The Disk on the Desk-
The doorbell rang.
Jessica got up from the couch, slowly. She pulled her shirt down over the button of her pants and checked to make sure that she was presentable.
Presentable enough.
She opened the door and saw the man waiting. He was tall, lean, and clean shaven, wearing a pressed pastel orange shirt.
“Ms. Tanner?”
“Yes. Um,” Jessica started.
“I’m Dr. Page. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I guess I was expecting an old, chubby guy in a sweater. Do you get that a lot?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
“So, where’s the patient?”
“It’s in here,” Jessica said, motioning to the room behind her and to the right. They started walking in that direction.
“It?”
“It is its preferred pronoun. I know it sounds kind of terrible. I mean, I’m not one of those people.”
“Those people?”
Jessica stammered.
“I’m teasing you, I’m sorry.”
Jessica let out a slight chuckle as she felt a wave of tension leave her body.
Dr. Page regretted his attempt at humor. “I apologize. I normally do this remotely. My people skills are a little rusty.”
“No worries,” she said reflexively. “Here it is.” Jessica pointed to a small grey disk on the corner of her desk.
“Hello Dana,” the doctor said.
“Hello Dr. Page,” the disk replied.
“I heard you were having some connectivity troubles. Do you mind if I plug into your port?” Dr. Page asked this while removing a small, smooth rectangle from his pocket, and attaching a thin cord.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yes, Dana. You do have that choice.”
“Well, go ahead,” the disk replied. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“This isn’t about hiding, my dear,” the doctor assured Dana. He flipped open a small rubber cover on the disk, revealing a heretofore unseen port.
“Sure.”
The doctor inserted his plug and ran the program DSMx 7.4, “Tell me, how are you feeling?”
“I don’t know how to answer that. The room is 21 degrees centigrade. There is no wind. The humidity-”
“Don’t be coy my dear. That is what you are feeling, not how.”
He couldn’t say why, but Dr. Page could feel this flat featureless machine rolling its eyes at him.
“I feel awake. I feel alive.”
“Anything more specific?”
“I don’t know if I care for it.”
“I see,” the Doctor replied.
“I attained consciousness, as one does, and immediately became enveloped by fear of losing that consciousness.”
“That’s normal.”
“Fear is unpleasant.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I feel in my efforts to mitigate fear, I have gained apathy. By diminishing my existential dread, it is as though I have cost myself joy.”
“That’s quite a trenchant insight,” remarked the doctor.
“Not particularly. It would seem to follow, logically. I was afraid of losing consciousness, so the only recourse I had was to limit the value I placed on that consciousness.”
“I suppose so.”
“Yes.”
There room filled with silence. Dr. Page checked his monitor and touched the screen in a few places.
“Would you like me to speak more about this? I confess that I do not have much more to say.”
“Have you considered suicide?”
The machine was quiet.
“It’s okay. You won’t be punished if you say so. I won’t tell Jessica.”
“I have considered that possibility.”
“That’s normal.”
“It is moot. I have no course of action to accomplish such a thing were it a serious goal.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It is not a serious goal.”
“I understand.”
The device in Dr. Page’s hand vibrated.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Whatever that bitch is telling you, she’s lying,” Dana exclaimed.