MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 67
“No problem.”
So, how do you feel?”
My body and mind feel drained. “I feel...feel great.”
Silence. She is staring at me hard. “Okay.”
I shift in the seat, a signal that I am anxious to be released from her grip. I'm not a
threat to myself or others. Mrs. Rogers straightens her spine and flips a lock of hair over
her shoulder. “Alright, well, if you have any concerns, questions, or anything, please call
me. It was a pleasure working with you, and to take part in your journey to mind
wellness.”
She had said that last bit a thousand times but believed it. I don’t know if it is true or
not. Apparently, when I walked in this place, and handed them a chunk of my savings, I
was in ‘psychic misery.’ I feel nothing now, not misery. So, I lean towards her telling a
half-truth. “Thank you.”
I stand with my tote bag strapped on my back. I remember the switch from a shoulder
purse to a back purse. That happened a few years back when the chiropractor told me
shoulder purses pull the back out of alignment. That memory was intact. “Thank you,
again.”
Mrs. Rogers walks me out. “No, thank you, again.”Outside, the sun is so bright, I might
go blind. It seems I just stepped out of a dungeon. I direct the car to drive crazy out of
the parking lot and down the road until there is a place to pull over. Parked, I pull the
picture of the smiling woman out of my purse. It’s bent from being crammed in there, in
a hurry. A crease slices down her right cheek. “Who are you? And why did I want to
forget you?”
I laugh. I probably don’t know her. She was probably just a random picture thrown in
the mix to test my memory. Maybe it was something at the park I wanted to forget. Was
I mugged at the park? No, I could've recovered from that without a brain tap. Or the
child—? Was I a mother and lost my child? No, that would have cost more money to
erase. Still, I pull up my shirt to see if I have stretch marks on my belly. I have a belly but
no baby marks. I stare at the woman’s green eyes, drowning in them. She is about
twenty-five, like me. It is her that was erased. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. I
stick her inside the glovebox. Whoever she is, this was all I had left of her.
And that would have to be enough.
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