The TV Room

tw: brief depictions of abuse & death

My room is filled with TVs.

I focus on the screen in front of me. New York City, 9:00 AM, reads a little line of text in the top right corner. I tap the screen with my fingers, and it zooms in, clearly showing crowds of people clogging the streets.

There. I hone in on a group of friends my age. They are laughing together and occasionally shoving each other.

Curious, I lean forward. They’re making hard physical contact, but they’re still laughing. It must be some type of play.

I listen closer. They’re talking about shows and college, among other things. One of them says something that seems funny, and the others start laughing and shoving him.

So people value human connection here, too.

Suddenly frustrated, I switch to another TV, not caring enough to read the text in the corner. It is closer to evening there, and people are walking to their small suburban homes.

I zoom in. Two older individuals, a man and a woman, are speaking softly to one another. Their fingers are intertwined.

The very idea of physical touch makes me recoil, but these two seem to enjoy it. They are smiling at each other.

They are married. I can tell from the rings on their fingers. They mention taxes, and they both laugh.

What’s so funny about taxes? Is it some kind of inside joke?

It took me a while to learn about inside jokes. When two or more people have close enough rapport with each other, they make jokes out of shared experiences, jokes that outsiders don’t get.

Inside jokes were a puzzle that I attacked for quite a long time before I was finally able to understand them.

I switch to another TV. It is early morning, and students are walking into a high school. One of them, a boy, holds flowers behind his back, waiting as a bus squeals to a stop and the doors open. Students clamber out of the bus. When a long-haired girl exits the vehicle, the boy stammers something and holds out the flowers. The girl takes them, grinning from ear to ear. She hugs the boy, and his face turns bright red.

I zoom in on the two of them. They hug each other for a long time, bouncing up and down. The girl takes the flowers and smells them.

I have never been given flowers before.

I decide to take a break, lying down on the floor while the TVs continue to broadcast footage. The glowing screens light up the dark room.

Suddenly cold, I pull a blanket around myself, thinking of the encounters I had seen.

Some were romantic. Some were platonic. Some were familial.

But all were happy.

I have known for a long time what happiness looks like. It can be a smile, a gesture, a touch. When humans are happy, it is usually around others.

My room is awash in lights and noises. However, I am wearing headphones, like I always do.

One screen draws my attention. It is set in a hospital, with a family gathered around an elderly person in a bed. The person’s heart monitor is slowly flatlining. All are weeping.

I zoom in. Flatline. Sobs.

I should feel something. I should be crying, too. But I don’t know these people. I don’t know anyone.

Yelling sounds from another TV. I look over and see a father raising his voice at a young child.

I stiffen. It is wrong. Parents shouldn’t act that way towards their children.

When humans are angry, their voices become louder. Their faces get red, and their movements become more impassioned.

I have never known anger to be quiet.

But maybe it can be. That is something I will have to look into.

The father raises his hand and slaps the child.

No. I shake my head, closing my eyes. No, no, no. That child did nothing wrong. Their existence was simply found offensive.

I lay back down again. The blanket is warm and soft around me.

It feels almost criminal to take breaks. I must always study the outside world as closely as I possibly can.

But sometimes I am tired.

I sit in front of the TV screens, eating a sandwich. I have been observing for hours now, but I have learned little.

No. I have discovered something.

Sometimes, something as simple as a single human’s existence can be considered the most vile thing in the world.

I finish my sandwich and reach for a few pieces of paper and a pencil. I then draw people I have seen on the TV screens, people who have stood out to me. I catch myself drawing the father and child from earlier, and I ball up the paper and toss it into a corner.

I draw the boy and the girl from the school. The girl is smelling the flowers while the boy watches. Both are smiling.

Many smells offend me. But those flowers must have smelled amazing for the girl to smile like that.

I look around. The bright glow of TV screens lights up the dark walls of my room. I then continue to draw.

Sounds from a TV right next to me draw my attention. I glance over and see a group of students sitting together outside a restaurant. They are laughing and shoving, similar to the friends from earlier.

One friend holds up a sketchbook, and the others gape in amazement. The drawing is of a cat, and I stare at the way the eyes and fur are depicted.

“I like to draw, too,” I whisper. I hold up the drawing of the boy and the girl and the flowers. “I don’t draw animals very much, though. Just people. One time, I drew—”

Stopping myself, I touch the screen as the friend flips to the next drawing.

“Do you like it?” I ask softly.

The friend turns away, sliding their sketchbook into their bag. A waiter arrives with coffee.

I scream.

It tears from my throat like claws raking across my skin. It echoes off the dark walls and glowing TV screens.

When will I be knowledgeable enough to step foot into the outside world?

I have been studying for so long.

When will it be enough?

Does everyone else have a TV room, too?

I scream again.

Why must I do this? Why must I sit here day after day after day after day?

I curl into a ball and hold the blanket close. My tears drip onto the papers near me.

How long has it been?

I gaze forlornly at the flowers in my drawing.

Maybe it doesn’t matter how they smell. Maybe what matters is the person you receive them from.

A thought strikes my brain like lightning.

My limbs tingle, and I get up, reaching for the power button on the TV nearest me.

After a moment, I let my arm fall. Lights and colors and sounds block out the darkness.

There’s no use.

My room is filled with TVs.