Submitted by Mounia Bagha
Giveaway below
When I was
seventeen, one of our neighbors, forty-five-year-old John Glancey, left his
wife. Apparently, good old John was living the dream with a girl nearly twenty
years his junior. To this day, I still do not understand why on earth a girl
that young would want to do Mr. Glancey. It appeared soon enough that John’s
story wasn’t breaking news, except to poor Mrs. Glancey of course. Indeed, it
seemed as if the entire neighborhood had noticed some significant changes in
him. He, who used to be so stuffy and chubby, had started getting in shape. He
was becoming friendly—and at times even cheerful. He was terribly enthusiastic
about the smallest things, such as impromptu, far-off trips or riding a
motorbike. John was looking at life with glittering eyes. And so one day,
somewhere between talking and running, he just took off. There was very little
drama to it. No Mrs. Glancey helplessly throwing herself at her husband on the
street, screaming and crying, and no children holding on to their daddy’s leg.
No, nothing else but John loading his suitcase in the trunk of his car then
quietly taking a seat behind the wheel without ever looking back.
In a way, I can understand his point of view.
Technically, the man had won the lottery; not that Mrs. Glancey was an ugly
woman, but by no means would she have been able to keep up with her husband’s new
babe. I remember my mom talking about it around the dinner table. She had
called Glancey “a disgusting pig” and wittering on about how it was all going
to bite him in the ass soon enough. At that time, I was also surprised to see
how quiet my dad was. I remember wondering if he, too, had ever considered
leaving everything behind—his two children and wife—to start a new life.
Mrs. Glancey was
desperately trying to calm down the scandalmongers with midlife-crisis
theories. For a while, she spent her time explaining how her loving husband was
no exception to the rules that governed men and that a lot of people his age
suddenly felt the need to want all sorts of things they just could not have.
Obviously, she received tons of support and empathetic nods, but beneath the
friendly exterior and good intentions, it felt like John’s getaway made a lot
of married couples ponder. They knew what the Glanceys were going through
simply because they were asking themselves the same questions John had. They
knew that there had to be more to life than whatever they had at the moment,
but they wouldn’t dare go pursue all the things they always dreamt of: the
endlessly sexy partner, the fancy sports car, never-ending excitement, the
thirst for life.
They wanted to feel
alive all over again.
And as Mrs.
Glancey was dying a little more each day, she was hoping that her Johnny would
soon come back to his senses, and eventually to her.
Just like their
married neighbors, the Glanceys’ misadventure got me thinking. There wasn’t
much I knew about love or even life yet and although I didn’t really know what
I wanted to become, I had already a pretty clear idea of what and who I didn’t want to be. So I just sat down on
my bed and started writing my to-do list—except instead of filling it with
chores and other trivial things that always took me forever to get done, I laid
down my expectations. My list was short, straight to the point and without
sugar coating. In the end, it looked like something like this:
To-do
I don’t want to wake up in
twenty years and be like John. Or his wife.
I don’t want a fancy car. I
don’t even want to take my driving test.
I just want to be happy, and I want it now.
South London
August 12, 2011
August 12, 2011
“So, how are you
today, Abigail?” she asked me in a rather cheerful tone. Too cheerful, given
the situation, I thought to myself.
“I’m okay, I
guess . . . or not, actually, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, would I?” I replied
in a not-so-cheerful tone.
“I don’t know,
you tell me. What is wrong with your life?” she asked.
Her cheerfulness
seemed to have gone down in tone, although that didn’t really matter to me anymore,
for at that very second, I knew it was over and that I would shut down. She had
said the very thing I did not want her to say, the exact words I was dreading
to hear, that typical, cliché line I would expect any psychotherapist to say.
The next hour would be a complete waste of my time. How could I possibly sum up
my life and point out the problems in it in such a short time? The thought of
reminiscing and putting my thoughts together to expose myself in front of a
complete stranger was exhausting.
As I sat with my legs
crossed on a cream leather sofa, my hands on my knees, I eyed Dr. Pamela Klein.
I assumed she was probably in her mid to late forties. Everything in that woman
breathed self-confidence. Her straight black hair was shiny and fell perfectly
on her shoulders. Her white, mid-length pencil dress was gorgeous and a perfect
match to her black stilettos. She was impeccable from head to toe, and her
neatness made me feel even more dysfunctional. I had to say something, though.
Anything. If I could manage just a few words, I could go back home and tell Mom
that my hundred-pound, long-hour session of sharing my troublesome thoughts
with Dr. Klein was worth every penny.
I sighed. I didn’t know how to say what I
was thinking, so I just bluntly spit out all the words floating through my mind
at that moment: “I have no idea what to do with myself and it’s turning my life
into a living hell.”
Sitting across
from me, Dr. Klein stared at me from behind her glasses.
“Okay,” she replied.
“And how do you feel about it?”
For a minute, I
just didn’t know how to reply. That doctor was seriously starting to get on my
nerves with her stupid questions. She was barely even trying to look like she
cared. So I just did what I always do when I’m pissed off: I let sarcasm reign.
“Well, I feel
brilliant. I mean it’s great really. Let’s see, where shall I start? I’m an
indebted graduate who barely makes any money. I still live with my parents and
my love life strangely resembles the extinction era the world went through when
the dinosaurs disappeared. So, since you asked me, I am really having the time
of my life and I felt like sharing it with someone. Hence my presence here
today. Don’t you feel lucky right now?”
I knew I had probably
gone a bit too far; if my mom had been here, she would have forced me to
apologize “to the nice lady” immediately. But it was too late anyways. The
words had come out of my mouth and I was not going to take them back, and I
certainly was not going to apologize for something that I thought was right. It
was said rudely, but it was still true.
But then, Dr.
Klein had the weirdest reaction ever. Just as I was expecting her to give me
another “are you using irony as a way to express your anger and pain?” kind of
crap, she stood up. For a moment, I did think that she was going to slap me,
but then I remembered that ethics probably prevented her from doing so. She
looked at me and simply said, “I completely forgot to ask you if you wanted a
cup of tea. Or coffee maybe?”
There was no
trace of cheerfulness in her tone anymore, but she still sounded nice. From my
seat, I kept a watchful gaze on her eyes. I was pretty bumped by her reaction,
but I still didn’t think that an extra helping of caffeine to my already-exasperated
body would be a good idea right now.
“I’m okay,
thanks,” I replied quietly.
“Okay, so you
said that your life was a living hell,” she said while making her way to the
little wooden table by the window. She helped herself to a cup of coffee from
one of those really cheap filter machines. I couldn’t help but think that given
how much money she was surely making from this session alone, the machine was seriously
antiquated. I bet she got it from Tesco, I thought to myself until I felt just a
little remorseful for making such a materialistic remark.
“What makes you
feel like everything’s so wrong?” She resumed sitting in her armchair. She
didn’t look upset at all, even though I thought she’d be at the very least
annoyed after my little scene. I reckoned she probably came across a wide
variety of people in her job, and that in the end, if someone had to keep it
all together, it most definitely had to be her.
I figured that
now would be a good time to give up on the attitude. After all, I could bitch
about tons of stuff for free just by calling my friends.
“It’s just that
sometimes, I feel like I’m trying so hard to make things right but then I don’t
even know any more if what I’m doing is what I want. I want everything and
nothing at the same time.”
I waited for Dr.
Klein’s reaction. I wondered if she thought of me as an undecided, spoiled kid.
“And how do you
cope with it? I mean on a daily basis,” she said finally.
“It’s not really
made of flesh so obviously, it’s not like we sit down for breakfast and start
discussing all the bad decisions I make daily, is it? It’s more like . . .” I
hesitated for a moment. For sure, that next sentence out of my mouth was going
to get me a one-way ticket to the nearest asylum. “It’s more like a voice in my
head . . . and we would just argue a lot.” I paused again, trying to find the
best way to explain it. “It’s like being in a very dysfunctional relationship
with your boyfriend and you know you guys just don’t get along anymore and
still no one wants to give in and surrender. You try your best to escape it,
just to get some peace and quiet for a while, but you know things will always
be the same. It’s exhausting,” I finally resumed.
“Well, when did
it start to be so complicated to get along with that voice?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t really
know,” I replied. “It’s hard to tell.”
“Perhaps we
should start with a particular point in time. Try to think of a moment, just
any day, let’s say in the past few months, that you can remember of and we’ll
start from there, shall we?”
-------------Enter Rafflecopter giveaway for a copy of CELEBRATION here: a Rafflecopter giveaway
Mounia loves to write stories about life, love, and loads of other things that don't necessarily manifest in real life - sometimes for the better. She published her first New Adult novel "CELEBRATION" - a tale about love, life, and growing-up with all the troubles that come with it. When she's not writing novels, she goes for the shorter format and writes pieces for different online magazines that all end-up compiled on her website.
Although she is a self-proclaimed poor social media user, she keeps doing her best, one day at a time. You can reach her on Twitter, Instagram, or via her website and she'll always respond to you and all that, not using the third person. I promise :)
Find Celebration on Amazon: here
0 comments:
Post a Comment