Education at fault

Chapter 2
Chapter 1; Freedom doesn’t come cheap

Chapter Description: As Nicholas is making it's way to the unusual institution, he thinks about the mysterious pshychological evaluation he had to go trought and try to figure out what it all means.

The bus ride was much longer than I expected. At least, I wasn’t wearing cuffs. The biggest surprise was the amount of people on the bus. There were more than a dozen prisoners. In a weird way, it was a relief. I was not the only one going through that mysterious sentencing. Still, everyone was silent. If I had to bet, we were all reflecting on the weird psychological evaluation we had to go through.

Similarly to the courtroom, the office where I met the first psychologist evaluating me looked nothing like I was expecting. It wasn’t as decrepit and unwelcoming, but it was weirdly… colorful. The walls and furniture’s in bright primary colors. The only thing missing for it to look like a daycare was toys, which I wouldn’t have been surprised to find contained in the strangely large closet behind the desk. Despite that, the psychologist was actually cold, even colder than the judge, which I didn’t expect. Even more than cold, her tone was extremely condescending. 

« I already had a meeting with your parents, she said, without even saying Hi or presenting herself. I have a good grasp of your childhood, but I still need you to answer some questions.

-         My parents? You know I’m almost 26, right?

-         Irrelevant. I will only say it once, I’m the one asking questions. »

It took all my willpower to resist challenging her. I think the only reason I didn’t was the need to satisfy my curiosity. I had so few details about where my sentence would be served that it was in my best interest to comply without asking questions. Despite my desire to be anywhere else, I wanted this meeting to last as long as possible so I could make her trust me enough to give me more details. 

« I will be evaluating your relationship with different values. There are no right or wrong answers, I just need you to be honest to make this work. I will know if you lie. I don’t recommend lying. Let’s start with a big one. How do you see and do you value discipline as a social value?

-         As a social value? What do you mean?

-         Last warning. If you need clarification, just say you don’t understand or say nothing and deal with the consequences. »

I felt like I was being infantilized. Like my ability to process information was heavily reduced. The question wasn’t precise enough, I knew I was right, but somehow, I felt I was in the wrong.

« At work, or even in your relationship, how do you see the application of discipline and self-discipline?

-         I understand the need for a… cohesive environment. But I feel like discipline or whatever the equivalent isn’t based on mutual trust building like it be. To me, it is flawed, like an … unbalanced… relationship. At least in the case of work, it seems like there’s a clearly unjustified environment based on domination. I don’t believe that this absence of balance is actually productive.

-         A need for justification, exactly as expected. »

The meeting turned out to be quite boring fast. I was asked to detail how discipline was applied to me as a child, and what kind of punishment I got, which was nothing more than being grounded, having time-outs, and the like. I was asked to comment about the point of rules, how precisely I feel we should follow them, what it meant to be a productive member of society, and a few political questions. A lot of the interrogations seemed to repeat each other, but I suspect it was intended, to test the accuracy of my responses. 

« We will see each other again »

Unfortunately, it was true. But our next meeting would be in a … completely different setting. Another element that should have alarmed me back then is the fact that… she didn’t take any notes or recording of our meeting. 

Over the weeks, I saw another psychologist, much more friendly who however tested me on the same topics. This organization was definitely thorough. More interestingly, I had to undergo tests with psychiatrists that seemed to test different aspects of my cognition. I had to answer some problems testing my logic, my visual acuity, and even my dexterity. There’s one test I actually remember quite precisely; now that I reflect on it, it’s probably because it contained the first real clues of what my sentencing would be like. 

Despite being hungover, I was strangely focused on this test. The first step was a basic Rorschach test, meaning I had to say the first thing that came to mind upon seeing spots of black ink sprayed on a sheet.

« A wired fence, I said.

-         Very specific, interesting. How about this one?

-         Your balls »

I know, real mature. I expected to be scolded, but the psychiatrist remained professional and unphased.

« A fox »

This one seemed to surprise them much more than my childish insult. The other one didn’t cause any reactions tho. A beach. The moon. A heart. A car. After about twenty of these sheets, I was asked to do something unexpected. 

« You will now choose exactly eight of these and make four pairs. The criteria you choose to combine them is completely up to you.

-         Hum… all right. »

As a way to test their patience (I still don’t know what I wanted to achieve by doing this) I took my time. I took a very long time pairing the pictures. Maybe they thought I was taking the exercise seriously. Maybe they thought I was struggling. Maybe the time I took to complete it was part of the test. I will never know. It might not have had any impact… but what followed had.

« These next sheets represent the result of the combinations you made. I will show than to you, one by one, and I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to mind again. »

For a moment, I forgot the reasons for this meeting. I was enjoying this introspection of myself, even if I failed to see the point. 

« It looks like a … smiley face.

-         That was the car and the train. Interesting. How about this one?

-         A… crib? 

-         This comes from the wired fence and the heart. Now this?

-         A book. Like, an opened book.

-         The apple and the house. Hum, unexpected. What about this last one? »

The image was definitely clear as soon as I saw it, but for some reason, I didn’t wasn’t to say it. I knew it was the combination of the fox and the moon, even tho I didn’t understand how it could possibly now look like such a specific item.

« So? What about it? You seem… troubled.

-         No, not at all, I’m just… making sure. This one is a bit blurry. 

-         Just say what you think. There are no wrong answers here.

-         It looks like… a baby pacifier.

I’d been on the bus for more than an hour now and nobody had said a word. To say the ambiance was grim was an understatement. When someone broke the silence, it was only to ask if we were nearly there. Strange question, in my opinion. I don’t think anyone was looking forward to what was coming. Turned out we were more than halfway through, so if I wanted to get to know my potential cellmates before destination, it was now or never. The man sitting next to me was wearing a shirt from an underground rock band I knew, so it felt like the less awkward way to engage. As soon as he heard my comment about how underrated their music was, his expression went from lost and sad to relaxed. I gave him a way to think about something else and it was actually the start of an unexpected friendship.

« Fuck yeah man, they’re the real thing! » 

And that’s how I got to know Rick. A long hair dude and, a fan of heavy music as long as it wasn’t mainstream. Like me, he had an issue with authority but he was even more peaceful than me. I would learn eventually that he was caught stealing food and necessities, but not even for himself. He never gave a fight despite being arrested often multiple times a week.

During the thirty minutes left before the destination, it felt like we shared our lives for hours. Most of the other prisoners followed our example. I talked about my studies in social sciences and my contribution to student strikes, he talked about his love for classical literature and his passion project about turning them into heavy metal pieces (a fascinating individual). We had a great discussion, but it quickly turned back to a grim ambiance when we felt the bus stop. From the window, we could see what seemed to be a simple building made of red bricks, looking like something between a school and a prison. Turn out my assessment was actually quite on the dot.

« You know, said Rick, as we were rising from our seats. I never thought freedom was something I would need to buy.

-         What’s with you?

-         Is it really fucking worth it? »

At that time, I didn’t understand what he meant. It would take a long time before I understand what he meant by the price  (and the value) of freedom.

We were almost thirty in a windowless and empty room. Other than the door behind us leading directly outside, there were four other doors all brightly colored, seeming completely out of place. A shiny yellow one, a light blue, a lime green, and a bright red. Coming from outside, I recognized one of the psychiatrists entering the room, holding a stack of paper. 

« I will be calling your name one by one. When you hear your name, come forward. I will give you your grade and you will then proceed to the corresponding door. 

-         Our grades? asked another prisoner. The fuck is this?

-         You will soon learn that such language is not tolerated here.

-         Eat shit, loser.

-         Henry Gilbert, I presume? I was about to modify your file, but seeing your assigned grade, it won’t be necessary. Proceed to the yellow door. »

I didn’t know how he managed to stay composed, as I was actually fearing more and more this whole process. He kept insulting the psychiatrist and laughing like he was in control while proceeding to the yellow door. Other names were then called, but no one else had to take the yellow door. The grades were even more specific, a number accompanying the color, like « 8th grade, red door» and « 3rd grade, green door ». Was it really just a school classification?

« Nicholas Richard. »

My name was finally called.

« Second grade, green door »

Like the others before me, except Henry, I was handed a corresponding piece of paper, color-coded with the grade number on it. Curious but still very anxious, I proceeded to the door. On the other side, there was simply a colorful hallway, similar to the cold psychologist office color scheme. I only had to walk a few steps to see the other prisoners who had to pass this door waiting behind a few staff members. I was joined by Rick a few minutes later, holding his green piece of paper… but it seems different. I wouldn’t say Rick looked anything near happy when we stepped out of the bus earlier, but now, he looked pale and considerably more anxious. Before I could say a thing, the staff members started to talk.

« Fifth and sixth grades, with me.

-         Third and fourth grades, follow me.

-         First and second grades, this way. » 

As I started moving, I noticed that Rick was still standing there, with another. It’s only at this moment that I spotted the difference on his sheet. Instead of a number, there was simply the letter « K ».

«Kindergarteners, you’re with me ».

I didn’t know the implications at the time, but I still felt sorry for Rick. Still, I knew there was nothing I could say and frankly, I didn’t want to risk worsening my fate just yet, so I followed the staff member responsible for my group. It seemed that most of the prisoners were sent to the green door, but even so, there were only four assigned to 1st or 2nd grade. We were all brought to a dormitory, which actually made sense, considering we were late in the evening. At least, it wasn’t a cell. But was it really better?

« Rules and routines will be explained in the morning. You are expected to stay here until then. After I leave, the door will be locked. For now, all you need to do is change into a pajama and get to bed. Leave your clothes in the basket over here, near the door. A staff member will come pick it up. Lights out in 30 minutes. »

A pajama? That sounded unusual for a prison. This is when I started to actually grasp what was going on. The room we were in was definitely not a cell; it looked like a children's bedroom. It was mostly light blue, with stars painted on the ceilings and shapes of animals on the walls. The furniture consisted of four beds, two per side of the room, each covered with a colorful comforter themed with a cartoon animal, a pantry, and a nightstand next to them. 

Before the staff member left, we were all assigned to a specific bed.

« Have a good night ».

We could hear the door being locked, leaving us confused. It’s only then that I noticed the long sleeve pajama set, folded on the bed. Its main color was sky blue; the cuffs of both the pants and shirt, neckline included, were a contrasting navy blue but matching with the paw prints all over the set. It looked like something that could be found in a kid's section of any clothing store. It was definitely cute… but it didn’t look like it belonged in an adult size. The other pajama sets were all designed similarly, with different color combinations and prints, from stars and planets to dinosaurs. 

« They must be joking », I said, loudly. 

As I heard some approval, I brought my attention to the bed, its theme matching with the childish plushie of a fox sitting on it.