A Boy Is Watched
The room the boy is in is white. It is nearly pure but the floors have been walked on just enough to leave scuffs of colour and the light bulbs throw off enough yellow that it isn't a blinding white. Still it is white enough to feel sterile and strange around the boy who wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt. He stands out on the monitor, the camera trained right on him. His eyebrows knit together, mouth set in a firm line, concentration clear on his face.
The boy is watched.
The room that observes the boy is not white. It is a combination of greys and browns, the only white from the lab coats of those observing. They watch through monitors and glass, jotting down notes on clipboards, tapping out points of interest on noisy keyboards. The boy knows nothing of the room on the other side of the mirror. He only knows his white room and his feet tucked beneath him and the hard tile he sits on.
The boy is watched.
A mother's heart stumbles in its beats, hand placed upon her chest to ensure that it hasn't stopped altogether. She is sitting in a brown chair that looks a little dated, the padding long since worn down. The monitors are not visible from where she sits but she can see through the two-way glass. Her little boy is sitting there, out of arms reach, looking exhausted. She is nervous for him, so anxious that she skipped her breakfast while making sure he ate his. Now her stomach twists in painful knots from the stress of the day. She fidgets.
The boy is watched.
A father paces, back and forth, back and forth, as if trying to create a new pathway in white tile. It's the same white tile his son sits upon only separated by wall and glass. He glances at his wife, notices her hand upon her chest. His nerves are also shot but his fear isn't just for the boy, it is of the boy. He loves his son but something has changed and now he cannot see him in the same light. Except for now, when he looks so small in the white room with its harsh lights.
“I can't do it.” He says, voice crackling through the speakers. He is alone in the room but he knows they can hear him. “It's a sleeping thing. I'm awake. I can't do it.”
The boy is watched.
A scientist, one with a crooked name badge and bags beneath his eyes turns to speak to the parents. The mother trembles a little, enough that her husband notices. Enough to make his pacing stop, feet next to her chair. He rests a hand upon her shoulder and asks a question. It is answered and he nods his head. With the hand that dangles by his side he takes the clipboard handed to him and signs the paper upon it. His wife does the same, her signature shakier than the one produced earlier that morning. They are waved forward and directed to hit a small button, on the far end of the console.
“Hey honey, what about a sleepover?”
A mother does her best to make her voice steadier than her hand had been, forced smile on her lips. The boy cannot see her.
“Here? Is Aleck gonna sleep over too?”
A mother takes a deep breath and holds back a strangled sob. She is guided back to her chair by her husband who takes up her place at the microphone.
“Sorry kiddo, just a sleepover for you. Doesn't that sound cool? They got some neat science stuff they want to show you.”
“No. I don't wanna.”
The boy pouts at the glass though his eyes wander from corner to corner until they rest upon the speaker mounted just below it. It has been painted white, just like the rest of the room. Clean. Sterile. Cold. He does not want to stay here overnight. This place is too uncomfortable for sleep.
“I'm sorry Valeri but the scientists say it's all a part of the test. Tell you what, tomorrow I'll call the school again. You don't have to go, we can spend it watching movies and I'll buy you ice cream.”
A father thinks his promise is a good one. He knows his son likes ice cream and movies and maybe that is enough to keep him from complaining too much. His son had been excited to come here in the first place, no bribery needed but that was hours ago and now he was getting restless. A father is restless too, just as his wife is nervous.
“Only if it's mint chocolate.”
The boy gives what he thinks is a good ultimatum. Ice cream and movies would make up for the boring day full of tests he didn't understand. That he was failing.
“You got it.”
“Okay.”
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