Declutter | A Conversation With Angelica
Foreword
Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. The next short story in the Declutter collection is here! As a reminder, since it's been a hot minute since I've been able to post anything to this blog, Declutter is my short story collection that I am releasing for free on Patchwork and then later on through Amazon's self-publishing.
The following is a much more... personal story. Most of my short stories are ideas that I have either from day dreaming or night dreaming. This one is inspired by my own struggles with depression and anxiety but eventually changed into a simple conversation between myself and a character - something my lady love does to help herself work through some of her own struggles. It was something I have never tried to do and figured why not give it a shot. The following is that experiment.
A Conversation With Angelica
The cold metal of my apartment's front door felt comforting against my forehead. I let my skin remain against the portal to my personal space for several moments. Perhaps if I kept contact with the steel, it'll calm the raging fire crackling in my skull. Although, as with most hopes, it too would prove futile. I lazily fumbled with the keys attached to my car's FOB and shoved it into the tumbler. With a twist, I was back to my hiding place – my sanctuary away from the endless varying degrees of judgmental minds.
I kicked my shoes off at the door before walking too much onto the carpeted floor. Though I hated the grey, ugly fabric; the conditioning my father instilled in me took over. No shoes in the house, excluding a few rare circumstances. I should give him a call. I would if I wasn't busy bringing in a case of cheap beer. I carried the cold bottles with me out to the balcony where a metal table and a couple plastic chairs sat. I placed the case down on the table and unscrewed the top of one of the brews, staring out at the slowly dimming sky.
I drank the liquid in deep gulps, my eyes closed as I savored the drug. With a deep sigh, I pulled the glass away from lips and appreciated the quiet surroundings. Hopefully, I can appreciate the quiet in my mindscape soon. I chuckled at the thought, knowing that my uninvited guest sitting in the chair to my left wouldn't let that happen.
“Yes, I know you are there, Angelica,” I called out, not turning to look at her.
“Angelica? You never called me that before. Are we retconning now?” she responded in a sarcastic tone.
“Why not?” I shrugged taking another gulp and finishing the bottle. I proceeded to pop the top on another. “It's always on my mind anyways. If I can go back and change at least one thing, I'll take it.”
“Whatever. Not like it's a huge leap in logic anyways. I'd still prefer you call me Angel,” she protested. “You can't even bring yourself to look at me?”
“I haven't made up my mind yet,” I countered, appreciating the mix of purples and oranges now decorating the sky above me.
“I'm wearing that watermelon dress you like so much,” she responded with a sigh. I turned and peered at my guest. Her black hair flowed gently in pretty curls from her head to just beyond her shoulders. Her strapless dress was in pink with black dots on it. She instantly called it a watermelon dress and we couldn't help but laugh about it. She sat in the chair opposite of me, her shaved legs crossed over each other. I admired her appearance for a moment before looking at her freckled face, my eyes jumping from speck to speck before settling on her cool, blue-grey eyes.
“How have you been, Angie? It's been a minute,” I responded with a gentle smile.
“Angie? You've never used that one before. I like it,” she responded, returning the smile. “It's also been a lot longer than a minute.”
“Closer to about...”
“Yes. You're old.”
“What do I owe the pleasure?” I finished a second bottle and without any food in my stomach, I could begin feeling the booze take over.
“You're planning on consuming that entire case and you're more concern with me?” she scoffed. “Why do you have to deny the past?”
“Because that's where my mistakes live,”
“Which one, Michael?” she said coldly. I broke my gaze from the darkening sky and peer back into her baby blues. She could tell that one stung. “C'mon. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“My secrets aren't even safe with myself,” I laughed. “Why should we talk about it? Why speak it into existence?”
“Because you need to stop with this negative bullshit and start working towards a healthy solution,” she said aggressively. I finished a third bottle, not realizing I had even unscrewed it's cap.
“And the healthy solution is talking to you?” I scoffed, popping open a forth bottle. I remembered opening this one, so I must be fine.
“I used to be your comfort if you remember correctly. Fifteen years ago you made it a point to talk to me at least once a day. Asking how I was. Telling me about your day. What happened?” I stared at her for a few moments, in silence. Her dress began to fade away and was soon replaced with a pair of skinny jeans and a white blouse. I gave a pensive expression before her outfit changed again, now becoming a pair of silky pajamas.
“Stop imagining me in different clothes and pay attention to what I am saying,” she demanded.
“What do you want to be wearing?” I inquired. Still avoiding the question, but offering her a little bit more control.
“How about something you are used to seeing?” she asked before her clothes changed into those from my own closet. She wore a green and black stripe shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants that had a few holes around the pockets. Her hair changed from obsidian to a dirty blonde. Her eyes were the last to morph, transferring from a blue ocean to a mix of brown and green. The freckles that once decorated her face faded away to rosy cheeks.
“That's cheating,” I argued, before turning away to look up at the night sky.
“It's also what you really wanna see,” she said in a comforting tone. “You want to see her so bad that you would impose her image over me but you are too ashamed to actually reach out for her.”
“Enough!” I declared and snapped my fingers. In an instant, Angelica was transformed back into her watermelon dress. She gave a shocked expression before rolling her eyes.
“You can't avoid it forever, Michael. You need to address it so that you can move on from it. If I'm not the person you can tell, then reach out to someone else.”
“Ha!” my outburst legitimately caught her off guard this time. “If I can't talk to you, Angie, then I can't talk to anyone.”
“What about your father?” she asked, timidly. She hugged herself, a look of pity on her face.
“He...” I sighed deeply. My old man was always one of my most trusted confidants. I certainly haven't told him all of my struggles, but when I didn't understand how a mechanic of adult life worked I never hesitated. My current situation though... “wouldn't understand what I'm going through.”
“What about your mother? We both know she has more experience with this kind of thing,”
“Some, sure. I don't think she would have any helpful insight, though.”
“What about your brother?” she asked, now standing next to me. I allowed her to place a comforting hand on my shoulder. She was beginning to break down my mental barriers.
“Patrick or Thomas?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Patrick, of course,” she scoffed and I couldn't help but return her smirk. “You love Thomas dearly but-”
“His personality can be a bit much,” I finished for her. We both smiled at each other, like we had shared an inside joke. “I don't think Thomas would know how to help me anyways.”
“So Patrick it is then?” Angel asked hopefully.
“Nah...” I said with a disappointed shake of my head. Patrick, my older brother who was more of a twin to me. Growing up he was told everything. He was the only person I trusted without question. “He wouldn't have any knowledge with what I'm going through. He's a great help but...”
“He doesn't have a creative mind like you do,” she finished for me. I looked at her and gave a small head nod. “So that leaves Jeanine.”
“You know... funnily enough, she might be the best candidate. I just... can't ask her about it out of the blue.” My older sister was certainly the most creative mind out of my siblings, at least from what little conversation we had about it. “We've never talked about this sort of thing before, so I can't imagine bringing it up naturally with her.”
“Screw natural conversation,” Angie scoffed with a wave of her hand. “Be unnatural. Organic conversation is overrated. Who cares if it feels awkward. Sharing ideas should be dirty, chaotic.”
“Yeah, like my awkward brain could handle being uncomfortable like that,” I shook my head, knowing I didn't have that in me.
“I guess we're back to square one then,” she said with a triumphant smile.
“This was your plan? To have me run down my contact list to settle on what I already know?”
“Is it working?”
“Do you see me calling, Catherine?” I asked but was thrown off by her beaming stare. Oh. “Very clever.” She had tricked me into speaking her name, thus bursting a huge hole in my mental wall.
“Why not call her, Michael?”
“How can I ever speak to her again?” She won. My defenses had failed. “She probably wants nothing to do with me after what I had done to her.”
“What did you do that was so bad, Michael? You've already apologized for how things ended when you were kids.”
“Did I?” I turned to face her and to face the ugly truth of my selfish actions. “Sure, I apologized for not being the best to her but... that's kinda vague don't you think? I never apologize for hurting her as badly as I did... for screwing up both of our lives over my selfish actions.”
“Then what is stopping you?” She placed both hands on my shoulders and forced me to look her in the eyes. “What is preventing you from reaching out and apologizing the correct way?”
“She's happier without me in her life...”
“So be it. Let her be happier without you after you let her know that you recognize that you were the bad guy. You hurt her. Tell what that means to you and if she decides that there's no room in her life for you then leave her be. But this... torturing yourself day in and day out is only serving to destroy you. And you if you head towards ultimate self-destruction then she will never be able to obtain closure. Are you really prepared to deny her the ability to move on from your shared past?”
“Of course not but-”
“Screw your fears. Screw how awkward you'll feel reaching out after all this time. Take it slow if you need to but if you choose to run away from this mistake then you will only be hurting her twice. You want redemption so badly but seem hell bent on doing all in your power to avoid doing the only thing that matters. No one cares how you treat other people from this point on. You can be the best man in the entire world to everyone you meet, but you will die a villain who hurt the person you loved the most if you decide to not recognize the wrongs you have committed and do what is necessary to give her closure. Tell her you are sorry.”
“And if she hates me anyways?” I asked, looking down at feet.
“You aren't doing this to make her love you. If you apologize to her with the intent of swaying her opinion of you, then you aren't really saying sorry. You must apologize because you know you did a horrible thing and the only way for you to know peace is to express that regret as honestly and naked as possible. And if she decides to love you again, cherish the bond that you two have. If she decides to move on without you, respect it and embrace the peace you have found.”
“Okay, Angel.” I nodded, looking into her eyes, her words registering in my heart. She was right after all.
“Of course, I'm right.” We said simultaneously. “I'm just a character that exists in your head.” As soon as we finished speaking, the sound of my front door being unlocked echoed throughout my apartment. I picked up the single bottle of ice coffee that I had and headed towards the door. Catherine walked through the door, her rosy cheeks as red as a rose. She had her black headphones hanging around her neck, the swing song she had been listening to fading out. She looked at me with her hazel eyes and I felt my heart swoon as I regarded her wonderful face.
“Hey, hon. Where have you been?” I asked, smiling the happiest of smiles.
“I was out walking, listening to music,” she replied, closing the door and locking it. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, just working on that story idea. Can I get you anything?”
“A water?” she asked desperately. I nodded and immediately retrieved one of our water bottles for her. She took a seat on our red lazy boy and let out a tired sigh. “What story idea?”
“Well, you remember how you were writing back and forth with your characters?”
“What do you mean?” she gave me a confused look.
“That app that you have, that allows you to text back and forth but from the perspective of two characters. You were-”
“Oh, right”
“Yeah, with Sylvie and Sahmel”
“Yeah, I know what you are talking about. You said you never tried doing that before, I remember. So how did it go?”
“It went well,” I said as I stared out at the balcony. Angel was standing there, but now she was the little girl that I had envisioned all those years ago. She was about seven years old, wore a white dress and had her black hair in a braid. Her design, of course, was meant to mirror the typical scary ghost girl that was popular when I was younger.
“Seems like you don't need my help anymore,” she called out to me with a bittersweet smile.
“I appreciate you helping me. Especially with this story idea that I was kicking around for a few years. Always meaning to sit down and write a sad, mopey story about a man who was contemplating suicide because of how he hurt the love of his life. It feels disingenuous now that I've already addressed that trauma and moved past it.”
“But we both know you needed to speak the story into existence, in some form. You're not one to let a story just die. It wouldn't be right for the characters.”
“Can the characters really die though? They are based of real people, after all.”
“Based, but not exactly them. She gave you the idea for talking to me again?”
“Well, she is to blame for your existence overall, so it is only natural that she would be the inspiration for giving you a voice again.”
“And have you missed me?”
“I have.”
“You hesitated because you know I am not necessary anymore.”
“It's like no longer needing a therapist after you've moved on from your trauma.”
“You don't know if it works that way. You've never had therapy – which is still something you might wanna consider.”
“I know. I'll probably never get it but-”
“Denying yourself of that is no different then denying Michael the ability to apologize to Catherine.”
“Exactly, so I suppose we'll see.”
“And where does that leave us?”
“Well, I suppose I should relay the message I intended to tell with this story. The story, of course, is not as grandiose as I had intended but perhaps the simpler, shorter nature of it will allow it to be more poignant.”
“That message of course being that whatever trauma you have faced in the past- whether it is you being hurt or abused or the one performing the hurting. Recognize it for what it is. In Michael's very much real case, he had performed a terrible act against the woman he loved the most when they were younger. The only way he could find peace with that was to fully accept that he had done a bad thing, that he expressed an innumerable amount of regret, and to address that sorrow openly and honestly with the person he hurt. To apologize, to actually apologize, and respect whatever decision that came from that. It so happens that he was able to continue a relationship with her but that was never the end goal. The motive behind his actions was that he recognized Catherine was a person, and therefore deserved love, peace and closure. He wanted to be a factor in her life in a positive way, whether that be her lover, her friend or simply as someone who had hurt but had apologized so honestly. He would respect whatever decision she made about him, even it was to keep him as a memory.”
“Your trauma is not my trauma. It has it's own very unique attributes that require it to be tackled in unique ways. I don't have any instructions on how to address that monster or how to find inner peace because doing exactly what I did is not an end all be all. There are, really, only a few things you can do. Recognize your trauma for what it is. You were hurt. You hurt someone. The specifics of it vary wildly, but it is essential to recognize that you are holding on to hurt and by doing so you are not allowing yourself to know peace. After you know your trauma for what it is, you must address it. Whether that be by reaching out to a long lost friend and having a real, honest discussion with them or by seeking professional help with a therapist, the choice is ultimately yours to make. There is immense value in seeking professional therapy and I will always advocate for it.”
“And perhaps most importantly, understand that things can and will get better. Know... that the best is yet to come”.
“Oh, just working on that story idea. Can I get you anything?”
“A water?” she asked desperately. I nodded and immediately retrieved one of our water bottles for her. She took a seat on our red lazy boy and let out a tired sigh. “What story idea?”
“Well, you remember how you were writing back and forth with your characters?”
“What do you mean?” she gave me a confused look.
“That app that you have, that allows you to text back and forth but from the perspective of two characters. You were-”
“Oh, right”
“Yeah, with Sylvie and Sahmel”
“Yeah, I know what you are talking about. You said you never tried doing that before, I remember. So how did it go?”
“It went well,” I said as I stared out at the balcony. Angel was standing there, but now she was the little girl that I had envisioned all those years ago. She was about seven years old, wore a white dress and had her black hair in a braid. Her design, of course, was meant to mirror the typical scary ghost girl that was popular when I was younger.
“Seems like you don't need my help anymore,” she called out to me with a bittersweet smile.
“I appreciate you helping me. Especially with this story idea that I was kicking around for a few years. Always meaning to sit down and write a sad, mopey story about a man who was contemplating suicide because of how he hurt the love of his life. It feels disingenuous now that I've already addressed that trauma and moved past it.”
“But we both know you needed to speak the story into existence, in some form. You're not one to let a story just die. It wouldn't be right for the characters.”
“Can the characters really die though? They are based of real people, after all.”
“Based, but not exactly them. She gave you the idea for talking to me again?”
“Well, she is to blame for your existence overall, so it is only natural that she would be the inspiration for giving you a voice again.”
“And have you missed me?”
“I have.”
“You hesitated because you know I am not necessary anymore.”
“It's like no longer needing a therapist after you've moved on from your trauma.”
“You don't know if it works that way. You've never had therapy – which is still something you might wanna consider.”
“I know. I'll probably never get it but-”
“Denying yourself of that is no different then denying Michael the ability to apologize to Catherine.”
“Exactly, so I suppose we'll see.”
“And where does that leave us?”
“Well, I suppose I should relay the message I intended to tell with this story. The story, of course, is not as grandiose as I had intended but perhaps the simpler, shorter nature of it will allow it to be more poignant.”
“That message of course being that whatever trauma you have faced in the past- whether it is you being hurt or abused or the one performing the hurting. Recognize it for what it is. In Michael's very much real case, he had performed a terrible act against the woman he loved the most when they were younger. The only way he could find peace with that was to fully accept that he had done a bad thing, that he expressed an innumerable amount of regret, and to address that sorrow openly and honestly with the person he hurt. To apologize, to actually apologize, and respect whatever decision that came from that. It so happens that he was able to continue a relationship with her but that was never the end goal. The motive behind his actions was that he recognized Catherine was a person, and therefore deserved love, peace and closure. He wanted to be a factor in her life in a positive way, whether that be her lover, her friend or simply as someone who had hurt but had apologized so honestly. He would respect whatever decision she made about him, even it was to keep him as a memory.”
“Your trauma is not my trauma. It has it's own very unique attributes that require it to be tackled in unique ways. I don't have any instructions on how to address that monster or how to find inner peace because doing exactly what I did is not an end all be all. There are, really, only a few things you can do. Recognize your trauma for what it is. You were hurt. You hurt someone. The specifics of it vary wildly, but it is essential to recognize that you are holding on to hurt and by doing so you are not allowing yourself to know peace. After you know your trauma for what it is, you must address it. Whether that be by reaching out to a long lost friend and having a real, honest discussion with them or by seeking professional help with a therapist, the choice is ultimately yours to make. There is immense value in seeking professional therapy and I will always advocate for it.”
“And perhaps most importantly, understand that things can and will get better. Know... that the best is yet to come”.
Backword
Thanks for reading folks! Let me know what you think of this short story either in my comments on the blog or through one of my socials below! I'd love some feedback on this, especially since it's slightly outside my comfort zone and something I would to touch upon again in the future. Thanks again for reading! I hope to write for you again soon!
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