16. Synthetic Happiness

16

Synthetic Happiness

 

Given a chance to live our lives again, there’s very few of us that would choose to do everything in the exact same way second time around. Maybe you’d choose to work harder, take more risks, be kinder to people. The belief of course being that if you’d have just done one or two things a little differently, your life would be better. Improved and most of all, that you’d be happier. To think this way however, is to deprive yourself of happiness because living in competition with your dreams is foolish and so often destined to cause you upset.

         Happiness is good for us; it’s proven that the body’s reactions to the sensation have genuine health benefits. What I’ve always found interesting though is that these health benefits can also be achieved by faking. In other words, even if you’re not really feeling it, simply forcing a smile and telling yourself you’re happy will release the same hormones and chemicals into the brain causing all the positives you get from what you’d regard to be real happiness. This means, in theory that the thing we strive so hard for, the thing society and marketers tell us we need certain objects or to live in certain places to attain. Can be attained just by sitting and thinking it up and this synthetic happiness is physically just as real and just as good for you as the hard earned, sacrifice worthy, organic stuff. For me it’s one of the purest examples of how powerful the mind really is.

       I rarely think about how I’d change my life, sure I’d dreamt of being with Rachel but as a kid I’d wanted to become a professional footballer and when even younger than that, I’d dreamt of living in a cheesecake factory. It turned out, those dreams along with a million others dissipated into thin air. I’m married to Chloe, have a beautiful daughter and a rewarding job. Considering my past and the literal skeleton in my figurative closet, I’ve made something good out of my life. And whilst a lot of my life-happiness is manufactured and synthetic, it’s scientifically proven, beyond doubt to be just as real as the happiness I’d be feeling if I played for England and Rachel were my wife at home in the cheesecake factory.

      It’s Monday evening and as we do every Monday, Chloe, Emma and I are driving to Amare’s house for dinner. In the years I’d known her, my intelligent and determined wife had turned her hobby into an income. She now produced computer software for various small companies, working freelance as well as creating effective and useful software on the side �" just for fun.

      We have a great working relationship, her knowledge of psychology means she is often able to give me a well-informed second opinion, whenever I bring work home. My complete lack of computer knowledge means that I’m an ideal guinea pig for testing how user friendly anything that she creates is.

       Monday nights at Amare’s are always good fun, he lives alone and so enjoys the company and he loves my little family as his own. As usual, he greets us at the door with his beaming smile and immediately steals Emma from Chloe’s arms. He has a knack of making Emma laugh, so much so I occasionally feel jealous of it. Almost at will he can get her to giggle, creating that most beautiful sound of a baby laughing.

        Amare isn’t the best cook in the world and our visits were definitely more about the social aspect than the dining. We’d often end up with a take-away in fact but tonight as I enter his house I can smell he’s making my favourite, Amare’s famous African stew. The ingredients to which, I’m not privy to and are a closely guarded secret.

          We eat together and he regales us with yet another of one of his stories. Afterwards, when Amare and I are alone in the kitchen �" washing and drying the dishes, I ask him something that’s been on my mind for a couple of days. “Amare, on Friday,” I begin, he looks at me with his usual courtesy and attentiveness. “I couldn’t help but notice, that you weren’t your usual self.” He looks puzzled for a second and then shrugs. “Weren’t I?” “Not really” I reply, “like something was bothering you.” I say it in a blasé manner, as if making small talk. I’d been analyzing people long enough to know they didn’t like being analyzed. Long enough to know that inoffensive small talk is a much more effective way of prizing a person open. He tilts his head back in a staged thinking pose and rubs his chin for good measure. “Ah yes,” he says eventually, “Well aren’t you Mr. Perceptive?” he chuckles and continues, “it’s nothing to concern you Stewart, nothing to concern me in fact. I’d just had a tricky time before I came over to see you.” I watch him as he speaks, as is always the case, he’s being honest. I smile, Amare is fine and the world regains it’s natural order.

        “Do you mind me asking what, in particular was troubling you?” I say, again casually as I hand him a plate. “Oh it was nothing really” he replies, taking the plate from me and drying it. “I’d just had a brief workshop with one particular youth and they were… difficult.” There’s a pause before the word difficult, which lends extra meaning to the word. “How do you mean?” I offer the obvious conversational continuation and Amare looks at me. “Sometimes, I meet one of these kids and think I cannot help them. I just look to the heavens and pray for forgiveness… for them and for me.” He seems genuinely upset at the thought of being unable to help someone, which causes me to laugh. “What’s funny?” he asks, his face creased with puzzlement. I slap his shoulder and smile at him, “nothing funny” I say, “I’ve just never met anyone that would be quite so bothered that they couldn’t help a stranger.” He smiles and after allowing himself a chuckle, turns to me and with an irresistible sincerity asks, “maybe you could talk to them, you know… as a psychologist?” “Who, the kid? What makes you think I can help them?” My tone is one of modesty; I’d love to help Amare in any way I can, I’m not asking in an attempt to pass the buck. “Would you mind?” he asks again, cautiously and I tell him I’ll do whatever I can.

         When home, Chloe and I lay on the sofa together and she tells me some exciting news. Some software she’s created has garnered interest from a large company based in Hong Kong, I react in the usual way to this kind of information, “that’s great.” Whenever Chloe sold some of her work it meant a few months of living relatively luxuriously, not worrying in any way about bills or providing for Emma. She sits up and looks at me, her face close to mine. She’s an attractive woman, her eyes are deep and mysterious and despite my ongoing thoughts and feelings about Rachel, I do love Chloe. “It’s better than great.” She says with a wry smile. “This company is very rich and very interested.” “Go on…” I tell her with a genuine air of curiosity. “They rate the software I’ve created very highly and providing they still like it after a demo, may want to buy it outright.” I look back at her; she’s speaking with a rare enthusiasm. “Which means?” I ask, not wanting to jump to any conclusions. “Which means…” she pauses and utters the following slowly and with a small element of drama. “They could offer us a life changing sum of money.” Her face has a strange expression as it looks at me, she was never surprised by any success I’d seen her have, as though she expected it of herself. This good news was being told to me with a look of ‘about time’ etched across her features.

           Unlike myself, Chloe has hardly aged at all in the last five years. Her red streak of hair has gone, leaving her hair completely black but her gaunt, pale face still has a youthful look to it and she still wears a lot of eye make up, giving her the porcelain, yet slightly gothic look I’ve always known her to have. I find it easy to think of her as something not completely human, she doesn’t age and she seems to have an incredible understanding of everything. Like she’s been around for millions of years, a timeless, all knowing entity to which I am just the latest chapter of a never-ending book. Adding to this, there’s that tangible pain in her eyes, permanently dwelling there like a mysterious cloud behind the iris. Like she’s witnessed and experienced unspeakable things.

        I put my arms around her and kiss her, “That’s amazing… you’re incredible.” We lie together and silently appreciate each other’s company.

         I’d never told Chloe my dark secret, never even hinted at it. Even to myself it was now buried so deep, I can hope with a degree of optimism that it’ll never surface again. I’d found ways and means of suppressing its effect on my mind and getting on with life. However I wouldn’t be surprised if somehow, she already knew. She knew virtually everything else and was incredibly sharp. It’s like being married to Sherlock Holmes.

        When we first started dating �" on our first date in fact. Chloe had given me a small glimpse into her past. She told me that in her late teens, she had spent a very brief amount of time working as a prostitute. She told me that if it bothered me, she’d understand and we’d continue being just friends. It didn’t bother me though more confused me. Chloe is an intelligent, powerful, controlled woman and her revelation was more shocking than off-putting. It’s impossible to associate the image I have of Chloe with the exploited, victimized image I have of a prostitute. That first date is perhaps the only time I’d seen her even resemble vulnerability and it gave her a more human edge, learning about her past. What’s strange though is that she told me in a very matter-of-fact way. No shame, sadness or even embarrassment in her voice and whilst a fairly secret, fairly dark aspect of her previous life; I could tell this information wasn’t the whole of it. The fact she ended up in a seedy underworld was only the tip of the iceberg. It was clear that prostitution was not the ‘rock bottom’ she’d referred to when I first met her and Amare at the church. It wasn’t the reason for the pain in her eyes.

           To this day, I’ve never found what is and thus our rather strange relationship has evolved, we both have secrets from each other and are both perfectly happy with that situation. Whilst we’re upfront and honest with each other about new life-developments, I’m happy for her to keep her past to herself if it means I can do the same. It’s not a conventional marriage but it works for us.

         Soon after her good news update, Chloe yawns and stretches, exclaiming, “I’m going to bed.” She stands up and saunters off towards the stairs. “I’ll be up in a minute” I reply. She leaves the room and I head to the downstairs bathroom. Inside, I take the small plastic bag from my pocket. “S**t” I mutter under my breath as I see there are only two pills left inside, I take them and rustle the now empty packet.

         Upstairs I kiss Chloe on the forehead and tell her I’d forgotten to bring the bins in, “I’ll be back in a minute.” “Do it in the morning.” She groans sleepily, her hand outstretched like a baby grabbing at thin air. I ignore her and head outside, once there I look up ensuring the windows are closed and enter the shed in the back yard. I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through my contacts until I get to the name ‘Dan’. I dial and lift the phone to my ear.

          Back when I was a teenager, I’d wanted to distance myself from Dan, surround myself with better people but life doesn’t always behave how you want it to and five years later I still see him roughly once a fortnight.

         “Let me guess,” he answers the phone, “You’ve run out again?” I sigh and rub my forehead, constantly glancing out of the small shed window for signs Chloe is watching me. “Dan, have you got another batch, I need them.” I say in a hushed voice, he sniggers a little. “You’re running out quicker and quicker, aren’t you Stew?” He frustrates me, I’m sure he does it on purpose. “Don’t f**k around Dan, have you got any or not?” My voice showing signs of frustration, “Hey,” Dan shouts defensively, “When do I ever let you down? Be at my place tomorrow… bring cash.” With his final statement, the line goes dead. I bring the bins in and head to bed. Chloe snuggles up to me and I feel her breathing change as she falls asleep. I lay awake for hours, eyes wide, staring at nothing in particular.

          There’s one thing I’ve managed to keep from Chloe, one ‘new life-development’ she hadn’t picked up on. In the past few years, I’ve developed a dependency, a need for a very specific drug and she can’t know about it, she can never know because this dependency is the key to what lies buried deep down in the recesses of my mind. The key to what I fear, might be the real me.

           The ways and means I’d found of suppressing the effects of the past on my mind, essentially the solution to getting on with my life, that key element to my synthetic happiness… is a chemical one.

 

Reviews

[AprilRN1210]

oh and shouldn't this be ("wasn't I?" or "I wasn't?") instead of “Weren’t I?”

[AprilRN1210]

Very nice addition. I like how this gives the reader a "glimpse" into the now "family life" of Stewart. It makes him seem vulnerable, loving, a concerned friend. It lets us see a little more into how the relationship has evolved with Chloe. Very aptly titled. I like how it explains about the "pills" from the previous chapters and we get to see how he has been suppressing the "psychosomatic" effects from his past. Overall good job.. The only critique I would offer here, is maybe space the paragraphs further apart.