Einstein’s Lunatic

Hanging haphazardly in one hand is my favorite bottle of wine. The 1945 Romanée-Conti. Naturally, I don’t think you will know that. I also don’t think you should be able to afford it. What is its estimated worth? $560,000. Could you surpass that? *Inebriated belch*

Not that I’m bragging or anything, but even your most extravagant dream could not buy this. Similar to how you cannot afford the restroom I am in at the moment. Even if you live in a mansion, my bathroom is certainly larger than your entire home. However, I’m not attempting to remind you of your poverty and unworthiness. My time would be better spent on other things. *belch, drunk*. So disregard me and this narration. Let’s get into the actual story.

**

In my drunken state, I glance around my bathroom and spot the fanciest item: my shiny gold bathtub. It’s my go-to for relaxation. Even though I know you are undeserving, I’ll still share with you what goes through my mind when I’m here. But first, let’s start with a little introduction about me. Shall we?

“My name’s Ropo Coker, I’m 26, and I think – no, I know I’m just like Einstein. His IQ was between 160 and 190, just like mine. My dad noticed when I was three that I was super curious. I was also really creative and good at thinking critically. Even when I was little, I never gave up on things and could handle any problem. My intuition was my dad’s favorite thing about me. It helped me a lot, both at home and at work. By the time I was 18, I was a doctor, and by 20, everyone in the city wanted me to work for them. People called me the ‘Einstein doctor.’ My dad was proud, but he worried I wasn’t humble. But I think being humble is overrated, especially when you’re as smart as me. Still, I’ve always been open-minded and always eager to learn new things.”

When I say this bathtub is the best for relaxing, here’s what I mean: I put down my wine and glass next to the tub, then let my soft bathrobe slip off my shoulder. As it falls to the ground, I feel the cool night air on my skin, giving me goosebumps as I step into the water. I have a routine of sinking into the cold water, where I feel like I can understand the universe’s secrets. It’s like when a tree is hit by lightning and all its secrets are revealed. I can see the dreaded reality that most people try to run from: death.

Sometimes, when I’m completely under the water and can’t breathe, I wonder how long it’ll take before I stop breathing altogether. It’s like a challenge, but I always end up coming back to the surface after about 40 minutes. By then, I’d heard and seen all I needed to know about the universe’s secrets. 

However, I often feel unsatisfied because some of my questions remain unanswered. Sometimes, I wonder what answers I’m seeking when I haven’t even summoned the courage to ask myself those questions.

But I do always stand in awe at everyone’s perspective of death. Scientists will marvel at the intricate dance of cells, the symphony of organs, and the inevitable march of time that eventually brings it all to a close. In simpler words, they study how the body functions and eventually stops. It is all a part of life’s big picture. 

Often, my thoughts don’t end there. I go on a philosophical journey, thinking about the meaning of mortality. I wonder if it’s foolish to seek wisdom in the chaos of life. Is death the end, just emptiness, or maybe a gateway to something more? Is religion correct? Is it the way to paradise, or is it a cycle of rebirth?

I often thought deeply as bubbles floated from my mouth to the water’s surface. Each pop filled me with unease, reminding me that even death had its place in the vast tapestry of the universe, yet I hadn’t found mine. 

Besides my father, I have no friends, not even among my siblings. Why? Why should I lower myself to their level? If I were to drop to their level of intelligence, I might finally meet with death himself.

If I were to share a secret with you, it would be that sometimes I feel jealous of people like you. I’m incredibly wealthy, as is my father, and I can buy anything I desire in this world – well, except friends. That is something money has not been able to buy. So when I see someone like you, who isn’t nearly as wealthy as I am, I think, “Lucky you! You’ve found your place in this wide world. You must be leading a satisfied life indeed.”

One evening, I walked up to my father while he was enjoying a quiet nap. I hovered above him and noticed a faint smile on his lips as he closed his eyes. Is he sleeping peacefully right now? Or perhaps, he’s having a pleasant dream? The audacity of this man! With a slight tap on his shoulder, just enough to wake him up, I asked.

“Father, do you ever think of death?”

I swear I heard him choke on his own saliva as he quickly snapped back to consciousness. My father looked at me with a mix of worry and irritation written all over his face.

“Ropo, are you okay at all?” he asked, tapping his temple with two fingers. I wondered why he was asking. Was he worried that his 26-year-old son was already thinking about death, Or was he irritated at the thought that I might be wishing him what he dreads the most? Whichever it was, It was nice to see the smile fade from his face.

When I didn’t respond, he let out a soft sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

“Ropo, I’m worried about your mental health. I think you need a break. I’ve been observing you for some time now. Thank goodness I talked to Doctor Craig already. She mentioned they needed an extra hand at the hospital. I believe it would be good for you to switch environments. Go there for about a month and gain a fresh perspective. Don’t stress about work. The hospital and I will manage just fine until you come back. Just make sure you don’t get carried away there.”

I stared at my father for a while and noticed how concerned he looked. Normally, I would have refused his offer because I’m familiar with Doctor Oyindamola Craig. She runs the country’s largest and most expensive psychiatric hospital. I also know she doesn’t need extra staff, especially not me as a doctor, but perhaps as a patient. This is my father’s subtle way of suggesting I need psychiatric treatment. I look at him and don’t object. Maybe I do need a change of scenery. Perhaps seeing people with real mental challenges, who are just as wealthy as I am but unaware of it, will help me appreciate life more than death.

“When will she need me?” I asked.

“Tomorrow,” he replied, “it’s best if you go as soon as you can.”

Despite knowing my father’s intentions, there’s something about going to a psychiatric hospital that gives me a sense of hope I can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s being among people whom I feel are undoubtedly more mentally weak than I am that sparks this hope within me. At least, they have no absolute control over their mental capacity, unlike some folks I know. 

Whichever way, I have a flight to catch tomorrow. See you then.