Eloise's Garden

It was too bright. It shouldn't be that bright, Alfred was sure of it. Hadn't he read somewhere that bright colors disturbed people? It made them uneasy, or something. Especially when it was white – plain, unyielding white that made you squint when you looked at it. And it wasn't only the walls – it was the tables, the chairs, the floors, the coats on the doctors and the coat racks...

"Wait here, sir,"

Alfred stopped abruptly, and his black shoes squeaked in protest. People were walking past, but somehow they didn't seem to have any faces. Maybe if he had sunglasses, he could see better...

"The name, sir?"

"Mary." He answered instinctively. "Mary Dobbs."

A few papers were shuffled through. The man at the files had a face, but it didn't say much. It might as well have been a mask, for Alfred couldn't see anything past the first layer of skin. Of course, that was usual. Wasn't it?

A file was pulled out. "Of course. Mary." The man looked up at Alfred, and a white light reflected off of his glasses. "She's been improving very much." It was his job to say that, of course.

"Good. May I see her?"

"Visiting hours are almost over. But I'll go see if I can fetch her for you."

Alfred took a step after the man, but the glasses reflected once more and the mechanic voice said, "Wait here." So Alfred waited.

The hall by the reception desk was far too quiet. The only sound audible was the clicking of white shoes as they met with the tiled white floor. If one wasn't insane when they entered this tomb, Alfred reckoned, they would be when they left it.

He turned a circle, searching for something different to look at. There. Across the room was a pair of glass doors, leading out to something he couldn't see. Curiosity led Alfred to cross the tile, and instinct told him to open the doors. He obeyed.

There was a different smell about this place. Less of the dull scent of clean metal objects and moist wipes, and something new. Something that smelled fresh. In fact, it smelled more than fresh. It smelled like good, damp dirt.

Alfred looked around. He was standing in an enclosed patio. The ground beneath his feet was cement, but that was the only thing. Climbing up the invisible walls were hundreds of ivy leaves, and at the base of each was a potted plant of some sort. Colors seemed to jump out at him from everywhere. It was fresh and green. And it was perfect.

"Oh. Hello."

Alfred looked down, startled. On the wall nearest the doors, there was a small bench, and sitting on this small bench was a small girl with large brown eyes. Her skin was pale, like porcelain. Long black curls hung down over her shoulders, and as they met with her neckline, they suddenly were transformed into a red dress. The red was so deep and flawless that it nearly took Alfred's breath away. He had never seen so much color in one place. Yet it all fit together so beautifully, so serenely, and the girl was part of the garden.

"Are you new here?" She was asking. Her lips looked less like lips and more like a kind of flower, sitting gracefully above her chin.

"Erm." Said Alfred.

"Who are you looking for?"

"Oh. I came here to visit my wife. They're... fetching her."

"What's her name?"

"Mary."

The girl considered this. "I haven't met her."

"What about you? Who are you here for?"

She tilted her head. "That's an odd sort of question. Would you like a candy? I always keep some with me." She held up a piece of caramel in a shiny green wrapper.

Alfred shook his head. "No, thank you,"

"That's a pity," she popped the candy into her mouth. "I suppose it makes sense, though. You're not all that old."

"What?"

"Old people. They always seem to like hard candy more than anyone else." She peered up into the sky for a moment. "Can you guess why?"

Alfred glanced up to see if she saw anything noteworthy. Just blue. Then he shrugged. "No, I can't."

"Well, I've thought about it. And I think they like hard candy because it lasts longer. Don't you think so?"

"I suppose." He looked at her sideways. "What's your excuse, then? You're not old."

She smiled. "No, I suppose not. I like things to last longer, though. You don't know which candy might be your last one."

Alfred looked at her in wonder. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"You're too young to be in a place like this all alone. Where are your parents?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"But surely –"

"Oh, I won't come to any harm here. They always keep people safe. Your wife can tell you that."

"I think they make people crazy here." He muttered.

The girls' eyes widened. "Oh, they don't say crazy here. They call it mentally unstable."

"They?"

"The doctors. I called somebody crazy when I first got here, and I got in trouble. Not real trouble, I mean, but they told me not to do it again. It upsets people, I think."

"What do you mean, when you first got here? How long have you been here?"

"Two years."

Alfred frowned. "Surely you're joking. You're not any more... mentally unstable, than I!"

"No, well, they don't think so... not yet. But they say it's only a matter of time." She let her feet sway back and forth under the bench, and Alfred noticed that she was barefoot. She saw the look. "They gave me shoes, but I don't like them. They were too white."

"What did you mean, 'not yet'?"

"It runs in my family. My mother died when they couldn't control her fits. And my father didn't want it to happen again, so they decided to stop it before it started. But between you and me, I think I'm already slightly mad."

"You don't look mad to me."

"Not up here," she tapped the top of her head, and then placed her finger over her heart. "In here, I think. I always knew I was different, but it's nothing medical – not yet, anyway. But they keep me here, just for safety."

"That's silly. You couldn't harm anybody."

She smiled. "Not for other peoples' safety, for mine. I guess I should thank them. You never can tell if you're crazy or not, left to your own opinions."

Alfred could think of nothing to respond with.

"Anyway. It's not all bad here. It's quiet and I've got time to think."

"Do you have friends here?"

She thought this over. "I've got the cousins,"

"The cousins? Who are they?"

"Oh, we're all a big family here. The doctors say we are. When somebody new comes in, they introduce us all as family. There's cousins, and grandparents, and even uncles and aunts... they don't call anyone parents, because that would just get confusing to some of them. We get family portraits, and name badges, and everything."

Alfred wondered vaguely whose cousin or aunt Mary was.

The girl peered up at him. "What do you do?"

"What?"

"You have a job, don't you?"

"Oh. Yes, I'm a writer."

"What do you write about?"

"Oh... things." Alfred looked down at her. Why did he get the feeling that he was speaking to someone his own age? Someone even older, perhaps. Every time she looked into his eyes, he felt as though he were the child. "What do you do?"

She laughed. "They don't give us jobs here. We're their jobs!"

"Surely you must have some hobby,"

The girl considered this, a serene smile playing about her eyes. "Well, we're standing in one of them," she took a sweeping glance around the patio.

Alfred looked around as well. The beauty suddenly increased by half. "You did all of this?"

She nodded. "It's my sanctuary. They say we all need one. Most of the family's sanctuaries are in their rooms. But I hate my room. It's too bright and too empty. I feel love here. It's almost as if you're not at the sanitarium anymore, isn't it?"

Alfred nodded. "Indeed it is." Then he looked down at her again. "How long do you... do they say you'll be here?"

"I don't know, they haven't said. I think once I start showing the signs, then they'll give me medication... and if they let me go they'll keep an eye on me. Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"When I grow up, I don't want to feel like an experiment anymore. I can take it, of course... and if they think it's best, that's what has to be done. But sometimes I get tired of doing everything I'm told to do. It makes me feel like a robot. That's how they treat us, anyhow."

Alfred sat down on the bench next to her. "I don't think you're a robot."

"You don't?"

"No. I know people who are. They say and do everything like everyone else does. But you know what? None of them made their own sanctuary. They just borrow from everyone else's."

She looked at him for a long time before she smiled. "What's your name?"

"Alfred."

"I like you very much, Mr. Alfred."

"What's your name?"

"Eloise."

"Eloise." He repeated, looking around the colored haven. Then he looked into her big brown eyes, so lustrous and large that he could nearly see his reflection in them. "I like you, too."

Suddenly the doors were opened and a presence stood in the doorway.

"Mr. Dobbs? Your wife is in the waiting room. You have ten minutes."

Alfred stood up and looked back at Eloise. "Do you have any more of those candies?"

Eloise smiled. "Yes." She took one out of the small bag next to her and pressed the small square wrapper into his hand. "Put it on your tongue and don't chew it. It lasts longer that way."

Alfred unwrapped the caramel and put it in his mouth. "Thank you." He didn't know exactly what he was thanking her for. But he knew that he should for something, and she seemed to understand.

And with that, Alfred left the sanctuary. He stepped through the glass doors into the colorless world once again, the green wrapper glittering in the light.