![]() Pancakes and Chocolate Ice-creamA Story by YouoweYoupay![]() Having mirrors near your bed prevents a peaceful sleep, they say.![]()
Pancakes and Chocolate Ice-cream
"No." I inhaled in a broken tone, "I couldn't do it." I stared at the ground between my wobbly feet even though I knew he couldn't see my pathetic tear-edged eyes and trembling lips; it was too dark for either of us to see anything except for the two windows illuminating the slightly disturbing portrait hanging over his head against the wall behind his desk. That was the only thing I liked about his clinic; the dead silence and the dimmed lights. My sessions according to his schedule were arranged late at night. People told me he was mad; that I could simply go there and never return. "Why couldn't you?" "I've already told you!" my head jerked up as I retorted, "Tsk..." I stared back down at the floor, lightly shaking my head, "How in the world will you be able to help a person like me? It's hopeless." "What exactly is hopeless, Lyla?" "This whole life--I mean…I'm too scared to kill myself and I'm too scared to breathe another minute. What the f**k are you supposed to call that?" "Do you think living is hopeless?" "Yes, I do." "Then why are you still alive?" "I don't. f*****g. know." My voice grew cold between clenched teeth and impatience triggered more pointless words, "I mean, seriously…" I sighed, "I live. I study. I work. I love. I get married. I have kids. I grow old. Then I die. Why bother go through all that in the first place if it's always death in the end?" "Do you believe in God?" "Yes. And I'm so mad at Him. It's like--" "Then you must believe in afterlife. Isn't that something to live for?" "F**k afterlife." Silence. A male sigh heaved, and a sound of a pen skillfully scribbling down notes. "Very well. This session is almost over." His voice never wavered from the neutral composed level. I wondered if it sounded the same at home, among his family, which he surprisingly had outside this eerie work zone. "I told you I'm crazy." I shrugged. "Although we haven’t progressed much, I can assure you that admitting the problem is halfway to the cure." So, he did agree I was crazy. Yeah, right…admitting…and s**t, I've been doing it for ages. Your session was useless, you money-sucking four-eyed man. "There has to be something that's keeping you here among us." "Not that I can think of." My best friend and my two sisters; the only people who could make me laugh whole-heartedly and they loved me for who I am; raw form; not a single sting of pretend. But even when they were by my side I suffered. I slowly burnt in this invisible, impossibly addictive pit of hell. "Alright," he finally told me as he stood up, "Last question. What makes Lyla happy?" Okay…so pancakes and chocolate ice-cream were a good reason to stay alive…? "Think carefully of five things that truly make you smile. Write them down. And bring the sheet to me next week." When the hell did you decide that? "Thank you, miss." He politely said. Stupid politeness…"I look forward to our next meeting. Salaam." I politely 'salaam'd back as I pulled up my little hand bag and headed to the door. Who said there was going to be a next meeting, you a*****e? --- --- --- I wished I hadn't gone near that clinic. I did not feel any better. Infact, the only feeling that overwhelmed me and tackled me down with a loud jeer was: weakness. I exposed some of the deepest, fragile parts of me to a person with a wise look and a commercial degree in understanding what people think and want. S**t…and now that I've thought clearly about it I felt worse. I felt like punching someone and just screaming out loud how f*****g stupid they were, even when I didn't even know their name. I stood by the mini market on the right and a narrow black street greeted me with the constant cricket sounds and fading 'vrooms' of cars. The night seemed serene…too serene, I thought, my eyes twitching in anger preceding a vicious rage. "Stupid night…stupid cars…" I mumbled my breath getting tighter and shorter every second, "Stupid doctor!" I groaned my foot kicking the brick wall on my right, "STUPID PEOPLE!" thinking they know everything… I yelled randomly glaring at the air around. A woman stared at me briefly as she passed by on the sidewalk across. I still didn't feel good though. Now I felt I've announced my weakness to the whole world. I wanted to go home…yet another place I was sick of. I turned to the left and ran straight; my feet racing against the pavement too fast I almost eluded my shadow behind. I wasn't crazy…I told myself, I was just f*****g tired…and I needed rest…a rest from everything, especially the sight of my reflection in the mirror. I slammed the door behind me and I leaned my back against the wardrobe, feeling more trapped than I was at that clinic. Tears flooded generously as I slid down on the floor and my chest grew too tight I almost chocked on anger and vulnerability. After the tears and the loud, pitiful weeping, came the dreadful headache and then the blackness and the weird dreams. My eyes opened to the active sounds of the city outside my half open window and I slowly shifted aside with a deep groan, sitting up in between the twisted sheets. All the frantic memories of last night were merged and consumed by the weird dreams and I wiped my face turning to one side.
Having mirrors near your bed prevents a peaceful sleep, they say. It also provides a hilarious picture of yourself as soon as you wake up. I hurriedly tied my hair in a bundle, washed my runny-mascara face, and walked to the sunlit kitchen. I was hungry. Pancakes sounded good. I opened doors of the freezer, fridge, and cabinets. I needed new ingredients. I hadn't gone to the market in a month. Where did I put the honey? Nevermind, ice-cream works too. Did I still have some butter left? © 2010 YouoweYoupayAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthor![]() YouoweYoupayAmman, ..., JordanAbout"The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms." ~Muriel Rukeyser "There is no one more rebellious or attractive than a person lost in a book." “He allowed himself to be swayed by his con.. more..Writing
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