Chapter two

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING...

Light knocks on the door wake me up and then Mom's soft voice echoes behind the door. I stir in the covers and open my eyes lazily.

“Allie, can I come in?”

“Sure mom”

She enters and I greet her with a small smile and sleepy squinting eyes.

“Good morning” I kiss and rub my eyes with both hands.

“Good morning, honey," she sits on the bed and gives me a warm look, “you have to get ready, today you have an appointment with the psychologist”

For a moment I look at her confused and then I remember, I thought I had the appointment tomorrow. I give her a nod and get up slowly.

“Okay, I'm going to get dressed”

Mom leaves my room but not before telling me that for breakfast she will make me toast with orange juice, my favorite breakfast.

I go slowly to the bathroom of my room, and I look for a few minutes at my reflection in the mirror. The girl who looks back at me is a sad girl, I'm not the same since a few years ago, I guess that's how people look when they have lost hope. My eyes are brown, my pale white complexion doesn't make much contrast, it rather makes me look like a zombie.

I grimace and look at my hair, it's honey colored, it was very nice before but now it lacks shine and it's a bit dry, I comb it in an attempt to improve it but it's still the same.

I let out a sigh of surrender.

“It's the best I can do”

Then I strip off all my clothes and get into the shower, turn on the heater and a few minutes later I get out with the towel around my body. As I'm about to open the closet, my cell phone rings with a message.

I frown. It's too early for it to be Matt, my childhood best friend. He never gets up at this hour, let alone texts me, he lives two houses away from mine and comes to visit me all the time so I rule him out. Who could it be?

I unlock the cell phone and read the message.

UNKNOWN:

“Hi, I'm the guy you danced with last night, it was nice to meet you, would you like to meet up some other day and have a drink?”

I start typing and send the message.

“It seems that the feeling is not mutual, he gave you his number wrong”

I leave the cell phone on the bed to get dressed and not two minutes later I get another message.

“I'm sorry, I guess so. Damn! I don't understand why the same thing happened to me a second time”

“They must have had some reason to give you their number wrong, don't you think?”

“No, I'm incredibly cool. But it's their loss”

I roll my eyes. What modesty she has.

“They? So you're a boy, I guess”

“That's right, and you, are you a boy, a girl?”

“Girl”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Rie”

“Likewise”

I wait a few minutes for him to respond but I don't get any more messages, so I figure he must have gotten tired of texting a stranger who isn't the one he danced with last night.

I leave my cell phone back on the bed and it rings again, this time I don't give it any importance and I dress simply, black jeans, beige wool sweater and converse of the same color. I try to spice up my face with some makeup and put on the cannulas I had taken off in the bathroom.

“Allie, hurry up, you have to eat breakfast,” Mom shouts from the kitchen and I do as she says.

I go downstairs and start to eat my breakfast quietly while I listen to my cell phone alerting me with a new message, it will be the boy again, but I don't care. When I finish breakfast mom and I get in the car and she drives off.

“The atmosphere is a little dull, you have to give a little joy to the day,” she complains and gives me a short glance.

Without saying anything I turn on the radio and a familiar song starts to play and we sing it in unison with laughter because mom is a goddess at dancing, but at singing? Not at all. I remember one time we went to a restaurant, there was a stage, she got up on it and sang at the top of her lungs, people laughed but she enjoyed what she was doing. I love that about her, she doesn't care if people make fun or criticize.

"There are better things to do in this life so instead of giving relevance to situations or people that don't have it just enjoy and be happy."

That's what he has always told me, and how right he is.

In less time than a rooster can crow we arrive at our destination, we enter the psychology center and it is 9AM, the exact time of my appointment. We sit down in the waiting room, minutes later my psychologist appears through the door of her office and beckons me to come in.

“I'll be in the cafeteria while I wait for you, okay,” she kisses my cheek and leaves.

I walk in and find the psychologist and sprawl in the chair with all the confidence in the world, I've been coming here since I was 15 years old. She has been a great support to me, and I look at Ms. Vanessa as if she were a friend.

“Allie, it's a pleasure to see you again, how are you,” she gives me a warm smile and I imitate the gesture. She is a person who conveys confidence and so I don't object to coming.

“I suppose you can imagine by now, but I'll still tell you. Not as well as I'd like to, frankly-I tighten my mouth and snort despondently”

“Would you like to tell me why you feel that way? Don't forget that you're in a safe space and I'm not going to...”

“Judge me” I finish the sentence for her, “I know”

She gives me a nod in agreement and goes on to change the subject.

“How are you doing with your paintings," she asks with interest and adjusts her glasses.

“Quite well, honestly. I've been working on a new painting but it's missing some details. I'm trying to do what you proposed, about expressing my emotions in painting. It's quite a challenge but I'm getting better," I say proud of myself and he smiles openly at me.

“That's very good to hear”

We continue for long minutes chatting, talking about trivial things, my day to day life and about art. She's a very nice person, she doesn't pressure me to talk and understands when I'm not ready to touch a topic, she also understands my pauses when I tell her about something that hurts me and she's very sweet. Until she asked me a question that triggered my feelings of

“Allie, I've noticed that when I ask you a question that doesn't have to do with your illness you somehow always add CF to the conversation, why is that?”

I bite the inside of my cheek thinking about my answer, until I decide to speak.

“I don't know, I really don't know, it's like it's all related to that”

“Have you ever thought that there are more things in life that you can enjoy," he raises an eyebrow in my direction and sighs at my silence, “you seem to have made your life revolve around CF and forget that there is a world beyond the walls of your room”

“I had no choice at birth,” I exclaim with exaggerated annoyance and get up abruptly from the chair, causing it to fall but no matter, “you think it's so easy to go out into the world and put my best face forward! No, you don't, you are in good health, while I remain with stupid cannulas in my nose because my lungs are unable to create more oxygen, day by day I think about death and I come face to face with it when I see myself in the mirror”

My nostrils are dilated, my breathing accelerated by rage and tears flood my eyes threatening to come out. I am helpless and in pain to lead this life, I don't deserve to go through all this.

Miss Vanessa remains unperturbed in her chair, with an understanding and sweet expression, while I am standing in front of her desk about to burst into tears like a little girl.

With a gesture she invites me to sit down and I do it again when I put the chair back in its place.

“It's normal the exaltation you just had. But I want to explain something to you, can I,” she asks a little cautiously and I nod, “perfect. Allie, you won't always have the power to decide what will happen to you, sometimes life can be cruel and decide for you but what you do decide is how to face the situation”

I look at my hands in my lap with my eyes fixed on my feet, while I play with a small thread hanging from my blouse.

“To get over things you have to face them. You can't climb a mountain if you pretend it doesn't exist,” she adds and puts a finger on her chin thoughtfully, “why have you reacted so angrily, have other people said something to you?”

Finally I look at her and frown, not really wanting to continue talking but I still decide to answer.

“Yes... people don't understand my situation and feel they have the right to come and tell me how I should act and how I should think. It's infuriating... because if I don't do what they tell me then they think I'm doing everything wrong. I try to be strong, but this disease is killing me”

I wipe away a small tear that runs slowly down my cheek.

“The expectations that people impose on your life you don't have the duty to fulfill them, only you know and understand the pain you carry, and no one has the right to judge you” she intertwines her fingers on the desk and then takes one of her hands to her hair combing it.

“It's not easy to stop listening to these comments...”

“Of course it's not easy, but look at it this way” she pauses a little “People don't feel sad about things, but about the perception they adopt about them. Now, do you get more good comments than bad ones, or more bad ones than good ones?”

“More good than bad”

“Which ones do you hear more inside your head?”

I think for a few seconds and speak.

“The bad ones”

“Why?”

I open my mouth to answer but no sound comes out, I've never questioned it before and I don't know what to say because I don't even know myself the reason why I do that.

“I don't know...” I admit with confusion.

A stony silence fills the office as I avoid eye contact.

“Make your head stop seeing your illness as the center of the universe and start directing your thoughts in a different direction. Don't let the bad comments rumble any louder inside you”

When I look at her again she has a small smile planted on her lips, and I fight back tears. Maybe she's right.

“Don't bottle it up, Allie. The more you repress what you feel the worse you're going to feel. To face the world, life and your illness with a good face you must be brave and let out what is making you suffer. Let go. I know it is scary to be face to face with that feeling that haunts you day and night but when you face it you will see that it was not as gigantic as you thought”

When the session comes to an end I leave the office in search of mom, I walk so absorbed in my thoughts that I inadvertently bump into someone's hard chest and make the coffee I was carrying on his shirt spill out.

My eyes widen like saucers and I shake nervously.

Great, Allie. The queen of awkwardness should dub you.

“Oh, for God's sake! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... I just wasn't watching where I was going” I stammer in embarrassment as I stare at the floor of the corridor.

A small chuckle erupts from the person and I slowly look straight ahead to find two very cute boys. I look confusedly at the boy with the giant stain on his shirt and frown at his reaction, but then start to detail him absentmindedly.

The other boy remains behind him crestfallen, so I don't pay much attention to him.

The one with the spot has beautiful jet black hair, which looks noticeably silky and well-groomed, a fair complexion, dark brown eyes and a small dimple peeking out of his right cheekbone. The two look very much alike, perhaps they are family.

Her laughter stops but she keeps the corners of her mouth turned up.

“Calm down, okay,” he speaks in a deep voice, quite manly to tell the truth, but reassuring, “it was an accident”

“I'm still sorry. I have to be more careful”

“Maybe a little bit” he sounds amused and my nerves dissipate.

“Yeah...” I look down the hallway to the cafeteria, “I have to go. I'm really sorry, I hope you can get the stain out.”

“Sure, but if it doesn't come out you'll have to give me a new one”

I don't answer him and walk towards the cafeteria with my back to him.

“I'm kidding. Bye!” he shouts from afar and I ignore him.

Great, I had a hissy fit in Miss Vanessa's office and now I spilled coffee on a guy. Just great.

What's next, am I going to blow up the clinic?