Everything That Matters

Chapter 9

It was properly morning time now and I was still hyperventilating. I had every right to hyperventilate- I just saw my mother in a rose-scented environment and somehow, my hair were still smelling of roses.

 It’s just your imagination, Gabby.

 It had to be. What was particularly sad is that my first thought was ‘Gabby, who’d pay the psychiatrist’s fees?’.

 It had to be a dream. For the sake of my sanity, I decided instantaneously to believe that all was peachy, except for oddly livid dreams. I had neither time nor energy to spare. With the thought of action planted firmly in my mind, I downed the last of my coffee and switched the vaccum cleaner on, because there was cleaning to do. 

 Mr. Kentworth was driving my baby away, and that was hurting me. I was in physical pain; at least that is what it felt like. My Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG red convertible was the very first fancy thing I had bought with my hard earned modeling money. That car defined me in so many ways. It was mine. It’s no longer yours, Gabby I thought bitterly. The sad reality was that I couldn’t afford spending too much time moping around. I had unpacking to do, interviews to attend. All I could do was turn back and resume the task of un-taping cartons, so that is exactly what I did.

 Time flew by and before I knew it, I was sweating (although it was freezing outside) with only two hours to go until the interview with Dr. Evers.  I felt slightly panicky- I couldn’t afford being late. With a rapidly growing ball of nervousness in my tummy, I stepped into the shower. I had some getting ready to do.  

 I looked at myself from head to toe for the billionth time, taking in my black trousers, amethyst shirt and brown button-down coat. I decided to keep my hair untied- I didn’t have time to play with it anyway.  With a deep, calm, cleansing breath I turned away and started toward the door. I sent a mental prayer into the Universe. I needed things to be alright again, but before that, I needed to get to Dr. Evers’ clinic.

 When Dr. Evers’ clinic building was finally visible, I could hear the Hallelujah chorus in my head. Walking in the snow was something I had stopped doing a while back, and today, I was reminded of exactly how slippery and tiring it could be. You, who invented flat, warm boots, thank you. The mere thought of heels in the snow was making me cranky. 

 I stepped into the waiting room, almost purring when the warm, alcohol-scented-clinic-air enveloped me. This was a major relief from the biting cold that had been my companion for the entire time it took me to reach here. I saw the door to the doctor’s cabin to the far left-hand-side corner of the waiting room. Dumping my handbag on the armchair near the receptionist’s desk, I ran my hands through my hair and yanked my shirt down in a last-minute attempt to fix my appearance. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door to Dr. Evers’ cabin.  I heard a muffled ‘Come in’ and I pushed the door open, my heart thumping with pre-interview excitement. It had been a while since I last did this.

 Dr. Evers was a balding man of forty-something years. He looked like a dentist does in kids’ picture books, with a white coat, large nose, round, white face and rimless glasses.

 ‘Good morning, Miss Rodriguez,’ he said, gesturing toward the armchair opposite his desk, ‘Please, have a seat.’