A Void Dance

Chapter 2 - Lydia

I wake up feeling no worse for wear, surprisingly. It's almost time; I shake my head at that thought. My mind wanders instead to the sexy and sinful CJ. No doubt a damaged young woman. I could see mommy issues written on her beautiful face. Watching her confidence crumble under my gaze filled me with an addictive kind of power. I knew her type. Sexy as fuck and knows it. Using her devious charms to play with women's emotions. I would love to pick apart her brain and find what lies behind those emotionless, beautiful eyes. But I am not in LA for that. I am in LA to disappear unnoticed.

Shaking off thoughts of CJ, I wonder what I will do for today. I pull up the weather app on my phone, and it's supposed to be a beautiful day. I will go to the cafe on the corner, grab brunch, and read in the park. Wait, I don't have any of my books shit. Ok, library, cafe then park. After 20 years of running a busy and successful Psychiatry practice, I forgot how nice reading a book could be. Well, that's not entirely true, although I love almost all genres of books. Before my indefinite sabbatical, I read serial killer biographies and true crime. In another life, I wanted to be a criminal psychologist delving into the dark and demented and exploring what makes them tick. But again, that was in another life, certainly not this life.

I shower, dress, and walk to the library. The library is a tall building sporting a coffee bar in one corner off the front door and two stories of books fitting every feasible genre. But today, I have something specific in mind. I go to the section that houses romance and grab a copy of Wuthering Heights, a classic! I sign up for a library card and head to the cafe with the book in my shoulder bag. I put in my order with the guy behind the counter at the cafe: a fruit bowl and avocado toast. The guy bags my items, and I head over to the park. The park is beautiful, with bushy green trees and healthy grass. Multiple raised concrete planter platforms with trees and flowers dedicated to this or that community leader long since passed. Benches dot the walking path, some with dedication placards as well. One reads, "To grandma, Addie, who was always ready to offer a hand when needed, missed but never forgotten." The park has a great view from my hotel room across the street—a quiet slice of heaven in a bustling and congested city like L.A. I find a large shade tree and spread out my tan plaid blanket with red and brown lines running through it, a gift from my mother, drab in color but rich in intention. I pull out my brunch and my book. I pause for a moment; my mind wanders.

Two months earlier

"Dr. Reeves will take good care of you, Joan," I told Joan Mitchell during our last session. I am closing my practice in Portland, Oregon, today. I have written a recommendation for Kayla, my receptionist, and referred all my patients to new providers. My list of things to do before my move is slowly getting ticked off one by one. I have seven boxes in the corner of my office of patient files scheduled for a couriered to deliver to the new doctors taking over their care check. All are meticulously labeled for the proper clinic. Thank you superior organization and attention to detail skills. I have sold my office furniture, which movers will pick up this afternoon—and settled the lease for my office check check. I have several appointments with people over the next two weeks to pick up the furniture in my house check. Sigh, I wish this list was for everything I want to do on a cruise, but that is not the case back to practicality. I boxed up and gifted my books to my best friend Sam. Sam raised an eyebrow at the gesture, knowing my books are one of my great joys, yes, a Marie Condo influence if you must ask. My collection is worth thousands of dollars with autographed copies and first editions. She knows why I am giving them to her...check.

We just closed escrow on the house, and I am sending the money for the sale to a retirement account in my mother's name. She doesn't know about it...yet. I am dropping off my lovely Frenchie Darcy with his grandma for safekeeping. Yes, he is named after the man himself. Pride and Prejudice is an all-time favorite and a guilty pleasure when considering what love should be. And lastly, I will sell my car when I get to LA. Why Los Angeles? So I can be anonymous and fade into the background. It's easy to be swallowed up by big cities, and that's what I want.

My ex-wife Mindy tried to fight me on the car and the house sale, of course, entitled ass that she is. In three years of marriage, she wrote jock porn, otherwise known as ridiculous "Dude where's my car" type stories. Somehow, she chalked her blog-like posts up to being a real writer. To her credit, she also wrote fan fic about cartoon characters that shouldn't be read aloud...ever. She tried to work many jobs and was fired or quit just as many. Excuses range from discrimination over her orientation to I just don't know why (missing seven days in a row could have something to do with it). I even employed her at my practice as a show of good faith. That lasted exactly one month, and I missed 17 appointments. When I met her, she swept me off my feet. Her big dreams of being a famous writer were intoxicating, and I think some part of me wished I could dream out loud like that. But it didn't take long to realize she was nothing more than a lazy slob. After I read her first transcript, I barely avoided an outward cringe.

I then gently told her she had to remember the readers and write for their pleasure to have readers. But Mindy said her work was her art, and she couldn't change it and remain authentic. Queue the endless eye-rolling. She called her writing cult classics in the making. Sure, if the cult is drunk, frat boys setting their farts on fire for fun. But not even frat boys followed her book postings. A comment on one of her story posts read, "I can't even understand this high." After three years, I gave up on her dreams and leeching, and we got a divorce. She moved in with her sister, taking our devil cat Heathcliff, and I kept my angel Darcy that was two years ago.

Three weeks after I got to L.A. I took the $8000 I negotiated for my nearly new CT5 Cadillac and anonymously started this new phase of my life. What a life it would be.

I popped a grape in my mouth from the fruit bowl consisting of green grapes, strawberries, and pineapple. I quietly moaned around the grape. I had spent far too many years dieting and eating healthy to stay in shape. Rigorous exercise following the rules of existence, as it were. Even this grape was an indulgence I denied myself for years, avoiding simple sugars and needless calories for quinoa and carb substitutes. But not today! Today, I am eating this grape and enjoying it, damn it! I might have more than one gasp! After my father passed, my health was an obsession not only for myself but for my mother's sake. I learned everything I could find about micronutrients and calorie distribution based on weight. I measured my portions and documented each thing I put into my body down to the trace ingredient. Nothing processed, Organic as much as possible. Cage-free, grass-fed, all the healthy trigger words you could fathom. To the point that I denied myself fucking fruit to what save a quarter ounce. Not anymore. I am indulging in wine and chocolate. Pasta, potatoes and bread. Rich and luxurious flavors that expand my waistline and fill the chasm in my soul. I will steal what little happiness I can from this shit world.

I am not bitter; I am determined. I have spent my last 39 years solely focused on doing for others, for better or worse. In my 40th year, I am taking up some space for myself for a little bit. Focusing on my needs and happiness, everything else be damned. This moment is my Eat, Pray Love. My dive into self-indulgence is for my own sake. And I may find some joy to keep me warm at night for a little while.

I pull out my copy of Wuthering Heights and begin to read as the world fades into the background. Then I hear a thud and a groan. I put my book down and see a body crumpled on the ground, groaning near the base of the tree I'm sitting under. Denim-clad legs drawn up to their chest as they lay on their side curled into themself. I can see a glimpse of blonde hair peeking out the bottom of their hat. Their white t-shirt, from my angle, shows no signs of blood, thankfully. A skateboard lay top-side down with its wheels spinning nearby. I get up and run over to the body. "Are you OK?" I asked, placing my hand on their shoulder. The body turns towards me, blue eyes blinking at me, trying to focus, then ask. "Mrs. Robinson?"