Tickles

The research assistant held in her lap a cigar box. She said they were studying tickles. Of course we were suspicious. The ad in the paper had said nothing about tickles; the ad had said the purpose of the experiment was to “fine-tune the human sensory apparatus and challenge widely accepted notions of the real.” Fifty bucks for a one-hour session. We had thought, Sweet. We had practically skipped all the way to the university. I said dinner tonight was on me. But now we were dubious—highly dubious. Tickles didn’t sound like a very scientific term. I wondered if tickles was scientific shorthand for a phenomenon whose precise terminology was too abstruse for the average layperson, so instead of rattling off the lengthy Latinate nomenclature and potentially scaring us off with arcane technical jargon, they just said tickles.

Tickles, I said to the research assistant. Is that short for something?

Nope, she said.

She twittered her long fingers in the airspace between us.

You know, said the research assistant. Tickles.

She looked right at me.

Surely you know about tickles, said the research assistant, still twittering.

Yes, I said. Yes, I know about tickles.

The research assistant kept twittering her fingers, for a longer duration than I would have expected—much longer. But eventually she stopped.

So what exactly is going to happen in there? I said, gesturing toward the lab.

Well, we’re going to tickle you up real good, she said. Did you know you cannot tickle yourself?

I remembered reading that somewhere, and I said as much.

That’s why we have to provide the tickles, she said. That’s why you can’t just do it yourself in our private antechamber.

I thought it weird that she’d said antechamber, and I said as much.

People have mixed feelings about our antechamber, she said. But play your cards right and by the end of the day you might find yourself in there. It’s got a mini-fridge, and all the yogurts you could ever wish for.

Is this really going to take all day? I said.

I looked at my wrist, though I hadn’t worn a watch since the gigantic Pac-Man one I had in middle school.

Depends, she said.

On? I said

The efficacy of the tickles, she said. Tickles aren’t as straightforward as you might imagine. You’ll see. There is an art to tickles.

I hope there’s a science to them as well, I said.

I laughed heartily, and she laughed, too. We both laughed for quite some time.

Save some of that for the tickles, she said.

Whenever I hear antechamber, I said, I always think anti-chamber. Like, the opposite of a chamber. What would be the opposite of a chamber, I wonder?

The playground of the mind, said the research assistant, and she reached into her cigar box, removed a snail, and placed it upon my forehead. There, she said.

Where was my father now that he was dead? I didn’t know. And I said as much.