Started With A Disaster

Preface

How long does it take to fall in love?

Psychologists say its 4 seconds. My parents say its 4 months. My sister says its four years. My therapist says it's clandestine. Of course, their opinions mean little to me. I have my own issues here, and you're here to read about it, analyze it, or maybe even make fun of it.

Oh well.

It took me exactly _________ to fall in love.

Nu-uh.

Sorry people, I think that if I disclose that right now, you'll not be so happy later on, most of you are here to have a fun-loving, humorous love story, not a spoiler. You are reading this ignoring your homework, your assignments, your parents, kids, spouses, chores.. the list just goes on. I'm guessing that while you're currently reading this paragraph, you have something important to do, places to be, friends to mope around with. I am right, aren't I?

Oh c'mon!

You deserve a break in this monotonous life, don't ya?

Since you're here for a story, my story, it's about time that we started.

So, shall we?

I am currently seated in a plush, leather sofa with a hot coffee on my hand. Staring at me is a beautiful lady with the name-oh wait! What is her name? I look at the nameplate on her coat, oh right, I remember now -Jessie Newton. From what my sister told me this morning, she is thirty-seven years old. This lady has been one of the most renowned therapists New York has ever had, and it had been very difficult for my sister to book an appointment with her. Jessie Newton seemed to be everything that a psychologist needs. Kind eyes, leather notebook in hand, heavy metal ink pen in another.. Could she be any different than the others?

"Emily.." She says smiling understandingly. I hate that smile. That lips which turn upwards as if she had heard the funniest joke ever. As if she apprehends. As if she knows how vulnerable it makes me feel.

It's the psychologist smile.

"Hello, I'm Jessie Newton, your new therapist." Newton says.

I snort loudly.

I already know that, woman.

She looks surprised by my reaction but she quickly covers it up with another statement. "How are you today?"

I laugh this time. Yes, she is exactly like the others.

"Great." I reply smirking. "I just punched your doorman because he hit on me." I raised my right hand to show her my cracked skin. "My knuckles still hurts from breaking his already-slanted nose.. Oh! And I also cut down my neighbor's tree an hour ago. Bastard. He told me to that I needed to be admitted in a madhouse." I snort again. "Can you believe it? He thinks that I need a psychiatrist when he is the one who is insane. Working his ass off to feed and fulfill his whore-wife's demands. Ha!"

Jessie stares at me for some seconds. "Emily.. can you tell me why you wanted to see me?" She says sincerely. "Your sister has been contacting me for more than 3 months in order get an appointment for you. I assure you that whatever we talk about is absolutely confidential. Only I can see these notes. Do you wan-"

"Nope." I take a sip of the coffee loudly. Newton maintains her expression. "I don't need to see a shrink. My sister thinks there's something wrong with my head, you know, she thinks it's an aftershock of my loss." I laugh. "Poor girl. Living her life being the flawless good girl, that little goody-two shoes."

"I'm sure you don't mean that. Erika is a wonderful gir-" I cut her off.

"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever." I grumble. "So what do you want to talk about?" I ask massaging my shoulders. They still hurt from all the hard work I had done today. Get a bloody gigantic axe, carry it to the porch of my neighbor without hurting myself, and then, the funniest and the hardest one, chopping the tree.

God, his expression was priceless when he saw what had happened to his beloved plant.

"Why don't you start from the beginning? Why you came here.. or why your sister thinks that, um, there's something wrong with your, uh, mind?" She asks quietly, searching for the right words.

I sneer at her discomfort. "I guess it began when Erika came back from Canberra." I say, ignoring the hollowness in my chest. "I went ballistic when she came home and gave me a charm for my birthday. I nearly punched her teeth out." I snicker at the memory of Erika holding a bloody nose. "At first she thought that it was because I broke up with Alex, my then boyfriend." I explain sheepishly at her confused expression. "But then, I think she noticed how I didn't eat or drink, how I kept arguing with people. I laughed at sad movies, cried at the funny ones..." I shake my head. "I can't believe she'd hook me up with a shrink ,though. It's hilarious. Motherfuckin' hilarious." I laugh, not bothering to hide the irony in my voice.

Newton smiles, though I can sense the gawkiness in her eyes. "Why did you hit your sister when she only gave you a birthday gift?"

I stop laughing and glare at nothing.

Silence.

"It was a snow charm." I finally say.

"Oh. You don't like snow?"

I sigh loudly. "No." I reply. "I like snow. I just don't like the things connected to it..."

My therapist waited for an explanation. An explanation she was not going to get.

"And?" She prompts.

Silence again.

"It reminds me of him." I snap.

Newton analyzes this for a second. I stare at the amount of awards and souvenirs in her cupboard while she stares at me. And then, she asks softly, "Who?"

I ignore her and keep looking at the trophies and framed certificates. Is this what her life is? A mass of awards and gifts? Does she even get remembered for her help, for her oh-so-important contributions? Does she want anything more from life? Is she happy? Does she think she is happy? Does she even realize what happiness is?

Is this what every one of us does? Get born, live, die. Is this the only thing that defines humans?

"It doesn't matter who he was.." I say closing my eyes, trying to push away the waterworks. "It simply doesn't matter." A tear slides down from the corner of my eyes. "If I have to summarize my life, I can do it so easily." I stop myself from breaking down. "Every one of us has a story to tell. Every one of us knows something that the others do not. If we don't share our stories, they just get lost with us. Everything gets lost. The memories, the joy, the hurt, the pain, the lessons... Everything." I clench my fist. "The only thing that hurts me the most is that I never got to hear his story." Remembering his beautiful face brings out the empty void in my heart. "And it terrifies me that I'll never will." I say between sobs.

Jessie doesn't say anything about my outburst. She must be used to it. She doesn't console me that everything will be okay. She doesn't holds me, or hug me. Heck, she doesn't even give me the look of pity or sympathy.

She solely says as I finally stop choking, "Emily," Her voice is kind, and soft, like a caress on the cheek, "do you have story too?"

I keep quiet for a few moment, regaining my composure-the composure of carelessness that I always kept. I am not supposed to cry, I tell myself. I'm not supposed to hope.

But even with the pain lashing out in my heart and the numbness flowing in my brain, I can't help but nod at her question.

Newton straightens her shoulders professionally and her eyes brighten with relief and respite as she finally asks me something that she must have asked all her patients.

"Will you tell me your story?"

And so, I begin.