Matters of Fear and TV

Dr. Joseph Arrow’s windows weren’t one-way.

When he nervously looked out at the tourists that morning from atop his incredible hotel, and all the locals heading to their normal, scheduled jobs- they could, if they so desired, look up and see him.

Thankfully, nobody was interested in an unpopulated building with all the lights off.

Kidney’d taken in his every wish in preparing these rest spots for him. It was better sleep than he’d gotten anywhere else he’d stayed. With how much he moved, the surgeon didn’t have a permanent home. That would be, unless- this might become that, in time.

He thought about walking out and taking a look at all the building’s empty facilities- at his request, no staff were provided, and any guests kicked out in advance, reimbursed far more than necessary as to make sure not a single one was upset- so he was well and truly all alone here. He could do whatever he wanted. Run down the stairs. Break all the windows in the hotel, if he wanted. Kidney would pay for them.

Arrow plopped down in front of his television. Like he’d do any of that even if he was the last man on Earth.

The room would’ve been all dark without the ceiling-length, two-way windows to his right- lit up just by that one TV. He could’ve closed the blinds, but sitting down like this, all he could see was the sky when he turned his head. That and a few very tall rides, way out in the distance. As hard of a worker as he was, the man was especially lazy whenever not standing over a comatose body. The view bothered him far less than putting in the effort to close the blinds and turn on his lights.

He didn’t like TV at all, back in his day. It was better now when you could just put whatever crap from the internet you wanted to watch up on the screen. The doctor was fond of a creator who made food videos. They satisfied him.

But the longer he watched, the less it helped. The less the colors on the screen started to matter. The less the cook’s voice overpowered the far, far louder one coming from within him. The more he realized he was still drifting in a world he didn’t understand even after seventy-seven years.

Like an act of god, his phone rang then.

Kidney, it read.

He picked up immediately.

“Good morning, Dr. Arrow.”

His voice was like ambrosia. One of the few people older than him and with not even a fourth of the existential dread. The only evidence in the universe that one day it might get better.

“Good- mornin’.” He stuttered his way through the opening of the conversation, trying to mind his manners- forgetting to take into consideration that Kidney wouldn’t mind it in the slightest even if he were to insult his entire family legacy name by name.

“You’re watching TV, right?”

He nodded, before remembering speech was required.

“Yes.”

“Try my channel.”

He quickly flipped to the nationally available Kidney Channel, seeing only footage of the park.

“What is it?”

“I’m about to unveil your latest invention. Keep your eyes on your screen.”

“A-alright.”

It was not even a minute longer when what he’d intended to be his swansong masterpiece- the people he’d worked so hard on in such a short period of time- all appeared onscreen at once, smiling in a row, as if to thank their father.

It had been forever since he’d laughed- or cried- the way he did seeing them on that television set.