1
We went up the first flight of steps.
“Remind me, is this our fourth or fifth visit here? “Macfearson asked.
Looked over my shoulder. “Yeah. I think so.”
“The agreement was that you share with us what you learn. It’s either there is not much help you are getting or you are being selfish.”
It was hard to tell what annoyed me the most, the fact that he was alluding to how frustrating the sessions were and how smug his tone was. The gloating kept me from giving up and admitting how wrong I was or how bad the idea was starting to seem now. I simply couldn’t give him that satisfaction. Macxermillio was not bothered by the pace, it gave him time to delve into his notes on the ontology of worlds and beings and to review the sampling and make better sense of the calling. In his leather-bound book, he kept with him, he would scribble and scratch notes almost constantly. With my student card, he accessed a lot of resources and books from the university's main library. Other than that he was preoccupied with filling his time with other habits in an attempt to tame his craving for blood. For Macfearson battling the craving was what mostly occupied him the last few weeks with impulsive bursts of rage, mostly he was irritable. But seeing me fail somehow put a wide grin on his face. In general the despair, pain and faithlessness were sucking the momentum off the rest of us. The suicidal thoughts were pestering and wearisome, it packed an almost demonic compulsion and enamouring promise. Skins were burned and slit, bottles were downed and pillows sunk with tears. The philosophical studies were even more dispiriting, sacking all the hope I had in reason. And when Courtney first talked to me it was saddening, she had said, “Dude, are you alright? You don’t look so well.” Whether the pain carried a scent with it, the many showers I had missed or my downcast demeanour that gave it away was not clear.
“Seriously, I’m not sure. She hasn’t said much about me, the calling or what’s really going on. She seems reluctant,” I told Macfearson. “I will make her tell me this Friday.”
We walked down the hallway past a few other silent doors, to the glass double door marked “Counselling Centre”.
Macfearson pushed it open. “It’s too quiet here. It is quite unnerving,” he lowered his voice walking into the reception and waiting area. “Witches be scheming.”
The receptionist acknowledged us with a smile from her desk. She was a middle-aged Indian lady, beautiful in that Bollywood film star manner. I often found myself wondering who locked down such a divine creature, and if she was as happy at home or if this was just professionalism. An act. Congratulations to whoever came back home to that.
“Sandy?”
“Yeah.”
“You are here for your one o’clock appointment I presume,” her voice could bend a knife and lower the gun without even trying, without even a slight moment of hesitation. There was no telling what men would do if she tried.
“Yeah.” I forced a smile.
“Okay, have a seat and I’ll let her know that you’re here,” she grinned, her head tilted in a flirt-like manner, or maybe I saw things.
For a moment I ogled, pistol whipped. I shuffled on and took a seat, still relishing what I had seen.
“Don’t you wonder?” Macfearson asked, looking up at the notice board.
“Wonder what?” I replied.
“If she really cares.” He paused and turned to me. “I mean it’s her job. What if the whole thing is just a job to her and she has to pretend to care, be interested and invested?”
We can’t have that, our deathling souls are poured into this project. Yeah, who knows what she really thinks or says when she is with friends and family. What if deep down she thinks I’m just a dumb freak, she does not like me. What if I mean nothing?
“You mean who exactly?” I stalled. Unnerved by the thought.
“Your therapist. Cheryl.”
I quivered inside at the sound of her name. "To be honest I do think about it. And by the way, she is our therapist, we agreed I would do this on the behalf of all of us.”
“Quite troubling thoughts. How many people does she see in a week or a day? It makes you wonder about your significance to her. She is whoring herself. You are just one of many, maybe our situation is blurred and diluted by all the whoring.” Macxermillio added.
“Look at her,” Macfearson pointed at the receptionist, “nobody can be that happy and nice all the time. Shit’s getting on my nerve. Doesn’t seem like she has an odd bad day at all. Being that happy or acting like that all the time is not normal, or at least impossible. Doesn’t make sense.”
I studied her for a moment, she passed a bright glance while busy sorting some paperwork. A beep of a smile accompanying it. It was eerily mesmerizing etiquette, puzzling at the same time. It started to make me nervous.
“If she really is happy how does she do it?” I uttered.
“Maybe it’s all a courtesy or in the job description,” Macxermillio said.
“Do they even go to lunch? They are always here. It is lunch now isn’t it?” I replied.
“Sure,” Macfearson answered.
“It is weird, it’s like they’re some kind of super-human creatures.”
"If they are guarding some secret knowledge and expertise in such matters as ours, it would make sense why they devote so much of their time here," Macxermillio suggested. A plausible argument indeed, it felt right.
“You reckon?” I demanded, despite my conviction. It was good to hear good news one more time.
“Well, it makes sense. Then again they might be nothing more but lifelings and we could be wasting our time here,” He replied, not what I hoped for.
“Best we are not on a race against time,” Macfearson sarcastically spoke.
“Don’t forget the calling is getting stronger with each moment. We are running out of strength,” Macxermillio said.
2
Staring at her, I studied her. I figure if I wrote a poem about that moment it would go something like this:
I, the ink,
Substance of subjectivity,
Staining and marking,
In shapes and sizes,
Without meaning or purpose.
You wield and mould me,
Give me purpose.
In truth, I am sheer nothingness.
Perhaps not an embodiment of the moment, but an embodiment of the nature of my relationship with her. I felt it there more than ever. Alone although in company. Why does it even matter? Sometimes I asked myself. There is no company without a bond, Macxermillio would insist. No relationship without trust, no trust without empathy.
“I have something on my mind,” I told her, sighing. Settled in the chair, stubbed my elbow on the arm and rested my left cheek on my left-hand’s palm. Crossed my left leg over my right. Then gave her the look.
“Okay,” she gestured for me to go ahead. Her nod attentive and distinct as ever. For an unknown reason, I disliked that. It was quite similar to when a parent offers to hear a child's point of view only to disagree with them or, worse, punish them for their transgression anyway. There was something already decided and made up about it.
“Me and my friend we used to do this thing. We would fuck each other in the butt. When it was his turn I would hardly feel him in my hole. But I pretended to until he finished. When it was my turn I would zone him. Zone him hard. He would wince and moan,” I paused trying to remember why I was telling her that.
“Okay,” she frowned. I couldn’t tell if it was from disgust or shock.
“You see there was trust between us. We continued doing it because there was trust between us. The problem is I don’t know how he could have felt if he knew that I was the one truly fucking him all this time. I used the trust against him, to use him. Any emotion a person invests can always be used for better or worse. Right or wrong. You see … it's because of this revelation that I came across an idea. The idea is that empathy is necessary. Being able to put yourself in the other person's shoes in a way turns you into that person for a moment. Then from there you will know how to treat them fairly or right. When you put yourself in their shoes their problems become your problems, and you helping them seems like actually helping yourself out. You do it out of genuine concern because at that moment you are the one facing the barrel. Do you get that? Am I making any sense?" I said.
“What you seem to be saying is that in any relationship empathy is important for the parties involved. It leads to healthier more productive relationships,” she replied.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Sandy, seems like you have a lot of insight there. You have been doing a lot of thinking. May I ask why you bringing this up now?” she murmured.
I shifted in my chair, changing my posture. “Because I want to know if you really care about me. That what you are doing here with me is not just a job for you but you actually are interested and involved, Cheryl,” fingers clenched together I lowered my gaze to her lap. She stroked her pen smoothly, her hands resting on the notepad.
“I see. If you were me and you had a choice, would you continue seeing a client you didn’t want to see?”
I imagined. “No. I guess not.”
“Yeah. There you go,” she smiled.
I lightened up a little, a smile flickered across my mouth. I blushed. “Have you found yourself having to make such a decision?”
“No,” she giggled, “at least not yet.”
So I’m not that special, I thought.
“How many people do you see a day?”
She hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
I sighed, nervous. “I don’t know if it’s the right thing to say or what it will do to our relationship, but I guess I gotta tell you. I like you,” I paused, then continued, “not like romantically,” didn’t sound that certain, not to myself, “but more as a person. I don’t know how it is possible because I really don’t know you. This relationship is sort of one way. When you say that you haven’t, and maybe you see like fifty people a week then I am not that special. I get jealous and concerned. It’s as if you should only see me.”
“You wonder if you are special to me?”
I waited a moment. “Yeah.”
Silence.
“Am I?”
"I can't tell you that. From the first time you came in here, you've always thought of yourself as unique. What do you think now?" she replied, professional and warm at the same – a rare mix.
What are you trying to say? The fact that I’m unique makes me special to you? Is that what you are insinuating?
“Yeah, I still think I am,” I spoke with disguised exasperation. “But I don’t know what to make of it,” I paused to think, “Scratch that. I honestly don’t think it is a good thing. At least here, in this universe. Have I told you about Kirst?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Well, I met her like two weeks ago in my Psychology class. Well, that’s where I first saw her. I thought she looks cool. She had a nice smile and her hair always tied in a ponytail. She was sweet. Very approachable although she walks with her head down she had an inviting energy about her. So I walked up to her on her way passed the Administration Office. It was around twelve O’clock noon. So I assumed she was going home …”
3
From her brisk walk and self-directed focus I guessed all she wanted to do was go home, take a shower, eat and lie down. Yes, these images suited her. The sun was pelting. Beads of sweat started on my brow, drops breaking free from my armpits (deodorant failed). I hurried to catch up with her, licking my dry lips and clenching my armpits tight. My heart raced, before I knew it waterfalls flowed from my hair line. A knot tightened in my chest, a lump rose to my throat and my breath hollowed. Images of me saying hello started flashing, they indicated smoothness, delicacy and confidence. The problem is I knew I would stammer, helplessly so. The images were a false prophecy I wished would come true. I had no remedy, no hope.
Fucking go for it already! What is it they said? Without hope, without fear? Something like that.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw me approaching.
This is it! Say hello!
Nothing but a faint whisper within personal earshot escaped my lips, a premature ejaculation-like blunder. Embarrassing.
Not this again.
I reached her and, to my surprise I managed to say it. “Hi,” I smiled at how perfectly executed that one syllable word was. It felt as if I got some pronunciation of an esoteric word correct in a spelling-bee contest.
“Hello.” She flicked her head and smiled. Her skin pale but cheeks rosy from sheer make-up. Her eyebrows artistically shaded and shaped in a delicate manner. It reeked with a bittersweet goth touch, a distinct instance of what defies heaven and hell. Her iris light brown with lightning autumn yellow furrows. Her cleavage, I got trapped in it, glistening and supple, a bosom for a honey heart. All became foggy and I was no longer walking but floating, her presence carrying me. A heady experience.
“How are you?” my voice sounding foreign to my ears.
This is my voice isn’t it? Why is it so surreal? I woke up this morning, didn’t I?
“I’m fine. How are you?” She gave a quick glance and continued looking down, not slowing her walking pace.
“I’m well. I’m Sandy. What’s your name?” I gave out my hand which went unnoticed.
“I’m Kirst. You can call me Krissy.” She smiled, offering her hand.
I wiped my palm on my jeans and shook it. I was weak and gentle compared to her firm handshake. “Why Krissy?”
“It’s what everybody calls me. Is Sandy your real name or short for something?” She giggled.
“It’s my real name. Just Sandy. I don’t get why people always assume it isn’t. Doesn’t make sense to me.”
“It is quite unusual for a guy.”
Having nothing to say, I resorted to the mundane – the safe.
“Um... how is Psych?” I asked, faking the enthusiasm.
She sighed. “It’s okay. Just gets tricky for me at times. How’s it going for you?”
“It’s going great. I’m kinda enjoying it I guess.”
“What other subjects are you taking?”
“Philosophy, English and Classics.”
She lightened. “Oh, wow. I’m also taking English. Wanted to take Classics but it clashed with Law which is like my major.”
“Law? You like Law?”
She laughed at my scowl of disbelief. “Yeah, why is it so hard to believe?”
I snorted, gathering my thoughts. “It’s… it just seems impersonal. I like things that appeal more to my human nature, stir my emotions and passions up. Then it does not feel like studying when I study anymore, it’s just pure bliss. Law just feels like… a slow boring way of killing time.”
She burst laughing. Then brushed my arm with her hand. “Hey, what study method are you using for Psych?”
“Um…wow. It’s hard to describe now. It’s just something I will have to show you. I got it from a book I read a while ago. It’s really helpful.”
“Okay. Look I gotta split now. I’m almost home. Give me your number and I will call you over to show me sometime. I really need a study method for Psych. Are you keen?”
I had always hated the idea of studying with other people but for her...
“Yeah, it’s cool. I don’t mind.” I shrugged, stifling the protester in me.
***
The atmosphere blushed; we could sense it as our skins crawled. We breathed as if we did not want to, all part of flirting and teasing with the air. I could feel my heart pounding on the back of my throat.
She looked down. “Hey, how are you?” Her tone was packed with genuine interest. This was not a mere courtesy. This was the first thing she said after letting me in through the main door, through a maze of decorated (female residences always had colour and elegance, they felt homey) corridors and stairs to her room.
I glanced at her to find that her gaze was one of concern.
Having read my face, she added, "Haven't seen you in class these days and you have been very quiet. Walkin’ with your face down.”
She cares about me. She seems to be able to see through me somehow. Good God. She noticed me. No one ever does.
Although reluctant I could feel my defences start to thaw. My jaws jerked and I could feel my heart become dull. I was scared, felt like I was being gagged. The room shrank in size.
“Are you just asking that for the sake of asking it or you really want to know?” I had a streak of impoliteness in my voice. I could not stand to look her in the face, anxious that she would see me. I was sore with the idea I am naked in front of her. My soul started cowering to unknown corners as I stalled her. I wore darkness on my face; I felt its weight on it – a numbing force that conceals readable expressions.
“I really wanna know," I heard the suit of sincerity her voice wore, but I couldn't see through that. It was mollifying.
Maybe I can trust her. Yet how do I explain? How do I tell her? People are never this forthcoming or any bit caring. Not in this kinda world. She is like someone who has just walked out of my fantasy. Do I tell her?
With my lips pressed I smiled. "Is this some kind of joke?" I laughed dryly. Afterwards, I thought of how rude those words might have sounded. She did not seem bothered, like she understood I was being blunt with no intention of offending her. Were these ‘the jitters' I was experiencing? Maybe that is what she thought.
She laughed lightly, only to accommodate mine. “No, it’s not a joke.”
Kindness rippled from that voice, dislodging my restraints.
I could feel the door to my heart creaking as it ope]/ned, left slightly ajar. Where it was just right. Gently and lovingly.
This can’t be real. This can’t be right. This is wrong.
I sighed. “Aren’t we here to study, I mean what if we get caught up in conversation and we never really start?” I muttered, the words were a shy away from moaning.
“I have all the time. The night is long. We can always study another day,” She gladly told me. “If something is bothering you we can’t just ignore that or we won’t be that productive.”
I nodded. “How’re you?”
“Um… I’m well. Everything is fine.” She quickly replied.
She gave me an eager glance. "How are you doing academically, socially and personally? I want some details. ‘Fine’ is very generic.” I stalled. Trying to prepare how I was going explain to her what is going on with me. Mind mapping. I was not going to let that stop me from hearing what she was going to say.
“Academically is going pretty, well. I am enjoying what I am studying and everything. Except the reason why you are here. Which is psych?" She glanced up, her forefinger to her chin. "Socially things are pretty awesome. After the whole serenades experience, I have gotten to make a lot of friends, including here in my res. Things are very smooth and looking up you know. And look, here you are as well. This can also go somewhere. Personally… I kinda miss home. The family environment and my siblings and all. They call me every day so it’s kinda chilled. I feel like they are here in spirit with me. I have been looking forward to this whole ‘varisty experience so I’m kinda excited. I am stepping in this new phase and they also kinda excited about it, you know. It still feels like it is one of those things we are doing together as a family so it is not that bad at all. Not that lonely.”
I nodded. “ You seem to be very close with your family.”
“ We are. They were all I had while growing up. They are like both my best friends and family.” She raised her shoulders seeming to find it difficult to elaborate. Like she was giving up on explaining it, but profound things like these – as much as you do not have the words to truly describe them – you feel driven into talking until you have said enough or ran yourself into a senseless corner where you cannot really say anymore. “ They are the best thing ever. God, I wish we could all live together in one big house even after I am done studying. Spend as much time as we can together. I dread the day I will have to move out and make a living for myself. They are everything to me. My biggest fear is losing my parents. I do not know how I would handle that or deal with it. I pray to God that He keeps them until I am ready.” She paused staring into the air. “A boy who comes along and convinces me to move in with him or stay with him will have to be worth it. He will have to be smoking good, freaking magical that is. I swear to God. Haven’t you ever loved something like that? Am I making sense?”
I was quite struck. “I think I get you. There are such things in life where not even a compromise is worth considering. I think I know what you mean,” I assured her. I started thinking of home (the crop) and Macfearson’s unshakable commitment to sampling (his was an addiction interwoven with love, and after all to love is to be addicted).
She fidgeted a bit and leaned forward, brushing the hair behind her ears.“How about you? Are you close to your family?”
I swallowed. I could feel I was making some sombre face, slightly looking down and my thoughts already hazy with…
“Um…I don’t really miss them,” I spoke, evading the question. Nonetheless that was crystal truth.
Her face showed she misread my facial expression for contempt. “Is this part of the issue you facing?”
“No. I just never really saw my family that way. I’m neutral on the whole issue. They are more like companions or people I just happen to be with until some other ish happens. I’m numb towards them. I have no ill feelings towards them or anything very affectionate. It is cool that way. Lifts off a lot of the emotional baggage. I do believe they love me and to some feeble extent I do too. I really don’t care if that makes me a bad person, or not a person at all.”
The whole conversation was now begging to give something off. These things make me get lost and nostalgic about things or a place that really does not exist. The delusion that it does exist is just tantalizingly suicidal.
“Sandy, I can see you’re stalling. Why?”
I let her question resound in my head, slowly devouring the contents required.
“Are you afraid? “ she kept on.
You mean of you?
“No,” demurely I began.“ It is overwhelming. I don’t know where to begin or how to put it. I would like to have a chance to think it over.”
“In silence?”
I considered. "Perhaps that would be best. It would be awkward, though. This is your room I can't really dictate anything. No matter how troubled I am I don't have that right."
“It’s okay.” She appeased.
Too kind. You are way too kind. This is just like in those soapy movies. Fuck!
"How did you know?" I asked, my eyebrows creased with intrigue.
“Know what?” she asked.
"That there are things going on me with me. I know you spoke of not seeing me in class, but that could have meant anything from being lazy and smoking weed to just plain careless."
She nodded. Exhaled. "Um, It's just there in your face. You look like you are going through shit. Half the time it seems like you are not here. You have the face of a guy who thinks a lot… no, I mean brooding. You don't think, you brood. You look awfully tired like the rest of your life-force and enthusiasm has been sucked out of you. It might just be you had a bad day, but from the look of your body language and posture you just seem like you have been carrying this boulder for too long."
Very observant, I made a mental note.
She drew a box of cigarettes from her blouse and a lighter. “Mind if I light one?” she asked.
I shook my head.
"Thanks, " she pulled her first puff, squinting as the smoke blurred her view. She wanted to have a look at me as if to make some judgment, but it was only because she had more to say and she needed a prop. "I find I have the best ideas when I smoke," she said, as a side note.
I stayed quiet, waiting.
She continued. “You don’t finish your words when you speak. They kinda die out in the end. Very low voice. I know too well that it is not a sign of laziness but a discouraged spirit, Sandz.” She paused for a puff. Knelt back towards the window to ash. She shook her head, “Can I call you that?”
"People call me Sandman, but Sandz is also fine. Carry on."
“Can I offer you wine or juice? Anything? You look very thirsty.”
I started to realize my mouth had gone quite dry, probably from being struck by all this. I would have asked how she noticed, but it seemed best to say as many few words as possible and not disturb her thought process.
"Water," I replied.
She got up and sauntered to the bookshelf and picked up a white mug. Stuck the cigarette between her lips and bent at the purifier and poured me a glass. In the same confident manner, she delicately put it down at the table in front of me.
She jumped on the bed again and resumed her posture. “You have the look of someone who has not slept for days.”
The words stung so much I grappled for that numb feeling.
"Anybody can have all these characteristics and not have the problems you are having. So in the end is more of my intuition. And I have learned to listen to the damn thing very well. I have learned my lesson. Your soul screams for help from a shadowed dark corner of an abandoned location-less, meaningless, horrid room. It's a terrible scream, Sandz. Deafening ."
Puzzled. I just stared at her like the meaning of all she just said was completely insane.
She spread her arms wide. “Can’t you feel the vibe in this room, Sandz?”
What is it, though? It's been here all this time.
My heart thumped and sweat broke from my brow, drips from under my armpits began. And there, she saw all of it happening like a predator standing over poisoned prey. I took a sip of quaking water from a shuddering rim as I could not steady myself.
“Yeah,” I managed.
“You see I am not insane. You feel it too. Intuition is perhaps a closer word. We are sharing some kind of field me and you.” She said. Then later added,“I don’t go around inviting random guys to my place, Sandz. I had a feeling about you. I knew your essence somehow. I see a fish wriggling on dry ground. I’m here to help. You can trust me.”
I was utterly stunned, yet quite elated. A rush.
They say some things come as easy as breathing – some things are as hard as taking a hard crap when constipated. I was neither of those things. Sometimes we refrain from telling people certain things because they know nothing, sometimes it is because they know too much and they are too abrupt. This situation is none of those things. It is too perfect. Too enthralling. Not even in the rarest possibility. Perhaps a tremendous a scam.
I needed my henchmen with me. Scrolled through my contacts and found Macfearson. Sent a short coded message: Do rotto abba!
I was becoming that which I should not become, I was becoming the thing. Seized by pure impulse and quick manic understanding.
I have questions you have answers. This is not even a trade, my love. You owe me! I think I know what you are.
“If I am a wriggling fish who is wielding the net?” I asked grimly.
Foolishly and coyly she answered, " Tell me what is this net you caught in so I can help you find out. I want to help."
She dryly chuckled and flicked her hair, a blazing smile slicing through my eyes.
You beautiful monster.
I played along with the overtones.
I will give you what you want my love but don't think you are fooling me. I may be a fish, but I sting. I sting so badly Krissy that you have no idea what I am gonna do to you.
I smiled, sweetened by my own sacred thoughts. “I will tell you,” I chuckled, unable to impede the brewing thing inside me.
God help me, this is the last thing you will ever hear, okay dear?
“I have this thing holding me down,” The calling you see. Not anything you would understand .“I don’t know what it is. It is not really a thing with me you see,” I sighed, took a swig of water. “I talk no one hears me. I am there nobody sees me. I just exist, passing by through the textures of this frail existence. I am alive yet I feel dead. I just am. I am among people yet I feel extremely lonely. Everything is just ash, everything is just stale and tasteless.”
This world of yours is just ruined, an e