Free Screen by Aarti Patel Page B

or those that
covered multiple walls. A circular blue “zoom” mat stood arm’s distance from
the screen and had been calibrated by some high-tech company exactly for Misha’s weight and build. It was to send her into the
screen, where her job was located. Misha snuggled her
dog affectionately before leaving -- it was never easy for her to tear herself
away from the natural feel of four real walls, a sensitive canine, and smells.
Beyond the screen, the world was devoid of scent, leaving the body absent of
one of its important sensory skills.
    As Misha stepped onto the zoom mat, the mat calibrated to
standardized dimensions and accepted her weight and build as unique
identification. After the screen performed a quick dental scan, the horizon of
the virtual world melted with that of reality in less than a second, without Misha having to press a single button. The clock was set to
zoom her into the screen environment at the exact appointed second, and if she
was not present—well, she knew from experience what would take place in that
event. Her nerve endings vibrated and she developed a poignant eye twitch in
her right eye. The eye twitch spread like wildfire through her whole body as
the two environments married into one.
    Misha examined her fingers, and noticed the same fingernail that needed
clipping. She liked to check in with her body after each zooming to make sure
she was all there. There were days she forgot to self-calibrate in this way,
but on the days she did so, she felt healthier and needed less medication for
her buzz. Misha worked for a company called Mind
Memo. She could hardly remember what she'd been working on before leaving for
lunch break. Seated up on her desk to the right was Carol Myer, her legs
crossed and a report hanging off her fingertips like a snotty tissue. It would
have been refreshing if one day at two o’clock, Carol wasn’t seated in that
position. “Hey!” Carol chirped.
    Carol
was a step above Misha in Mind Memo’s elaborate
company hierarchy, but that step was impediment enough to Misha performing her job freely. As Misha reached for the
report, Carol jerked it a few inches away. “What?” Misha snapped. Carol’s eyes pierced into her knowingly and smiled. “Oh—it’s just that
Lydia wants to see you in her office about this report.” Carol batted her eyes
playfully and Misha knew that Carol had a hand in
whatever issue Lydia wanted to discuss. Misha’s stomach tried to turn, but real anxiety was hard to feel in the screen.
    Misha snatched the report and walked over to Lydia’s office door. The screen
on the door scanned her face and offered her a waiting time of two minutes.
Waiting in the hallway in front of Lydia’s door produced some of the most
loathed moments in Misha’s week. A short Asian man
named Alex scurried past her with some files, giving her a quick salute. Though
not in a smiling mood, Misha smiled at him. It felt
good sometimes, to stretch the mouth into that facial expression. As Alex
passed and she released it, her jaw felt sore.
    Lydia’s
door silently glided open and Misha caught the first
hints of Lydia’s silver hair, her pitted face, her sleek business suit, her
cluttered desk, and finally her blue eyes. Misha entered the office and turned around to shut the door so she could avoid the
ugly gaze that had met hers, forgetting that the doors in this building were
automatic. She slowly turned back around and sat down in the seat in front of
Lydia’s desk. At times, Misha pictured there were
invisible physical restraints built into this chair, as it somehow sucked the
breath out of her and allowed no free movement.
    Lydia’s
face got uglier by the day, and the act of zooming into this world didn’t seem
to help matters. Her uneven black eyeliner shifted up and down as she blinked
and her mouth twitched into absurd expressions when the buzz got a hold of her
too suddenly. The promise of the tense discussion ahead was locked in her eyes,
and she