It happened just in front of doctor Heyworth’s office when Emanuel stepped out of the door one day like every other, his head in the clouds and unaware of the woman in a wheelchair struggling to avoid the crash. They collided and fell to the floor sideways causing so much noise they both froze like deer in the middle of a road suddenly stricken by front lights of a passing vehicle.
Before the big crash there was doctor Heyworth, a psychedelic psychiatrist (aren’t they all?). She was treating both of them (maybe three of them) after their life changing accidents and trying to help them find a way to build a new life, since going back to the old one was far more painful and probably pointless in both cases.
They enjoyed going to her clinic, except in that moment when they had to pay the therapies. She was good and she was charging accordingly.
Her name was Wendy. She was a dancer since the age of 5. Never got married and couldn’t be bothered by the ties society imposes on you after reaching thirty. Car accident.
His name was Emanuel. His alter ego’s name was Charlie Chicken-Leg. Became a stand-up comedian at the age of 25. Never got married, couldn’t be bothered… just couldn’t be bothered. Nervous breakdown.
Wendy. It was hard to get used to the wheelchair and, the fact that she was completely frustrated with her general state of being wasn’t helping. She was a dancer. She was a dancer. All that was left now were two pairs of useless limbs sagging from her hips and a weak skinny hope that “one day she might walk again”.
Charlie. For him it was the other way around. Not having to make people smile every day was easier than to have to make that effort. Being depressed and gloomy was like a vacation for Charlie. But Emanuel was fucked up. Now neither of them could make people smile. He was not a comedian anymore, just bipolar.
They were two fallen stars crashing at the same point on earth and getting tangled in front of the shrink’s office. He was confused and she was slightly pissed off.
“I, I…ohm, sorry” Emanuel squeaked timidly.
“Yeah, ohm… can you help me back to my wheelchair? I don’t feel like lying here or dragging myself to Miss Heyworth’s office.”
A shy little smile dragged over his face without him even noticing. He was staring at her beautiful face all disfigured with sorrow, but in the smallest corners of her features just enough for the observant eye to see she had suffered greatly and recently. There was something graceful in her collar bone sticking out from the neckline of her shirt and the way she moved, even crushed underneath a wheelchair, was elegant. He helped her back.
“Emanuel.”
“Wendy.
“Nice to meet you Wendy.”
“Well, it didn’t feel nice but it was the most exciting thing that happened to me in days; being crushed down to the floor together with my wheels. Anyway, my session starts in 2 minutes so, have a lovely day. And watch where you’re going, you were lucky I wasn’t dog poop.”
The smile stretched even bigger wider. Charlie was silent. Charlie would say something back and leave the building with a standing ovation escorting him out. But Charlie was silent.
At the end of the day both of them went home to their messy studio apartments, took a shower, she had a bottle of wine, he had 5 beers, and they passed out.
* * *
“What the fuck?!” screamed Wendy after waking up with the sunlight hitting her eyelids. She looked around in panic and saw Emanuel sitting a few meters away from her staring at the distance. The smell of sea water and the sensation of sand between her toes was instantly confusing.
“Could you do me a favour?”
“What? What? Yeah, what? I think so.”
“Stand-up.”
She stood up and gave him a nice long stare. After two minutes she realized she was staring at herself, from the inside somehow. The sensation was like that one when looking oneself in the mirror and realizing you saw something you haven’t seen before. One toe moved. Second toe. Left. Right. That sensation of sand between her toes wasn’t just a memory, it was real.
“What’s your problem?”
“I used to be a comedian.”
“Lost your sense of humour?”
“Kind of. It’s more complicated than that. I lost a part of myself, had a short-cut in my head and that part burned out I guess.”
She giggled.
“I was a dancer and I lost that part of myself, well, my legs if you want go technical. Since then, all I want to do is kill myself and the only reason I haven’t done it yet is because I can’t jump off from a building. It’s my number one suicide option, the rest just seems unworthy the hassle.”
He giggled.
The beach was silent in a way beaches can only be, a calming murmur of the water and the rustle of palm leaves, a gentle song of the breeze and an occasional deep breath coming from your own body caused by so much beauty in simplicity. They continued in silence starring at the horizon and the bloody sun that just seemed to linger on for hours and hours instead of going to sleep.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“I don’t want him to come back. Charlie.”
“I tried to love my new self, I tried to find a meaning, a new purpose and I keep hitting a wall.”
“I want to love myself the way people loved Charlie.”
“I love you, Emanuel. And who the fuck is Charlie?”
“I love how you stroke your hair as much as how your language gets dirty and how enchanting the sense of humour you poses. Fuck Charlie.”
They giggled.
A blue and yellow bird landed on the palm and crushed it with its weight. It was an adult and they usually grow up to seventeen meters in height around these places and they mark the time of the falling sun. It’s been bleeding for too long and now it’s going to sleep.
And then they woke up.
* * *
Emanuel was looking at the clock behind doctor Heyworth’s back. He wasn’t feeling like conversing today as the hangover was as bad as the beer he drank the previous night. The time was over and he stepped out like any other day, going down the same old corridor and wondering what happened with his life.
Then a familiar face appeared and a familiar wheel went over his foot, on purpose.
“Hey!”
“Hey.”
“I dreamed of you last night!” they’ve said in the same time and smiled.
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 