Forgot I came along to be bored out of my mind.
Mother would bring me along to these secondhand stores. Where I would then get lost and become bored to tears. Sometimes the florescent lighting was too much. It was bad enough the floor was a bright, shiny white. Everything was old and used even the music playing on the overhead. You would find some interesting things if you were lucky. At times it was too absorbing it was even scary. Walking further into the back of the store was an opening to what seemed like another store. “How big was this place?” Only this part looked abandoned, or even a new part added to the store. Shelves and shelves of nothing complete emptiness.
Walking further in I come across a family of mannequins. The mother, father, and child. The child was of my stature. More and more mannequins, what were they shopping for? They were used for their intended purpose. To look like everyday people going about their daily shopping. Except everyday people didn’t look chalky white with faceless expressions or perhaps they did. I realized I walked deeper into the store to where I could no longer see the entrance of the second part of the store. I hear something, I turn to look back all I see are the lifeless stiff mannequins in between the endless aisles of shelves. The sounds of fast-moving footsteps, Continues to get louder and louder. I remove myself from the aisle and try to head back. But so lost don’t know which way is up. As I enter another aisle I see only the Male mannequins with what looks like the imprint of lips from a bright red lipstick on the necks. I hear a high pitch scream I turn around and at the end of the aisle directly across from me is what looks like a womanly figure with dark hair.
The sound a clock makes from the gears moving simultaneously, piercing through the silence in the room, always seems to drag on the time. One minute felt like ten minutes. Or maybe just the fact I really dislike talking about my feelings with a stranger. The counselor looked around his mid-50s. He had black hair on the sides of his head, he was going for a younger look. He tried to hid his age by dying his hair. He was wearing a dark gray Kangol hat, perhaps to hide his baldness with his grey wool sweater to match. He was an older white man his thin white mustache didn’t help with shedding years off his age. He went by Dr. Blor although I don’t think he was a legitimate doctor. He didn’t have any degrees of any sort in his office or any type of identification as such. His office was bear there were no windows nor a single picture of his accomplishments or any of his interests. All he had was his desk and seat. And a recliner for his so-called patients. His loud round 10-inch quartz clock with bold black numbers hanging above, his desk was the only thing in his office that stood out, the time read 6:10 pm. There was that awkward silence he noticed my left hand rubbing the inside of my wrist where a scar presented itself on my right hand. “You always feel up on that scar when you get nervous?” Asked Blor. “No,” I snapped back “I know what your thinking, I did this to myself is that right?” Blor ignoring my response. “What do you remember on the night you were arrested?” “I was doing a little grocery shopping,” “At the old abandoned Kmart? Not a whole lot of shopping to do there, considering that building had shut down 5 years ago.” “I was looking for something,” “28 years old and getting charged for trespassing, must have been really worth it”. Said Blor, condescending as ever. “The police said you were acting aggressively towards them. When they tried to get you out of the building you were hyperventilating and trying to fight them off. Any recollection of such behavior?” “All I can recall was waking up in the holding cell”. I said. “You take any type of medication or on any type of drugs of some sort, or any other altering substance?” There was a long pause, It was more of an interrogation than of any counseling I’ve ever had. “So what happened to your wrist”? Asked Blor moving on from his interrogation. “It happened when I was a kid,” “Were you suffering through a breakup? Or were you abused as a child?”I don’t respond letting his quartz clock do the talking.”Look anything you say here stays within these four walls. And due to your mishap, this is court-ordered, you are required to engage in your treatment.” Blor stating with authority. “You call this treatment you fucking quack”.
Dark Coffee 