Practical Health
A Scrubbed Mind is a Happy Mind
Marcus Alton III stepped off the bus and walked the remaining to blocks to the Sanctuary Convalescent Home, thankful for finally a day when the air quality didn’t require a mask since his was past due to be recharged. What had started as a monthly requirement to keep his dad off his back had become a much anticipated weekly trip to see Pappy, his grandfather from whom he’d received his name.
As he walked along the trash cluttered sidewalk, he thought about the octogenarian he was about to see. He’d grown up hearing tales from his father about the old man — the good, the bad, and occasionally the ugly. In those early days, he rarely saw his grandfather who was far too busy “making a difference” in the world to make time for his family.
All that had changed about two years ago when Marcus Alton Sr. had been forced into retirement after a series of strokes left him partially paralyzed and unable to continue his duties in the Senate. Then his kidneys had started to fail and he’d been placed on dialysis. Shortly after, young Marcus had received a call from his father insisting he start visiting his grandfather at least once a month. His father’s threat to defund his college education was sufficient persuasion for Marcus to honor the request.
As he neared the entrance to the Sanctuary, he noticed a young woman standing across the street. There she is again, Marcus thought. This was the third time he had seen her in as many visits. Today, she looked in his direction and smiled. Marcus glanced behind him to see who she was smiling at, figuring such a beauty wouldn’t pay him such attention, but there was no one else on the street. He looked back and returned the smile.
I should just walk over there and introduce myself, he thought. Who are you kidding? She’s completely out of your league, the inner voice that often chided him for a countless number of shortcomings countered. Marcus scored the woman at least a 9.5, maybe even a 10, with long, black hair cascading down to her shoulders and high cheekbones that accentuated her almond-shaped eyes. She wore faded, skintight jeans, and a white peasant blouse that seductively showed off her shoulders. If she’s there when I get ready to leave, I’ll definitely go talk to her, he promised himself. After all, what do I have to lose? He knew it was a lie but even so it made him feel better. Why do something now when you can put it off for later? He entered the Sanctuary, the smile still on his face.
As he entered the Sanctuary waiting room, he recognized the same two attendants he’d seen on his last two visits on the other side of the glass wall. Strange, Marcus thought. Wonder what happened to all the other employees I used to see when I first started visiting Pappy? With one of the glass panels open, Marcus could hear what appeared to be a heated argument between the two men.
“I don’t care what great things he supposedly did in years past,” the paunchy guy with wrinkled orderly attire said. He reached into a bag of popcorn and stuffed a handful in his mouth. He munched on it for a moment before continuing, “I say he’s getting what he deserves.”
“Keep your voice down,” the co-worker leaning back in the receptionist’s chair with his feet on the desk replied, nervously nodding over at Marcus. “Someone is here.”
“Well, I’m just saying,” the orderly replied sullenly before stuffing his mouth again with popcorn.
“What can I do for you?” The stand-in receptionist asked.
“I’m here to see my grandfather, Marcus Alton,” Marcus replied.
The man jerked his feet off the desk and leaned over the desk to buzz Marcus through the security door. “Down the hall, then take a right. Third door to…”
“Yeah, I know,” Marcus interrupted him. “I’ve been coming to see him for the last two years.” You’d think they’d remember me by now,” he thought as he started down the hall.
“Well, good for you,” the orderly muttered picking a kernel of corn out of his teeth. “You expecting an attendance award or something?”
Marcus stared at the man for a moment before deciding to ignore the comment. Just a jerk being a jerk, he thought. He couldn’t remember where he’d heard that phrase before, but it sounded like something ol’ Pappy would say. As he strolled down the hall, he counted the number of empty rooms, reaching eleven before the end of the hall. The place had been full when he’d first started visiting, but over the years the occupancy had steadily declined. He wondered if his grandfather might be the last resident, or as Pappy described himself, inmate. He paused outside his grandfather’s room to take a deep breath and run his fingers through the straw-colored hair that kept trying to fall in his hazel-colored eyes, then tapped lightly on the door.
“Come in, come in,” he heard his Pappy’s voice through the door. “Don’t be shy. Come in.”
Marcus smiled. They had a routine they’d developed over so many visits. He knew what was coming next.
“Good to see you my boy,” Marcus Alton Sr. said as he extended his hand without bothering to rise from the only chair in the room, a cross between a recliner and a tank, obviously built to last for years and to hell with comfort. Marcus walked across the room to shake his grandfather’s hand. He still has a firm grip, Marcus thought, though he knew the old man’s strength had slowly waned over the last few months. “How have you been? Get any lately?” When Marcus didn’t reply, Pappy chuckled. “No? Still a virgin? Ahh, that’s okay. You still got plenty of time for those shenanigans.” He waved Marcus to the corner of the unmade bed. “Sit, sit. Stay awhile.”
Marcus thought about telling his grandfather about the strange girl outside the Sanctuary but then changed his mind. Hell, he hadn’t even talked to her yet. How lam a story would that be. Instead, he just shrugged and smiled sheepishly at the old man. If he looked close enough, he thought he could just make out the ghost of the man who once stood over six feet tall and had the stamina to compete and win in almost any sport he chose. A man who his Senate colleagues had often described as charismatic and unstoppable when talking to the press, and underhanded and cutthroat behind his back. But now all that remained was the shriveled up husk of a man nearing the end of his life, marching in place, waiting for the final curtain call.
“What shall we talk about today, my boy?”
Marcus felt a strange feeling come over him at the question. A flash of Deja vu. He shrugged again. “I don’t know, Pappy. It’s just good to see you. What do you want to talk about?”
“Why don’t we pick up where we left off last time,” Pappy replied so quickly it felt like he’d been waiting for the invitation.
“What was that?” Marcus asked. He remembered coming the previous week but couldn’t remember talking about anything special.
“Let me tell you about the good ol’ days.”
Marcus sat on the corner of the bed with a shocked look growing on his face. Surely they hadn’t talked about that last week or any other time. Talking about the past was expressing prohibited. You could be sent to prison or worse. He voiced his concern to his grandfather.
“Oh, I know that,” Pappy replied, waving off the warning with one hand. “Hellfire, I’m an old man at the end of my life. What do I care about such a stupid law? Besides, who’s going to find out? The only bug you’ll find in this place are the cockroaches that come out at night when I turn the lights off. Let me have my memories and let me share them with you.” He stared hard at Marcus before continuing. “You know we have this discussion every time you come, don’t you?”
“We do?” Marcus looked changed from shock to confused. “Tell you the truth, I don’t remember much of anything about my previous visits. Just that they were pleasant and something to look forward to in the future.”
“They’re doing it to you, aren’t they, boy?”
“Doing what?”
“Oh, never mind. Why don’t I tell you about…” Pappy paused and looked up towards the ceiling as though looking for the answer. “How about I tell you about when I was your age. How old are you anyway?”
“Nineteen,” Marcus replied.
“Nineteen,” Pappy repeated. “God, I don’t know if I can remember back that far. Let me see. That would have been about 1967, no 1968. Yeah, that’s right. Boy, that was quite a year. We were about to elect our next President of the United States.”
“You what?”
“Yeah. Believe it or not, we did that back in those days…before such elections were ruled unconstitutional by the, let’s see, I believe it was the 35th Amendment to the Constitution that ended them.” He paused for a moment as though lost in thought. “Yep, back in those days most all the food was grown on farms, many that were owned by individuals citizens, and the plants were naturally pollinated by insects called bees.”
Marcus smiled. Now he remembered why he enjoyed coming to see Pappy. The old man had such an amazing imagination and the ability to tell stories as though they had actually happened. Everyone knew miniaturized drones had been used for plant pollination for as long as anyone could remember. It was often touted as one of the major first accomplishments of the nanotechnology industry.
“Back then, there was an ongoing debate about whether naturally grown food was better for you than the food grown by the emerging agribusiness conglomerates that were starting to devour the small farms. Yep, those were the good ol’ days.”
Pappy went on for over an hour as Marcus sat enthralled by his imaginative flights of fancy. Finally, a stern voice from the intercom interrupted him. “Visiting hours are now over. Please return to the main entrance in preparation for checking out.”
“I guess I better be going,” Marcus said when the announcement ended, “but I’ll be back next week.”
“And, God willing, I’ll be right here,” Pappy replied, then signaled for Marcus to come over to him. He pulled his grandson closer to him and whispered in his ear. “Remember, you have a book at home.”
Marcus stared back at him. “Yeah, Pappy, I have several. Remember, I’m in college.”
“No, no, not those kinds of books,” Pappy snapped. “This one is a journal. When you get home, remember to take a few minutes and write in it about today’s visit.”
Marcus nodded, unsure what to say. “Okay, whatever.”
Pappy finally let him go and said in his normal voice. “You’re a good lad visiting your old Pappy like this. You take care of yourself and see if you can’t get lucky with one of those coeds this week. Then, we’ll really have something special to talk about.”
Marcus returned to the waiting area where he found the same two attendants now playing a game of cards on the desk. The former receptionist placed his hand facedown and glared at the other man. “Touch my cards and you die.”
“Who me? I’d never think of such a thing. I’m wounded that you’d think of me in that way, Barney. Besides, I don’t need to cheat to beat you. Go ahead, scrub the kid and be quick about it. I have a winning hand just waiting for you.”
“Step this way,” Barney said to Marcus as he pointed to a nearby door with a sign on it that read:
A Scrubbed Mind is a Happy Mind
“Please have a seat.” He pointed to an ergonomically designed chair next to a large console. “Government regulation, 115–26 states that all visitors of this facility are required to undergo a simple mind-clearing process after each visit,” Barney read from a set of directions on the desk in front of him. He glanced over to Marcus. “There’s a whole bunch more I’m supposed to read to you but, I don’t trust that idiot in the next room not to sneak a peek at my cards, and well, you’re an expert at being scrubbed, now aren’t you?”
Marcus nodded, though he only vaguely remembered what the procedure was like from previous visits.
The attendant proceeded to place a circular apparatus around Marcus’ head and inserted two electrodes attached to it, one in each ear. A line of wires ran back to the console. “This will only take a few minutes, during which you should feel little or no pain. I’ll be right in the next room collecting my winnings. Okay?”
Marcus nodded again and closed his eyes as Barney flipped a switch on the console, and Marcus heard a low humming in both ears, though the right side sounded louder than the left. Over the next few minutes, the humming slowly built-in volume and pitch. He remembered one of his roommates claimed that the humming sound was really just a cover and had nothing to do with the mind scrubbing process. He didn’t know whether he believed his roommate or not, and it really didn’t matter. Like Barney had said, the process was required by law so it was best to just grin and bear it.
When the humming finally stopped and he heard the console cut off, Marcus’ head felt like it had been stuff with wool, not unlike how he’d felt last winter when he’d come down with a nasty head cold. He sat there for a minute wondering if he should get up to leave or not. He started to reach up to remove the headgear when the door open, and the other attendant that Barney had accused of cheating entered.
“Uh Uh, mustn’t touch,” he scolded Marcus, then walked over to remove it himself. So, what do I remember and what do I not? Marcus wondered. He remembered entering the building a few hours ago. That part was clear. He also remembered the foxy lady outside and the promise he’d made to himself to talk to her if she was still there. He also remembered the heated conversation he’d heard as he’d entered the waiting room.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Marcus blurted out before he realized what he was doing.
“Sure, I guess,” the attendant answered, “but if it’s about how the scrubber works, I haven’t a clue, and if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”
“No, it’s not about that at all. When I came in earlier today I overhead part of a conversation you and your buddy were having.”
“Yeah, what about it?” the man asked, suddenly on guard.
“You said something about somebody getting what he deserved. I’m just curious. By chance, were you talking about my grandfather?” Marcus tried to make the question sound as innocent as possible.
“Maybe. What about it?”
“Well, I was just wondering what you meant by it.”
The attendant stared at him, uncertain whether to answer or not, then apparently decided the kid in front of him offered no real threat. “Well, you know what he did. It was online on all the news services several years ago. Back before the government regulations restricted such reporting. It just seems like what comes around goes around. Kind of like karma.”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“You really don’t know?”
Marcus nodded. “Know what?”
“Your grandpa, the old man in room 425, Senator Marcus Alton was the senator who sponsored the bill that eventually became known as the Practical Health Act. You’ve heard of that, right?”
“Well, sure, who hasn’t?” Marcus replied though in truth he knew very little about it. He’d just as soon this jerk didn’t know that.
“That’s the bill that established the Practical Health Council, also known by some as the ‘Death Panel.’ They decide who qualifies for health care and who doesn’t. It’s that damn council that has just about driven this home and hundreds of others across the nation out of business by deciding that it’s simply not practical to provide health care for the elderly…the elderly like your grandfather.” When Marcus still didn’t respond, he continued. “They canceled your grandfather’s policy at the end of last month. We’re just waiting for the paperwork to make its way down to us.”
“And then?” It was the only question Marcus could manage to crock out.
“Well, it’ll be the Sacro for him, of course, just like it was for most of the other residents who used to live here and who knows how many others since the enactment of the Practical Health Bill.”
The words slowly made it through Marcus’ muddled mind. He’d heard about Sacros in one of his classes. The first ones had been built over two decades ago as a way for people to “die with dignity” by taking their own lives. At least that was the original P.R. about them. Then the government realized the “suicide machine” could be the answer to skyrocketing health costs. All because of the Practical Health Bill that his grandfather had sponsored.
“You really didn’t know, did you kid?”
Marcus shook his head. He could feel a migraine coming on. “No, somehow dear ol’ dad never got around to telling me.”
“Look, it not all bad. Your grandpa still has some funds left over. I hear he purchased one of the Deluxe Sacro Packages that includes memories of him completing all the items on his bucket list. They’ll flash before him in 3-D technicolor as the nitrogen is pumped into the chamber. You can’t ask for a better way to die. It’s probably more than he deserves, considering.”
As Marcus walked the few blocks to the bus station, his migraine grew worse as he continued to mull over what he’d just learned about his grandfather. Was it true or was the attendant just blowing smoke. After all, the amount of fake news these days was legendary. Maybe Pappy wasn’t the only one with a vivid imagination. He was stilling trying to piece it all together when he looked up to find the foxy lady from earlier in the day sitting coyly under the bus stop shelter.
His mind quickly changed gears. This is my chance. He felt his heart flutter at the thought but couldn’t quite tell if it was from excitement or fear, then decided it was no doubt a mixture of the two. Before he could muster up the courage to say anything to her, she stood up and held out her hand. “Hello, Marcus. My name is Alisha. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My colleagues would very much like to meet you as well.” She continued to hold her hand out to him until he finally shook it. Oh, God, her hand feels incredibly soft and warm while mine feels cold and clammy. What had she just said? Something about her colleagues wanting to meet me. Come on. Catch up.
“Good to meet you too,” he finally managed to stammer out. He looked down and realized he was still holding her hand, pumping it like he was trying to draw water from a well. He let go of her hand, then continued. “What do they want to meet me about?”
“The journal you’ve been writing for the past two years,” she answered. He noticed two cute dimples appeared on her cheeks when she smiled which she was doing now.
“How do they know about that?” He asked, suddenly suspicious despite the fact that he knew he was quickly falling in love.
“Let’s just say a little birdie told us.”
“I remember those,” Marcus quipped. “Don’t see many of them around these parts anymore.”
She smiled again but didn’t say anything.
Marcus paused, his head still muddled and aching. “But my mind has been scrubbed after every visit. I doubt you’ll find anything useful in my post-visit meanderings.”
“Well, take a moment. What do you remember about today’s visit?”
Nothing, he started to say, but then realized it wasn’t true. He did remember somethings. In fact, he probably remembered enough of the stories his grandfather had told him to fill several pages. “But how’s that possible?” he asked after he shared a few choice details with Alisha.
“According to our research on you…” They have research on me? …You were sick at the age of seven with a serious viral infection that left you partially deaf in your right ear. Correct?”
Marcus nodded.
“Our theory is that this condition may partially block the effects of the scrubbing process so not all the ‘illegal’ memories of the past are erased.”
“Our theory,” Marcus repeated. “Who are you talking about?”
“All in good time.” Alisha smiled and Marcus’ heart melted a little more. “It’s not wise for a woman to reveal all her secrets at once. Let’s just say, your grandfather’s legacy is far from over. He realizes the tragic mistake he made with the Practical Health Bill and has set things in motion to correct, not only that mistake but several others.” Alisha stood up and took his hand again. “But first, would you be so kind as to let me see your journal. Pretty please.”
Marcus nodded. Suddenly, he was looking forward to seeing what he’d written over the past two years himself.
