The Pacifist

Barbara, or Barb?

Still reeling from the odd appointment, Rachel walked aimlessly for a good half hour before pulling out her phone to call a cab to go home. Her mind raced to find someplace else to go to during the ride. A few times she opened her mouth to tell the driver to stop so that she could walk and prolong the trip, but she didn't want to bother him. Rachel knew the man had had a rough day and didn't want to burden him with her indecisiveness.

They pulled up to a gray, stone mansion with manicured lawns that could be seen passed the gates. The rest of the property was hidden behind high walls made of similar stone to the mansion.

The driver whistled. "You live here?"

"My parents live here." I'm the lost cause that they put up with, she added silently. Rachel gave him a tip that she was certain he expected, given the house she was about to walk into. He pulled off and she went to the intercom that had a dial pad under it. Rachel entered her code and the gate slowly swung open with the quietest of mechanical hums. It couldn't even be heard when it closed behind her.

Walking up the driveway, Rachel felt that all too familiar nausea at the thought of facing her mother's feigned concern. Her steps slowed until she finally came to a full stop a few yards from the side door. But of course her mother knew she had arrived and she came out with that insufferable look on her face.

"Honey! Where have you been?" her mother's voice was light and airy and could have been beautiful had it carried some level of sincerity in it. But Barbara, or Barb, had no notion of the concept.

"I was out," Rachel said shortly.

"Honey, after last month's incident, you really should let me know when you're out. I can't handle the worry."

More like you can't handle Dad being upset over me. "One: that was three months ago. Two: could you please stop calling it the 'incident.'"

"Why, with that attitude..." but of course she couldn't finish the thought. That was the beginning of a phrase a parent would use, and Barb was no parent.

"Yeah. All right. I'll just go to my room and hang myself with my socks tied together."

Barb's mouth flapped open and shut, again, searching for the appropriate parental phrase such as, "That isn't something you should be joking about," or, "I know you're struggling right now but this isn't the right way to deal with it."

Rachel walked past her mother and into the excessively large house. Every time she walked under the vaulted ceilings, she missed her small, cozy apartment in the market with studio windows that had overlooked a park and the river. Her situation weighed her down like it always did. Once in her room, she pulled out the mysterious business card and replayed her time with Joseph. Maybe she had been too defensive. Dismissive? Or, she just didn't like hearing what every mind wizard had said before him; that she was stuck like this for life, and the only plan of action was to alleviate the symptoms. Maybe it was the super empath in her that he had spoken about, but she knew in her gut that he had something the others didn't. Maybe Joseph had the answers that would make her life better.