Story Of My Life

Mum had just lifted my half-finished sandwich and juice off the table when I realised what was about to happen. I was reminded that I was sitting in her living room, I used to call it THE living room, until I moved out two years ago. I was off somewhere in my own mind again. She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with two oat biscuits in her hand, no doubt to compliment the cheesy grin that was plastered on her face. I studied her expression, anxiously. 

'No thanks mum.'

'Are you sure? You've barely touched your lunch.' That wasn't true, I had eaten half of it. I just smiled, politely of course. For a second she looked disappointed, which is not an expression I'm unaccustomed to seeing. Then, the moment was gone, and she sat down next to me and sighed: 'Oh well, more for me then.' She looked uncomfortable while she munched on the biscuits. She picked up the remote control and the television screen went blank. 

'So...' Oh no, here it comes, I thought. I gulped. 'Where- uh- what have you been up to, recently?' She looked as though she were still watching the TV.

'Not much,' I replied honestly. 'You?' 

'Oh, same old... same old', she coughed and carefully placed the remote on the coffee table. 'Heard from Jack recently?' 

'No' 

'Oh alright, maybe I should give him a call sometime...' The silence crept back in. I tried to swallow without making any sound. 'Listen, I was thinking, maybe you should... talk to someone about... the things that happen to you like, well -' 

'What "things"? Talk to who?' 

'No, no, just, nothing in particular, anything. Someone who can listen well and talk and say the right things back.' 

'A therapist, you want me to get a therapist? What about you, am I not allowed to talk to you anymore?' 

'No it's not like that,' she turned to look at me straight on but the effort it took her was great. 'Just someone who can talk to you about the things that happen to you that's all.' I looked back at her. I knew she meant well, but it was bloody hard to take it the right way when she said it to me like that. 

'Nothing happens to me.' 

I left the house in low spirits: no surprises there. Mum smiled and waved at me from the window, as if to monitor my behaviour for as long as possible before I disappeared. I boarded the number fifty-seven bus to town. I only ever rode that bus after I had visited my parents, so it's really no wonder the driver always looked so concerned for me. I sat as uncomfortably as usual, too scared to put in my headphones incase someone spoke to me or I somehow missed my stop as a result of listening to music. I got off two stops early just incase. It was also an excuse to pass by the antique book shops down town. I didn't have any money to buy anything, but I usually got away with reading the first twenty pages or so of a novel before people began to notice. Or, at least, before I became conscious of myself. I was just about to step inside the shop when I almost bumped into someone milling around in the doorway. 

'Sorry,' I mumbled, keeping my eyes to the ground. I looked up to see a man in a completely white tracksuit, impressively dirt, stain and smudge-free. He smiled at me from under his hood, his crooked teeth, gleamed through the shadow. 

'Here,' he said, 'take it,' pushing a book towards me. An antique book? Has this man noticed me looking at the books and decided to give me one for free? Wait, no, I couldn't let my excitement overcome my instincts. How did I know I can trust this man? My palms had felt sweaty already. 

'Uh, no thanks, sir- I- I'm alright.' 

 'No, take it,' he pushed the book towards me, his smile disappeared. 'Just read'