The Mortality Clinic
Micaela Walley
Catherine sat in the passenger’s seat of her mother’s Prius and rocked her head back and forth, though there was no music playing as her mother was too on-edge for that. As they took their final street turn, their destination came into view. The building looked like a hospital, though smaller in size. Catherine’s mother inched her way towards the drop off roundabout at the entrance.
“Are you sure you want to do this today?”
Catherine nodded, keeping her eyes locked on the building.
“And you’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Catherine’s mother knew the rules—patients were not allowed to bring guests with them into the results room—though she insisted she wouldn’t mind waiting in the lobby. Catherine wanted her mother to stay, but she understood this was not a place for mothers to go with their children.
“No, Mom. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
They pulled up to the front of the building where large silver lettering spelled out above the door: Mortality Clinic.
“Text me when you’re done. I’ll be nearby.”
Catherine climbed out of the car. This would only take a few minutes, and then she could get on with the rest of her day—her birthday!
Her mother drove away as Catherine walked through the glass doors. The lobby looked like any other lobby—sterile, minimal decoration, and plenty of seating. The front desk lady ushered her over.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes,” Catherine said, handing the woman the packet of paperwork she’d forgotten she’d been holding since she left her house.
The woman told her to sit down and that she’d be called back soon.
Catherine made her way to an empty seat. She was surprised at how few people were there, only two others, an elderly woman and a man who appeared to be in his late thirties and in terrible health. Catherine tried not to look at him as he bit his fingernails and checked his watch every few minutes.
Catherine sat back in her chair and yawned. She had woken up early, excited, ready to get this over with. Her parents agreed to let her show up late to school so that she could get an early appointment. Most of her friends did the same on their sixteenth birthdays, scheduling early appointments so they could return to school and share their results with their friends. Catherine was the youngest member of her class. She skipped a grade in elementary school, and she felt like the only person who didn’t know her results yet.
When Catherine’s best friend Jessica got her results almost a year ago, Catherine was wildly jealous of her, though most people were. Jessica got the ideal results. She would die of old age at 103 years old.
“I knew that’s what it would be. All of the women in my family live forever.”
Jessica spread the news around the school, though this was discouraged by the Mortality Clinic. In the paperwork Catherine filled out prior to her appointment, they made her sign documents stating she agreed to the terms and conditions: She would not try to alter her results in any way (though this had never been proven effective), she would not disclose the information to others without their consent, and she would accept the results as final and would not attempt to physically harm or argue with the consultants who presented her results.
A guy around Catherine’s age, maybe a little older, rushed through the results room exit doors. He wiped his eyes and scowled at Catherine for looking up at him. The panic on his face was all-consuming, and he walked quickly towards the exit of the building—scared, informed, and ultimately changed.
Catherine remembered when her boyfriend Jake got his results. He refused to tell her for a few days. He was pretty shaken up about it, though he wouldn’t explicitly admit this to her.
“Asphyxiation. They said it’ll happen when I am 43.”
Catherine tried not to cry for him because he’d clearly come to accept this as his truth. Besides, 43 seemed far away from 16. There was no reason to worry about it as the Mortality Clinic’s results were simply always correct. Most people thought it stemmed from a thorough analysis of your medical work up along with your family history, though this didn’t explain how they factored in the random chance of death that comes along with existing each day. However, whatever they did to come up with these results, there were no documented cases of people living on to disprove them.
Catherine’s parents’ generation was more hesitant than her generation to accept this information as fact. Most of them opted not to know their results, as their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents had lived blissfully unaware of their fate. Catherine’s mother and father both agreed they would not get their results, though Catherine suspected her father had secretly made his appointment years ago because he’d drastically changed his diet in the last five years, cutting out all red meats.
“Don’t be worried, Kit-Cat. You’ve got good genes,” her father assured her as he walked her and her mother to the car that morning.
Mortality Clinics had been around since before Catherine was born, though you were not allowed to get your results until you were 16 or older. This always confused Catherine, as one of her neighbors lost their 14-year-old son to a swimming accident a few years prior. It seemed unfair to her that they hadn’t allowed him to know his results ahead of time. Neither him nor his family knew how limited their time would be together. Catherine didn’t understand why they couldn’t make cases like his a special exception.
“Catherine,” the front desk lady called out.
Catherine got up from her seat and walked over, though as soon as she stood up, she felt her stomach drop and the color drain from her face. She hadn’t fully accepted that she was nervous about this, but hearing her name called made it feel more real, more inevitable.
“This is a good day,” Catherine reminded herself. “This is the day that will help me plan out the rest of my life.”
As she approached the front desk, the woman looked up at her and gave her a big smile.
“You missed a signature on one of the consent forms.”
Catherine reached down and scribbled her name on the document. It was the liability document, stating that the Mortality Clinic was not responsible for any harm you brought to yourself over the results, although they knew if you’d die by suicide or not. Catherine didn’t see the point in this document, but she understood that even the all-knowing have to cover their asses in court.
Catherine waited a few more minutes before she was finally called back to the results room. She imagined the room would be more than what it actually was—just a long conference table separating a chair and a widescreen TV mounted to the wall. A male nurse walked her back into the room, stopping to take her blood pressure and weight. She assumed this was all just a formality—a force of habit for any medical office. He wrote it down on his clipboard before escorting her into the room.
“Please sit,” he instructed her.
Catherine noticed that he was very handsome, and this embarrassed her. She hoped her results were not something like rectal cancer or choking on her own vomit. He would know, then, that she was destined for a miserable, potentially-gross end.
“We’re going to run through your results one more time with our supervisors in the back just to make sure they are correct. As soon as they are verified, your results will show up on the TV monitor. I’ll give you a few minutes to review them before coming in again to answer any questions you may have. Sound good?” he asked cheerfully.
“Yes, that’s fine,” Catherine answered.
He went to close the door behind him, though stepped back in after a glimpse at his clipboard.
“I see it’s your birthday today. Happy Birthday!”
Catherine looked up and smiled at him as he stepped back out of the room, leaving her alone. She peeked at the TV monitor. It remained black.
She knew that it was more than likely she’d die of some disease or cancer. That wasn’t unreasonable to Catherine. She understood her body would eventually be older and more likely to succumb to illness. What worried her the most was the senior at her school, Chad, who’d been told he would be murdered at 30. This completely changed his personality. Once an outgoing jock, he quickly turned into an introverted hermit, uninterested in making new friendships. She pitied him for always having to look over his shoulder, never trusting anyone but himself.
“What’s going to happen is going to happen. Now they’ve completely ruined that boy’s life. And for what?” her mother ranted after Catherine told her about Chad.
Having been one of the many people who protested Mortality Clinics back in the day, Catherine knew her mother would disagree with her getting her results. She begged for months preceding her birthday until her mother finally gave in—mostly to shut her up, and also because she knew that Catherine would have access to her results whether she approved of it or not.
Catherine just couldn’t resist the idea of knowing how many days she had in front of her. She’d be able to determine her appropriate age for having children, what careers she’d realistically have enough time to succeed in, and when she should get married. It was a lot for sixteen, but Catherine was ready to have the knowledge she needed to begin thinking about the rest of her life.
The TV screen flickered on, changing from black to white. Catherine’s heartbeat picked up as she searched the screen for words—any words. No words appeared. A computerized voice came from the TV.
“Thank you for visiting the Mortality Clinic. Your results are loading. We appreciate your patience.”
Catherine stared at the screen. She was suddenly consumed with impatience and her foot began bouncing hard against the floor.
“Just tell me,” she said out loud to the empty room.
It was as if they were listening to her. As soon as she’d said it, the words popped up on the screen in heavy black print: Car Crash.
This was real. These were her results.
For a few moments, those words were just words and not words that applied to her. Then her bouncing foot came to a halt. Everything in the room was quiet and still, the same as it had been before, except now she knew for certain that she was going to die in a car crash.
She practiced saying it out loud, “Car crash. Car crash. Car crash.”
Her amazement faded into disbelief which overlapped with confusion and unexpected sorrow. While she thought these results would give her clarity, loads of questions flooded her mind as she studied those words. Would it be an immediate death? Would there be internal injuries that wouldn’t heal right? Would someone else be in the car with her?
The male nurse walked in on her mid-thought. He was followed in by a woman much older than him. She must have been a clinician, one of the people involved in the determining of her results.
“Hi Catherine. I’m Dr. Gillman. I am here to answer any questions you might have about these results.”
“It’s her birthday!” the male nurse exclaimed, nudging Dr. Gillman gently with his elbow.
“My apologies, Catherine. Happy Birthday! Thank you for spending your special day with the Mortality Clinic.”
Catherine looked up at both of them, confused. How could they be so happy? Didn’t they see the words, “Car Crash,” on the screen?
“Do you have any questions, dear?” Dr. Gillman asked, walking closer to her.
Catherine studied the words on the screen again, dumbfounded.
“I… don’t understand,” Catherine sputtered out.
“Nurse, would you mind going and getting Catherine some of those support pamphlets from the lobby?” Dr. Gillman asked. The male nurse nodded and left the room.
Catherine and Dr. Gillman remained in silence as Catherine continued to try to process what she’d just learned. She immediately wished she’d asked her mother to stay.
“Catherine, there’s something you need to be aware of with your results,” Dr. Gillman said, moving to stand right next to Catherine’s chair, “You’ll notice on the screen your results do not include an age.”
Catherine’s eyes jolted to the screen. Dr. Gillman was right. Nowhere on the screen indicated when this car crash would happen.
Before Catherine could ask, Dr. Gillman answered.
“It is very rare that our results do not include an age. Unfortunately, in your case, the data was inconclusive. We know for certain that this particular result is yours, though we do not know when the event will take place.”
Silence filled the space around them again, until Catherine cleared her voice to answer.
“By event, you mean the car crash?”
“Yes, the car crash,” Dr. Gillman confirmed.
Catherine thought of how she’d been saving up babysitting money to buy a car. She was scheduled to get her driver's license at the end of the week. It was her sixteenth birthday, and at some point, maybe even today, she was going to die in a car crash.
Catherine attempted to ask Dr. Gillman her list of questions, though Dr. Gillman informed her that the Mortality Clinic had given her all the information they had on the matter, which was frustratingly little to none. She should, as her paperwork stated, consider these results as final.
After being handed an assortment of pamphlets and signing a few last-minute forms, Catherine was allowed to leave the Mortality Clinic. She couldn’t remember why she wanted to come there in the first place.
Her mother’s Prius rounded the corner and inched closer to the building’s entrance where Catherine waited. Her mother had previously asked her to keep her results to herself after the appointment. She couldn’t bear the thought of knowing how her only child would eventually die. Catherine braced herself for the most awkward car ride of her life. A car ride, she realized, that could potentially be her last.
Her mother pulled up and waved at her. Panic struck Catherine as she walked closer and closer to the car. She thought about telling her mother she’d rather walk home, though she knew that would be unreasonable. Home was miles away, and school was even further. She would need to face her new reality at some point.
“It might as well be now,” she thought to herself.
Her hand reached out for the car door handle. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath as she shoved herself inside.
Micaela Walley (she/hers) is an MFA candidate at the University of Baltimore. Her work can be found in Oracle Fine Arts Review, ENTROPY, Gravel, and Huffpost. She currently lives in Hanover, Maryland with her best friend--Chunky, the cat. Find her on twitter @micaela_poetry.
