The Lakeside Retreat
1- Despair
I never imagined that my life would turn out quite like this. Surely, I could never be this empty, grieving shell of a person. Not me- lover of laughter, thirsty for adventure, absolutely fearless. Yet my sad, greying reflection in the mirror spoke nothing but the truth. And I could not hide my sorrow from the world. It seeped throughout every crevasse of my being.
This was my life, regretfully. I traveled from work then home to do more work from home. There were no extras, no connections, no fun, no friends. I had already deleted all my social media accounts after both funerals. It was too hard to find the energy to speak to acquaintances whom I knew meant well, but whom had struggles of their own.
Much like the tenacles of the Kraken, darkness had a vicious grip on my soul, and I was drowning in it. Even when I tried to break free from it, there was no escaping the tears and heartbreak. Despair was my only companion, and even it was tired of me. I had given up.
“You need a retreat or some sort of rehab,” my last remaining friend suggested.
“They don’t have rehab for grief, Madelyn!”
“Girl, they have something. They’ve got to. Why are you so determined to hang on to this thing? Why let it beat you, Cee?”
I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. And I knew I wasn’t the only person in the world who felt like her soul had been ripped out and stomped on. I really had no excuse for quitting on life.
“Cee?! Damn it! You need to snap out of this shit! I care about you, but you need to care about yourself! Can’t nobody get you out of this cycle but you!”
“I know,” I whispered quietly.
“What can I do for you? I’m at a loss. I have nothing left for you except a kick in the ass, girl.”
“I don’t have anything left either. I’m sick of crying, Lynnie.”
“Don’t I know it! I’ll think of something. You just need a change of scenery even if it is for a couple of days.”
“Let me call you back, Lynnie.”
“No, wait! Stay on the phone, Cee!” Lynnie sighed.
“I can’t!” I hung up before she could protest any further, and I turned off my phone to keep her from calling back. I'm exhausted, as usual. The night was just another night where I cried myself to sleep.
2- Arrival
It was a week later, and I was in an 18 passenger van. I listlessly stared out the window as the vehicle wound northward along an empty road deep into the Appalachian Mountains. Tall trees lined the street like solemn sentries. The driver made an attempt to play upbeat tunes like Pharrell’s “Happy” during the long drive. He was also the only one who looked like he enjoying himself. Madelyn found a retreat for me, but every last person in the van was just as listless and grief-stricken as I was. No one was really speaking. We looked out into the forest afraid to hope that maybe where we were headed could have the answers we were searching for.
“Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof! Clap along…. Oh! We’re here!”
The three story cabin and tiny surrounding buildings appeared out of nowhere. The trees seemed to swallow up the road behind us. The left side of the cabin had a mini sports complex with tennis and basketball courts. To the right, four tiny cabins were clustered together boasting mini porches and happy, twinkling stringed lights. A lake stretched out behind the main residence. I could feel anticipation and relief permeating the van. At least the area that would be my prison for the next 10 days was beautiful.
“Home!” I corrected myself and did my best not to roll my eyes.
“Welcome home, travelers! Please stay inside the van until I have you all checked in.” The driver skipped away. The sliding van door was opened immediately, of course. Everyone climbed out to stretch their legs. We stayed nearby.
“Hi. I’m Erica!”
“Devon.”
“Pacal”
“Dwayne”
“Linda! Where are you all from?”
“Denver.”
“Boston.”
“Atlanta.”
I listened to the soft conversation flitter around me, but I didn’t participate. Linda moved closer to me, and I could tell she was one of those people who didn’t like it when she perceived that someone felt left out. She was eager to draw me in.
“Ok! Let’s do this, people!” Too late! The bubbly driver had returned.
“So, I know you are all eager to be settled in, and I’m sure some of you are hungry and tired. Unfortunately, you will not be entering your official accommodations until after you finish the registration process. We have premium hot chocolate, coffee, tea, and snacks inside. Feel free to enjoy the light refreshments during processing. Let’s go!”
Mr. Thomas, according to his nametag, ushered us into the cabin. Each person had someone waiting for them. We were greeted and led into small, private offices. The room was joyless, windowless, and cold. I almost felt as if the atmosphere was ironically mirroring my mood.
My advisor waited patiently for me to drink it all in without interruption. When I finally looked back at him, he smiled warmly and reached to shake my hand. I gave him a fist bump instead, and he laughed.
“Laceedra, I’m Dillon. I am your resort advisor for your visit.”
“Do you mean psychiatrist?”
Dillon laughed again, “If that is what you would like to call me, I’ll take it. You’ll see that we tend to avoid clinical terms here.”
“I tend to lean toward realism, Dr. Dillon.”
“So, no vivid imagination? No fantasies?”
“No fairytales,” I finished wryly.
“I see. So, we will definitely skip the part of the questionnaire that refers to your deepest desires, Laceedra, and we’ll get down to business.”
I shifted nervously in my seat. It was in my nature to immediately distrust not just this my advisor or the retreat, but I distrusted the entire process.
“Let’s start with why you are here.” He waited for my response even though he did not ask me a question.
I cleared my throat and began. “I’ve had a few losses. Major losses. And the grief has interrupted my life,” I answered barely above a whisper.
“And how have these interruptions impacted you?”
“I go about my day to day tasks. I work. I do all the things that I am supposed to do. There is just no joy in my life. I just don’t want to be here.”
“So, you don’t want to be here at the resort, or do you mean…?”
“It’s just the pain. I’m in constant pain. I find myself thinking that life is no longer worth living.”
“And you feel the only alternative is…?”
We looked each other directly in the eyes. His eyes were kind. My eyes were red. I tried to hold back a flood of tears. I wasn’t ready to cry in front of this stranger, yet. I also wasn’t willing to admit that I’d just rather be dead. I couldn’t say it because honestly, I didn’t want it. I did want to live, just not like that.
I broke his gaze. The tears disobediently rolled down my burning cheeks.
“What is the one thing you want the most, Laceedra? What is the one thing you that you miss the most from your former life?”
My answer surprised me. Instead of saying a person, I said, “Laughter. My life is so joyless, now. I miss feeling joyous. I miss hearing myself laugh even when things are going wrong. I could always find the silver lining even in the toughest of situations. Not anymore. I don’t think I will ever laugh again.”
“Thank you for your honesty. Please, fill out the rest of the questionnaire and registration paperwork. Enjoy the coffee. I’ll return to you in a moment.”
Dr. Dillon exited the sterile room gracefully, quickly taking his warmth with him. It was almost as if the room immediately grew. The coffee he pointed to was a dark roast. The creamer was unmistakenly hazelnut. Together, they were always my favorite combination. Steam curled from the pot as I poured myself a generous mug-full. I sipped slowly letting the toastiness take the chill from my body.
Dr. Dillon had not returned. I poured myself a second cup, laid the clipboard that held the completed registration on the table, and closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew, I was being shaken gently. I could hear Dr. Dillon calling my name.
“What!?”
“Laceedra. Don’t be startled. You fell asleep, and we moved you into your accommodations.”
“What? How did you…?”
“No worries. You were very deeply asleep, which is quite normal considering the long trip and your special circumstances. You’ll probably fall back to sleep again rather swiftly. When you awaken, we’ll begin your first treatment.”
“But I’m hungry,” I heard myself murmur. Dr. Dillon chuckled as my weariness pulled me back into the darkness.
3- Treatment
This time I was roughly shaken. I opened my eyes with a start. The bright lights kicked in the immediate reflex to cover them with my hands. Except, my hand would not move.
“What the hell!?” I tugged at both of my arms, and realized I was strapped down to some sort of adjustable hospital bed. As my eyes adjusted, fear gripped me. I was in a white room with padded walls. There were straps across my waist, my hips, above and below my knees, and my feet were also restrained tightly. The only thing missing was an actual straight jacket!
“What the fuck is going on!?”
Dr. Dillon’s voice echoed via intercom or some sort of loud speaker. “Good morning, Laceedra. I hope you slept well.”
“Good morning? I signed up for a retreat, not a fucking psych ward!”
“Laceedra, rest assured. You are still at the resort. This is not the psychiatric ward. You are, however, starting the first phase of your treatment.”
“What kind of treatment! You’d better release me!”
“The restraints are for your safety, and the safety of the attendants handling your treatment. This morning’s treatment will only last for an hour or so. Then we will release you in time for some much needed relaxation and a hardy breakfast.”
“I don’t want it! Please let me go.”
Dr. Dillon’s voice was replaced with the sound of jazzy elevator music. The attendees, three men and two women, were dressed in all white. They surrounded me silently. One woman softly stroked the underside of my restrained arm, stopping right before my armpit. My attempt to move away was futile, of course.
“Listen, about my treatment…. What…”
“Shhhhhh…” whispered a voice in my ear. I felt another attendant stroke the underside of my other arm in the same fashion as the first one. I shivered and felt goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. My shirt was lifted a little. Another attendant trailed their fingers lightly across my abdomen. I tried to twist away. Then I felt hands gently rubbing both of my legs. I jumped and glared at the attendant who spider walked his hands along my knees.
“Stop it!” I threatened.
The final attendant stood motionless at my feet. My eyes grew wide, and suddenly I understood exactly what was about to happen.
“Don’t do it, please!”
The final attendee looked down at me and then read from a clipboard.
“In your first interview with Dr. Dillon, you stated that you missed hearing yourself laugh. You said you didn’t think you would ever laugh again.”
“I know, but you don’t understand. I…” my voice trailed off into giggles. The stroking hands were getting dangerously close to my armpits. “I don’t like being touched by anyone I don’t know.”
“This is simply the first phase of your treatment, Laceedra. Dr. Dillon believes before you can achieve true healing, you must learn to laugh again.”
“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing in most cases, but… Oh god! Please don’t!”
Attendant Three used one nail to circle the outer edges of my belly button. More giggles poured out of me as I struggled to keep my composure.
“Imagine this is like a full body massage. The treatment will continue until the allotted time has ended. We will have to immerse you in full sensory deprivation for the remainder of the session.”
The woman slipped a satin-lined hood over my head.
“For the lights…” she explained calmly. A device that felt like noise cancelling headphones was placed over my ears.
I saw nothing. But I heard the sound of my rapidly beating pulse and my soft, nervous giggles. The stroking continued along with gentle pokes and squeezes here and there that made me squeal for a second. Yet, they never quite caused me to lose control. Hands traced the lines of my outer thighs. Someone was climbing up and down my ribcage. The tickly sensations caused me to arch my back up in the air. Then hands danced on the small of my back making me crash down again.
The touches were teasing and pleasant. They indeed felt like a soft, tickly massage, and it was honestly relaxing. Their hands were warm and strong. I couldn’t contain my sighs of pleasure especially when one attendant stroked the outer curves of my breasts.
“Hey!” I whispered. Leg attendee had gone a little too high as he tickled the inside of my thighs. I tightened my legs around his fingers. I hadn’t even noticed until that moment the light tickling had shifted into something more intense.
Everyone’s hands began to move exponentially faster. It felt less like a massage and more like they were purposely tickling the hell out of me. Nails crawled up the heels of my feet, to my arches, to the pads, and settled underneath my toes and back to my tender arches over and over and over again. My startled screaming boomed around me.
“No! No! No! No! Don’t tickle me! Don’t tickle me!! Do not tickle me!” I wailed between fits of laughter. But it was unrestrained laughter! My joyous laughter! The sound of my laughter was amplified, like it could be heard in a stadium filled with people. And it was such a relief to hear!
“Okay! Oooooooookay! I’m laughing! You can stop, now! You can stop!!!!!!”
They weren’t listening. Hands wiggled in my armpits deep in the centers, then the edges as if they were seeking out my most sensitive areas.
“Please!” I cackled, wildly. I immediately when to silent laughter when they finally found the exact spot they were looking for. Then I felt different pairs of hands digging in as if each attendant wanted to produce the same wheezing reaction I made when I tried to laugh and breathe at the exact time.
“Ooookay! That’s enough!” They ignored me and continued to find more skin to tickle. My neck and my collarbone weren’t shown mercy. I didn’t even know my collarbone was ticklish, but the neck tickles made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Something light and wispy (maybe feathers) brushed under my chin and down my neck making me squeak. And I yelped as one attendee started giving my tummy raspberries like I was 12.
“Raspberries still fucking work!?” I thought! “No way!”
“Stop it!” I growled, but I wasn’t angry. The laughter that had eluded me for so very long poured from my lips, and oddly enough, I was grateful. Still, this torture had to end!
Someone was dragging feathers or something in between my toes, and I was laughing so hard that felt like I was dying. However, it was the tips of my toes that sent me over the edge into pure panic mode. I swung my feet and tried to kick. I couldn’t. I clenched and wiggled my toes. No escape. Nothing had ever tickled this badly. My begging sounded like mushy nonsense in my ears. The tickling everywhere else on my body could not compare to this hell.
I was already laughing and crying hysterically when the tickling on my toes grew even worse! Suddenly, it felt like some mystery tool was buzzing solely against the tiny ends of my long toes. They vibrated and vibrated and vibrated.
Silent laughter punctuated by short, random screams took over me. I was trembling. I was in agony. My chest ached for more air. I felt like I being smothered. My laughter grew weak. I felt dizzy, like I was flying and falling at the same time. And then I felt nothing at all. I heard nothing at all. I was out.
4- Bagels
“Ready for breakfast?”
I opened my eyes, and I was in my room. I was in my bed. There were no restraints. There were no white padded walls. I was in a comfortable, plush robe and fuzzy socks.
“I guess so,” I whispered. I was thoroughly confused. I would have thought it was all a dream, but I could still feel the ticklish vibrating on the tips of my toes. I grabbed my feet and looked at my wrists to see signs of cuff marks. Nothing was there.
“Be careful getting up. You were asleep for nearly eighteen hours,” the attendant warned cheerfully. She helped me up and opened my door. The aroma of coffee, bacon, eggs, and pancakes made my stomach growl.
“Everything is organic and locally sourced. There’s a cute little farm not too far from here.”
I followed her slowly down the stairs. In the great room, my van-mates and the workers grabbed their food buffet style and then they moved toward the long tables. I locked eyes with Dr. Dillon. He smiled and waved before turning his attention back to the local paper.
“I heard that everything bagels are your favorite, Laceedra! Is that true?”
“Hmm? Oh! Um… yes!” I answered robotically. I searched the room for Erica, Devon, Linda, and everyone I met yesterday. They looked just as confused and shell-shocked as I felt. What really happened last night?
“Belgium waffles or pancakes?”
“Waffles! Definitely!” I really looked at the attendant for the first time, and she seemed extremely familiar. She smiled at me, winked, and handed me a plate filled with cheesy eggs and bacon.
“Everyone eat up! There’s plenty.”
