Fight or flight response they call
it, that adrenalin fuelled moment of survival.
I have always felt that these
moments betray our true selves, revealing cowardice or courage depending on the
situation in question. I'm not so sure
now.
I ponder this as I crouch shakily
against the cold tiles of the public toilet wall, heart pounding as if
determined to be heard above the desperate ragged breaths that rip through me
continually.
As my breathing finally slows to a
manageable speed I uncurl myself so that I am sat on the dubious floor. I am
suddenly aware that a toilet must be leaking, a rivulet of water runs under a
cubicle door toward my stockinged feet. I realised then I was without shoes or bag, I must have left them behind. The words "blind panic" rush into my mind.
A violent burst of nausea takes me,
and I begin to crawl towards the cubicle, my legs unwillingness to stand unhelped by the increasingly wet floor. As I retch I close my eyes and imagine that every heave will
somehow undo what has happened, erase it and leave me cleansed.
Instead I vomit a small amount of bile and dry
heave for what seems like an eternity, feeling more wretched with each painful
undulation.
A car door slammed somewhere in the
near distance startling me and momentarily halting the sickness.
Standing up on deerish legs I made
my way out of the cubicle and over to the door.
A quick glimpse at myself in the
tarnished mirror as I passed confirmed that I was indeed a mess, a scramble of
auburn hair framed a thin, pale face. The eyes of a mad woman stared back at me
for the briefest moment, long enough to note a steadily purpling bruise under
one eye.
I worked hard to slow my breathing,
as it once again threatened to spout from me in harsh bursts, and peered
slightly around the door. The empty park outside was opaque in the dusky
halflight, altered by shapes and shadows. No people in sight, time to
go.
I thought of the safety of home,
and feeling marginally calmer began to walk awkwardly in my stocking clad feet
through the park. Hoping my belongings
were still where I abandoned them I turned one corner then another, spotting
them immediately on the grass. My shoes lay side by side, the heels as sharp as
a guilty pang. My bag was unopened and ringing, my phone.
As I reached for the bag the ringing
stopped abruptedly. I hoisted the brown leather over my shoulder and slipped my
feet into the shoes, wincing as my toes pinched slightly.
I left the park and walked a few
streets until I found a taxi rank.
As I entered the small cab office I
was struck by the smell of coffee, cigarettes and grease, and my stomach rolled
heartily again.
I spoke tentatively to the large jowly
faced man behind the desk (if a chipped and scarred kitchen table with a dog
eared telephone directory and an ancient phone can be classed as a desk).
“I need to go to Weston Road please”
The man gave me a cursory glance
and a hint of a smirk then yawned,
walrus-like. Relief flooded me as I
realised he wasn’t the least bit interested in the poor state of my appearance.
“Five minutes, wait over there if you
like” He motioned with to some chairs along the wall, they had, like the desk and
the man seen much better days. I should have felt right at home given my
circumstances, but I chose to wait outside. An uncomfortable five minutes
waiting with Mr Walrus was not what I needed.
Out on the street I waited no more
than two minutes before a silver mondeo arrived, emblazoned with the words “Crawford's private hire”.
I climbed into the back hoping the driver would be up for a silent journey. He was, and I sat quietly watching the ever
darkening streets roll past the grimy window.
My brain felt torpid and incapable,
my limbs ached for a warm bath and the promise of bed. As we pulled into my
street I began to rearrange my mussed hair, earning myself a
confused glance from the driver in the mirror. He took my money quickly and
seemed about to say something, but gave a tight smile instead and drove off swiftly
as soon as I slammed the door.
My house was cold, I had been out
all afternoon and November had got in. I fired up the boiler and sat down with
my phone, wondering who had rung me earlier. My phone, unbiased in its honesty
told me it was Miri.
Of course, I should have met with
her today to discuss my ‘progress’. She would be frustrated by my no show, not
the first time I have flaked on my therapist. I was of course in the process of
convincing myself that I no longer had use for Miri and her not so charming
insights, but then today happened and now I do not know anything.
I ran a bath and lay in it until
the hot water supply was no more, then dragged myself to bed.
I slept immediately.
I was woken by a loud thumping, it
slammed unapologetically into my dream state leaving me foggy and disorientated. The front door.
I left my bed and pulled on jeans and a navy
sweater, all the time dreading the
nature of this rude awakening.
As I yanked the door open I was met
with the sight of Miri, stood stolidly on my doorstep, an icy smile doing
nothing to soften her sharp whippet like features.
Odd but typical that she would come to my
home I thought, before running several
excuses for yesterday through my sleep fuddled mind.
Nothing sounded plausible. My
therapist was as shrewd as a spinster and as indefatigable as a child, lies
would crumble under her scrutiny.
“I had a bad day yesterday Miri...I
didn’t get back until late and…” I began, but she held up a hand and I stopped.
“I did call, but I presumed you had
other more pressing engagements than your mental health”
I moved into the lounge and she
followed, but did not sit as I did. Instead she stood watching me intently as I
prepared myself to explain.
“I saw her”
There, it was out.
Miri sucked a thin disapproving
breath inwards, her slender frame
tautened visibly and she clicked her tongue.
I continued, shaking slightly.
“It was accidental Miri, it’s so
hard and it hurts so much, you don’t...”
“What? Understand? I’m trained to
understand dear, and we have talked about this numerous times. It affects your
progress, after all you have been through how can you not see that for
yourself? It is over, and you should at least begin to come to terms with
it!"
She paced the room shaking her
head, causing her peppery grey curls to move in an uncharacteristically girlish
fashion.
“I know that now…I regret it. They threatened to call the
police..” The words tumbled out, falling
into the air in a shameful flood.
I hung my head as a memory flashed
through me of a derisive sneer, magnified in my minds eye.
“I see.” Miri clipped at me,
slicing the atmosphere. “Is this something you are likely to try again? After
all first it’s vigilantesque visits to her home, then stalking in the park.
Perhaps you would like to go to prison, given your irresponsible and frankly
outlandish behaviour. Put some ice on that eye.”
She added this almost as an afterthought, but
I sensed her concern beneath the frosty beratement.
I was defeated by it all. “Have you
just come to scold me? Or did you actually need something?”
She frowned suddenly, unused to me
being sharp in return.
“I merely came to see if you were
alright, and of course to hear why I didn’t see you yesterday. Now that I know
I shall leave you to it, to whatever it is that you do when you aren’t
engaged in a direct flouting of a restraining order.”
Another barb, leading me to
question for the hundredth time why I
endured this ‘therapy’. I knew why however, I was tired of people hmming and
aahing in the right places. I needed honesty, and like it or not that’s what I
got with Miri. It was fair to say I hadn't dealt with the break up reasonably.
The restraining order. Those words
that prevented me fixing everything that was wrong. Stopped me gaining back
what I have lost.
I let my thoughts drift back again,
and was only faintly aware of Miri leaving and shutting the front door behind
her. I allowed myself to remember, and felt the humiliation wash over me once
more.
I had ventured out yesterday
afternoon, and spent some time in the local library until I realised my 5pm
appointment with Miri was getting close.
I was pushed for time, I remember tutting as I hurried out of
the building. Kings park lay over the road, an inviting short cut, the scenic
route only quicker.
It was mostly deserted given the
time of day, and I wandered through enjoying the click of my heels on the
winding path. Then I heard her. Ahead of me down a small fork in the path was a
wooded area, and her voice seemed to drift upwards toward me.
No question of it being her, after
years of loving that voice I knew I could not be mistaken. Nor could I help my
feet as they moved ever closer to her, all the time telling myself to walk on,
quickly before it’s too late.
I followed the turn of the path and
there she was, sitting on the grass in spite of the chill, deep in conversation
with a man I didn’t recognise. New lover, or friend? My heart jack-knifed in my chest.
The world shrank, became
indeterminably small and I watched silently and still for a few moments before
she looked up and saw me.
I stuttered a hello, or I think I
did. She stared impassively for a second then a mask of fury overtook her
delicate face.
“How did you know I was here?” she
demanded, chin jutting out in beautiful anger.
“I didn’t, I heard you as I walked
near and I wanted...” my words sounded foolish and childlike, my brain was a
burning pile of everything that I could not say.
The gentleman next to her stood up,
I took in his stocky appearance, the three day stubble and the sly
acknowledgement of power in his flinty eyes.
“Wanted what?” he asked “To make a
show of yourself? She has a man now,
best go home love” he sniggered wheezily.
His tone was full of contempt, the emphasis on
the word ‘man’ was a twisted spike.
“No, I just wish we could at least
talk” I said, pointedly ignoring his jibe and looking at her.
“There is nothing to discuss, we
split and you broke into my home to steal my clothes. Followed me to work and
back for two weeks. Hence why in five seconds I will ring the police if you do
not leave.” Her tone was flat now, with a grey finality to it that was new to
my ears.
This was true, I had stolen things
that I felt I needed, and followed her in the vain hope that she would
reconsider.
I remained there, watching them
both and wondering how it all got so hideous when I saw him move and advance
upon me. A thunderclap sensation across
my face and I fell heavily onto the grass behind me, dropping my bag.
He grabbed my ankle and cruelly
bent it, then removed my shoes with a sneer. He turned as if to give them to
her, but she shook her head crossly, muttering "I don't want them". He tossed
them next to me, where they lay as pathetically as I did.
I did not fight back, and the
memory of that stings. She did not defend me, and the memory of that burns like
it will never stop.
She looked at me and into me,
before getting up and taking his arm.
“Goodbye Adam”
The name tore through me like a
gale. A weapon, a jibe, used to force up
the memory of her walking into our room. Her clothes, my shame.
She could not, would not accept me.
My head span, and finally a surge of adrenalin
forced me up onto my feet.
Fight or flight they call it, he
moved toward me once more and my body made its choice.
