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Rebecca
I choose a coffee from the fifth option and make my way to the bench behind the asylum. It's the most secluded spot, where I can find a moment of tranquility. I lie down, placing the coffee beside my head to ward off sleep, and turn my gaze towards the sky.
I can't smell the crisp scent of the cool breeze; instead, the lingering aroma of the coffee I've been relying on to keep me awake fills the air.
The evening has descended slowly upon us today, or at least that's how it feels.
I inhale deeply, my eyes searching for the Evening Star. For a brief moment, I allow myself to imagine that today is just another ordinary day, where I've started my night shift and tomorrow morning my mother will be waiting at home, ready with breakfast and tea instead of coffee, as she lets me catch a few more hours of sleep, and the Earth keeps on spinning.
Nothing out of the ordinary, just a normal day.
“When you turn on the light, do you feel happier or sadder?”
And... that's when my silence ends.
I shift my gaze and spot Marianne, a former writer who now lives alone after the loss of her only family, her husband, a year ago.
“It's a secret... and if I told you, you'd probably write a book about my life, and I don't want to be your subject to exploit as you please.”
“I retired a long time ago, child.”
“That's a lie. I've seen the packed notebooks you keep in your nightstand.”
“It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?”
“Alright, let's change the subject and pretend to be happy. I don't particularly like it either, to be honest.”
In reality, Marianne suffers from dementia. I guess that's where everyone ends up when they spend their lives thinking for others. Losing control of your own mind must be hell on earth.
“Let's take a walk,” I suggest, shaking my hand and offering a smile.
“Where are we going?” she asks softly, her aged hand resting within mine, held against my arm.
“It's...”
“A secret. Yes, yes, I know,” she interrupts, and I nod in understanding, relieved.
We start strolling along the path, taking it slowly as I still feel a bit weak.
Here, no one wishes for their evening to be greeted with a tray of medications that cause drowsiness.
The elderly that don’t have a family lead a melancholic existence. Aging itself is a frightful experience.
Not a day goes by in this place without me feeling that I haven't fully relished my youth. Time seems to slip away, and I find myself trapped in a monotonous routine that only adds bitterness to my life. But who am I to complain? I need this paycheck, as dreamers aren't paid to dream.
When I open my eyes in the morning, I have to face reality because the night has ended, and along with it, my dreams have vanished.
I don't have my mom anymore, I'm broke, bills are piling up, rent is due, and I still need to eat. This is not how I imagined my life would turn out. My mother's illness didn't just eat away at her, but it also devoured my dreams of a better future. Not long ago, I thought that by the age of almost 21, I would have a stable job, supportive parents, a loving boyfriend, and maybe even a family of my own. My dad fed me this fairytale, lulling me into believing in it. He wanted me to become a respectable woman, a good wife. He had certain expectations of me that, over time, I realized I didn't want.
Now, I'm not even sure what I want. I guess I just want to survive.
That's what I have to do, keep on surviving, because there's no way I'm going back to Matlock, not even dead.
“Listen, Ben. I hope you didn't forget to ask for the bathroom and end up having an accident again,” I enter the room, struggling to push the medication trolley, and I close the door behind me.
“I didn't forget,” the old man's voice echoes as soon as I step inside.
“Should we go now or after you've taken your medication?”
