One of my favorite series of all time is the original CBS broadcasted series known as
The Twilight Zone. I knew I had to write a blog on an episode, simply because every episode leaves the viewer the responsibility of using his imagination and understanding the greater moral of the story. For those who are also
Twilight Zone enthusiasts, I'm sorry to tell you that I will not be blogging about the following popular episodes: "The Eye of the Beholder," "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street," or "Number 12 Looks Just Like You." Don't get me wrong, all of the mentioned episodes are some of the most analytical and stirring of the lot, and they deserve their praise-- "The Eye of the Beholder" exemplifies that a person's attractiveness is truly subjective; "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street" reveals the prejudice and bestiality lurking within the human race; "Number 12 Looks Just Like You" accompanies George Orwell's horrific visions in his book
Nineteen-Eighty Four in an overly eerie fashion. The problem is that everyone has seen these episodes (and if you haven't then I highly recommend that you do!). My goal, instead, is to analyze a much less popular episode and relate it in some fashion to our environment.
The episode I chose for this blog is "Twenty-Two," which was based on a scary short story called "The Bus-Conductor," by E. F. Benson. I will only talk about the episode because it is a mirror-image of the short story, except that the short story takes place at a much earlier date and the characters are different.
In "Twenty-Two" a young professional dancer by the name of Liz Powell is admitted to a hospital as a result of being overworked and having developed fatigue, due to being constantly nervous. Powell has an extremely vivid and reoccurring nightmare in which she experiences a false-awaking. In her dream, Powell wakes up in the middle of the night to the loudness of her bedside clock, then knocks over her glass of water due to shock. After the water glass breaks, loud footsteps down the hospital hallway are always destined to be heard by Powell. As a result of an eerie curiosity, Powell gets up and peeks out of her hospital room-- she sees a nurse facing her direction, standing in an open elevator. Despite the light in the elevator, Powell, as well as the viewer, cannot distinguish the visage of the nurse-- there is a looming shadow covering the whole of her face. Observing the elevator doors as they close, as well as the lighted floor panel levels which tell where the elevator is going, Powell cannot help but get the next lift down via the elevator. Arriving at the basement and stepping out of the elevator, Powell notices a set of swinging doors, above which reads the number "22." The viewer also notices that the pair of swinging doors read "Morgue" on them. Just as Powell attempts to push the doors open, the same nurse from before comes out, except this time we see her beautiful face. Upon confronting Powell, the nurse smiles creepily and says "room for one more, honey." After this, Powell becomes hysterical, screaming all the way back to the elevator.
The same nightmare occurs over and over again for a couple of nights. The doctor tries reassuring Powell that no such nurse works in the morgue, but is befuddled that Powell knows that the morgue is room number "22," because she's never set foot on the basement floor.
Eventually Powell is declared cured of her fatigue and is discharged from the hospital. In the airport Powell receives her ticket that will take her to Miami Beach-- she cannot help but notice that her flight is number "22." At first Powell thinks nothing of this coincidence, but then reality starts mimicking her reoccurring dreams-- she hears a loud ticking noise from the clock on the airport wall, she accidentally bumps into a woman who carries a vase, which shatters on the floor, and finally, she hears loud footsteps. Climbing the stairs of the airplane, Powell notices a stewardess welcoming passengers on board. Once it is Powell's turn to be welcomed, she is shocked to see that the stewardess is identical to the beautiful nurse from her nightmares. The stewardess relays to Powell a familiar message: "room for one more, honey." Once again screaming hysterically, Powell runs down the airplane stairs and back into the airport. The airport staff then show their concern for the horrified young woman by attempting to reassure and comfort her. While this is going on, the viewer, as well as Powell observe as flight "22" ascends into the air. Not even two minutes after becoming airborne, the plane explodes.
Creepy huh? Ok, well most of y'all will say "but Sam, how does this relate to the environment?" First of all I will answer by retorting "well, I'm glad you asked." You see, I believe that in life I, as well as all of you reading this blog post, have numerous signs all around us that we must learn to interpret. In telling Liz Powell's story I was not trying to get across that the nurse was evil, far from it, instead the nurse, as well as every other aspect of Powell's dream, served as a sign that ultimately saved her life. I believe that our dreams and our realities are an environment of symbols, signs, and messages. I believe that when you and I have those eerie moments of Déjà Vu there is a reason for it. Of course certain messages are more important than others, so we cannot interpret all of the messages we are subjected to, but if we can decode the relevant ones, then I think we're doing pretty well. I do believe that these messages apply to everyone, including Atheists-- when I refer to signs and messages, I do not mean signs and messages from God or a god, I am referring to signs and messages bred and produced by life and held within life. Do I believe that these messages in life can be interpreted in the wrong fashion and result in hurtful actions? Well, sure I do. But signs can also save a person's life, and pro-create peace and positivity. Do not ask me how signs are to be interpreted, because I never claimed, and will never claim that I know. The one thing I DO know about signs is that they ARE there.
