That Smell

It was familiar and foreign and overwhelming. I had to force my eyeballs to function properly, despite the odor that I both knew and didn’t know. Please, please, please… I begged my brain to unload. The information I sought was deeply embedded in a shadowy sulcus, hiding there; afraid of the beast who had scarred this cerebellum by daring to age. Can’t say I blamed the hiding information, who I pictured as a tiny monster created by Pixar: complete with adorable, if slightly cloying, eyes and cuddly fur. A little purple quokka.

Approaching the front desk, my heart thudded as I waited for the receptionist to feel my presence, but I wouldn’t have been opposed to never being acknowledged and simply vanishing into a brain crevice next to my violet friend. Her words said, “Can I help you?” but her eyes said What do you want, you insufferable-

“I’m, uh, here…” Come on, you can do this… “for my, umm, appointment(?)” She asked for my details, but I knew she was internally rolling her eyes, and all I could think about was that smell.

“You can sit over there and wait to be called in.” She was pointing to the uncomfortable-looking line of chairs that constituted the office’s waiting area.

I turned and did as I was told, attempting to smoothly pivot and sit silently, but it was more of a bungling twist-move and plop-down. I pulled out my phone, trying to pass judgement on the AITA? thread on my screen, but failing to concentrate on anything but the smell that seemed to have gotten more pungent. The knowledge monster was just out of reach. He would tease me by popping up from his covert hiding place, but vanish the moment I got close. Please, please, please…

The therapist came out from behind the door. “Iris! IRIS!” she called into the tiny waiting area, scanning all the chairs as though there was anyone else but me in the room.

“I- I’m here,” I said, slowly getting up from my seat.

“IRIS!” she yelled again, louder this time. I looked around. Still no one.

“Yup. That’s me.” I followed her through the door that she opened with a badge that hung from the bright yellow lanyard around her neck. What clandestine thrills await through this magical passageway? Turns out, more industrial greigey-bluish carpeting, a tight hallway, several more locked doors, and traces of that unrecognizable yet recognizable aroma.

“Just in here.” She waved her magical medallion once again and turned the knob to grant us access to her office.

I took a seat on the chair nearest the door (for an easier escape if necessary). “Umm, is this okay?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, yes, that’s fine.”

She sat across from me, behind her desk. “You look nervous. Are you?” she asked.

“No- uh- I always look like this. Perma-awkward.” She chuckled graciously, if slightly phony, in an attempt to soften the hard edges of the uncomfortable stillness in the office. She introduced herself and asked me the standard getting-to-know-you questions that I could answer without thought. The smell that had been permeating my every thought was now replaced by a too-sweet fake floral scent that misted out of the air freshener plugged in across the room. Focus, Iris. Focus!

She stared at me, anticipating my answer. I stared back, having no idea what she had asked. She repeated, “I see that you have quite a bit to unload. Is there anything specific that’s been on your mind?” I thought of the smell, but didn’t know what to say to Kara. Well, there’s this feeling I get when I’m in your waiting room, but I don’t know what it is or why it’s so familiar or why it’s consuming my every thought…

“No- nothing in particular,” I lied.

Forty-five minutes of me trying to convince Kara that I was sane enough to interact with the public later, I exited her office only to be greeted by Eau de Bizarre wafting in the air, guiding me to the front desk. As though they were the only words she knew, the receptionist said, “Can I help you?” She didn’t look up, making me feel even more insignificant than usual.

“Uh… yeah. I need to make another appointment. With Kara.”

The receptionist stared at her computer as though it was divulging the answers to life’s biggest questions, or it was Tayler Swift’s private instagram page. I used the quick lull to inhale deeply; an attempt to draw that adorable monster to the surface. Al…mo…st there… “Name?” She interrupted, quashing my pursuit.

“It’s Iris. Iris DeMiccio.”

“Okay. Let’s see. Iris. Kara. Appointment.” Was I supposed to say anything? I nodded, although she was still engrossed by the content on her screen. “When?”

“Next week, I guess.”

We briefly played the negotiation game, trying to decide on a date and time that worked for our schedules. “Thanks,” I said quietly, too softly for her to have heard. I took another breath.

On the edges of my vision, a picture began to develop. It was fuzzy, but I saw a sterile hall, similar to where I was now. Each draw of air made the photograph more clear until it became a movie in my mind. I could hear the announcements over the speaker system calling for Dr. Tan to report to room 219. I could feel the air, chilly and crisp on my skin, causing the little hairs on arms to stick up. “Iris? Iris! Come on, it’s time for lunch!” I looked over at the girl that was talking to me and realized that I had become part of the show. Finally, I understood the smell. Hospital food mixed with stale air and just a dash of sadness. The children’s psych ward where I had called home for two months had a very rigid schedule and strict rules about standing around. “Let’s get in there,” Rachel said, already walking toward the common room where the patients ate their meals together.

The aroma brought with it a sense of dread, but also of safety.

I entered back into the present, happy that I had finally discovered the origin of that smell, and making a mental note to send Rachel a text, to catch up and make sure that she was fairing well on the “outside.”

I turned around and walked back up to the front desk, more confidently this time. “Hi, yes. Iris. I think I should make another appointment with Kara a little earlier than next week. How’s tomorrow?”