I'm With Anxious

by Suzanne Brown

  What in the world is happening to me?

  A horrid thought saturates my aching body. Is it possible that Lottie in Colorado and Aicha in Morocco only exist in my dreams and this wretched place is my real life? Am I that good at burying my emotions that my body really lives here, while I live in happy dream worlds in Colorado and Morocco?

  I shiver with fear, desperately hoping that’s not anywhere near the truth.

  A stooped woman shuffles towards me. She’s wearing a light blue burqa that completely covers every inch of her body, head, and face. There is only a slit for her eyes. I can’t tell if she’s young or old, or even a friend or an enemy. She could be the bomber for all I know. But she kneels next to me and begins wrapping my limp, bloodied arm with a rag, so I guess she means no harm. And honestly, at this point I’m so confused that I’m beyond caring.

  I start laughing. I must be delirious. k*1*2

  The woman stops wrapping my wound and leans in close, probably trying to decide if I’ve lost my mind. She stares into my eyes so I stare back into hers, and I don’t believe what I find. Her eyes are green and her pupils are black with white specks that look like galaxies. Yep. I’ve seen this before. It’s that old bat who looks like Ms. Foofaraw and who did my henna in Morocco. Why the heck is she here? Is she following me?

  Or does she live here with me? And I just dreamed she was in Colorado and Morocco?

  Oh my god. My mind is spinning. I wish I had my vape to melt away all this anxiety and pain. Or maybe that’s what caused all this? Who knows what those oils actually contain!

  Wait a minute.

  My eyes narrow. “Why did you throw my vape in the lake?” I demand of the woman.

  She just stares at me through the slits in her burqa.

  “Ms. Foofaraw?” I whisper.

  No response.

  “Henna lady?” I know Mum introduced her but I can’t recall her name.

  Nothing.

  I laugh. And not just a little snort. This is full out, I’ve-completely lost it guffawing.

  The woman returns to bandaging my arm, not at all bothered by my complete breakdown. She tugs the bandage closed and the pain gets so bad that black stars dance in front of my eyes. My arm. It hurts. The pain. I’m scared. I hurt. I’m in pain. THE PAIN!

  HOLY CRAP! I’m losing my mind! I’m in wretched pain, and I’m stuck here, and I WANT TO GO BACK TO MY REAL LIFE! Or my dream life? Or whatever the heck life I had that wasn’t this!

  My heart is racing like crazy. My chest feels so tight that I think it’s going to explode. Oh my god. I know the signs. I’m about to completely lose it. And the last time that happened, I almost killed Dillon. My mind is spinning. Am I Lottie from Colorado, or am I Aicha from Morocco? Or am I really just a “boy” in Kabul?

  I don’t even know who I am anymore!

  This has to be another dream. Nothing can be this dreadful. The pain. The anger. The terror. All these dead bodies. I seize so hard icicles of pain sear into me, and I can’t stand feeling any of it.

  Enough! I’m done with this dream and feeling so bad! I grit my teeth. I will put every ounce of my soul into ignoring this pain so I can wake up.

  The woman cups my chin. “That is not what your soul wants.” Her sour breath washes over me as she whispers, “Not all pain is unbearable.”

  I shake my head. “Wrong. Wrong! WRONG! ALL pain is unbearable, and miserable, and definitely not worth feeling. I hate pain.” I narrow my eyes. “I hate everything about pain.”

  “What do you know of pain?” she asks.

  That maniacal laughter bubbles out. “Way too much! My heart cracked with pain when I found Dillon kissing his new boyfriend. My heart ached with pain when I disappointed my mama and Berg. My heart sank with pain when I found the dead kitten. My heart roared with pain seeing all these dead bodies.” I shake my head. “I am done with pain. I am done with feeling. I am done with all of it!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “YES! OH MY GOD, YES!” My head is pounding and my insides ache to explode. “I want to never feel anything ever again.”

  “You are absolutely sure?”

  I feel a sense of calm wash over me. “More than anything in my life.”

  The woman slowly nods. “I see it is time.” She stands up, reaches under her burka, pulls out a machine gun, and holds it out to me.

  “Others caused you pain,” she says matter-of-fact. “Now it is your choice. You can make others suffer for the pain you feel, or you can choose to feel the pain and then move on, back to your life and all the goodness it has to offer you. It is your choice.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t choose either. I don’t want to feel, and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “But you are hurting someone. You are hurting yourself.”

  I snort. “Only by feeling.”

  I’ve barely spoken the words when her eyes grow wide, and her body spasms and jerks and explodes blood all over me. I don’t even have time to scream before a thousand splinters rocket through me and launch us both ten feet in the air. I feel light and pain-free for a brief second, and then crash to the ground, the old woman landing with a thud on top of me.

  I know she’s dead. And I’m pretty sure I’m not far behind her. Yet… I feel nothing. No sadness. No fear. No anger. No anxiety. Nothing. I only feel a hole. It’s somewhere near my heart where I’ve been burying all my negative emotions. Where I’ve been hiding all my anger and sadness and pain. I feel them leaking out, one by one, staining my body with their revolting blackness.

  This hole in me is real. And this pain can’t be fixed by burying my emotions, or hiding in my bed, or even by killing someone else.

  So, I do what I do best. I close my eyes, and wish myself far, far away.

  CHAPTER 15

  The glass is totally empty

  A warm hand caresses my forehead. It doesn’t feel like Mama’s, or even Mum’s, so I flinch away from it and open my eyes.

  I’m sitting on a dirty, tiled floor, my back leaning against a metal-framed bed. A completely bald woman wearing a burnt-orange robe is kneeling next to me.

  “Your suffering is almost over,” she says, and offers me a small smile.

  I don’t smile back. Funny she would say suffering because I don’t feel like I’m suffering. I don’t feel any more pain. It’s gone. Poof. Like magic. I think I should shout out my glee, but I don’t feel any joy either. In fact, I don’t feel anything. No pain. No happiness. Nothing. I just feel… empty.

  Wait a minute. Am I dead?

  I turn to the woman. I realize she’s a monk.

  “Is this heaven?” I ask her.

  The monk’s lips narrow as she shakes her head. “No, kid, this is hell.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Things are looking up

  Hell appears to be a tiny room with paint peeling off the walls and a single light bulb hanging precariously above me. There’s a small window to my left, a closed door about ten steps across the room, and the female monk squatting next to me. I’m wearing a black, lacy bra and pink boy shorts that are so skimpy I can feel the cold tile floor on my bum. Both my wrists are tied to the bedpost behind me.

  I feel like I should be upset that I was so bad that I ended up in hell, but again I feel nothing. Zip. Nada.

  The monk touches my arm. “You won’t be here much longer.”

  A key jiggles in the door.

  “He’s here,” she hisses. She jumps up, races over to the open window, and climbs up on the sill. She glances back at me. “I’ll be back. I promise,” she whispers and then jumps out the window.

  I want to say I feel confused and afraid, and realize I should feel both of those emotions, but I don’t feel anything. I feel nothing.

  Are my anxiety and pain gone forever? Maybe hell was the answer all along.

  The door opens and dull light spills into the room. A hulking shadow fills the doorway and I guess I’m about to come face to face with the almighty devil, the King of Hell himse
lf, but, surprisingly, I could care less. I feel nothing.

  The devil shuts the door, locks it, and then flips on the one light bulb in the room. It casts an eerie shadow on the walls yet illuminates him like he’s onstage. He’s dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, and his brown hair is cropped close to his head like a normal person. He honestly doesn’t look anything like what I imagined as the devil. I don’t see any horns. No tail. No fire. No brimstone. His brown eyes are bloodshot, but that’s the closest he comes to resembling the ruler of the underworld.

  I change my mind when he walks over and grabs my breast.

  “I like having you tied up in here,” he moans.

  Something in my brain screams at me not to move. So, I don’t.

  He spits out a string of curse words; spewing ones I’ve never been allowed to hear. When he finishes his rant, he takes a step back and leans down until his face is even with mine. Beads of his sweat drip down his creased forehead and onto my bare legs. He’s so close that I can see a girl with short hair reflected in his gloomy eyes. He doesn’t look like a monster. He just looks sad and pathetic. But somehow my body must know differently because everything inside of me tenses when he caresses my face. I want to head butt him, but I don’t dare move.

  “My beautiful Thai flower,” he croons, rubbing his rough finger over my lips. “As much as I want to be with you now, I need you to wait just a bit longer. I have something I need to finish.” A disturbing smile creeps onto his lips. “And then I’ll have lots of time just for you and me.”

  I wait for something inside of me to scream in fear, or to cry out in anger, or to utterly panic… but nothing happens. I still feel nothing. And deep down I know that’s probably a good thing.

  My devil straightens up, stomps across the room, and opens the door. He glances back at me. “I will be back very soon.” His lips spread into that wacked-out grin as he growls. “And if you escape, I will hunt you down and kill you.”

  I stare at the door long after he’s left and bolted the door behind him. I should be frigid with fear, but I feel nothing. No anger at him touching me inappropriately. No terror of what will happen when he returns. Nothing. I’m just an empty shell, devoid of all feelings.

  Which means, I’m either really dead and in hell… or I’m still dreaming. I try to feel angry or even just slightly miffed, but I can’t conjure up any feelings at all. My heart doesn’t seem to want to do anything but beat.

  I garner all my strength and channel it into my brain. WAKE UP! YOU’RE STUCK IN A DREAM I yell in my head. I pinch the back of my hand really hard. Nothing happens.

  I close my eyes and imagine all the details of my real life bedroom. My calming blue walls. Great-grandmother’s writing desk. Snuggling under my feather comforter. Curling up in Mama’s hug. Hearing Berg’s laughter when he beats Daddy at a video game.

  I open my eyes… and the bald monk is kneeling in front of me.

  “I’m still here,” I drone. I sound like a zombie.

  “Not if I can help it.” She reaches behind me, fiddles around for a moment, and unties my hands. “You’re free.” She stands up and grins. “Let’s go, kid.”

  I rub the red marks on my wrists. “But he said he’d kill me if I leave.”

  Although when one is already in hell, how does one get killed?

  The monk gently grabs my hands and helps me stand. She holds my gaze with her small brown, make-up free eyes. “You know he will kill you if you stay.”

  I think she’s probably right.

  “You can stay here with him,” she says, “or you can come with me. The choice is entirely up to you, kid.”

  Being killed in hell can’t be that fun. And if I’m not in hell, I’d rather not spend any more quality time with that guy.

  “Okay. I’ll go with you.” My voice sounds so weird, like I’m a robot programmed to bore people to death.

  She nods. “Let’s get outta here then.” She walks over to the window, pulls up her robes, and climbs up onto the windowsill. She grins at me. “See you on the other side,” she says and jumps out the window.

  A memory floats by like an apparition. I know why I was chained to the bed. He bought me. From my family in Burma. My mom sold me to him so they could afford to buy food for my baby brothers… so that maybe they would survive.

  I should definitely feel some hatred, and lots of pain. But I don’t.

  Huh.

  I walk over to the window and look out. The neon lights of the surrounding buildings illuminate the night enough that I can see it’s about a three-foot drop to the flat roof where the monk is waiting. She waves to me, and mouths, “Hurry.”

  Well, I’m either dead, or I’m dreaming that I’m this Burmese girl, who is really good at keeping all her feelings buried. I’m not feeling any pain so I guess either is okay with me. And going with this monk is probably better than waiting around for that devil man. So, I climb onto the windowsill, jump into the muggy night and tumble onto the roof.

  The monk gives me a thumbs up then presses her fingers to her lips and takes off across the rooftop. I follow her, although I’m not sure why we have to be quiet with all the honking horns and city noise assaulting us from the street below.

  The monk stops at the end of the building, and points to the rooftop of the next building. There’s two-foot gap of empty air between the two buildings. She grins at me, leaps easily across the gap, and holds out her hand.

  I glance down. I don’t know how many stories up we are, but I’m pretty sure I’d be a flat splat if I fell. I wait for my limbs to seize with fear, but again, I feel nothing. I shrug. Okay then. I take her hand and jump over. No splat today.

  She gives me a high five. “Almost there,” she whispers.

  I think I made the right decision to go with her. Even though it’s pretty hot here, it doesn’t feel like hell. She’s too nice. I must be in another dream.

  We walk a little farther until we stop at a ladder leading up to an open window. She motions for me to follow, climbs the ladder, and disappears inside.

  So… I do what any sane person would do in a dream. I follow her, totally unconcerned about what may be awaiting me.

  CHAPTER 17

  I’m a new girl

  I jump into the room to find my monk standing next to another woman who’s also bald and wearing the same orange robe. I’m guessing she’s a monk, too. This room is clean, more well-lit, and better furnished.

  My monk gives me a big thumbs-up. “We made it!” She looks to be in her early twenties like Malika, with golden-brown eyes and a spattering of dark freckles spotting her tanned face.

  “Yes. You are almost safe,” the other monk murmurs. She’s older, like Mama’s age, and her eyes are a chocolaty-brown. Her kind eyes wrinkle as she smiles at me. “I am Fah.” She motions to the younger monk. “And you have already met Rinzen. What is your name?”

  I don’t answer right away. I want to say Lottie, but is that right? Maybe I’m really Aicha? Or the boy from Kabul? Or this Burmese girl?

  “I really don’t know,” I finally answer, and that’s the truth.

  “Do you know who your parents are?” Rinzen asks.

  I shake my head. I really don’t. I thought Mama and Daddy were, but now I’m not so sure. What life, or dream, is really my own?

  “Do you have any memories before this day?” Fah asks. Her voice is gentle and soothing.

  Lots of them. Freaking out at Dillon. Mama being there for me. Berg crying. Mint tea with Malika. Daddy telling me Dillon was in bad shape. Malika’s henna party. That sweet, dead, white kitten. Being buried alive in Kabul.

  But I don’t think that’s what she’s asking me.

  I shrug. “Only that my mom sold me to that man to buy food for my baby brothers. And he brought me here to Bankok.”

  Fah nods, but her eyes look sad. “That is normal. I am very sorry.”

  I shrug again. “I don’t think I care. I don’t want to go back to them.”

  “Are you
sure?” Fah asks.

  I nod. “I don’t think they can afford me anyway.”

  “Then you should come to the monastery with us!” Rinzen offers. “I always wanted a little sister.”

  Fah gives Rinzen a look.

  Rinzen rolls her eyes. “I know. I know. We don’t force anyone to do anything.” She holds up her palms. “Hey, I didn’t make her come with me. I gave her a choice.” She looks at me. “Right, kid?”

  I nod.

  Rinzen grins and her freckles seem to dance with her excitement. “So, you want to come with us or what?”

  I nod. Not like I have anything better to do.

  Rinzen whoops.

  “Are you sure?” Fah asks.

  “As sure as anyone in a dream can be,” I mumble. When they both give me a funny look, I add. “Yes, I am sure. I need a fresh start.”

  Fah nods. “Then it is settled. We can help you find your family if you desire in the future, but for now we’ll help you with your fresh start. And a fresh start deserves a new name. Do you know what you would like to be called?”

  I shake my head. I really don’t. “Can you choose one for me?”

  Fah bows. “Of course” She paces for a few steps then claps her hands together. “I got it! How about Pema? It means lotus flower, which is a symbol of rebirth, which I think is perfect for someone looking for a fresh start.”

  Something twitches inside me. I can’t tell if it’s a feeling of disbelief, but I know it should be. This lotus flower thing is following me.

  I nod. “Pema is perfect.”

  Fah’s smile fades a bit. “It will be easier to get you safely out of here and to the monastery if you look like us.” She motions to a small electric razor lying on the bed. “Which means we must shave your head. But only if it is okay with you.”

  I instinctively reach up to protect my beautiful, long hair and remember I’m in this strange world where my hair could be blond or black, or short or long. I have no idea what I look like on the outside right now, even though I still feel the same on the inside. My hair feels short and greasy, and I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been washed in a really long time.