First Chapter.

This is my first chapter to my first novel, ever.

This only takes a sit down to cover the entire story of my schizophrenia. I am schizophrenic. I am also an art dealer who owns three dogs and lives in a small corner house off of Apple Street and Gray Road. I’m not that normal. I bathe, eat and go to work every day like a regular citizen, however, my life is something so different than most people I know or study from a distance. I feel very unusual and abnormal. Sometimes people cannot understand me, even if I am saying something simple. They just look at me like I am crazy... which I am, but I have had a difficult life for as long as I can remember. Bear with me now through my story.

My mother raised me with my father until I reached age sixteen. It was then that my illness caught up with me and took over my psyche. It seemed best fit to my parents that I should move in with my dreadful grandmother Catherine. Since I was failing school, the ideal was to have my school work taken care of at home, where I was safe and supervised. I did not have any friends, so I was not leaving anybody behind. I did have this boyfriend at the time, who was beautiful, however he did not mention to me that he had been dating another girl the entire time he talked to me and took me out on dates. That stupid Ashley Baits, I am so jealous. I was heartbroken, I almost even went to her house and planned on shattering her car windows with a baseball bat. Well they had been together for two years, already. Who wins in that situation…the mental case? No, absolutely not. Anyways, I left my home with my parents during my sophomore year of high school at Corey High School to live with Catherine Stone. She lives with all her animals, her maid and her butler. She has a nice Victorian home that was built in the late 1800s. I had only visited her when I was a young girl, about four to age nine. She had always treated me to her best love and attention. Grandma Catherine always bought me the most eloquent gifts and clothes, bought me shakes and ice cream, took me to the movies. She was the most fun I knew growing up. It was not until these recent years that our relationship had taken a bit of a toll on us. She just divorced her husband of twenty-three years and they had a lot going on for them. She was a car dealer, actually, and she was quite successful. As a matter of fact, she was overqualified for her job and they dismissed her because she had been having issues calmly communicating with her co-workers. The work they would dump on her was too stressful for her to handle by herself. She had asked another worker to help her out with the paperwork, but he rejected. Grandma Catherine then glared at him and slapped her hand on his desk, while shouting at the top of her lungs about his incapability to achieve his responsibilities in their department and called him a douchebag for not having her back. She was obviously projecting her own frustration onto him. These tangents and tantrums continued for weeks. Migraines would cloud her mind and her attitude towards her staff was short of a psychopath. Nonetheless, she was fired. She went home, and stayed home. Her husband did not have a job, and the money was running low. When the monthly bills came, her stress-level kicked back up again and she wailed out on her husband, Ethan Wise (she never changed her last name since she had already grown her own success with the car dealership). Ethan had always taken well to her outbursts, however, this time everything had gone too far. Things were being thrown and stuff was getting smashed. The dogs would bark and the cats would disappear. One day, she finally told him to leave and take all his things. As things turned out, she locked him out while he was at the bar in the middle of the night, and sold all of his clothes and electronics on E-bay within the next week. Crazy. She did the same things with my dolls and bike when I called her a miserable c**t after I found out about her dismissal, divorce and drinking.

It is Tuesday and I am supposed to go into work early for a meeting with a well-known art dealer. His name is Bradly Kent. I have known him a good going five years. He has always bought art from my shop and been a good connect. The only bad run-in we have ever had with each other was a time when a very expensive art piece went missing. A German artist, Gerhard Richter, from the late 1900s finished an abstract painting in 1995. This painting alone is worth a well 28 million dollars, and it went missing. We had to look over the security tapes, and the footage shows me leaving and locking the building up. But then somebody dressed in black shows up in the room and leaves with the painting out the back that leads to an alley. This has me beating in sweat, a goddamn near 30 million dollar worth painting, gone! Bradly accused me of knowing someone I let slip in and out of the gallery. I was hurt, severely. As seeing, I have been trusted in working with costly artworks any from recent to centuries ago. It was all very worrisome. We never found out about the stolen piece, or the thief in the black suit. My boss did not know what to do but the more into the conversation we had gotten, the more it appeared I did not have a thing to do with the incident. He even thought maybe Bradley had stolen the piece. Except, we all knew Mr. Kent had been vacationing in the Bahamas. Anyways, I am supposed to go in early today and I have not gotten ready yet. When I wake up for the day, I lean over all of my stuffed animals and turn off my alarm that goes off every day at 8:00. I get up and tidily make my bed. Two pillows next to each other with one more pillow on top of the two, and then my comforter with a wolf on it covering the entire bed. I open the blinds, and look out into the world for a minute. This is the time I take to thank God for my life. The world is beautiful. I hear the birds and I start singing too. God lets me sing to him any time I want him to know that I love him. He just listens.

Tuesday… Tuesday. I have appointments today. I guess I can go during lunch. I need to let my dog caretakers know that I will pick them up at three because they too have an appointment, but with the groomer. I am supposed to work until five. S**t. I suppose my friend Jan Grady can help me out, even though I know she is busy taking care of her new born, Hailey. I give her a call.

Now Hailey has been my friend since a year ago, when I walked into a café shop dripping wet from head to toe because my umbrella had been used to defend myself against a blue postal mailbox. Now, what was going on in my mind was the big a*s mailbox was an angry beast mocking me, saying that he would eat my soul just by me listening to him. I was terrified, and my only protection was my handy umbrella. I bashed the metal with all my strength, and people do not expect this but I am exceptionally strong, and it was dented in several places. I kicked it and hurt my leg, and it was only then that I looked down and winced in pain. Then I looked back up to shocked faces and a fucked up mailbox. I cried and tore running down the street into a coffee shop to sit down and relax. A friendly waitress with brown, soft hair and luscious red lips came up to my table and offered me a coffee. I politely accepted after awkwardly staring at her and put my head down. She did not seem to mind. I waited only three minutes before she returned. The coffee was smooth, hot and satisfying. I am calmed down from the embarrassment in the street. However, I began crying again just for all of my thoughts about myself being schizophrenic had come back, like it sometimes does. My waitress Hailey came back and saw me crying, she asked me if she could do anything for me and I politely said no. She wrote down her number and said if I ever needed to talk to someone, I could give her a call. I must have looked pretty upset. I mean I was a total stranger! There was something about her that seemed familiar though. So I sat there thinking about where I had seen her before, then I heard a whisper “novels, books, the library,” and I shot a look in her direction. That was it! I remember her from the long aisles of hard covers and words. She goes to the library I study at every weekend. What a friendly convenience. I surely called her when I had the opportunity.  We hit if off great, she invited me over for a movie and chit chat. Hailey made popcorn and we sat on her sofa for hours, just sharing about each other and our love for books and coffee. She has been my best friend ever since.

The hour is ending and I need to get going to work.

I get to the bus stop and notice a man smoking a cigarette. Longing for the cool puff, I rehearse asking him for one. I stop just before I open my eyes and make contact and wait and stare off into the distance, “do not smoke. Do you want cancer? You want black lungs. Death”. I do not hesitate to sit down. Immediately I begin conversation with the man. He is thirty and has a job at the fabricated products factory. He has a son and is divorced. I smile throughout his talking. Jack gave me a cigarette. I wait for the bus.

“Meadow, do you think the sales this week will be better than last week? We have gotten an awful lot of catching up to do with our record from last year, you know?” The room is gentle with the coolness of the concrete floor and hollow walls. Only a few people have entered the shop and I have not noticed anything unusual. Not yet. Mister Marks, my boss, sets his phone down on the counter, looking at the sales projector, and asks me again. I realize I have not been paying attention and fleet to my response.

“Why, yes, I think we will be just as successful, if not, even more.” Confidently, I smile and grab my folder and walk to a customer admiring a piece from Salvador Dali.

My work day ends well with a few paintings and a small statue sold. I return home.

Reviews

[cas-paw]

Stream of consciousness isn't my personal favourite form of writing, but I feel like it works for this, anyways. It's a really great way to show just how things are working in your head, however, it could easily lose some people, so maybe try putting a little bit more structure into the story so it's easier to follow as it goes on.
Other than that, I really like it and can't wait to read more!

[Samantha Ann Marie]

Lmaooo. I have thought disorganization schizophrenia along with paranoia.

[Samantha Ann Marie]

I do need to fix it a little. Do you have any suggestions?