N.O.A

First part of a novella series. Written in 2009.

Chapter One

“You have a call waiting…”

I finish the sentence, put down the newspaper and pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Erm, hello. Dr Harrington… My name is Mrs Rosenberg” she sounds distant, in pain. “I’m calling on behalf of my daughter”

“Well ok… I’ll just put you through to my secretary again. She can sort out an appointment and I’ll be happy to help in any way I can, but at the moment I’m pretty busy so…” I go to put down the receiver when I hear that same drowning voice on the line.

“Yes of course, but erm, well it’s a little bit more than that Dr. Harrington, see, well she has seen a psychiatrist before”

“Oh, ok, what exactly is the problem, how can I help?

“Well, see the things is you’re our last hope”

“Er, sorry … I don’t think I quite understand” I sit up; push my chair in towards the table, interested.

“Micha, my daughter, she’s 18 and has a history of problems. She hasn’t been well since, well since she was about 11. She’s seen many doctors and we’ve tried a lot of different therapies … but well she will only see male doctors and, well, she says she will not go to the last one anymore and we tried hospital and she sort of, well ran away so, you see … I’ve heard great things about you Dr. Harrington and well …”

“Bring her in. I’ll do my best for Micha Mrs Rosenberg. Tina, my secretary, will sort out the details; I’ll put you through to her.”

“Thank you,” I hear relief through the receiver, but before I put down the phone, I find myself wanting to know more.

“What was her last diagnosis?”

“Every psychiatrist has said something different. The last was sure it was a mix of social, erm social behaviour disorder?”

“Anti-social behavioural disorder.” A disorder, I am very much aware of.

“Yes, that and borderline personality. But others have suggested she take medication for psychosis and depression before. We have never been able to control her.”

“I see.” I didn’t. How can someone be diagnosed with all of these disorders? The word control, it’s the last thing a teenager wants, I certainly didn’t want to be controlled. Maybe she meant, control her symptoms, disorder, but somehow I think that is not quite what she meant. “Ok well I’ll pass you back to Tina, make an appointment, tell Tina it’s urgent and to fit you in soon.

“Thank you so much Doctor Harrington”

“Well yes, ok, you’re welcome.” I hang up the phone. I hear this sort of thing every day. Mothers worried about their daughters, sons worried about fathers, all sorts, but today it was guilt I heard. It was the guilt that took me back. It reminded me of her.  It was never her fault of course, but it was still in her eyes, her embrace and I especially heard it in her voice. It was the guilt I heard through the receiver that reminded me of my mother. I sit back in my chair. Its half ten in the morning, still some time before my first patient so I pick up The Times and read, the telephone conversation on repeat in my mind.

Continue reading “Psycho-Therapy” »

… Written in 2005. My first story.

He waited, all alone. He waited for us to meet him. Jesus was always on time. He didn’t draw a lot of attention to himself, well we all tried not to; he wore his German army coat, the baggiest jeans and moved the hair out of his eyes, so he could bring the butt of the cigarette to his lips without hair obstructing it.

You could sometimes say he looked like Jesus; that isn’t how he got his nickname, none of us are really sure how he came to be known as Jesus, we have come to the conclusion that we were all too stoned to care and too stoned to realise it was weird. From then on James was no longer James, he was Jesus. Looking back though, I imagine he did look quite suspicious; waiting on a street corner by himself.

The rest of the guys met him there soon after. Flea was the first to meet him, he was the only one out of the guys who got drunk as much as we did, his hair was short and was the only thing you would think he cared about, due to the hand-me-down clothing; it always looked unwashed, and was always worn the day before. He had the biggest blue eyes; it was his eyes that made my mother think he was attractive. I could never have seen him this way; he was like my brother, no matter how many times he tried to change that. They acknowledged each other with a nod.

Manners was Flea’s older brother, I do not actually know how old he is (or was) but I know he was old enough to have the only form of transportation anyone of us had. He rode is ped up the road and both Jesus and Flea knew he was coming by the sound of the engine.

Tom and Harry started to come into view. Harry was one of those player types, always chasing girls to chase him. Back then it was me. His hair was never the same colour for longer than a month, on that night it was blue. Tom didn’t go to the same, inadequate private school as ours, he went to school with Jesus yet that was not why he stood out from the group, it could have been because his clothes were not as baggy as ours or because his hair was really short – in actual fact it was the normal length for a boy – however, he fitted in perfectly due to the amount he smoked.

Josh and Karl; the joker of the group, were the last to join them. Now waiting for us to arrive, they smoked and chatted quietly so that they did not draw any attention.

It was not quiet for long, we came shouting, singing up the high street. Us girls were Continue reading “On That Friday…” »

A short-story, written in 2008. Currently being made into a short film by Stavros Agapiou..

“So… how have you been feeling since last week, Evelyn?” she says to me as she ushers me into the same worn out arm chair. My mind wonders how many pathetic souls have been stripped down or laid bare on this very chair, this very room, which I find myself in every Thursday. So many break-throughs or break-downs, so many tears shed and then there’s me, a very confused little girl. No break-through, no break-down, never a tear, nothing. Well I’m not that confused, more disrupted.

“A bit better” I lie, but she looks at me with sympathetic eyes, willing me to continue. So I do. “Erm… I guess I still feel like I’m gasping, like I can’t breathe. I’ve been trying to not let it build up inside of me again, but I’m feeling torn. Between wanting to see her again and knowing that if I do…well if I do, it means I’m not getting better.”

***

“Evie, Evie! Wake up babe, its 10”

“Fuck! 10? Thai, you were s’posed to wake me an hour ago!” I shout as I look around and reach for my underwear, trying to dress as quick as I can.

“I know, I know, but you need your sleep, remember what the doctor said. Sleep when you can and take things easy” she mimics the voice of my doctor as she stands in the bathroom doorway. I sneak a quick glance at her, she looks amazing. Her big green eyes full of laughter and hope and she pushes her long ash blond hair out the way so that she can take a drag on her cigarette.

“Fuck the doctors, I’ll be fine. I’ve got lectures in fifteen minutes and now I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it in time.” I say already defeated.

“Well, don’t go then”

“What? I have to go”

“No you don’t, you have to stay in bed with me” she says as she sits coyly on the bed with a cheeky grin and a glisten in her eyes that makes me smile.

“Hmmm, well I could go listen to a bunch of boring lectures and sit and contemplate being with you while monotonous voices raid my ears, or I could actually be with you. Hmmm, hard one…what to do?” I toy with her but we both know that I’ll stay. I pick up my bag and pretend to leave as she catches my arm and pulls me into bed.

Continue reading “Take Me Dancing” »