t.w.e.l.v.e.

The death of my mother brought a strange clarity to my life. I didn’t realize that a strong undercurrent of fear was present for the past year and a half. Even though I was completely removed from her overbearing nature, I could still imagine her arriving at my front door at any moment.

With this knowledge, I realized that I had to seriously re-create my life once again. I moved out of the loft apartment and bought another one closer the art district of my city. It was very large, much too big for me to be alone in. It had a beautiful sunlit studio along with two bedrooms and a huge kitchen. It was built recently and it showed: modern rooms with high ceilings and strange light units. I didn’t mind. I invited my closest friends to help me move and we did so very easily. Aside from my art, I had very little possessions so the move was quick.

At the end of the night, after all my boxes had been unpacked, I sat in my new living room with half a dozen friends in front of an electric fireplace. We all laughed at the absurdity of the device initially, yet later found ourselves gathered around it. The electric warmth was soothing along with the red wine and gentle company. I didn’t know very much about these friends and I understood it was because of my own inability to open up. I kept quiet for the rest of the night and as I was falling asleep I realized I should find someone to talk to about my past. I needed closure.

The next morning I scheduled an appointment with a highly regarded psychologist whose name I got through my doctor. Her secretary was happy to tell me that there was an opening at the end of the day due to a cancellation. I made some tea and curled up on a small but enveloping loveseat that looked over the street below. The buildings were small enough that I could see the mountains at the edge of town. I closed my eyes and imagined walking through them.

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A memory came into focus so sharply it made my breath catch in my throat:

I could feel the sun on my skin. I was lying on cold earth with little clothing yet I was almost uncomfortably warm. The sun was radiating heat and energy all over my exposed skin. I could feel a soft pressure on the skin of my neck, with nothing touching me anywhere else. I left my eyes closed and didn’t move. The pressure silently withdrew only to be followed by a touch above my collar bone. I knew the sensation was caused by warm lips. I could feel him move closer and his hand on the other side of my neck. He applied more pressure with his mouth, prompting my eyes to open.

A white ceiling and a chilled room welcomed my vision. A warm sensation on my upper leg brought my attention to the spilling cup of tea in my lap. I grumbled at my daydream and the tea in my lap. As I began to stand, the mountains caught my eye again. I got to my feet and pressed my forehead against the glass, imagining the sun on my skin.

It was around noon and my body didn’t feel right. I walked into the master bathroom that was attached to my bedroom. The shower was huge and inviting. I undressed and stepped into the large space, turning on the water and immediately appreciating the warmth that ensued. I took my time soaking up the heat of the water.

I toweled off quickly and got dressed, but my physical body still felt strange. I sat down on the edge of my bed and closed my eyes, trying to pinpoint the feeling. It was like a mild humming sensation just under my skin, and electric current running all around my extremities. I realized that it was simply an awareness of my body. This sensation was always occurring; I just subconsciously chose to notice it more at this moment.

I went to the bathroom again to brush my teeth and watched myself in the mirror as I did so. My hair was getting long. I ran a hand through the thick brown mass that fell nicely across my face, at least when it’s dry. It was still damp and heavy so it covered my eyes a little too much and fell past my ears. My skin still held its winter pallor. I was disgusted to recognize that I couldn’t remember being outside for more than a few minutes over the past month.

I packed a small messenger bag with a new sketchbook, some pencils, my wallet, and a canteen. I finally felt like I was awake and alive. I walked out of my apartment with purpose, though I had none. The street was populated with couples and families seeking out a mid-day meal. The energy of this town was strong and I stood for a moment on the stoop, absorbing it all.

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I went to a café that had an outdoor patio. I ate a small lunch and stayed there for several hours, nursing my cold beverage. One of the many perks of living out west was the climate. The temperature was definitely hot, but the air is dry so the shade is perfect. I checked my watch and realized it was 3:30, nearing my appointment time. With half an hour to kill I made a quick stop at the bank. I infrequently used my card but had recently purchased a plush apartment so I truly had no idea how much money I had left in my account.

Hoping I didn’t overdraw, I used the outdoor ATM to check my balance. The number that appeared on the screen made the blood drain from my face. I calmly walked inside and asked to speak to an employee. We went into a private room and she waited for me to start the conversation.

“I just checked my account outside and there must be a mistake.” She watched me with a calculative gaze.

“What seems to be the problem, Mr. Donavan?” I was even more thrown off at the mention of my last name. I hadn’t introduced myself or given her my information yet.

“I, uh, have a large sum of money, uh, in my account.” I managed to sputter out. “I’m not sure how it got there.” As I said this she took my card and ran it through her computer.

“Seven hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars…” She announced. The number sounded even larger when spoken aloud. “Your records show that major recent activity is from sales of your artwork in your latest show.” She looked at me expectantly. “This isn’t anything out of the ordinary. You had close to a solid million before you purchased your newest apartment. I met with your manager personally just last week, as we have for the past year now.” She paused and looked me over. “Are you okay Mr. Donavan?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. It just slipped my mind that Jacob usually handles these things. I’ve just never seen the numbers myself.” The woman still looked concerned as she handed me my card and escorted me to the door.

Outside in the open air I realized that I’ve been partially comatose of the past few years. Ever since my breakdown I hadn’t truly been myself. Jacob was my manager, and he was getting to be a close friend. I found comfort in being around him, though he did most of the talking. I made a note in my sketch book to give him a call this evening. I checked my watch and gawked at the time before rushing towards downtown, almost late for my appointment.

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The building was small and unimposing, located next to a gallery I showed in earlier this winter. The waiting room was empty and the secretary was busy behind her desk. She looked up at me with a smile and asked my name. After a moment of typing on her computer she smiled again and said: “Your doctor has sent over your file, so we are all set. Dr. Morgan will be with you in a moment, take a seat.”

The waiting room was a little unusual. The vibrant yellow and orange walls were refreshing from the usual hospital white that I was used to. The chairs were plump couches and the magazines on the center table were actually intriguing. I was preparing myself for flashbacks of my previous psychologist’s office but nothing here was triggering any negative memories. After only five minutes of waiting the secretary stood up from her desk and called my name. She led me through the door next to her desk and down a narrow hallway. At the end of the small hall was another door that was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and led me through.

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Dr. Morgan was sitting in the chair in front of her desk quickly writing in a notebook. I looked at the secretary, a little confused, since the doctor was sitting the seat I supposed I was expected to sit in. She gestured to the leather office chair behind the desk with a little shrug and left the room. Just before I sat down Dr. Morgan stood and beamed a huge, genuine smile at me.

“Hello West, I’m Dr. Morgan, excuse my rudeness, I was just finishing up some paperwork.” We shook hands in a friendly manor. The woman before me was a little past middle age but not even remotely hindered by it. She had more energy than I did and wore a beautiful but professional bohemian style dress. I sat down and looked around the room quickly while she got organized. The space mirrored the waiting room’s vibe. The red walls and comfortable chairs were far from any other doctor’s office I’d visited. As I sat at her desk, and her in the patient’s chair. Maybe she started off all her clients this way; even so, it was a nice position to start the session with.

“I haven’t read your file, and I promise you that it wasn’t out of laziness. I am very curious about what’s in your file but I wanted to start off fresh. I don’t want to start our relationship with the advantage of knowing your entire medical and psychological history when we haven’t even met yet. Your Primary Care Doctor gave me a call and told me that you had a tumultuous past. What did he mean by that?”

“Around two years ago I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. I was a full time student attending a Fine Arts college up East and living a very steady life. I was a second year and had a steady girlfriend, a stable social network and did well in classes. Then I met a boy. Alexander.” I paused. The name made the tingle under my skin ignite into goose bumps. “The same people tended to go to the parties I was going to and he would be there. I’d been noticing him around, strangely fascinated by him, artistically. When I was younger certain friends would sort of act as muses. I would get the urge to draw them. Alexander was a lot like that, but the urge was something I hadn’t gotten in a while. Anyways, the cops busted this party Kristen and I were at. Kristen was my girlfriend at the time. Through all the chaos, Alexander helped me out of the house. He, uh, came over to my flat and he let me draw him. He started coming over and we would have these really intense drawing sessions. I eventually broke up with Kirsten and fell in…” I stopped. “It’s stupid really. I haven’t thought about this in so long and the memory is so vivid.” I rubbed my temples angrily.

“I don’t understand…” Dr. Morgan said quietly.

“Two weeks after I met Alexander, my mother found me in my apartment on the kitchen floor in a pretty strange state. I was having a nervous breakdown. A schizophrenic breakdown. A doctor diagnosed me and prescribed all these pills that I continued to take for half a year while I lived back at home.”

“And what about Alexander? Did you continue your relationship with him?”

“Oh, Alexander? He’s not real. He was a hallucination, a figment of my imagination. He was a subconscious defense mechanism to deal with Kirsten breaking up with me.” I said flatly, regurgitating the sentences I’d heard many times.

She was quiet for a moment. I could tell she was itching to read my file now. “But you said you were the one to break it off with your girlfriend.”

“That’s what I remember. Kirsten’s story was different. I alienated myself for two weeks and didn’t interact with anyone but ‘Alexander’. None of my friends knew an Alexander or ever heard of him. It all makes sense.”

Dr. Morgan watched me steadily. I continued with less tension.

“So after half a year of an assortment of pills, I had a moment of clarity and started weaning off of them without my psychiatrist, psychologist, or mother knowing. After a few weeks I realized I was being kept prisoner and left home without telling anyone. I moved here, got an apartment and started producing art. I guess I am doing really well.”

She gave me a strange look and wrote a few notes. “So why are you here then, after a year and a half off your medication? Are you experiencing any relapse? Any new symptoms?”

“No symptoms. I don’t really know what the symptoms would be. I haven’t made up any more imaginary people, if that’s what you mean.” She didn’t flinch. “My mother died.” I shook my head a little. “It’s actually the first time I’ve said it out loud. My mom died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, West. Had you been keeping contact with your mother?” She asked gently.

“No. No. I wanted to get away from her. I was informed because she had put some of my artwork into storage. Work that I’d done from my two years at College. I got a call from someone at the bank trying to locate someone interested in acquiring the things she left behind, since she didn’t have much of a will. I actually am relieved to hear that she can never find me now. I’ve been living with this fear that she will turn up at my door step with a whole fleet of doctors behind her. Now I’m completely free. I’ve woken up.”

“So you’re here to get some closure.” She said with a small nod. “I understand. I think that I am going to have to study your file before we continue West. You have a very interesting past. I need to get my head around it.” She stood and let me to the door with a far-away look in her eyes. “I want to let you know that I am a fan of your work. You are doing better than you realize, Mr. Donavan.” And she set me off, down the hall and back into the world.

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My apartment was inhabited when I arrived. A long figure sat in front of the electric fireplace with a book in hand, clearly absorbed. I took a few steps into the room and waited for them to hear me. I took off my shoes and dropped my bag before walking into the seating area where the person sat.

It was Sam, a beautiful girl that I’d met when I first arrived in the city. It made sense that she didn’t get up when I walked in because she was often in my company and didn’t need to ask to get in. She had short orange hair and pale creamy skin that glowed in the firelight. She was reading a book titled ‘Life of Pi’ and her pretty face was twisted with concentration. I’m sure she was aware I was home but didn’t feel the need to acknowledge me. I took this time to observe her and take her in. Her ears were gauged larger than what was currently fashionably acceptable. Her little nose was pierced at the septum and her left eye was a little bit off. I’ve heard people say that lazy eyes unattractive, yet I found hers to be very intriguing and simply beautiful. It was so slight I barely noticed, but it was off enough that I would imagine that she could see things I couldn’t.

“This book is fucking with my head.” She said with a laugh as she laid it down in her lap. “Where’ve you been?” She asked with a little glare.

“I’ve been visiting my new shrink. I think I’ve freaked her out a bit.” I scratched the back of my head, a distracted gesture.

“Why would you need to see a psychologist? You seem stable enough.” She said as she pulled a little wooden box from the folds of her clothing. She dressed in vibrant layers of exotic fabric.

“I have a pretty fucked up past, Sam. I’ve just recently come to realize this.” I sighed.

“You’re a mysterious one.” She said looking down at her lap and she carefully tucked the edge of the paper around the skinny line of marijuana gathered in the crux of a rainbow printed rolling paper.

“My mom died recently. It prompted me to move to this apartment, start again. I feel so awake today.” I said while sitting back in the couch with a grin.

“Your energy right now…” She paused to baptize the joint. “…is coming off you in waves. Want to smoke this on your balcony?”

“I have a balcony?” I asked with a dazed smile.

She led me to the room I hadn’t really explored yet. It was on the opposite side of the kitchen, away from the living room and the two bedrooms. It had empty shelves built into all the walls and great open walls that were begging to have art hung on them. One of the walls was all glass and looked out over the city, a different angle than my bedroom but just as stunning. We walked out the door that led to the balcony and were hit with the warmth of the summer night’s air.

The balcony was made to have furniture, but I didn’t have any yet. Sam hopped onto the thick wall of a railing and sat on the edge with her feet dangling over the gardens several stories below. She pulled the joint out from behind her ear and lit it delicately, breathing in the sweet smoke. I closed my eyes at the memory that the smell brought.

I’ve smoked a lot over the past two years, but the memory that came to me was of drawing my imaginary boy while sitting on the futon in my college apartment. I remember sitting close to him, smelling the sweet perfume that the drug left on him. I listened to his soft arithmetic breathing as I worked on penciling in his jaw length hair.

Sam nudged me and handed me the joint. “You seemed to be in deep thought.” She said without really looking at me.

“Can you hallucinate smells?” I asked with a serious tone.

“Depends on what drugs you’re on.” She said with a little laugh. “But no, I don’t think so. Unless you are about to have a seizure. If the area of your brain that's effected is close to your sensory receptors, then people tend to smell strange things. But I have a feeling that's not the answer you were looking for.”

“No, not really. I think I just have a better imagination than I realized... You make me nervous sitting so close to the edge like that.” I said before taking a nice long toke.

She turned and looked me dead in the eye, both of hers boring into me with a ferocity that made me motionless. “Everything is going to be alright, West.” After a moment of tense silence, she seemed to realize how intense the situation had become. Playfully, she deftly plucked the joint from between my fingers and blew the smoke she breathed in gently back at my face.

The night sky above us was filled with bright stars that were only slightly affected by the light pollution the town gave off. I watched the sky and felt my head slowly absorb the smoke I’d inhaled. Sam laughed at something I didn’t see and flicked the roach off the balcony with a little frown. “To the gods.” She announced, watching the ember disappear down into the trees.

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author's note:

(love)