Spectrum Read online

  That was also the day they I met Jill. She actually hit on me that first time on the rooftop. My monosyllabic grunts must have suggested to her that I was in the ‘playing-hard-to-get’ camp. It wasn’t obvious to me then that she was a lesbian. I’ve seen some of the girl’s flip personality after a round of meds. Jill was one of them. We would call her Jill Jekyll. Her alter-ego was a sex crazed, short-fused bitch who aroused herself by rubbing her crotch against table edges and seat backs when matron wasn’t looking. She had sleeves of tattoos, which I couldn’t help noticing, again something she probably confused as interest on my part.

  We had our choice of clothing. Our original clothes and possessions were taken on entry. They provided the bare essentials. It wasn’t exactly spa treatment but a bed, clean clothes (the dazzling choice of either grey, charcoal or white) and cooked meals were worth the sacrifice considering the money on offer.

  A few of the names I learned in those opening days hadn’t been there very long. Margareth, a Guatemalan immigrant who was one paycheque from the street when Philip visited her housing estate. Deeply religious, she considered him to be a messenger from God. Then there was Maribel, a young turgid Latina with a scarred forehead. She was found in a soup kitchen, filling up her tank before hitting the streets to find a drunk, loaded customer. There was Stacey, a divorcee - three times over. She rocked bleached hair from an eighties rock music video. Her black roots bit into her skull. She looked like she had gone on one of those crash diets and lost a massive amount of weight in a short space of time. Despite that I could tell when I saw her on that second day, she might be fun to get to know. Whenever she came back up for air after rabbiting on to her friend, I’d watch her grind her teeth and see it pass across her eyes – the grip of addiction.

  We all shared one thing. We didn’t have a pot to piss in and needed the cash. I learned quickly that we weren’t all assigned to the same medical program. Jekyll had been trying a new form of contraceptive pill. They didn’t tell her what was in it, or what improvements they had hoped to make to the existing one. But she was fair game. More than happy to donate her ovaries to science – “Not like I’ll be expecting kids anytime soon,” she told me, which again should have made me twig that she was a lesbian. She was happy to dance along to their tune for the tidy sum of $800. Not bad for a month’s work.

  Margareth, who spoke very little English and needed one of the other girls to translate, had signed herself into a program for a new type of moisturiser and body lotion. That day had actually been the first she had been applying it to her skin and when we were called back inside, I walked behind and noticed she had broken out in a rash of angry hives on her neck.

  Maribel was sold the dream ticket of fat loss pills. She was delighted with her choice – something she might have paid for voluntarily if she had the cash. She was keen to get started and the princely sum of $200 for a week’s work wasn’t too shabby, considering she’d be sitting on her ass.

  Stacey went one step further. She seemed to be suffering the most, at least that was the impression I got from the two days we had been together at that point. She was receiving intravenous shots of a liquid drug that had the catchy title of ‘Profofil-Z14-TL’. Marketing team might have their work cut out with that one. She was getting $1400 for a six-week residence, with around the clock supervision and plenty of tests – blood, urine, you name it.

  That was also the day when I found out what BioLuminary had in store for me. They had a chance to assess my condition and results showed that I was an ideal candidate for two programs. It was Philip who explained them to me. I hadn’t seen him since the induction and he came to the top floor and took me through a couple of electronically locked doors until we found a little unoccupied office off the corridor. It was the first time I had left the little habitat.

  He said that it was part of the terms of the contract that the patients be kept in a secure environment. They couldn’t allow any outside variables to interfere with the results of the tests. He presented the two programs like he was a travel agent selling a packaged holiday. The smug smile was still there, and the buzz words rolled off his tongue.

  The first option was a tanning lotion. It had a potent ingredient sourced from the sweat of a frog from the Amazon, designed to protect the skin but magnify the effects of bronzing. He didn’t explain it quite like that but that’s the translation I heard. I’m not fond of the sun. I’ve spent most of my life trying to avoid beaches. I can’t think of a worse combination than sand and sun lotion. Actually, that’s a lie. I once had Absinthe and root beer as a mixer.

  The second option, I knew I was going to take. He led with the money shot. $1500 which got my attention. It might also have whacked my bullshit detector because I soon found myself nodding along as he described the study, one that apparently fit my exact profile type. Someone that was 18-30, in relatively good health and with vision that was less than 2020. He went on to explain that tests revealed that I was marginally near-sighted. Something that I probably hadn’t noticed until now, but could later affect my life if it wasn’t corrected.

  The procedure included two steps. The first was to administer eye-drops to the volunteer, a new organic chemical which had been lab tested and successful in early trials to correct the anomaly. If that wasn’t successful, a second and final step would be used – a small surgical procedure which would take seconds to perform, aligning the sight to its proper state.

  I was still thinking about how I was going to spend the $1500 and had zoned out. The two-week stay that was required seemed worth the investment given the money on offer. However, it was the word ‘surgical’ that managed to hook me back into the game. Philip was quick to stress that it was the worst case scenario, which actually wasn’t all bad. It would be like laser eye surgery, something that would improve my life – “We’ll be paying you to let us fix your eyes.”

  No brainer right?

  Tuesday 2nd May

  Seven days into my stay at this point. I had just spent my first weekend in the centre, days that varied from those during the week only with the introduction of a games night on Friday when we were broken up into teams of four to play board games, or movie night on Saturday when a large projector screen was rolled into place by the matron.

  I had gotten to know all of the girls pretty well come Saturday. There wasn’t much else to do during the day other than sit and watch TV, sleep, play agony aunt, or read one of the books off the shelves – an archive that looked like it was inherited from an old person home populated with Mills and Boon classics.

  On movie night, my vision was a bit blurry. They had taken me to the infirmary earlier that day to administer the eye drops. It was a painless process. A male doctor, who didn’t seem to get the memo about dopey wide smiles, was my introduction to the medical trial. Not one for foreplay, he commanded me to hop up on the physio table and lay back, staring at the ceiling tiles. Philip was there too, standing near the door, quietly observing.

  I heard the clink of bottles down below me on the other side of the room. When he returned, there was one in his hand, a fat rubber stopper on the end. A couple of drops in each eye and I was sitting up and smiling, minutes later - $1500 richer.

  Philip was quick to mention that there might be some blurriness and recommended I get plenty of sleep so they could assess the situation in a couple of days.

  Monday couldn’t come soon enough, but when it did I wish it hadn’t. My sight had gradually gotten worse. From what I thought was perfect 2020 vision now made it hard to pin my focus on objects. Edges lost their sharpness. Colours fused together and created a smudge that made it impossible to make things out unless I was within a couple of meters. To say I was freaking out at that point would have been an understatement. It was difficult to get encouragement from the others. They were battling their own problems.

  When we had the daily visit to the rooftop, I avoided the sun completely. My eyes were still too sensitive so I sat in the shadow of one of the walls, panning around the sea of faces and trying to figure out who was who.

  That same day, Jekyll sat with me. I could tell it was her because she was constantly adjusting herself. She was in the mood to explain some of the latest side effects of her trial, including blood discharge and some of the erotic dreams. I wasn’t exactly bursting with enthusiasm to hear, having just lost my eyesight, so I made my excuses that I needed to walk off a stomach pain, got up and left her. When I stepped out from the shelter, the sun hit me. I made a bridge of my hand to protect my vulnerable eyes and walked away from the women to the opposite strip of shade.

  My loop around the group of men clearly wasn’t wide enough, with one of them receiving a boot in the lower back. I apologised in the direction of the curse and was about to reverse back the way I came. The man suggested I stop and sit for a while in the shade. It was a nervous voice, weak-willed - the kind that is used to rejection. Knowing what that felt like, plus the fact that a week surrounded by women proudly flashing their dry scalps, peeling sores and bleeding gums, like they were war wounds, had taken its toll.

  When I sat back down in the shade, I tried to narrow my sight onto his face. He must have noticed I was having trouble because he inched closer until I could make him out. He looked young. About my age. His name was Tyler, a name that ordinarily would make me get up and leave straight away, but curiosity got the better of me. While my eyes were a bit funky, there was nothing wrong with my ears. Some of the guys behind were chatting in hushed tones. I could tell it was about us.

  Tyler had the clear advantage of knowing what my problem was, but getting his story was a damn sight trickier. When he did eventually spill his guts, I wish he hadn’t. Male potency pills, with a Chinese extract designed to help men
last longer. My blurred vision and overactive imagination began to play tricks, imagining the twenty strong group of horned-to-the-eyeballs-men jumping on top of me, pinning me down centre stage in the rooftop alfresco while they took turns. Maybe sensing my discomfort, Tyler was quick to explain that the others had different ‘gigs’, including a syrup for male pattern baldness, treatment for enlarged breast tissue and a new advanced type of laser hair removal.

  Misfits. Every last one of us. The siren cut our conversation short and we had to go back into our separate wings again.

  The following day we met again on the rooftop. I did my shuffle routine along the outer edge, eyesight no better. I was already looking forward to the second option of my trial. What choice did I have? A surgical procedure that would quickly set things right. Sooner we got that done, the sooner I could collect my money and go on an all weekend session. I had already ransacked the cupboards in the kitchen for some booze. That was on my second day when my eyesight was as sharp as a tack. With each day that passed, I was becoming a little more frantic, enlisting the help of some of the other girls to be my eyes. It was no use. The matron ran a tight ship.

  She could be kind when she wanted. In fact, it was her that gave me this diary. She must have noticed that I was pretty low when my sight started to get worse. I’m not much of a writer but it had helped pass the time, especially when we’ve all broken up and gone to our separate dorm rooms. Matron said it would be a nice way to catalogue my thoughts and let out my frustrations. If anything it’s made me more frustrated. Squinting and staring at the page with my better eye to see if my words are even legible.

  A couple of the girls in our group are coming towards the end of their own trials. They were bitten by the lure of easy money and already signed up to the next battery of tests. Although the previous drug was still in their body, there were alternative options and other organs or body parts that could be screwed in the interest of science. Skin that could be inked. Hair that could be bleached. Nails that could be polished. Dental cavities that could be filled. Something for everyone.

  I remember feeling pretty down on that Tuesday, but when Philip made a surprise appearance with the matron in the evening and we did a few tests, I was pretty excited when he said that in two days’ time I’d be having the surgery. I needed my eyes back.

  Thursday 4th May

  Finally, we’re bang up to date. Real time. I’m writing this in the morning, a few hours before my surgery. My eyes haven’t gotten better. There are no mirrors around which is a real pain because I want to see them up close. I bet they look like the gammy eye of that cat I used to have, the one that seemed to live forever and squirted out a litter of kittens every summer. I bet she still prowls the street with her grey marble eye, stinking of fleas and whoring herself around. The filth bag.

  Anyway, I said I’d be positive today even though I’m shitting enough bricks to build a bungalow. Enough to house me and Kitty O’Dea. Crazy cat woman with her harem of tabby cats, fighting local crime in the ugly underbelly of the city. Gouged eyes, ripped ears and scarred faces, none could compare to their owner who was virtually blind and relied on her sense of smell to navigate from the bathtub where she washed her dishes to the front door, four steps away. Shovelling cats out of her path, the carpeted mat was already stinking of cat piss and hairballs, a sight that she was pleased not to see.

  Philip has already run through some of the procedure with me. He said we’ll go through it again today, and take care of any doubts I might still have. He’s starting to grow on me a bit. The same way that a scab grows over a cut.

  Last night I nearly got into a fight with Jekyll. Whatever course of contraceptive drugs she’s on at the moment clearly are rubbing her up the wrong way. Literally. The TV remote went missing and we couldn’t find it anywhere. I couldn’t find an elephant in a room with my sight, but there was no harm in looking busy. I noticed that Jill had been unusually quiet. She was sitting down, scratching herself. No one could figure out why the channel on the TV set was switching over by itself until I confronted her.

  She was none too pleased. I don’t care. I’ll be out of here in a couple of days anyway. I don’t need to be making friends. None of them would function out in the real world. Best place for them would be to stay in here. Someone as poor as Margareth could do a lot worse than stay here for a bit longer. Maribel might as well have a price list stamped on her forehead. She’ll be on the seedy streets in no time. Stacey, when she wasn’t chewing the ear of someone with her slack jaw, was gnawing on her nails, fingers and peroxide blonde hair. It was like petting time at the zoo.

  I’m beginning to look forward to my visits up top each day. I’ve only spoken with Tyler a few times but he seems to have more brain cells that the average here (double figures) so we can hold a conversation. I’ve always gotten on better with guys anyway. Who knows, after this and with $1500 in my pocket I might just buy some new clothes and head on the town on Saturday night. About time I got lucky. Speaking of luck, time to go. Matron is setting up breakfast. Hopefully, when I return my eyes will be back to normal.

  Friday 5th May

  It’s morning again. I had to spend all evening yesterday after surgery wearing funny dark goggles and sleep with an eye mask on. When I woke up today, I slipped the goggles back on but not before taking a look around the room. I know I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it.

  Somethings not right. My vision is back, but there were lines connecting things. There isn’t much light that gets into my room from the skylight above, but enough to know that things were a bit, I dunno, off. I swear, when I looked around I could see objects vibrate. Like they were pulsing with energy. Freaky.

  Philip explained to me after the surgery that it would take 48 hours before my vision would return fully. He also said that it was important not to remove my goggles until then. It would take time for my eyes to heal and be strong enough to work. So, I’m stuck with them for now. I can still see out of them but everything is swimming in a dark blue sea. Still a big improvement on where I was yesterday when I could barely see the hand in front of my face. I’ll give another update tomorrow when hopefully things become a bit clearer.

  -

  Had a weird experience on the roof top this afternoon. A rookie mistake which I hope hasn’t done any damage. I was sitting with Tyler, who I was surprised to see was a sight for sore eyes, and we got talking about my new choice of fashion wear which he thought looked pretty cool. So, now a little bit woozy from the attention being shown me by this guy, I suggested he try them on. Stupid move.

  Even though we were in the shade, I decided not to close my eyes when taking them off. When I looked at him, it was like I was looking through his body. Balls of bright light ran the length of where his spine would be. We were seated, so it was hard to tell where some of them started and finished. They were all different colours and spinning too. I didn’t even see his physical body. There was just this…I dunno…an energy field like someone had turned him inside out. But it was beautiful. There was also some sort of a blue bubble around him. Like a shield or aura. Actually, when I think about it, the others had it too but his was brightest and thickest.

  The ball in the centre of his chest was really intense. The more I focussed on it, the brighter it got until it stung my eyes and I had to dig my heels of my palms into the sockets. Tyler quickly noticed my distress and wrapped the goggles over my head again until I felt confident enough to crack my eyes open. It was a few hours before they finally adjusted. I spent the day with my eyes closed, hoping that I hadn’t fried my nerves.

  I guess I’ll find out tomorrow when I get to take them off for good and go home. Couldn’t come soon enough either. They’re showing Pretty Women on the big screen.

  Saturday 6th May