Tense (in) past and present

“Grow up.” An old man in a hat said.

“Oh, did he intend to mean I am to grow in the upward direction, as growing down is virtually impossible?” Alice responded.

“Alice. Listen to me. Don’t be irresponsible and listen.”

“Alice listens very carefully.”

“You need to grow those things up, make them come out of this very soil. It’s not about you. It’s about them.”

“Alice doesn’t want to grow up. Can Alice grow down?”

“Down is for carrots and… and some other vegetables.”

“Which way do you want Alice to grow?”

“Up, Alice. Always up.” The tone was sleep-inducing and soothing. Alice wondered where she did go wrong with her plan to take control of her world and enrol in this therapy advertised on the wall opposite of her smallish flat’s one of three windows. “Alice, trust me.”

Alice did not trust anyone, let alone this one sitting close by her and taking notes. Notes. Those were the worst. The mere idea that everything gets, in a sense, “recorded” was paralysing. Yuul gave her some pills for that. She pondered side effects, but took them anyway. That’s when the third person narration kicks in per usual.

“Are you with me, Alice?”

“Did he mean to call Alice?”

“Yes. You can open your eyes. It’s a brand-new reality.”

***

“Shit. Did I miss something interesting?” A woman stood up straight and took a short walk to the door and back again. She took her face in her hands, touching it in a disbelief. “Am I even real?” She asked, trembling ever so slightly from a nervous laughter.

“Absolutely so. You need a couple of months still, but the progress is promising.”

“Impressive. I’m sure my gibberish is insufferable.”

“It could be worse.”

“How exactly?” 

“You have to take my word. I can’t talk about other patients’ conditions.” The doctor crossed his fingers and raised his hand to show her this gesture.

“Is that Hippocratic oath? I always thought it was somewhere there. It’s like with priests and confession of sins, isn’t it?”

“You need to rest now.”

“I will. I know you hate questioning your methods, but could we establish what will be the baby’s gender? I want a boy so badly.”

“You cannot rush things, you know?”

***

“If trees had legs, they would be constantly moving. The same is with you. If you had grown down and up at the same time, you’d be totally messed up. Trees can withstand it cause they are just fucking trees. And you are special, fragile, that is. You have to grow up to find meaning. If you want to dance, you can dance. You have legs, after all. For a reason. Do you understand?”

Yuul’s words were as big a mystery to Ursula as ever. Was he really thinking that she believed in that immaculate conception kind of thing? Did he not know what’s the aim of her appointments? Was he that stupid and enamoured with his own practices that he didn’t see past her real intentions? Hard to tell.

“I understand.”

***

It was as lonely an afternoon as ever. No kids. No husband. No boyfriend. No pets. Ursula low-key wanted to jump from her window, which would make for a very stereotypical death. All she had was this little flat in not so shabby a neighbourhood, a flat she could afford due to her stable career as a lawyer. Now, because of the situation on the market, was the time of rebranding, and so she started working as of late as a private detective. Spying on people if that’s what one wants to call it was her daily bread recently. It allowed her to have more fun in general, as being a lawyer and working for bigger corporations rarely if ever could be linked with joy. But then again, one might say: you don’t work for your enjoyment or amusement, but for the money. 

In the late hours of the said afternoon, somebody tried to contact her. Through the phone, and surprisingly not text messages as is the custom nowadays. People fear the sounds of their own voices, and to hear someone on the other end equally well, but in rare cases of true emergency, they bite the bullet and resort to that option. The call was completely anonymous, from an unknown number. The one who called didn’t want to or have the ability towards providing any context. Ursula though knew. A characteristic third person address made it abundantly clear.

“Yes?”

“I think Alice wants to set up a meeting with Agent Zero.” Said some young woman in a particularly low voice verging on a whisper.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” The tone was close to a desperate, repressed cry. As if Alice consciously chose this way to end the abuse, but knew how much damage it would cause.

“Agent Zero or his assistant? I’ve got a feeling those two got pretty close together all too quickly.”

“I can’t talk. They keep an eye on me.”

“Stay safe. And thank you.”

***

Yuul was sitting behind his desk. As footsteps coming from outside his door were approaching, he run in his mind a couple of scenarios. One assumed his total dominance and the other ones having to work more defensively and being close to retreat. Yuul, 80, was a well-known (or so he liked to think) con-artist. Searched by the police in most of the countries belonging to the civilised part of the world, which didn’t mean he refused himself the doubtless pleasure of luring in his scheme poorer women from more exotic places. 

Somebody knocked on the door. Very decisively.

“Come in!”

“I am here to take care of my payment. For the therapy. The deadline is right behind the corner.” A young lady, whom Yuul didn’t remember too vividly, materialised before his eyes. He had to say she was as typical appearance-wise a patient from those he had as was possibly imaginable. 

“Ah, of course.” Yuul stood up as if in a rush and asked politely: “And, your name, if I may?”

“It’s Alice.”

“But of course, it’s Alice. Always Alice.” He scolded himself. The vast majority of his patients had this specific name. He, deep in his mind, called himself “obsessed” about Alices or sometimes, in more severe instances, “possessed.”

“Alice” of course did her homework. Ursula knew all the tricks in Yuul’s bag. What was problematic at some point was that she really took to liking his strange aura and what came with each of the “sessions.” Namely, one wouldn’t know what words will follow one after another. One could say it is a speech pattern of most people, if not all. But Yuul was different. It brought about the thrill of the moment, of the unknown. And as much as Ursula wanted to cut ties from this master-manipulator, it wasn’t that easy. Once you go down this path and seek help from quirky individuals, apparently, you never go back. Even if it is for the laughs, even if it’s pretending to check if it really works, so out of sheer curiosity. Even if you are a private detective collecting facts about the con-man in order to expose him. As a means of revenge. There’s no denying one cannot fake his or her therapy. Maybe it really was Ursula’s longing for being understood or perhaps a need to be around somebody, especially if it’s somebody oozing that much charisma. Perhaps she just wanted kids. And, coincidentally, she was infertile. That’s what prompted her to take this case in the first place. To find his oppressor of long forgotten past.

“You seem a little discontented.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. And now you’re blushing. What’s the matter, Alice?”

“It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

“Good. You seem to be learning.” He smiled nastily.

“I learn fast. Faster than you could say: charges against sexual offenders, you know?” Ursula added this last phrase Yuul used ever so often fully aware of how much it’ll anger him. “Little games,” he thought. 

“Oh. I am afraid I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You will. Footage from hidden cameras I installed to show your trance-act with a girl named Alice Hallmoore will refreshen your memory.” 

“You don’t seem to remember either…” Yuul chuckled. 

A puzzled expression covered Ursula’s face.

“You really don’t...” Yuul all of a sudden got more serious. “That’s why I never talk with a girl more than twice. You were different. Your mother tried to hide your identity. That’s why we kept meeting for years.”

“What are you talking about?”

“See? That’s a real tragedy. There’s a chance it was all because of those pills. I’m a really old guy, you have to know, and you’re not the youngest too, not anymore. Pretty soon I’ll be gone, but I wanted to live in someone’s memory, but then again those fucking pills. They took it all. They took me out of your mind.”

“Give me some tissues, cause I’m going to cry.” Said Ursula in a half-arsed attempt at irony.

“No, it’s too late.” The man said to himself. “We lost. I lost.”