I told the doctor that I’d noticed a disturbing change in my reflection recently. More than a simple matter of gaining or losing a bit of flesh around the jowl or finding a fresh patch of freckles…
“This, Doctor, this is different…something essential seems to be shifting. Pretty rapidly if you wanna know the truth…”
The doctor, a tall man, who let his shoulders fall forward which lent him a gentle, grandfatherly affect, tilted his head to one side and peered at my face. He had a weak chin and wore round spectacles protecting round, tiny eyes. I couldn’t tell how old he was but imagined his appearance had gone through plenty of permutations and this complaint might seem like the frivolous fear of the twenty nine year old single woman who, primarily fears the loss of sex appeal.
“Essential? Can you specify?” He asked while giving both my cheeks a gentle upward pull. “Your whole reflection? Or just your face for example? Your hairline, one eye?”
“Everything.” I said. “The whole kitten caboodle.”
“Go on.” He said.
“It started when I made this decision a few months back that I’d stop pushing myself in life…I’d been really stressed out you know…really…I was drinking too much, I was dating this really manipulative guy, I was always out of it and finding myself not remembering whole chunks of time…”
The doctor raised his brows.
“Drugs?”
“Not from drugs, from boredom. The consequence of a complete lack of drive or focus, of independent-imagination.”
“Ah. But you were abusing non prescription drugs?”
“Abusing is a very harsh word. I’ve always hated that word. Besides I really don’t have the money to abuse the drugs worth abusing. No, no. It was this one moment, really. One moment. A kind of terrible one, but a freeing one too.¨ The doctor had his clipboard out but he stopped writing. He continued to look caringly at my changing aspect. I could tell he had been raised in a household which valued social skills and the art of attentive listening.
“In the moment. I think I was with my boyfriend. The lousy one. We were having a drink somewhere in the sun. He was smoking and saying something about starting a project so that we could build a future. Together. I remember a jolt at the idea of a project, of a future, of myself moving through the present onward and onward. I had to order another drink. I’m not exactly an alcoholic but I occasionally get really nervous and like a drink to calm my nerves. I realized, in that moment, that I could stop anytime I wanted to.”
“Drinking?” The doctor asked.
“No.” I sighed. He seemed to be missing the point. “I’m not an alcoholic. Exactly. I think I’ve gotten off track, Doctor. I’m really here about my body and now I’m talking about my mind. I always seem to go back to my mind as if it’s worth talking about. I lost hope in saving my mind years ago. I think it’s more important to discuss the body.”
The doctor was nodding but stole a glance at his clipboard, the notes of my medical history. I assumed he was looking for evidence of past hysteria.
“I am a little concerned Ms. Swift. I think I’d like to hear the end of your revelation and we’ll continue the physical examination. As you know, the mind and the body are connected. One cannot simply discount the mind if one wishes to cure the body.”
I grunted. I should have gone to the bar and not doctor.
“Well, I’d just been very concerned about my future, my destination and suddenly I realized that I knew I my destination needn’t be so clear…or I mean, so fixed. Like all my friends who get jobs or get married or get bills on a weekly bases or buy milk… or fold clothes or say “Good Morning,” instead of “Mornin’.”…I could feel myself talking too fast. ¨It might just sound like a horrible, incurable case of depression but I realized I didn’t HAVE to do any of the human stuff…the sustaining and maintaining a normal life stuff. I could live in a world of aberration.¨
“Uh huh.” The doctor nodded. I felt something shift in my face. It felt irreversible.
It was happening quicker now. Everything was happening quicker now.
As much as I enjoyed the occasional hedonistic medicament, I really wasn’t a fan of pharmaceuticals. I’d had a bad experience a couple years earlier trying out a couple of my friend’s mother’s lithium. I couldn’t walk or talk for a day. I just sat and drooled, feeling the weight of the air around me. Terrifying.
I looked at the little green pill bottle that Doctor Mayam had forced into my sweaty hands.
“Your mind, first.” He’d said. “We’ll deal with the outward shifts later.”
“But Doctor, it’s all happening so fast. I might be unrecognizable by next week.”
“Stay in touch.” He said. Making another note. And take those pills.”
Leaving the hospital I took a long look in mirror of the waiting room. It was very bad. It had gotten worse. Behind me, (I saw via the reflection) I could see two young women wearing matching pink tube dresses, holding tattered copies of a foreign tabloid. I could see the receptionist scrolling her computer screen in search of a new pair of comfortable and practical walking shoes. I could see the white light that filled all medical waiting rooms furthering the impression of floating alienation. I could see pots of dusty, plastic plants in each corner. And although I could still see myself, I didn’t dare look long enough to assess the changes.
“Good bye!” I shouted to the room and ran toward some distraction.
It was Tuesday and I had to attend one of my only commitments of the week, an Alcoholic’s anonymous meeting with my lousy boyfriend. We’d agreed it was the only way our relationship had a shot. The only problem was it made me very nervous and I usually insisted we stop for a drink first.
“Lancy? Meet me on the corner near George and Waltz and then we’ll walk to the Church?” I cooed into my mobile phone. I’d already arrived and wanted to make sure he’d come and blur with me.
“Ah, Viv. How’d it go at the Doctor’s? Did they fix you up?” Lance asked. I assumed he was calling from his job at the library. He didn’t have to do much because he worked alone in the basement, the unwanted book department.
“I can’t talk about that now. The doctor’s these days really only make a person feel worse. But if you stop being able to recognise me…please keep it to yourself.”
“Of course, honey. And if I grab the wrong girl…You just give me a kick and grab me back.” Oftentimes I couldn’t stand Lance’s sense of humor.
I turned to Cindy, a very puffy regular with tattooed eye-make-up and a tendency to weep when the sun was especially bright.
“Lance is on his way.” I told her. “I’m kind of going though something, Cindy. I’m not sure what…but it’s important that I keep it together. Mentally.” She looked at my face and I flinched. Could she see? Would I have to start wearing thick make-up or veils?
“Yes. It begins with the mind.” Cindy slurred. I could always count on finding Cindy inside George and Waltz. She dated all the bartenders in turns, and on a rough night slept on the pool table. “You’ll get it sorted out, Viv. You’re a smart girl. You even have that plan…What is that plan you have?”
“My plan?” I was pulling at my cheek again, wondering when Lance would arrive. We needed to get a couple of drinks in before the meeting. Not to mention stop off for cookies and packets of splenda to appease the serenity-pleaders.
“Oh, you mean, the plan…”
Copyright © 2020 Eliza McRae
