FicWad

I’m sitting on a familiar, rotting couch across from the woman I recognize as my high school guidance consular. I am vaguely aware that this is not where I am supposed to be. It’s the wrong time.
This is a memory from my previous life and I can’t remember how I got here, but I don’t know how to get back so I stay silent and wait for things to play out naturally.
“Deirdre,” She leans forward and I recognize the look in her eyes as the same confused and sympathetic look my mother gives me. “I know it may be hard to believe looking at me now, but I’ve been were you are and if you give me a chance I think I can help.”
She didn’t come up with that on her own. It’s the mantra taught to every social worker, shrink, and consular on the face of the planet.
I lean forward mimicking her actions, “There’s a dead olive tree in my backyard.” I say and she looks confused so I explain, “The olive branch is a symbol for peace and all the branches on my tree are dead.”
“And what does that mean to you Deirdre.” Another mantra.
“That we can’t afford to have it removed.”


Suddenly my eyes are filled with particles of dust glistening like gems in the afternoon sunlight and a mummy that is missing it’s wrapping and appears to be on a copious amount of valium is staring into my eyes…Oh it’s Dr. Mellows. I must be back.
“Deirdre? Are you okay?” Dr. Mellows looks like he might be genuinely concerned, but I suspect that years in the business have trained him to look this way.
How long have I been out I wonder. I look at the clock, but I don’t remember what time it was when I left so it’s no use.
How long have I been here I wonder? Staring blankly at Dr. Mellows well time shifted around me.
“Well, how do you feel today Deirdre?” Oh, so it hasn’t been long
“Fine,” I shift awkwardly in the worn leather chair, still mooing under me as if it’s being lead to slaughter.
“Do you care to elaborate?” Dr. Mellows tilts his head forward letting his glasses slide down his thin pointed nose.
“No,” I’m busy trying to remember how many days I have been here. Three or four maybe, or was it thirty or forty. No way to know, time had stopped making sense. Things would move backward and forward like and old episode of the twilight zone and there was nothing I could do to control it.
It must have started some time after Lisa died, but again I wasn’t quite sure because time meant nothing, so the sequences of events often became jumbled and insignificant.
I’m pretty sure it happened after Lisa died.

They found her in her room, her parents did. Dead on the floor of her room curled into a ball like a fetus in the womb, a stillborn, an abortion. Barely alive, still half-child and now gone.
I only remember bits and pieces of the viewing. I remember Lisa's mother holding my hands, her brother hugging me, her father talking to me about our trip to Chicago. I remember the girl who asked if it had "opened my eyes' and how empty she looked in the casket.
I was the only person there who didn't cry and I spent most of my time outside smoking. I was a complete failure as a mourner.
The next week I didn't go to school. I spent most of it getting drunk and watching the view. The day I did go back I had a panic attack, failed a French test, and vowed to never live another day again.

It was that afternoon when I actually did it.