart-flutter.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I think I get it.”
Huh? He blinked in
confusion. “You…you do?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
“Well, um…that certainly makes one of us then,” he forcibly
chuckled, which somehow lightened the atmosphere a little.
But then she inquired, “It was the oranges, wasn’t it?”
His atmosphere did a complete 180 and was now in the
negatives, with the surrealism of the question now threatening to invade what
little sanity his fragile mind clung to.
“W-what did you say?”
“The oranges I was bagging.
They made you nervous, right?”
She asked it innocently enough. She took her hand away and inspected one in
her bag. How does a person answer a
question like that? How do you tell a
random girl you just met that you’re scared of oranges? How do you explain to her the oranges remind
you of something no sane person should be terrified of? And how long would it be until that fear
spreads to your grapefruit? Or your
apples? Or any and all remaining produce
you once favored?
She held an orange in her hand, looking down at it,
pondering. “You…mentioned something
about doctors?”
Trevor shifted uncomfortably, desperately wanting to leave
the store. He was glad that, at least,
there was no one else shopping for produce at that particular table. Although he did jump nearly an inch off the
ground when another woman came up and loudly tore a plastic bag from its
stand. Why the hell couldn’t she use the
bags at her own table? Were they
out? He looked at the adjacent produce
stands, confirming that every one of them had a full roll of plastic. What in blazes did that woman need with
“their” roll then? Was she
eavesdropping? Was she judging whether
or not she should call the cops on this strange man who was clearly harassing
the pretty girl who was bagging oranges - shaking her down for money so he
could get his next high?
Cut it out…his brain warned him again, raising an imaginary
hand to strike him with should the need arise.
He cowered in fear of it and behaved.
“Um…what? Oh
yes. Doctors. Like I said, um…they seem to think I have
anxiety. I don’t do so well in public
settings. Which…uh…is why I kind of come
off like a weirdo right now.” He rapidly
added “Which I’m really sorry about by the way!
Normally by now someone like you would have run away in terror. I know I would!” He then began to laugh. He was laughing way too loud.
Tone it down, his brain with the raised hand firmly told him
through gritted teeth. He then pictured
a brain with teeth, and that image frightened him as well.
She responded with an uncertainty not pertaining to his
aberrant social behavior. “But…the
oranges in particular?”
He laughed nervously again, but at a more calculated and
controlled volume than before. “Y-yes…I
know it’s completely ridiculous. You
must think I’m a total nutter.”
“Well…no. Not
exactly. I mean I get why it should be a
little strange, but…” she trailed off, looking at the orange in her hand.
After a few silent moments, with Trevor shifting
uncomfortably, she finally continued.
“Listen. I want to show you something. I know what I’m going to do is weird, but I’d
like you to tell me if it means anything to you.”
Something in the back of his mind was pounding in fear –
fear that he was losing his grip on reality.
There was absolutely no possible way she could do what he thought she
was about to do. The odds were
insurmountable – too coincidental. They-
She reached into her purse in the seat of her shopping cart,
and took out a nail file. Then,
discretely, she began to cut away a piece of the skin, leaving a large,
uncovered patch in the middle of the fruit.
She then held the damaged sphere up to him.
“Do you…recognize this?”
The room began to spin frantically. For a moment, he had no idea where he
was. Panic was crashing against his
chest and he had a great deal of difficulty breathing. His mind flashed back to the quack - the one
doctor out of the five that he had been to.
The one that told him he wasn’t crazy.
“Trevor, what you need
to understand, first and foremost, is that there is nothing wrong with you –
not chemically, and not mentally. What
you are experiencing is…well…people like us call it a ‘sensitivity.’ What you are feeling is actually perfectly
normal, and should in fact, be expected.
But the social norms of today demand that the status quo should be kept forcefully
intact at all times. Thus, we are given
labels that write us off as being neurologically unbalanced. What you are exhibiting however, is not an imbalance of any kind. In this case, it is quite literally the rest
of the world that is unbalanced.”
Trevor retained only a
segment of that. “Wait…so…you’re saying
there’s nothing wrong with me? Because the other doctors…they-“
“Trevor,” he
interrupted, “most doctors do not hold the sensitivity that you and I do. Unfortunately, they are unwittingly part of a
system that maintains business as usual.
As someone who knows what it
is you’re actually sensing, I’m telling you, no – it’s not you. You
are fine.”
He continued, “I’m
going to show you something.” He reached
into his desk drawer, and took from his bagged lunch an orange. Holding it up to Trevor, he continued. “Okay.
Let us say this orange represents our planet.”
“O-…okay…” Why was this therapist talking about planets
and equating them to fruit? Should
Trevor have also equated his therapist to a fruit?
“Now. As you no doubt already know, the planet is
always spinning.” He turned the orange
around and around in his hand to demonstrate the obvious. “The gravitational force of the sun, combined
with that of our system’s other planets
and moons,” he said with the orange revolving around his fist as though his
fist was the center of the solar system, ”can be expressed in a mathematical
formula. This formula is a
constant. Never changing. Are you with me so far?”
Trevor stammered. “Y-yes…but um…doctor? What does this have to do with psychiatry?”
“It has nothing to do
with psychiatry. That’s what I’m trying
to get at, if you’ll let me.” He put the
orange down on his desk. He then reached
back into his drawer and took out a paring knife. Trevor vaguely wondered if he was going to
stab him with it for interrupting his lecture.
Instead, he began to make an incision, and cut a small section from the
skin of the orange. After a chunk had
been removed, he put the knife down, and held the fruit up to Trevor once
again.
“Okay. What do you suppose happens now?”
“P-pardon?”
“Well, that
mathematical formula that I mentioned? I
said it was a constant, remember? But
look at the orange. Something’s
changed.”
“You mean where you
cut it?”
“Yes. What do you think happens to the math behind
it though?”
“I’m not sure what
you-“
He placed the fruit on
his desk, and made it spin. Within
moments, it spun off the desk, rolling onto the floor.
Both of them remained
quiet for awhile. Trevor was baffled at
what any of this had to do with anything, as intriguing as the therapist’s demonstration
was. He stared at the orange on the
floor as the doctor continued.
“What I am trying to
impress upon you is that what you are feeling is a direct result of that.” He
pointed to the orange. He went on. “We have had some very serious, man-made
environmental issues over the last few years.
A lot of it has to do with global warming emissions, but there’s another
aspect many people have failed to consider.”
He paused, then
continued.
“We have been
drilling. For a long time.
Very long. We poke holes in the
ground, trying to get at those precious fossil fuels. But it’s more than just the fuels themselves
that are dangerous. Sure, a bit of
carving here and there wouldn’t be nearly enough to affect the gravity formula. But massive drilling? For almost two
hundred years?” He lowered his voice,
looking directly at Trevor. “What do you
suppose happens to the mathematical equation when just one of those numbers is changed?”
“Um…what number?”
“In this case, it’s
the mass of the earth itself. Our mass
is lower now.”
“So…that changes the
equation or whatever?”
“If the equation defines
our planet’s orbit, and the equation is changed…what do you suppose happens
then?”
“I guess our orbit
would change too then, right?”
The doctor motioned to
the stray orange on the floor.
“Wait, are you saying
we’re spinning out of control?”
“I am. And what’s more, you’re actually feeling
it. That is why you’re scared all the time.
And why you have your dizzy spells.
You - and a large percentage of others who either don’t come forward
about their symptoms to anyone, or are ‘treated’ and swept under the carpet of
‘disorder’ – are feeling the physical
prelude to our planet’s eventual destruction.”
Trevor couldn’t
believe his ears. He was dumfounded. Clearly, this guy had had one too many nut
jobs in his office, and they finally started to rub off onto him. Maybe his last weirdo was an ex-physics
professor who went on a mass shooting spree after discovering life on Earth was
pointless and mathematically redundant.
“Um…okay. Doctor.
No offense, but uh…I came here because of anxiety. The pills I’m taking haven’t been working,
and I was hoping you would write me a different prescription or something. But…instead you’re talking about the world
ending and stuff. That’s not helping
me! It’s making it worse!”
He stood up abruptly,
visibly shaking with anger. On his hand,
he began ticking off his issues on each finger as he paced.
“Going outside my
house scares the crap out of me, and when I do stay home, I’m afraid the ceiling is going to cave in for no
reason! I can’t sleep! I can’t socialize, because I think people are
looking at me funny every time I feel like I’m about to faint - as though
somehow my falling over would
threaten them…them! I feel like they’re judging me, silently
calling me a freak! I can’t connect to
anyone or anything - not even my art anymore!
It’s interfering with my life, and I want it fixed! But
here you are, instead, telling me the world is literally spinning out of control? What the hell kind of a doctor are you?”
The doctor took a
breath and tried to respond. “Trevor, I
know it’s difficult to accept, but-“
Trevor stood up
abruptly. “Sir. No offense.
But I think YOU need
help.” And with that, he stormed out of the
office.
Back in the supermarket, the girl was still holding up the orange. The store was still spinning. So too was the fruit, allegedly - albeit erratically.
Trevor tried to catch his breath as he responded. “D-did…you have the same nut job doctor or
something?”
“You recognize this then?”
“The…the planet, right?”
“Yeah. I didn’t have
a doctor tell me about it, but it was something I read online. I was having dizzy spells. Kinda like you, only not as bad.”
She laughed as she lowered the orange to her hip, casually running
her thumb across it. “I can’t tell you
how many diseases the self-diagnosing sites convinced me I had. And that
only made it worse!”
Her light-hearted manner helped to calm him down a little,
as well as the familiarity of her experience.
“Yeah…I um…kinda learned the hard way not to read too many
of those.”
“I know, right? At
the end of the day, you think you’re dying of prostate cancer or
something. Which is kinda hard to do if
you’re a girl.” She gasped but laughed
at her own joke. “I can’t believe I just
said that!”
For the first time in a very long time, Trevor let out a genuine chuckle. It felt good.
The damaged orange in her hand still made him nervous though.
“So…you…believe in that stuff? About the planet being like an orange and
whatnot?”
“Well sure. I mean…it
makes sense, right? I was getting scared
and everything like you were, and I had no idea why. But then I read that, and it all
clicked. I think…maybe deep down we all
know what’s happening. Like on a subconscious
level, you know? I think we try so hard
to ignore it that it keeps coming back to haunt us and make us crazy.”
Trevor blinked. “So
there really are other people out there who agree with this…this thing?”
“Oh yeah!” she exclaimed.
“Lots of people! It’s actually
pretty funny. The whole orange thing has
kinda become this big internet meme now.
There’s this entire community out there that shares pictures of carved
oranges. Some of them are incredibly
artistic! I saw one that this one girl made,
where she carved a picture of what looked like a bustling city into the
orange. I laughed out loud when I saw
it, but at the same time I was really moved by it. It’s almost like she was saying, ‘even though
the planet is dying, there’s still so much life here.’ Ever since I saw that one orange carving, I
haven’t really been scared anymore. It
was so beautiful, and it made me feel so much better.”
And then she added, “…or maybe it was another orange that
had a picture of a Satanic cat carved into it.
Either or. I know at least ONE of
them made me feel better!”
Both of them started laughing. Trevor had tears streaming down his face from
the sheer relief of it. Other people in
the store began looking at them funny, and for the first time in his life,
Trevor didn’t notice them looking.
Judging. Spinning.
He bought oranges instead of clay.
Copyright 2013
Michael F. Mercurio
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