[Alchemator]

Hi, I'll just drop this here.

I'm Jay Canuck - Prologue

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Looking around, it’s the kind of room that’s really poorly designed. Its target audience never pays attention to the décor, the reason that they’re there in the first place tends to pre-occupy them. Combine with that the patronising leer of various savannah animals somehow getting stuck into some terribly-painted grass, and you just disillusioned everyone in the range of three to fourteen years old.

Oh and don’t get me started on the staff. Well you just did I guess, and I started so I’ll finish. This guy-

“Hm, J. Canuck. What’s your first name Master Canuck?”

In case you’re wondering, that wasn’t him attempting to big me up and make me feel better, I could tell that it was just him being fusty from the way he twiddled his pen between two fingers. Anyway, this guy-

“Stop daydreaming Master Canuck, I have many other patients to which I must attend.”

Oh the impatience card eh? Nice public relations going on there. I guess I better oblige though, I don’t want to add this into Mum’s already-huge list of troubles.

“I’m Jay.”
“No, Master Canuck. What is your full first name?”
“Jay.”

The doctor looked up from his clipboard, and peered down through some distinctly seventies spectacles at me. I wonder why they employed this guy anyway, especially for this job. I guess he’s a believer in bluntness, though unfortunately I’m not.

“Master Canuck, this is not the time to be playing games. I will simply refer to you under that aforementioned title. Now…”

The old man gestured to two tiny chairs in the middle of the room. They were far too small for both of us anyway, so we had to squat awkwardly and give some kind of illusion of sitting. Thinking more about it, this room was exactly like those interrogation rooms on police shows – there was even a little yellow tape recorder, though I was undecided on whether it was a toy or not. The strategies of these places are so transparent, I wonder why they bother.

“Now, Master Canuck, mummy says you’ve been feeling really downhearted recently. Would you like to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Talking about one’s troubles really helps deal with things. For example, when my dog Abraham…”

Do I really need to elaborate on that?

“…died, it felt really good to just talk about it with my wife. It isn’t good to try to deal with these things on your own, and it’s my job to make you feel happy.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ve been in this job for many years now, and I’ve managed to coax a smile out of everyone sooner or later…”
“Probably the terrible choice of tie.”
“So just tell me what’s worrying you, and I’ll try to help.”
“You’re completely ignoring everything I say.”

He seemed quite taken aback by this, and slightly hurt. I felt a slight pang of pity for him, but that was quickly replaced. This emotion slid off his face as a skater slips on an ice-rink, however, and then returned the attempt at a comforting smile. In all honesty, it looked more like he had sat on a cactus. I wish he had.

“Now, now, Master Canuck. I know you’re very angry about this, but we have to work through this together.”
“We bloody well don’t.”
“Language like that isn’t accepted here in the Happy Room, please try to express yourself with less vulgar language please, Master Canuck!”

I stood up violently. It would have knocked over my chair had I been sitting on it in the first place.

“I’ll express myself however I like, old man. You can’t help me by shoving me in a room with giraffes on the wall and tooth-marked toys in a rainbow-coloured box. There’s only one thing that can help me, and it’s not going to happen. That’s an end to it. See ya!”
I stalked off to the door and tried to push my way out of it dramatically, but only succeeded after moving a strategically-placed, cuddly elephant. I quickened my pace to a run through the cold, white corridors. I hurtled around a corner, forcing a woman to jump out of my way.

The nurse sighed under her breath, and continued into the Happy Room. Dr. Roberts was still squatting there, but was now resting his chin on his hand, and slowly stroking his measly attempt at a beard. He continued to face the wall even as the nurse spoke to him.

“Dr. Roberts?”
“Don’t fret nurse, what I expect you just witnessed is always the result of a preliminary session. It’s always a challenge for them to deal with such events as these, but by becoming angry they can form their thoughts clearly and ultimately combat them. Are you taking this down?”

She blinked. You couldn’t get away with daydreaming around Dr. Roberts. She scribbled some unreadable squiggles down in her notebook so it would look like she had written something, before looking up at Dr. Roberts, who was now standing just in front of her.

“Oh, and I think we need to change the look of this room.”
“Yes?”
“Indeed, I don’t think it’s inviting enough.”

He paused momentarily, weighing up the options in a way that only a psychiatrist can.

“We probably need another lion over there. Good day.”

And with that insight, he ambled out of the room with a grave expression.

—-

However much it tried, the lobby wasn’t all that different to the rest of the hospital. It was still a headache-inducing white, but at least they had attempted to spice things up with a sprinkling of red cushions. Unfortunately they had long since faded to a pale pink. I guess it’s a pretty difficult place for a cushion to be. I slowed to a stroll, though a smashing of test tubes was enough to herald my entrance. Mum was sitting by the window, reading one of those trashy magazines that most men mistake for a comedy almanac. From an objective point of view, she was a pretty woman. Since it happened though, her eyes had been ringed with purple and her skin had grown whiter. Nevertheless, she was still my mother and attempted a motherly smile in true motherly fashion. Time for my amateur dramatics to come into play – I didn’t not take those lessons for nothing.

“How did it go?”
“I feel completely rejuvenated – the staff here are so understanding and helpful!”

She frowned. I guess my habitual sarcasm had slipped its way into the script.

“They’re only trying to help you, and I know it can be hard but you have to deal with it. Do it for him.”
“I’ll try.”

The attempted motherly smile returned, but with more vigour.

“Good. Now let’s go get some food shall we?”

I slipped my hand into hers, and we shook our way out of the hospital. On another note, you can always count on automatic doors to block angry managers wanting to know your insurance company.

A prologue which so far hasn't gone anywhere.