Spoiler
My theme was a house cleaner (cleaning lady) in a mental institution playing video games.
The mop slid across the tiles, back and forth, back and forth. I paused to flex my wrists, which were beginning to ache from the hours of constant labor. How I hated that stupid job! While all my friends were at the beach, I, Amy Green, was hanging out in a mental institution.
I was the freakin’ cleaning lady.
You see, once sophomore year ended, my mom insisted that I get a summer job. Understandably, I thought I’d working at the movie theater or some fast food joint. But no. My mom personally got me a late shift dusting and dithering for the mentally unstable.
Sighing, I wrung out the mop in the plastic bucket. I didn’t mean to be cranky, but I’d been working for three straight hours. I needed a break, and since it was nighttime no one was around to stop me.
I slowly sat down on the floor and glanced at my watch. 9:00 PM. Still an hour to go.
It was then that my eyes landed on the door of the free-rec center. I knew for a fact that in that room was a TV and several therapeutic games and activities. I wanted to go, but who knew what would happen if I was seen fooling around in there. So I stayed where I was, on the cold, hard, tile floor.
Suddenly, I remembered that there were also bean bags in there. Oh man.
I was gone before you could say spineless.
Cautiously, I slipped inside and eased the door shut. I was too afraid to turn on the lights, so I stumbled around in the dark until I finally found my bean bag. It took all my willpower not to whimper like a little kid when I sat down. It was so, so, comfortable.
But even though it was so, so, comfortable, it didn’t satisfy my short attention span for long. Without thinking, I grabbed the TV remote and pressed the power button.
Doo-do-do-di-dum-di! Doo-do-do-di—
Thank god for the mute button.
I froze where I was, praying that I had silenced the stupid television in time. No footsteps were heard, and eventually I relaxed again.
The video game on the television screen was familiar to me. It was one of those Pokémon games that all the third graders went bananas for. My little brother Dylan had the exact same one.
Using my controllers, I moved my Pokémon battle trainer guy through the forest. I’m sad to admit this, but it was actually sort of fun. And that’s coming from a sixteen year old girl.
Skillfully, I weaved through the virtual woods, avoiding the obstacles and picking up bonus points. Not to brag or anything, but I was doing pretty well until I almost had a heart attack/seizure combo.
Someone opened the door.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
My first instinct was to go hide somewhere, but it was obvious that the shadowed figure in the doorway had already seen me. My second instinct was to tackle the offender. Not so smart either. So let’s just say my third instinct won out, and I sat there like a bump on a log as the figure drew closer.
Who the heck was it? My boss? A co-worker? I seized some hope at the last thought. If it was a co-worker, they would understand. I could explain myself and maybe—
But then I remembered where I was. I was in a mental institution. What if the shadowy figure was…a patient?
My heart hammered frantically in my chest and I struggled to see the figure in the darkness. I managed to make out a foot, then an arm, and soon the entire person was visible in the limelight of the television.
It was a patient, and I recognized him. As he flopped down into the bean bag next to mine, his name pulsated through my befuddled brain. Adrian, Adrian, Adrian. I had heard about him somewhere, in the halls maybe? He looked around sixteen or seventeen, with four piercings and long dyed black hair. The typical rebellious teenager.
Oh yeah, and he’d tried to commit suicide about a month before.
I opened my mouth to yell, but Adrian’s hand flashed out and covered it. Urgently, he whispered, “I’m not supposed to be here and neither are you, so don’t scream or anything alright?”
I nodded my head vigorously. Alright.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand and diverted his gaze to the video game. He raised an eyebrow. “Pokémon?”
I just nodded again.
He picked up the other controller—I hadn’t realized it was a two person game—and started moving around his own battle trainer. After staring at him for awhile, I tentatively picked up my own controller and reassumed the game. His eyes flickered towards me, but he didn’t say anything.
After playing for awhile, I almost felt at home. Even though Adrian was in a mental institution, he didn’t seem…well, mental. He was a lot quieter than the other guys I knew, but that didn’t stop him from swearing a blue streak when I beat him Pikachu style.
Adrian dropped his controller and leaned back in his bean bag. “Man, thrashed by a girl…thank god my brother’s not here to see this.”
“You have a brother?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s in third grade. Seriously obsessed with Pokémon.”
I thought about my own third grade brother and grinned. “Aren’t they all?”
He laughed quietly, and an awkward silence filled the room. According to all the cliché movies, that would’ve been the time for Adrian to break down crying and tell me why he’d tried to commit suicide, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. But life isn’t a cliché movie, thank god, because believe me; I have no idea what I would have done in that situation.
So instead, I beat Adrian three more times at Pokémon. And it was nice.
