"Boom"! Was the sound she heard when he smashed the
table to the floor. She couldn't breathe. She let out a shout, crying for help.
"Is everything OK?", he asked, waking her up from a daydream, or
should I say, a nightmare.
She lifted
her head from the office desk. "Everything is great", she said
untruthfully. her whole body was shivering, even though it was the hottest day
anyone could remember.
"I don't think you're OK", he said, and sat next to her. She was
stunned by the fact that someone cared for her.
It was just another September morning in room 049; it was cold,
lonely and empty, uniquely unsuited for petrified Emily. On her face
was a scar, which she never talked about or mentioned. The professor, who
came to visit, said that she had the most beautiful room in the entire faculty,
and she did her best to put on a smile, hiding the pain of loneliness and
longing beneath a box of chocolates in a drawer. A hand-drawn calendar was
hiding there, counting the days to something, though there was no point in
that; and she put a sticker with her name on the drawer, as if anyone would
have even entered this lonely cube, and be interested in her foolish feelings.
She headed to the pool, doing her best not to plunge. Sitting by the side of
it, he sat next to her again, though it was probably all just a dream.
"I'm worried", he said. She breathed heavily, just asking for a hug,
without saying a word.
Some twenty years had passed since that day, that instantly floated in Emily's
mind. It was when she held her little sister Jenny by her hand, sitting on the
elementary school stairs, and, strangely for a girl her age, with a book by the
psychologist Arthur Janov peaking from her bag. Instead of mom, it was their
grandmother who came to pick them up. They went to the hospital, and sat there,
without saying a word. Emily just cried. By the pool, later this evening, Jenny
and Emily could not have missed the sight of their grandmother crying. Emily
held Jenny by her hand, without saying a word.
"Attention, please. This is the last call for passengers on flight 399 to
Montreal", said the announcer. She tried to escape the farthest she could,
just to not to be drawn into deep depression.
It was another flashback that came up in her mind, thinking about the time she
tried to climb the Mont Royal mountain, just to prove to herself that she will
not succumb to the terror and fear she had suffered; but then, she just could
not have finished, and was flooded with the feeling of failure.
It will be different this time, she promised to herself, and she was right.
Completing the trip to mountain's peak, she pulled the Ventolin from her bag;
she was not sure why she was trembling. This trembling made her miss the hole
that was right behind there. She fell down, and just a hand of an angel saved
her. Sitting on a bench, crying, she remembered the words by Janov: Some of us
are free, and some are bound. Some will swim, and some will drown.
Heading downwards from the mountain to the Musée des beaux-arts, Emily had noticed neon signs pointing to a new exhibition, which had just arrived from England. Looking at the portrait of an aging and gloomy Churchill, painting while a black eyed dog standing behind him, she couldn't help but think about the resemblance reflected in their moods.
She went outside, trying to breathe some fresh air. She felt the memories of broken glass and broken heart were blending inside her mind. A dog ran in her direction, and she quickly succumbed to her phobia. When he came up to her, though, she just hugged him. The colour of his eyes turned from brown to black.
She breathed heavily again. The black eyed dog knew her name, and she felt, that she's growing old and that she wants to go home; she just doesn't know how.
