The orange chair

I'm running late, can't find the office. Dripping wet from the pool and stink like sweat. It's 30 degrees outside and I have already run one block, parked illegally. I knock on the door, rip off my bathers and turn my t shirt the other way around to hide the boob patches. 

We are 15 minutes in and she asks me if I know what mindfulness is. I sit opposite her in the orange chair and my eyes blink once.  I don't. To be honest, I don't really care to learn. But I don't say that. She gets me to practise a breathing exercise. The first two times I do it wrong. I know I've created this but I still can't get to sleep at night. She stares at me without blinking as I tell her about my sleeping habits. 

She is blond and voluptuous and her office smells weird. She burns a candle and thinks it’s relaxing but it’s making me sneeze. Her voice is soft, caring. She asks me about my past.

I don’t really have that much to say but I tell her about my dad and I tell her about my grandpa. I am convinced it's not hereditary but I’ve never really thought about it like that before. 'To be honest I think he just wanted to be back in Greece smoking a cigarette at the platia  tending to his chickens swimming in the Mediterranean drinking red wine from a latte glass they probably got from the village. He wanted his smile wrinkles and leather skin back from the Med. That's what we all want right?'  I don't take a breath when I give her my explanation. She doesn't answer my question. 

I could pack those shorts in my bag and I think I would take the grey one as everything would fit and it’s real easy to put on my back. I could probably take an extra few days of unpaid leave and then it would be fine. He would probably want to mind the dog, even for a few months. Or maybe i'll just get a job and then we can sit on that porch again and drink the prosecco and I would only be eating seafood and it will be hot so I won't have to pack much. And then in a few months time I can ship him over, in one of those container things. It wouldn't take that long I don't think.

‘Anyone else’ She interrupts my thoughts as I attempt to tune back into reality. Forgot where I was for a second.

I take two minutes to think before I tell her about my cousin who found him hanging in the cupboard by the neck but I was so young that I don’t remember it that well and I think I was never told the entire truth anyway. I think about his fiery temper but I decide not to tell her about that because I don't think it’s relevant. She looks concerned.

I think about you and that time in Perth when we lay on the beach all day. It was New Years. We were both coming down so we swum in the ocean and it helped. Our skin matched. So dark we were nearly purple. So salty, your black hair had turned into ringlets. We lay there for hours just talking at each other mainly. Solving world problems mainly. Not really stopping to take a breath. It wasn't until the sky went black when we moved to the fish shop for some wine. It was a ten minute walk from the junction. You were good like that. Always up for a party. Didn't really ever need down time or sleep. I thought about being jealous.

But I didn't tell her any of this because I didn’t really feel like it.

I thought about that night when I drove to your house. I was hurting and I thought it would help. It didn’t. You were on the porch with your housemate, drunk. I sat there, shivering. My eyes were bloodshot, my hands were shaking. You put a blanket on me - we walked to the beach. That was the end. I stopped caring about you after that and your stupid fake job, and your coffee habit and your skin because you kept interrupting my life right when I was trying to take a breath. 

I didn't tell her about that either. I told her all the main things though and I left with my sheet of paper with every intention to practise what she gave me. I ran back to my car to find another $77 ticket. Fuck.