The last time I entered the Box was four months ago. You can only apply once a month, but this time I had to wait longer because of the accident. It was a big hassle, because the money in the Box is money that comes in handy. You certainly don’t get rich with it, but you can easily pay a rent share and some food that lasts a few weeks if you are good at rationing.
If I have to be honest, I’m not sure if the last was really an accident, but it was convenient to call it so for the compensation. I was paid some extra credits and, of course, medical expenses were covered. I fractured my radius, ulna, humerus and tore some tendons in my shoulder. I don’t really know how it happened, I’ve been going inside the Box for two years and I’ve never had any problems. Even if I push myself over the edge sometimes, it’s hard for anything to happen with all those safety systems. Occasionally someone dies in it, but - you know - that’s part of the big numbers. The fact is that when you’re inside the Box your body produces a whole series of hormones that confuse the mind, so even memory can’t really be trusted.
In the long weeks of boredom and recovery, I got to thinking and fell into a terrible doubt. If it were true, I would be such an idiot. I am incapable of doing anything else; the Box is my only chance to get by. I lost months of pay unnecessarily, if it wasn’t for the compensation I would have been finished by now. No, it’s not possible. I can’t have hurt myself.
On the table there’s an envelope from the Committee, still unopened. I sent the request a few days ago, enclosing X-rays and a medical certificate. I am healed and fit to return. If for some reason they should have rejected the request, I have nothing left to come up with. I can only hope that they had an eye on me. The envelope is there looking at me, I get up and sit down and it is always there. Occasionally I can still hear the clock ticking even though it has been two years since I threw it on the floor and crushed it with my shoe.
Without my realizing it I am standing there, my hand outstretched toward the envelope. I grab it and rip open the opening. I lick the glue residue off the paper, savoring it like a dessert. It is the only sweet thing I can afford; sugar costs more than I can hope to earn in a year. I don’t read anything on it, by now I’m not even sure I remember how to do it, I just look at the color of the stamp. Green, like a traffic light, like the apple peels that were there when I was a child, like the hope that everything can go back to where it belongs. Green: they got me. The appointment is set for tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.
I decide to celebrate by making myself a coffee. I still keep an unopened pod inside a matchbox, but that one is too valuable. I pick up a used pod abandoned in the sink; it is not so old after all, it must have generated only two or three coffees. I spend the rest of the day on the sofa, licking the Committee envelope and fantasizing about the Box. I already imagine myself inside it and forget much of my problems.
The next day I show up at the Committee skyscraper half an hour early. They appreciate punctuality. I greet Susanna at check-in and fill out all the paperwork. She asks me where I disappeared to and I explain about the accident. She warns me that after a break lasting more than three months I have to start again with the basic program: this means time in the Box halved and reduced pay. I make a movie-actor smile and compliment her, asking how is she able to look better each time. I pull the matchbox out of my pants pocket and show the unused coffee pod inside. I wink at her and she blushes. She grabs the box and quickly hides it in her clothes while reassuring me that I don’t have to worry about that little problem, that she’ll take care of it. She opens a drawer and tosses me a token for a full session. I look at it and feel the oxygen in my chest again. I pull away, but I feel Susanna’s hand over mine holding me back. She asks me if one of these days I feel like calling her to invite her out to dinner. I nod, as I slip away from her sweat and my body pulls me as if attracted by a magnet to the only thing I really care about.
I hand the token over to the guards, who let the elevator access go free. On the 15th floor a hostess is waiting to escort me to the room. I follow her and find the Box already set, with the door raised. Four months is really a long time, especially for someone like me who goes through withdrawal right away. Inside the Box, nothing is visible. The hostess asks me if I need help getting in, but I dismiss her with a hand sign. I rest my hands on the two edges of the porthole and bring my face closer. The smell of the Box seeps into my bronchi, fills my lungs, explodes in my alveoli, and I stick my head in impatiently. I struggle a little, but I insist and try to push by forcing my arms. Because of the injury, my right arm is completely useless and any attempt only brings me pain. I decide to concentrate all my strength on my leg muscles and transfer their energy with a push.
The head is in. The sensation is borderline libidinal. I also slip my healthy arm in and use it to explore the inside. You never know what shape the Box decides to start with. I quickly find a handhold and grab it to get inside with my shoulders and the rest of my body. I also move my weak arm inside and at that point, by jointing a little, I manage to fall in whole. I hit the hard surface of the bottom with my knees. I try to get up, but I hit the back of my head on the ceiling. I try to sit up and lean carefully. I immediately find a more than ideal position: I have no room to stretch my legs, but my back is resting against something soft. I feel completely at ease. A muffled acoustic sound warns that the session will begin in a few seconds. I have to be ready to figure out what is the most comfortable position.
At first it may seem like a complicated, not to say dangerous, job, but you get used to it quickly. Just adapt your body to the shape of the Box, without resistance. I feel the surface under my butt rise, I check the ceiling with my hand to make sure it doesn’t crush me. My feet stay down dangling and I find myself as if I were sitting at a desk, where I can rest my arms. A soft warmth envelops me and relaxes my muscles as if I were immersed inside a tub of warm water. I remain in this position for several minutes, when suddenly something wedge-like begins to press against the back of my neck. It forces me to bend it. At the same instant, an opposing force crushes my chest. An inexperienced person might panic, but in general an always useful and valid rule is to try to lie down. I try to stretch out my torso and then my limbs, letting go as if I were going to fall. Within seconds I find myself lying on the ground with my stomach down and one of my two cheeks clinging to something smooth and warm. The pain I felt in my injured arm slowly disappears, thanks to the hormones my body is producing. Someone tried to explain to me that inside the Box, the relaxed mind produces endorphins, but the tensed body requires constant adrenaline jolts. I never verified if that was true, but the effect you feel is like that of the best drug on the market. And the amazing thing is that you even get paid.
After a while of nothing happening I try to roll over to lie supine. The space inside the Box allows me to do so. I try to turn around, but the injured arm gets caught in a deformation of the Box. I try to unhook it, but the pain prevents me from exerting too much effort. I decide to leave it where it is, lying on my side. Something similar to a soft pillow presses under my thighs and lifts them up. The floor under my head disappears and deprives my neck of its support, which falls to one side. I try to untwist my arm, but it remains sore in its entrapment. My legs are also stuck, with my knees almost reaching my chest. I use my free, healthy arm to hang or lean on some handhold, but find nothing. Meanwhile, I concentrate tension on my neck to keep it elevated and not let it fall down. A smooth slab approaches my ear and begins to push in favor of gravity. A sharp edge pierces my back.
Don’t panic, just let go and take the shape of the Box. The neck produces a click. By now I let go of any tension and find myself bent almost ninety degrees with my head pinned between two plates. Something presses on the spine as if to squeeze it as the inner walls of the Box take my arm away. My right shoulder comes out of its natural place. My legs finally relax again, but because of the situation of my head, I cannot move them in any useful way. A soft belt wraps around my pelvis compressing my bladder. The edges begin to wedge between the vertebrae. I am at the point where I can no longer follow the movements of the Box, but I know that seeking opposition would only get me into trouble.
I could end the session at any time with the safe word, but I haven’t been in the Box for four months and have no intention of getting out. All in all I’m fine, as long as you find your position. If I wasn’t here I would be home starving. Besides, the more I think about it, the more I realize I was born to be in here. It’s like returning to the womb, in a way. The Box offers you protection. And then you also get the money, but to be honest I don’t do it just for that reason. If it were up to me, I would stay in it forever.
In the end, you just need to find your position.