Adjudicate

Mindy poked her head into the room and whispered, “HR wants to see you, Gladys.”

“Thank you,” smiled Gladys with a forced smile. She knew that she screwed up, but she also knew that it wasn’t the first time either. It was just the most public blow-up. She didn’t think that it should be a big deal. If the girl wanted to make grown-up decisions, she could face grown-up consequences. It wasn’t her fault. 

When she got to HR’s office, there was a scary, wizened man sitting behind the desk. He looked like he hadn’t smiled since before Jesus was born. He stretched his hand out and indicated for Gladys to take a seat. 

“Gladys Allisons, the adjudicate has ruled that you are going to go in for a neuralization Monday. That is all.” He pushed a thin folder towards her, and she took it and left. She had a look at it when she got home. Possible side effects of the physical procedure: some dizziness on standing, possible weakened bladder for a week, and light heart palpitations. Seek immediate help if blurry vision, uncharacteristic migraines occur, or any change in the color of stool. 

Gladys knew she wouldn’t get time off for this. That was part of the point of the neuralization. She was surprised because the girl was so young. Thirteen or fourteen. They often don’t let children participate in neuralizations unless it’s an extreme situation. Gladys heard her husband come in, snapped the folder shut, and shoved it into the drawer. This was stupid. He didn’t need to know about it. If she started having a major symptom, she might tell him. However, it wouldn’t matter. She would be vindicated after the process. 

She came down that night to find her husband up watching a documentary about neuralization and felt a shiver run down her spine. 

“It’s a medieval torture technique in everything but technology,” said the woman on TV.

“Unless you didn’t do anything wrong,” retorted the suspiciously attractive man on the screen. “Say I gave an ice cream cone to a kid who couldn’t afford it. I might even enjoy the neuralization.”

“The problem is that people can’t consent,” pressed the woman. 

“Murderers, rapists, and child molesters don’t consent to prison. Why should neuralization be different? If you really hurt someone, it will make you understand. If you maybe just mildly inconvenienced them, you might feel annoyed or a little hurt, but it won’t change your life.”

“It’s a violation of the sanctity of the mind,” insisted the woman.

“What would you rather? Take fifty officers, firefighters, military, and so on off the street for good, or subject them to occasional neuralizations if needed? We can’t afford to lose any of those personnel. The studies have shown that it’s far better than any diversity training. You screw up, you’re neuralized, and unless you are a psychopath or something, you statistically get your shit together and knock it off. I’ve worked with people who had their whole worldview change after one neutralization, and they became fine, upstanding people.”

Gladys’s husband looked up at her, smiled, and shut off the TV. 

“I’m sorry, honey. I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I just wanted some water, ” lied Gladys, and she went to the kitchen to fill a glass. She put it to her lips, but couldn’t drink. She was beginning to worry more and more. It was just a stupid procedure. Why should she be so worried? She did everything right. 

That Monday, Gladys walked into the neuralization center. A peppy, upbeat young woman took her back immediately. 

“Will it take long?” asked Gladys. 

“I don’t know,” smiled the woman. Some people are in and out, and some people take hours. 

The room was suspiciously empty. There was no comfy couch or throw pillows like she imagined. There was what looked like a dental chair and a younger man in a rolling chair next to it, looking grim. From the look on his face, Gladys supposed that he knew what was going on better than the young woman did. Gladys lay down before the young man could say anything.

“Sit up and curl like a shrimp,” said the young man. His voice was not unkind. Gladys did as he asked, and he pulled up the back of her shirt and inserted a needle in a way that reminded Gladlice of an epidural.. The young man then helped her lie back down in a way that didn’t cause discomfort. He started tapping away on his computer. “You will feel a warm sensation like slipping into a warm bath, and the process will start. I will be monitoring your vitals, and I will bring you out if any of your vitals cross into dangerous territory. However, there is nothing I can do for any form of mental distress. If you have to end the neuralization process due to physical distress, you will be given a work-up to determine the cause, and the process will repeat from the beginning as many times as it takes for the process to complete. We are starting now.”

Gladys was looking at the ceiling, and what she recognized as contractions were coming at spaces of thirty minutes apart. She closed her eyes and felt the mind-numbing pain. She opened them, and suddenly she was looking at herself. She looked different. She always thought that her green eyes were kindly and warm, but looking at them now, they looked empty and cold, like a lizard or snake. 

“No, we can’t call anyone,” she heard and saw herself snarl. A contraction hit her again. Unless you can give us the number to call and call yourself, we cannot call your mom or anyone to come,” Gladys felt her vision slide out of focus from pain as she realized who she was. She was the thirteen-year-old she had attended to at the hospital a couple weeks ago. She had supposed that was what this was about, but she was sure now. She started crying. She felt sheer terror. She had looked up how to keep herself separate during this experience, but it wasn’t helping. Gladys/Lucy was really starting to cry now.

“Please,” she pleaded. It was Lucy’s voice, but Gladys’s own pain. “Please, I just want my mom. It hurts so much.”

“You made an adult decision, and these are adult consequences,” Gladys heard herself, or what she had thought was herself, sneer. She then saw herself, the past self, leave. Another contraction hit. She screamed. She had never been in this much pain, even when she gave birth to her own children twenty years ago. When she could be rational, Gladys would suppose it was because she got an epidural early on and her body had been mature. “Mom! Mom! MOMMY!” the girl, Gladys, screamed. She felt something wet. Had she peed herself? She looked down, and the area around her pelvis was red. She screamed and cried harder. No one was coming to save her. She would die here, in this hospital. The red was spreading. She screamed again. One of the other nurses, Tim, came in. Gladys could see his face. His worried curiosity turned to horror when he saw the red. He sprinted out of the doorway. There was a thud in the hall. Tim had just got his nursing licence, and he had just crashed into Dr. Martinez. They both came sprinting into the room. Gladys could see darkness gathering around her vision, closing in. She hoped that at least her baby survived if she didn’t. At least that way her mother wouldn’t be alone. The blackness took over, and Gladys felt like she was slipping into a warm bath.

And then she was back.

“Sit up,” said the young man. 

Gladys was so shocked that she just complied. The young man took out the needle with practiced speed. She pulled her shirt down and tried to get off the chair. Her legs almost gave out under her. She reflexively vomited and started sobbing. She fell to the floor. Part of her was in her own vomit. She was crying uncontrollably. The young man just watched her. Looking back, she supposed they were trained to not help. Or maybe he saw what she did and couldn’t bring himself to. 

“That was…. That was…” heaved Gladys, “that was me. I did that. That was…”

“You,” said the young man gently. The real you as others see you. Only in the context of your own actions and words. Not in the context of your own internal justifications. 

Gladys only sobbed harder.