GINGER AND BUBBLES

1| RED YELLOW AND ORANGE

What if I got contacts? What if I dyed my hair? What if I defied the old lady and retrieved that little a black number... and those killer stilletos from the boxes in my roof?

Too many what ifs

That is her voice inside my head. Correction. One of the voices inside my head. My tormentors. Where was I. Oh yes. What if I get contacts lenses. Yellow one? Whatever. What if I dye this hair. Get stilettos... (Sigh) Too much. I know. But, but—why not? What would my life be like a year from now if I could look like that?

What are you waiting for?

Suzan releases a long, drawn out sigh.  I can't be the girl above. Deceiving people is also not in my nature. That's inappropriate. Evil. The devil—

Here we go again. Blaming the poor devil.

I like it when people address me as Suzan. Dorel. Delheim. Exactly like that. With all the pauses in between.

Weirdo. People don't care about your quirks. Get over yourself.

Suzan's face contorts into an expression of disapproval. I am a reasonable person. Simple. Uncomplicated. Logical.

To you. Maybe. (Spontaneous outbreak of laughter)

I love simple, uncomplicated things. Like my name. Suzan. Dorel. Delheim. A sturdy name with an air of sophistication.

Different strokes for—

Suzan clears her throat. It is a good name. To me.

Thank you clearing that up.

I think I'm at a crossroads...

Here we go again.

Her eyes well up. Ahead of me is one long winding road with no end in sight. Darkness on my right. And on my left? An empty space. Nothing.

Take the winding road, dummy.

Maybe I must go to the animal shelter. Get a cat or a dog. She shakes her head from left to right. But I'm not an animal person.

You need a—

Animals are messy. Like men. She pinches a tear between her two fingers. And needy. Like men and men are bad news, Suzan. Dorel. Delheim, says the old lady. Stick to your Bible. And your career.

(Eyes rolling) Oh purrr-lease. Heaven open swallow me alive and make flour with my bones.

Where was I? Oh yes. Bible. There's this other thingy I—

Me. Me. There's me.

I lead an existence that might resonate in the people-shaming dictionary as—

Kind of? You are a sad grey mouse living in a dark hole full of nothing. Alone.

I lead a solitary life. Those who do not know me up close might define me as private.

Recluse. They call you recluse behind your back. And sexless. And manless. Then there's dogless and catless, alone lonely and—

Single does not equal recluse. Alone does not equal lonely.

Liar, liar coffee-bag-panties on fire.

I strive for balance. Mind body and soul.

With your silly inhale-exhale-find-your balance-fart-and-burp routine?

This voice in my head makes my life hell. Suzan goes on her knees, assumes a prayer position and close her eyes while extending her praying hands into the air. Oh God save me from her. I am in hell... She hates everything I do—my yoga and my veggie juice. My early-morning routine. The old lady...