Ache
"I'm sorry Ms. Ryce, but there's nothing I can do for you", the doctor insisted. You've made it clear you don't want any drugs. I don't know how else I can help you."
Marlena sank even further in her chair. From the pit of her melodramatic hell, she ached to scream at the doctor. She yearned for the doctor to know how profoundly fatigued she was and had been for two years now; how utterly hopeless and devoid of lifeblood her life has been; and that she aches a little more every day because she knows of no one who thinks that what she is going through is anything more than a woman's problem, one of life's inevitable road bumps; or simply just a figment of her imagination.
The doctor simply didn't see Marlena's torment. And Marlena was too drained to express it. She wanted to cry, but only the faint whisper of a tear trickled down her face. The doctor looked concerned just then, but only because the look of a woman in tears annoyed her. She forced a, "Please cheer up, Ms. Ryce." The entreaty got no response.
Marlena was doubled over in exhaustion now, and her short, thick, greying hair fell forward, as she buried her face in her lap and hugged both arms around the back of her head.
A minute later the doctor was gently escorting her out of the office, past a full waiting room, and onto the street. "Try to get some rest", was the last thing she said. Marlena nearly fell down on the sidewalk the second the doctor let her go.
There was no strength left in Marlena. Maybe she should have called someone; a friend to help her just to get back home. But because of the illness, she'd lost most of her friends. They thought she was faking. Those that remained contended that they just didn't have enough time to deal with all her complaints. So she trudged, a meagre step at a time, up the sidewalk.
Each half a step overwhelmed her, and it was many long minutes before she came to a bench. When she finally manipulated herself down into it, she was immediately overcome with a profound appreciation of benches. She painfully lifted her head, only to see a grey and austere afternoon skyline. And the few people who passed by, she noticed, looked the same way: stern, sober.
She didn't lift her head again for a while, and then only because she felt chilled. She pulled her coat shut tight and pulled her scarf out of her handbag. She wrapped the long piece snug around her neck and face. It was only October, and not cold, but because of her chronic sore throat and fear of catching a cold, she took that scarf everywhere. She did the same with her mittens. Two buses passed, and though they would have taken her straight home, Marlena just sighed at the sight of them.
Now it was mid-afternoon, and Marlena finally got off that bench. She remembered a cafe just up the street. Inside, the comely waiter asked for her order. She stared blankly at him and asked if they had coffee. He smiled and said yes. She asked if she could have one with no sugar, just a spot of cream, not too hot. Sensing her derangement, he said yes.
Having finished her coffee, Marlena fumbled around her handbag for change, but there was none. She was too fatigued to be frustrated, so when the waiter came, she explained that she was ill, and had forgotten her money. He smiled and told her it was no problem. As she left, she vaguely noticed the waiter and a waitress watching her move painfully.
She climbed the steps of the bus slowly, her exhausted limbs not cooperating, and soon met the empty eyes of the a full load of passengers. She struggled not to gasp, but one came suddenly anyway. It always did these days when she felt she would be surrounded by people. No one in the front of the bus made room for her. Instead, they looked sullenly at her, so she felt. She only looked at the ground, to make sure it was still there, because by now, she could barely feel it with her feet. Marlena straggled to the back of the bus, and still no one moved for her. So she patiently steadied herself against a rail as the bus accelerated. The dazzling young lady seated beneath her struggled to get away from Marlena's thighs, which were pressed against the young lady because Marlena needed the support to help her stand. With each move the young lady made, Marlena gasped and gripped more tightly to the rail. And she wondered how much strength she had left to grip at all. She heard someone say something about the bag lady, and Marlena didn't need to look over to know he was speaking of her. She wanted to be dead. She hadn't thought that she looked that bad, but it certainly occurred to her now. Since the onset of her illness, she chose her clothes to be loose and warm, never much considering their appearance. She tightened her lips around her pained gums, and she felt a tear trickle down her face. Because of her fear of falling down, she didn't try to get and hand free to wipe it away. She just locked her head in a downcast position, not daring to look up even long enough to see how close her stop was. She wondered if she could remember where it was. Her head was in a deep brain fog.
Soon, a seat became available, until an abrasive teen rushed in there ahead of her. He gave her a look like she should move faster next time. Marlena sucked up a big breath and opened and closed her eyes a few times. She felt she'd better do this, because she sensed herself close to the point of passing out. A large man shoved by her, and mumbled something to the effect that he wouldn't have had to push her if she wasn't in the pathway. For a second, she kept grip of the rail. Then it slipped out of her hand, and only the throng of new passengers all pushed tightly together kept her vaguely erect. Marlena made a horrible, frightening noise. A tall businessman took note, and yelled for people to get out of her way, because maybe they were crushing her. There was a commotion, and even more so when the bus halted to a stop. The businessman lifted Marlena under the arms, and scolded a shocked young boy wearing headphones into giving up his seat. The man set Marlena down, and asked her if everything was okay. She said no, and let out a faint, nervous giggle. He asked where her stop was. She racked her brain, and finally came up with the answer, "three stops after the bridge", but she wasn't sure if that was her stop or someone else's.
The man continued to stand by her side. Though she couldn't express it, she was very glad for his help. The man soon told her that her stop was near, and again lifted her out of her seat. She felt rag-like and ridiculous, but she made no attempt to help herself. He clamoured for people to get out of his way, and pushed Marlena ahead of him through the irritated crowd. When the bus stop came, he eased her down one stair at a time, and got off with her.
Marlena scanned the surroundings, and was most relieved to find them quite familiar. The man asked if she'd like help getting home. Suddenly, Marlena was filled with a resolve not to accept any more help. It likely came from the relief of not being on the bus any more. She straightened up and smiled at the man and said sincerely, "No. Thank you". He nodded back just as sincerely. And she went on her way.
She trod about a hundred or so steps when she felt quite numb again. She wondered why she ever went out this morning. Sensing that her apartment was just around the next corner, Marlena pictured the cramped, untidy dwelling. She thought about how, in the last two years, she'd been relegated to spending most of her time in the apartment; hopelessly lonely, pathetically absentminded, and terminally sleepless. She sighed. The thought of giving the place the cleaning it so badly needed seemed to cramp her shoulders and arms, and suddenly she came to the grave realization of why she left it this morning: She just had to get out.
Marlena sank even further in her chair. From the pit of her melodramatic hell, she ached to scream at the doctor. She yearned for the doctor to know how profoundly fatigued she was and had been for two years now; how utterly hopeless and devoid of lifeblood her life has been; and that she aches a little more every day because she knows of no one who thinks that what she is going through is anything more than a woman's problem, one of life's inevitable road bumps; or simply just a figment of her imagination.
The doctor simply didn't see Marlena's torment. And Marlena was too drained to express it. She wanted to cry, but only the faint whisper of a tear trickled down her face. The doctor looked concerned just then, but only because the look of a woman in tears annoyed her. She forced a, "Please cheer up, Ms. Ryce." The entreaty got no response.
Marlena was doubled over in exhaustion now, and her short, thick, greying hair fell forward, as she buried her face in her lap and hugged both arms around the back of her head.
A minute later the doctor was gently escorting her out of the office, past a full waiting room, and onto the street. "Try to get some rest", was the last thing she said. Marlena nearly fell down on the sidewalk the second the doctor let her go.
There was no strength left in Marlena. Maybe she should have called someone; a friend to help her just to get back home. But because of the illness, she'd lost most of her friends. They thought she was faking. Those that remained contended that they just didn't have enough time to deal with all her complaints. So she trudged, a meagre step at a time, up the sidewalk.
Each half a step overwhelmed her, and it was many long minutes before she came to a bench. When she finally manipulated herself down into it, she was immediately overcome with a profound appreciation of benches. She painfully lifted her head, only to see a grey and austere afternoon skyline. And the few people who passed by, she noticed, looked the same way: stern, sober.
She didn't lift her head again for a while, and then only because she felt chilled. She pulled her coat shut tight and pulled her scarf out of her handbag. She wrapped the long piece snug around her neck and face. It was only October, and not cold, but because of her chronic sore throat and fear of catching a cold, she took that scarf everywhere. She did the same with her mittens. Two buses passed, and though they would have taken her straight home, Marlena just sighed at the sight of them.
Now it was mid-afternoon, and Marlena finally got off that bench. She remembered a cafe just up the street. Inside, the comely waiter asked for her order. She stared blankly at him and asked if they had coffee. He smiled and said yes. She asked if she could have one with no sugar, just a spot of cream, not too hot. Sensing her derangement, he said yes.
Having finished her coffee, Marlena fumbled around her handbag for change, but there was none. She was too fatigued to be frustrated, so when the waiter came, she explained that she was ill, and had forgotten her money. He smiled and told her it was no problem. As she left, she vaguely noticed the waiter and a waitress watching her move painfully.
She climbed the steps of the bus slowly, her exhausted limbs not cooperating, and soon met the empty eyes of the a full load of passengers. She struggled not to gasp, but one came suddenly anyway. It always did these days when she felt she would be surrounded by people. No one in the front of the bus made room for her. Instead, they looked sullenly at her, so she felt. She only looked at the ground, to make sure it was still there, because by now, she could barely feel it with her feet. Marlena straggled to the back of the bus, and still no one moved for her. So she patiently steadied herself against a rail as the bus accelerated. The dazzling young lady seated beneath her struggled to get away from Marlena's thighs, which were pressed against the young lady because Marlena needed the support to help her stand. With each move the young lady made, Marlena gasped and gripped more tightly to the rail. And she wondered how much strength she had left to grip at all. She heard someone say something about the bag lady, and Marlena didn't need to look over to know he was speaking of her. She wanted to be dead. She hadn't thought that she looked that bad, but it certainly occurred to her now. Since the onset of her illness, she chose her clothes to be loose and warm, never much considering their appearance. She tightened her lips around her pained gums, and she felt a tear trickle down her face. Because of her fear of falling down, she didn't try to get and hand free to wipe it away. She just locked her head in a downcast position, not daring to look up even long enough to see how close her stop was. She wondered if she could remember where it was. Her head was in a deep brain fog.
Soon, a seat became available, until an abrasive teen rushed in there ahead of her. He gave her a look like she should move faster next time. Marlena sucked up a big breath and opened and closed her eyes a few times. She felt she'd better do this, because she sensed herself close to the point of passing out. A large man shoved by her, and mumbled something to the effect that he wouldn't have had to push her if she wasn't in the pathway. For a second, she kept grip of the rail. Then it slipped out of her hand, and only the throng of new passengers all pushed tightly together kept her vaguely erect. Marlena made a horrible, frightening noise. A tall businessman took note, and yelled for people to get out of her way, because maybe they were crushing her. There was a commotion, and even more so when the bus halted to a stop. The businessman lifted Marlena under the arms, and scolded a shocked young boy wearing headphones into giving up his seat. The man set Marlena down, and asked her if everything was okay. She said no, and let out a faint, nervous giggle. He asked where her stop was. She racked her brain, and finally came up with the answer, "three stops after the bridge", but she wasn't sure if that was her stop or someone else's.
The man continued to stand by her side. Though she couldn't express it, she was very glad for his help. The man soon told her that her stop was near, and again lifted her out of her seat. She felt rag-like and ridiculous, but she made no attempt to help herself. He clamoured for people to get out of his way, and pushed Marlena ahead of him through the irritated crowd. When the bus stop came, he eased her down one stair at a time, and got off with her.
Marlena scanned the surroundings, and was most relieved to find them quite familiar. The man asked if she'd like help getting home. Suddenly, Marlena was filled with a resolve not to accept any more help. It likely came from the relief of not being on the bus any more. She straightened up and smiled at the man and said sincerely, "No. Thank you". He nodded back just as sincerely. And she went on her way.
She trod about a hundred or so steps when she felt quite numb again. She wondered why she ever went out this morning. Sensing that her apartment was just around the next corner, Marlena pictured the cramped, untidy dwelling. She thought about how, in the last two years, she'd been relegated to spending most of her time in the apartment; hopelessly lonely, pathetically absentminded, and terminally sleepless. She sighed. The thought of giving the place the cleaning it so badly needed seemed to cramp her shoulders and arms, and suddenly she came to the grave realization of why she left it this morning: She just had to get out.
posted by Erich Schmidt | 11:06 AM
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