complex - part two
walkI w a s n ' t sure what day it was, so, to me, it was just another sunny day in Southern California. The street was filled with new people, coming and going to and from one place or another. Cars hustled and bustled from points A and B on the street, the air filled with honking horns, road rage, and car exhaust fumes.
I walked along, hands in my pockets and minding my own business. Occasionally, I would bump into someone, and then instinctively apologize. The usual reply was a muttered
If I wanted to talk to someone… my address book wasn't exactly full. Mrs. R was a professional (although, in my opinion, the ability to ask 'how does that make you feel?' shouldn't exactly require a Ph. D) and so she was probably somewhat qualified—plus, she knew my secret.
But… I didn't want to talk about it. That was the point… maybe the problem. If something bad happens, the last thing you probably want to do is talk about it, right? If the fire burned you once, you aren't really going to let it burn you again.
Still… it was eating away at me. It ached. I just wanted to sit down and… I don't know about cry, but I know I just wanted it to stop. I didn't want to remember anymore. I didn't want to think about it at random times. I just wanted to be….
Fumbling around in my pocket, a small business card was what I found. Mrs. R's card.
I must've been asking for celestial answers because just when I happened to look up—what do you know?—there was a payphone not two feet away from me. The temptation to call was overwhelming… but to do so in a public place such as a Los Angeles sidewalk was not ideal. Like you can discuss a secret as crazy as mine in front of people who didn't own cell phones?
Nope. I kept on walking.