Clearing the Fog

When asked to describe his mornings, Stanley told his doctor, “It feels kinda’ fuzzy in my brain.” That was a year ago. His annual checkup is this afternoon at 3:00. While watching the Olympics in London, he understood what it was like to be a synchronized swimmer. “They spend an hour upside down under the water! How do they remember what is up after they get out?”
At six, Stanley is still bathed by his mother each night. He has always wanted to the shower. He knows his dad uses it in the mornings. Then cuts up his face after covering it with green gel that transforms into white foam. This morning he walked into the bathroom like a child zombie, arms reaching out to prevent walking into anything while his eyes woke up. A traditional bump on his head from his father’s fist woke him up, transforming zombie back to boy. He watched his father make his last preparations before going to work. He has never pieced together what his father does, but he has to wear a tie. Without looking, his father smeared the cream across Stanley’s forehead. Stanley leaned forward and cleaned off his face with his father’s towel. With a great yelp, his father howled as if Stanley had placed the world’s largest tarantula on his back.
Stanley’s father is said, by the town’s women, to be a handsome man. At the age of 38, his father has grown into his age well. Grey peppers his dark short hair. Eyes set in just a bit with a hazelnut hue made by deep brown outside of a bright yellow. Chin and cheekbones look as if they were created by great artists hands; cut in precise proportions that point forward in a defined and welcoming manner. If he did not shave, the scruff would soften these features and significantly reduce his appearance. Over six feet tall, he kept his fitness by running after work. Sometimes, when there were no clean ones, he would have to run without a shirt. By chance, it happens that it is a popular time for the women on his route to do their gardening.
He knows that he is good looking and places every effort into maintenance. He imitates and could even be a model for a Brooks Brothers Catalog. His weekend slacks, with a button down and sweater, is a favorite of the grocery store gawkers. Each weekend he goes to the barber for a haircut, a shave with a single blade and nose hair trimming. He does not care for his barber, he talks too much, but he goes to keep up his appearances. After his hair cut, he always goes to the grocery store to pick up a few miscellaneous items. Really, he wants to show off his new trim. Dressed his best, he cruised the aisles with a lions strut. Women’s eyes trace his movements. “How does he stay so fit?” they ask each other as he passes with chest out. Making a few laps around, he wants to make sure that he is seen by all.
Not a particularly good father, he thinks that playing with his son is a waste of time. Stanley has never done anything to cross his father. As far as he is concerned, he and his Pops get along swimmingly. He is still at the my-father-is-a-super-hero stage of life. The bump is intended to be a deterrent, to keep his son away from his time primping before work. He hates to be bothered while in the bathroom in the morning. There was always the possibility of a new secretary or female consultant in need of impressing. It was also his time for his ADDerol. He took a thirty milligram dose twice a day. The first after shaving and the second at about 2:00PM. The first time he bumped Stanley on the head, he meant for him to cry. Stanley laughed and he to make up a reason, “It’s a love bump little dude.” Stanley now comes every morning. He must be setting his alarm.
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In 2011, Adderol changed its name to read ADDerol. Each of the pills was branded ‘ADD.’ It was the same time that Attention Deficit Disorder was removed from the DSM. Incorporated into Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD), ADD was transformed from a stigma to a marketing windfall. The year before, Adderol was tested on two hundred healthy individuals. The tests showed that taking it on a daily basis increased the mental capabilities of every person. With limited to no side effects, the study was published in the New England Medical Journal on March 12, 2010. The race to market and sell the next brain drug launched.
Adderol marketing was simple; take one every day and you will be smarter. Each pill adds to the brain’s capability. By December 2010, Adderol controlled the market and was developing ADDerol. The same drug was rebranded and pushed as an entirely new medication. ‘ADD to Your Life’ filled billboards and health magazines. With the drug over the counter by the end of the year, college students and young business workers were buying it up in bulk. Ads moved into men’s magazines and football uniforms. Viagra had been trying for years to appear on uniforms or fields, but the NFL remained concerned about a sex drug being such a visual sponsor. ADDerol approached the league with an offer of $100 million a year for five years to have ‘ADD to Your Life’ painted on every field. The NFL accepted immediately.
The majority of users fell within the age of twenty and thirty-five. As schools and companies began to see the benefits of the brain drugs, they encouraged all the workers to “visit your doctor.” In a GE office memo dated September 29, 2011, the CEO addressed the company saying:
“…it remains in the best interest of the company to continue expansion…to achieve the greatest result we must strive for excellence in every worker…do not worry, we have been assured that the side effects are minimal and your health insurance will cover any problems with prescribed usage…we must continue to think of ways to stay ahead and remain internally competitive…the study results attached speak for themselves…”
By October 5, GE had begun to add pharmacies to their office buildings. In a survey taken two weeks later, ninety-six percent of GE workers who responded said that they were taking some sort of supplement in order to increase brain capacity. In November, DSM 8 was published to include the use of “brain drugs” for any patient who makes a request. The section stated:
“In light of recent advances in brain medication, we will place our unwavering support behind the use of the below listed brain drugs. We now must begin to look for ways to move beyond average brain capabilities. For decades, we have worked to right the patients determined to be ‘below normal.’ Now, we must look beyond what we once classified as ‘normal’ behavior and brain activity and provide a means for mental growth beyond; reworking the very definition of ‘normal.’
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Little of the morning is ever remembered by Stanley. The fog spanned the street. His mother was drove their Toyota hybrid. Toyota recently unveiled a battery that allowed a car to go two hundred and fifty miles before an atom of gas was used. With a battery that can recharge in an hour, Toyota launched clear to the top of the car market. Style is irrelevant when the car needs less than a tank of gas per month. Priced at the same its sedan competitors, it replaced all the antiquated SUV’s. Simply named the Toyota Green, it was more popular than Tickle-Me-Elmo.
His mother is careful with her only son in the back. She drives five below the speed limit. Even with the fog lights, attempting to navigate the gladded road is always toughest in spring’s fog. There are moments when all seems lost, road lines have disappeared and dispersed light bounces off visible air to create a grey wall. She searches, desperately, for any sign that she is still on the road. Fear grips the wheel tighter under candy cane striped fingers. Memory is what she searches for, yet it is more muddled than the scene out of the window in times of stress. A yellow burst corners ahead and flies forward. The speed of its movement is what concerns her most as she applies the breaks and pulls to what she believes to be the shoulder of the road. The convertible with its top down sneaks by leaving only a red resonance to fade behind. With two deep breaths she returns the car into drive.
At school, Stanley leads his mother inside. Each time with his hand in hers, always sweaty he notices. This morning her hands are particularly wet. He checks to see if her hands are pruney. As he inspects he noticed her nails. They are precisely manicured. Length extends one quarter of an inch beyond fingertips. White crowns the span that is allowed air. A gloss had been applied two days ago and nails remained un-chipped. She does not like colored nail polish. It draws too much attention to her hands. The feature which she believes to be her ugliest.
Stanley saw mothers who would kneel down and give a hug and kiss to their children as they went into school. His mother had done this until a few months ago. Stanley observed that this never occurred amongst the fourth graders. He decided that it was time to set aside such childish displays and see his mother off with a diplomatic handshake. When he arrives home, he hangs on to his mother for as long as she allows.
“He does not play with other children,” she said to the doctor. “I am worried about his development. He reads one grade below normal. His counting is sporadic above the number one hundred and forty-five. He has trouble concentrating even when watching television. He flips from channel to channel with the remote. When the commercial comes on, flip, and then never back to the previous program.”
“Ma’am, based on the results of our comprehensive tests and the information you have given us, I feel certain with the diagnosis of mild ADHD. I am going to prescribe ADDerol. Just a small tablet, thirty milligrams, each morning should yield great returns. I am going to give you an evaluation form to fill out right now. Please give a copy to his teacher or someone who spends a significant amount of time with him. Ask for it to be returned immediately. In two months, you will re-evaluate your son based on the form and we will compare the results.” His mother noticed the ease with which the doctor replied. There was a lack of empathy in his voice; it middled at a detached monotone.
The first two months were a complete turnaround for Stanley. He could sit in-font of the television without changing the channel for hours. His could count to one thousand and he was almost caught up to the rest of his class in reading. Stanley was the first in his class to use any sort of regular medication. His mother was scared to mention he was taking it for fear of stigma. However, after the drastic improvements, she would to tell the grocer as he bagged. “You know, my son Stanley takes ADDerol every day. He is the smartest in his class.” The bag boy would respond with something like, “Wow, you don’t say,” each time she retold the story of her son’s rise post-ADDerol.
The following fall, every child in Stanley’s class was on ADDerol. Stanley’s hasty assent did not go unnoticed. Nor did a mother’s bragging words. His mother made him read for every minute of television watched. With the ADDerol kicking in shortly after breakfast, Stanley was a television viewing machine. His mother did nothing to stop him, keeping a stopwatch. Lunch provided a mandatory break from his Sponge Bob marathon. Time calculated, he retrieved a book after the meal was complete. Full attention now on a book, Stanley would devour whatever lay in front of him. One time, he was given the dictionary to look up a word he did not understand. He started with ‘regurgitate’ and made it to ‘assimilate’ before his mother realized that he had been reading the dictionary for two hours.
Stanley’s teacher waited for the young boys and girls to gather in their seats. She refuses to yell and withholds recess time for every minute it takes for the class to be prepared. All seated, backs straight, feet on the floor, hands on desks and eyes fixed on her, she begins the day the same as every other. “Good morning class,” always slowly with no stress the second syllable to denote excitement, “please take out your ‘food for thought.’ Kevin, please pass out the cups. Julia, fill the cups. Thank you. Now, please use the water. We do not want to have another incident like we had last week,” said with a knowing stare at Allison.
As the cups filled with water, students consumed neon pills in domino succession. Illuminating yellows, oranges and pink contrast with desks white. Testing in the previous year found that children under the age of ten are more inclined to take a daily pill if it looked like ‘fun.’ Chewables are still in development and ADDerol hopes to have grape and strawberry by next March. Stanley choose lime green at his last appointment. He remembered seeing the Ghostbusters cartoon on television and was an instant fan of Slimer. After seeing his classmates’ choices, he regretted his color.
As he places the pill in his mouth with his right hand, water filled cup in his left, he thinks of what color he will choose this afternoon. “Should I go with the new rainbow color?” he ponders as he takes down the water and Slimer pill in a single gulp. Recess, two hours later, always seems to come quickly. The morning is devoted to less fun things such as reading and math.
Recess was already here. Stanley stoops over a colony of ants in the yard. At his school, they have a single acre plot of land where the various classes are separated for recess. In the center is a playground consisting of a single large slide, a tire pyramid which can be climbed on or turned into a fort, rope swings that allow a child to sway from one set of half tractor tires to another, a set of swings and a wooden fort-like structure with two fire poles, three sets of stairs, and a rope ladder. Woodchips served as the cushion for falls, but when a third grader fell off the rope swing and broke his leg, a synthetic surface was installed. To Stanley, the new surface felt like walking on the moon. He imagined leaping from place to place with no gravity to restrict him. His feet sink with each step and are launched upwards from each jump.
The ants walked in a perfect line into the ant hole situated directly between his two feet. Squatting over, Stanley stares as they file in. He does not like to play with the other children. Games alone were always better. Alone, Stanley is king. He makes the rules and chooses the game. He tried to play with others, but found no success. Everyone wants to do it his or her way. He determined that it would be best to avoid this conflict.
“Your attention please,” the intercom blurts in the classroom, “Stanley, please report to the main office with all of your belongings.” With a squeak of feet against floor, Stanley stands to survey his class. He thinks of how nice it is to be done with school early. The appointment will be quick. When you are six, anything is better than school. A sick day cannot be wretched when it is spent watching television in bed on an October’s Tuesday. With his bag filled with books, straps over arms and coat in hand, Stanley strutted down the hall to the office. Outside, he found his mother chatting with the secretary.
“Yes, it has only been one year.”
“My children have been on it since the start of the school year. My Mark has his homework done before six every night!”
“Stanley! Let’s get goin’.” Stanley smirked, a lame display of jubilation and sped up his walk.
The pediatrician’s waiting room is full of games. He even has the one where the wires swirl about like disjointed roller coasters with beads as the cars. Stanley likes this one the most, but does not play with it. A boy, more like a baby, just finished with it. Stanley is a year older than he was the last time he came. Playing with the toy was fine then, but not now. He is too old for such childish diversions. How is he to go to college, like Dad, if he keeps worrying about such things?
“How will our son do anything if he does not get straight A’s?” he overheard his father tell his mother.
“The medicine is working. Give it time. When he stops acting like he is three he will be fine,” she replied with hesitation between each syllable. She knew that the medication was working, but feared that his father was correct. Stanley understood that it was time to set aside childish want. When he watched television, he would have it set to jump between cartoons and the History Channel. His mother left him alone, for the most part, so he did not have to switch often. She thought he was watching cartoons. He was studying.
Stanley looks at each of the people in the waiting room and sees nothing. People appear before him. His eyes take in the twenty-seven year old mother with her infant cradled in her arms. They see her blonde hair, which runs to her shoulders and sets a soft face with long chin and blue eyes. She has a lost look in those eyes. One that gives out an unsure stillness as she looks upon her daughter. Fear swells between blue and black in a bruised storm. Stanley’s eyes take in the image but the information does not pass further. His focus is set upon the point of the pen yielding blue ink onto page. His mother fills out the forms and thinks of what she will tell the doctor.
“Okay, Stanley,” pages flip, “yes—last year—mhmm, 30mg—alright Stanley! Look here.”
Light filled Stanley’s eyes as the doctor peered through the other end. Stanley was not sure if the doctor could see into his brain, but the bright stream of energy hurt his eyes. The doctor went through all the regular examinations: nose, ears, heart, lungs, joints and so on. He grunted in approval and remained silent when he did not like what he saw or heard. A steady stream of grunts indicated to Stanley that he was healthy.
“Son, you have been taking some medication each morning since I last saw you. Do you take it every day?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes sir, I want a new color.”
“Sure,” he laughed. He wrote down a few things and turned to Stanley’s mother, “and you?”
“Stanley has done alright with the medication. There have been slight improvements, but he remains a bit behind. With the way he has improved by taking so little, I am sure that just a little more will do the trick,” she replied.
“We generally do not prescribe more than 30mg in a boy so young. The increased dosage will certainly yield greater returns, but I want you to understand that he may need to continue taking this for the rest of his life if we introduce a higher dosage. The benefits are undeniable.”
“Yes, I understand and am willing to do best by my son. That is why I am asking for an increase. He will reach his potential with more.”
“Alright, I will move him to two a day. Still 30mg each. In fact, he can select his choice of color and take his second dose before you leave.”
Stanley continued to stare at the eye chart. He tried to lean forward and read each of the letters. Frustrated by not being able to read the last line, he squinted to get a better view. Sound moved above him, between his mother and doctor as they continued their discussion. He thought of tie-dye as his new pill color. It looked like an explosion when the nurse showed him.
At the counter, his mother paid and collected the prescription for Stanley and set up the next appointment for six months. She thought that one year has been too long to wait for this change. If Stanley is to remain at the top, she has to have his medication adjusted on a biannual basis. Stanley gazed at his new pill sitting in his right hand. The colors really stood out against his pale palm. He was happy.
A mile away from home, the fog returned. Stanley’s mother pulled to the side to keep her son safe. It became thicker and she worried about possible cars coming from behind and not seeing her tail lights as she sits on the curb. Stanley looks outwards from his back seat through the front window. He sees the fog as it continues to fill the street and the car.