Girl in Shadow

Submitted into Contest #178 in response to: Write a story about an unconventional holiday tradition.... view prompt

19 comments

Christmas Contemporary Fiction

Anna Bailey looked up at the towering office building briefly before entering. The afternoon sunlight glinted off of windows that didn’t open, warming the indifferent glass-and-steel exterior just enough to make anyone passing by feel uncomfortably warm. Anna wasn’t passing by, but she still felt uncomfortable, and it wasn’t because of the heat.

The elevator ride to the seventeenth floor was a trial; it would invariably stop innumerable times to let people on and off. Today, though, the elevator didn’t stop until it got to the floor of her choice. Christmas Eve in western L.A. Commerce gave way to celebrating a dead god and waiting for a fat man in a red suit.

Anna entered Dr. Franz’s office without knocking, there being no receptionist in the waiting area. She plopped her purse on the couch and stood at the massive window that overlooked western L.A. The view was spectacular, but the magic stopped at the eyeballs.

“Hello, Anna. Ready to begin?” Dr. Franz turned on a recording app on her phone and sat it down in front of her. Anna nodded, not turning away from the window.

“Anna Bailey. Session number fifty-one. December twenty-fourth, 2022.” Dr. Franz looked at Anna’s back. “Would you like to say anything before we begin, Anna? Any thoughts or feelings you want to share?”

“Not really,” Anna turned and smiled before turning back to the window.

“I think it would be beneficial if you did, Anna. What you feel right now is an important aspect of what we want to do here. If I could…”

“It’s my $1000, doc.”

Dr. Franz paused the recording app.

“Anna. What’s wrong?”

Anna turned to the doctor and sighed deeply. What to tell Dr. Franz and what to keep to herself was like playing a chess game with her psyche. Every move seemed to have far-reaching ramifications. She never knew if she was winning or losing.

“I’m thinking about bees.”

Dr. Franz activated the recording app again.

“Ok. Bees. What are your thoughts on bees?”

Anna stared out of the window again. The sun gave the brick buildings in the distance a foreign aspect; she likened it to a Tuscan afternoon, sipping espresso and contemplating Voltaire.

The silence was deep and abiding, perfuming the room with a languor that wouldn’t soon leave. Anna always did this. She wouldn’t respond to the doctor’s queries for several minutes; the doctor would wait her out. Anna would finally respond. This fine-tuned dance was of Anna’s invention. She wanted the doctor to feel like she had worn Anna down. Anna always found the doctor to be more receptive to her after she gave her the silent treatment.

“They are remarkable. Did you know that the queen bee becomes the queen bee by killing all of her sisters so that she’s the only queen remaining? Yes. And that she takes flight as a maiden and mates with a dozen or so males who fill her with their sperm and then their penises break off and they fall to the ground dead?”

“I…uh…no, I didn’t know that. Yes, remarkable. Why are you thinking about this?”

Anna turned to the doctor, her eyes sparkling with mischievousness.

“Why do you think I’m thinking about bees?”

“Anna, I have no idea. It is, as you say, your money. Perhaps you should tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I prefer the comfort of reclusion, the poetry of hibernation.”

“Uh huh. Explain.”

Dr. Franz moved to the couch to be nearer to Anna. Still, she was at least ten feet away from her. Anna would yell at her if she got any closer.

“Just a quote by a French author. It’s how I’ve been feeling since the event.”

“The tragedy. Don’t minimize your grief.”

Anna turned and leaned back against the window, crossing her arms and looking Dr. Franz in the eye. Since this happened so rarely, Dr. Franz felt uncomfortable.

“Yeah. Ok. I was arguing with my mom. My dad was distracted and an 18-wheeler hit us head on. They died. I lived. The event. Not a tragedy.”

Dr. Franz took off her glasses and stood up. She went back to her desk, consciously putting a barrier between her and Anna.

“It’s time I tell you something, Anna. I’ve been putting it off for some time now because…because it’s hard to say to you. But it needs to be said before we go any further with your treatment.”

Anna turned back to staring out of the window. She wondered how difficult it would be to break the window and jump out.

“You’ll always feel guilty about the event. Always. But you have to let me help you find a way to live with it. That’s the cold, unadorned truth, Anna. I wish it weren’t so, but it is.”

Anna remained at the window, watching the sun slowly but inexorably descend toward the ocean. The water seemed to be imbued with a brittle conflagration of orange rage and yellow despair. The sky soaked up rainbow colors and spread them out over the horizon for any who cared to notice and appreciate such things. A vacuum cleaner hummed in the distance and doors were being opened and closed. Christmas Eve was just another work day for poor people.

“You know what I do every Christmas Eve? I find a church and egg it. Just letting God know how I feel about what happened thirteen years ago. It’s a ten-year tradition that I’m not willing to give up. Better than singing carols and watching insipid Christmas movies on Hallmark.”

“You’re feeling survivor’s guilt.”

Anna waved her right hand in a dismissive gesture.

“You’ve said that before. Giving it a name doesn’t make it any less shitty.”

Dr. Franz leaned back and rubbed her eyes. She was tired. Weary would be a better word for it. This girl, this broken woman would never be healed, and she was taking money from her in what she now believed was a futile attempt at healing Anna. She just couldn’t see her way to helping her, no matter what she tried.

“Sometimes the queen bee is forced out of the hive to begin a new hive. The colony has found a new queen, but the old queen is allowed to live as long as she is still healthy. The exiled queen then flies away, with a lot of the hive’s population, to begin anew somewhere else.”

Dr. Franz frowned. Anna always spoke in riddles, but this one was more obscure than usual. Bees and queens and tragedies. And French authors?

“So, do you equate yourself with the exiled queen?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. But I’m attracted to the idea of relocating and starting anew.”

“You’ll sell your house in Pacific Palisades? That’s a big step, Anna.”

Another bout of silence ensued. Anna knew that the doctor was gazing at a painting that Anna had given her. Girl in Shadow. It was an impressionist piece and worth considerably more than Anna said it was worth. She gave it to Dr. Franz because it reminded Anna of herself and the doctor. The painting was awash with vibrant colors and human-like shapes, except for one melancholy, gaily-clad child. She was in the shadow of a tree, her head bowed. Everyone else was having a splendid time and was ignoring the sad girl.

“Yes, well. The Palisades have become tiresome. I’m surrounded by movie stars and captains of industry. And coyotes. I like the coyotes. At least they’re honest about their actions.”

“And Starr? Will she go with you?”

Anna pursed her lips, a slight frown creasing her otherwise smooth features. She wanted a cigarette, but that wasn’t allowed here. And the window won’t open. Barred from suicide and smoking. Both seemed attractive and viable options for Anna at this moment.

“I suppose. She says that she loves me.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Yes. She owns and operates a vegan restaurant, so yes.”

“You find owners and operators of vegan restaurants to be honest?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

Dr. Franz paused just a little before answering.

“I think everyone has the capacity to lie.”

Anna turned to Dr. Franz and stared at her impassively.

“Including you?”

“Well…yes. But I haven’t lied to you, my dear.”

“No, but you’ve been evasive at times. Nothing is harder than speaking the truth. Dostoevsky said that.”

“Oh? Who is Dostoevsky?”

“A dead Russian author. He was an existentialist. Sort of.”

Dr. Franz didn’t know how to respond to this.

“But you’ve been good to me. You’re worth $1000 an hour.”

Dr. Franz didn’t know how to respond to this either, but Anna’s words filled her with an overwhelming sense of pity for the girl. Anna was buying professional companionship.

“Do you love Starr?”

Anna fidgeted with her necklace.

“I don’t know, so I guess that means that I don’t. I tell her I love her because it’s easy to say and it makes her feel good. She makes a very good asparagus and artichoke omelet. And a very good mushroom and onion galette.”

“Do you think that her cooking is a good enough reason to stay with her?”

“As good as any, I suppose. You tell me, doc. You’re the expert.”

Dr. Franz looked up sharply.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve been married for over twenty years, or so you said. Why do you love your husband?”

Dr. Franz was stymied by the question. She hadn’t considered her feelings for her husband in years.

“I don’t think that this is a topic…”

“Ha! Evasive. But if I gave you a few minutes, you would use words like ‘compassionate,’ ‘gentle,’ and ‘caring.’ Whatever words you choose hold no more value than mine. I would rather have my palate satisfied than my sense of propriety.”

“I, uh…I don’t quite see what you mean, Anna.”

Anna rolled her cigarette between her fingers and instinctively reached for her lighter. She put the lighter back in her pocket after staring at it for a moment but kept the cigarette in her left hand. It felt reassuring, like pain.

“People say they get married for love but it’s just as likely that they married for lust and convention. You get laid with the tacit approval of God when you marry. It feels like a win-win at first.”

“Well, that’s an interesting hypothesis, Anna. I don’t know that I agree with it.” Dr. Franz smiled wanly. Anna was hitting a little too close to home. Her home, anyway.

“The French understand this. Especially Balzac. Have a wife to make the priest happy and a mistress to make yourself happy.”

“Hmm. I see. Is that why you read French novelists? Because they write about love and guilt?”

Anna laughed a genuine laugh, startling the good doctor. This was the first time in fifty-one sessions that this had happened.

“Oh, doc! You are a funny one. The Russians understand guilt, not the French. The French scoff at everything, including guilt. The Russians know how to write a novel, but the French are terrible at it.”

Anna put a cigarette in her mouth and then took it out. She cradled it gingerly and deftly between two fingers on her left hand.

“Why do you read French novels, then?”

“They write terribly derivative tales, but contained within these terrible stories are sublime passages. No one can write sublime, transcendent passages like the French.”

“Hmmm. I fear we are a little off topic, Anna. Let’s get back to your desire for flight. Like an exiled queen bee.”

“Not quite the same thing, doc, but ok. Yeah, I can sell the house for $15 million, though it’s worth about $23 million. Bad Bunny said he’d buy it today if I could come down to his price.”

“Who is this bad bunny? Is that a nickname?”

“He’s a musician.”

“I see.”

“I doubt that you do, doc. But no matter.”

“Was he serious?”

“He was eating a blueberry scone and drinking green tea when he made the offer, so, yes.”

Dr. Franz shook her head slightly. She didn’t believe in this sort of thing. She believed in science, not divining the truthfulness of a statement through gastronomy.

“Where would you go?”

Anna went back to the window and pointed out.

“Somewhere out there.”

“That’s very vague, Anna.”

Anna put the cigarette between her lips and chewed lightly on the filter.

“I can afford to be vague. I have lots of money.”

Dr. Franz nodded. Although she was quite aware of her patients’ money – they all had money – she rarely thought of Anna’s considerable monetary means. It suddenly struck her that Anna not only felt guilty about her family’s deaths but she also felt guilty about inheriting their fortune.

Anna glanced at the descending sun and abruptly picked up her purse and walked towards the door. Dr. Franz wondered how the girl knew that their hour was up; she hadn’t even glanced at her watch, and there were no clocks in the office.

“I’ll see you next week?”

Anna smiled a tight smile and nodded.

“Have a pleasant holiday, dear. Eat some of Starr’s excellent food and relax.”

Anna was halfway to the elevators when Dr. Franz finished giving her mundane advice. She needed a cigarette, and she needed a reason to climb out of the shadows from her past. Anna stepped out into the waning California light and lit the much-abused cigarette. She inhaled deeply and sighed in contentment; at least one of her desires was met.

Corpus Christi Catholic Church was egged that night. Anna made her statement to God – again – before going home to contemplate her future.

“Merry Christmas, God! We’ll talk later, you son of a bitch!” Anna screamed at the church before letting out a loud, barbaric yawp. She lit a cigarette and drove home in the dark. She had a gun to put away and a bottle of wine to drink.

December 29, 2022 19:46

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19 comments

Mary Lehnert
00:07 Dec 30, 2022

After reading Wendy’s impressive response to this eloquent story, Delbert I’m humbled and flattered to be on Reedsy. Lots of us are learning - a lot. Thankyou both for what you add to the collective IQ

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Delbert Griffith
00:27 Dec 30, 2022

Thank you for judging this as an eloquent story, Mary. Coming from an excellent author like you, that means much more than winning. Yes, we are learning, and the camaraderie we have with one another is special and strong. I'm a better writer because of it. Again, thank you very much, Mary. I appreciate your comments.

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Mary Lehnert
00:30 Dec 30, 2022

God bless us every one. Cheers

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Michał Przywara
21:52 Jan 05, 2023

This was a fun read, though the subject matter perhaps wasn't. The holidays are often, ironically, a stressful and lonely time. We see Anna had a dark plan in mind, and given all her talk of leaving, likely to end herself. And yet, by the end, she doesn't. Franz doesn't seem great at her job. She charges a lot, she's baffled and flustered easily, and it seems more important to her that *she* helps her client, than her client getting better. Nevertheless, their meeting is an opportunity that allows Anna to be herself - as much as she's co...

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Delbert Griffith
22:18 Jan 05, 2023

Thanks for the kind review. This, admittedly, not my best work. I wanted to do a little exploring with dialogue and with the themes of God and guilt. It's tricky because I then throw the possibility of suicide in there and things get really murky. Anna is murky and unlikeable. The doctor is unlikeable. But it was fun to try something different. I feel like there's something good in there, but it has to be dug out, and I'm just not quite ready to do that yet. I'm hoping that my brain remembers what I wrote and helps me out the next time I att...

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Amanda Lieser
16:29 Jan 05, 2023

Hi Delbert! I loved your take on the prompt in this piece. I thought that the way you captured anger and guilt and grief was beautiful. I also enjoyed the egging of the church and how she screamed at God. I, too, have done my fair share of screaming at God. I really liked the way that you captured this journey and started with her trying to find ways through her grief. My favorite line was: “You’ve said that before. Giving it a name doesn’t make it any less shitty.” Because I felt it was such an accurate depiction of a relationship with a th...

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Delbert Griffith
18:06 Jan 05, 2023

Wow, thanks so much for the kind words and the nice review, Amanda. This means a lot coming from such an accomplished writer. I intend to read some of your tales now.

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Lily Finch
14:46 Jan 05, 2023

Del, lots going on in this tale of yours. I recognize that Dr. Franz is a no-goodnik doctor - a royal scam. But Anna - is a great character because she doesn't believe in God, yet eggs the church. Then she screams, “Merry Christmas, God! We’ll talk later, you son of a bitch!” at the church. The only outlet for her anger, guilt and other feelings about the accident. In the same breath, she is much like an introvert who wants to start anew. A rebirth, kinda like Jesus. But she reads French and Russian novels. One to help her feel guilty and o...

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Delbert Griffith
18:01 Jan 05, 2023

Thanks so much for the kind words, Lily. Anna kinda grows on you because she has faults and we can all relate to having faults. The good doctor is indeed a fraud. Nice catch. Thanks again, Lily. I appreciate this, coming from you.

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Lily Finch
18:39 Jan 05, 2023

Aww, thanks, Del. LF6

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Zack Powell
22:39 Dec 31, 2022

Now this is a Christmas story I can get behind. No caroling, no eleventh hour miracles. Just someone trying to survive the dark underbelly of the holidays. Not at all what I was expecting when I saw that Christmas tag at the beginning, and I love that my expectations were subverted. I just want to say that I really, really enjoyed your writing style. The prose is fantastic - clean, elevated, with great imagery and strong verbs - the characters are fully realized, and the message here is complex and thought-provoking. As a former lit-mag ed...

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Delbert Griffith
00:06 Jan 01, 2023

Wow, Zack, I am so humbled by your praise, especially since you understand literature so well. I thank you for the kind words and the blush-inducing review. I appreciate that you saw what I was intending; it doesn't always happen. Thanks also for the advice concerning using the story for other competitions. I will take your excellent advice. Cheers from Texas, my friend!

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Mike Panasitti
21:05 Dec 30, 2022

At $1,000 a pop, Dr. Franz is clearly a fraud. I'm of the belief that the dead god Anna no-longer ascribes (or, never did ascribe) to probably "healed" people through performance, and, his more radical acts have been lost to the obfuscations of history and most organized religion. Loved this line: 'The Russians understand guilt, not the French. The French scoff at everything, including guilt. The Russians know how to write a novel, but the French are terrible at it.' As someone who read gobs of French philosophy in college, I agree that ...

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Delbert Griffith
23:28 Dec 30, 2022

Thanks so much for the kind review, Mike. Yes, she is a fraud, but an expensive one that rich people flock to. Anna is visceral. And desperate to escape her past. She blames God, but not enough to go inside and egg Jesus. LOL I'm pleased that you liked my take on French and Russian authors. I stand by my views there. Again, thanks so much for the commentary. As usual, it's insightful.

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Wendy Kaminski
22:54 Dec 29, 2022

The very rich are different from you and me, to paraphrase. I imagine Anna at her home, with her French and Russian novelists, and her cigarettes and wine... and, really? Not much else, truth be told. Only, this isn't an intimate suburban dwelling: it is a $23 million home. Do you know how lonely a home that size can be? I get the feeling at every turn that the author does, but it is only hinted at in the shadows, much like our main character's true inner self. Nothing forthright, nothing solid... just fragments buried within words, actions...

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Delbert Griffith
00:18 Dec 30, 2022

Truthfully, I don't like Anna at all, but she is interesting. That made her fun to write. Your second paragraph perfectly encapsulated Anna. This is her life, and she is desperate to find some meaning in it. Russian and French novelists may hold the key, she thinks, but until she finds the key, cigarettes and wine will have to do. The dichotomy is the heart of the story, Wendy. I'm pleased that you picked up on it. Yes, she hates God for what He did to her and her family, and she feels a sort of joy that Jesus is dead, but she also knows t...

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Wendy Kaminski
02:24 Dec 30, 2022

Thank you so much for helping clarify it a little; the story did so completely, but I am new to understanding literary complexity, as you can tell, so I really appreciate your patience. :)

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Delbert Griffith
11:47 Dec 30, 2022

Speak to me not of patience, young lady (said in my best schoolteacher tone). I'm like you: always willing to share. You know, I'll probably never win a weekly competition on this site, but I highly value the camaraderie of a handful of people here. You're one of those. I get insight and critique on my stories and I try to offer the same to others. This makes me a better writer. As for understanding literary complexity, you are extremely insightful. The only way we get better is to ask questions about things that aren't quite clear to us. Th...

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Mike Panasitti
21:07 Dec 30, 2022

Very eloquent comment on the character, Delbert. This gave the story even more substance.

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