Green Smoothie

“No. I don’t miss her.”

“Not at all?” 

Dr Stern is leaning back in his chair and he has an eyebrow raised, signifying that he thinks I’m feeding him bullshit. 

“Well, I know you think I’m full of shit.”

I say

“But no, I don't.”

“You don’t think about her?” 

He asks leaning forward

“Well, I do think about her, I guess.” 

“When?” 

I swallow back what feels like l a tumour growing in my throat 

“All the time. But I don’t miss her. 

He’s got both eyebrows raised this time and a slight smile spreading over the right side of his face, as if not-so-subtelly saying: “gotcha”

I had no idea how to explain it to him 

“All I said was that I can’t stand girls nowadays. That’s all I said. I never said I miss her. I don’t miss that bitch”

He leans back again, unphased, maybe even a little pleased by my outburst. 

I look at the pictures on the walls. Colourful abstracts, dreamy landscapes, a couple surrealist works.  I’m glad he’s not like all the other therapists I’ve seen since the breakup. They all have pictures of their happy families on display in their offices.  As if seeing that doesn’t just make a person all the more miserable as they discuss all the reasons for why their life isn't working out 

I feel sweat forming under my t shirt. All summer long I haven’t sweated the way I do now. I feel my face turn red. I want to smack his smilling cheeks hard. 

“It’s okay to miss her, Ethan.” 

Says Dr Stern, suddenly putting on his best most ‘Understanding, I’m-on-your-side’ type of voice and his attempted look of consternation mixed with sympathy. 

I don’t know how to do it, and I don’t know why I feel like I need to, but suddenly it is the most important thing in the world: convincing him that I don’t miss her. 

“Let me explain something to you...”

I say

“I’m not like all your other patients. I’m not like you.  I don’t need someone else to make me feel secure. I am fine alone.”

“Well maybe that’s true,”

Says Dr Stern

“But after all, this did all start from you complaining about other girls you’ve been trying to date since the break up”

“Yeah, so?” I say, my jaw snapping like a shark

“I’m just saying.  They’re all full of shit. That doesn’t mean I miss her. Hell, she’s just like the rest of them, anyway.“

“Is that so?” 

Asks the Doctor, as doctor-like as he possibly can. What a pretentious douche. 

“It is so. That’s why we broke up after all. I wouldn’t agree with all the bullshit anymore.”

I say, leading into my tirade. 

“At first it was one thing. It was simple enough to go along with it in the beginning. Just nodding my head all the while as she went touting all those slogans she had heard In her university lectures and at campus protest rallies.”

“And goddamnit we used to laugh at some of them together. We used to joke about how crazy, how extreme, how lost some of those kids became— and almost overnight, too.” 

I let out a deep sigh. 

“But then she just became one of them. Suddenly those jokes ‘weren’t funny' ’” 

“She had the nerve to tell me I didn’t have the right to speak about any of it— I was simply too white to have an opinion, she told me.”

“By that point, she was just one of them...”

“One of them?”

He asks.

The innocent look he gives me is paper-thin. He’s just begging for me to shoot my mouth off. It seems he likes it when I do that for some sick reason.

“One of them.”

I repeat, straining myself to find words.

“One of those robotic twats who just flaps her gums with her meaningless platitudes and her bullshit agendas for saving the world. Another political pig.”

I say, my voice rising.

“She just wasn’t the girl I fell in love with. That girl...

“That girl...”

I repeat.

“That girl, yeah maybe I do miss her.”

“Maybe I miss those big round eyes staring at me, pouring out their love and fullness and tenderness, soft as a doves breast.”

“Maybe I do. Yeah, maybe I do miss the sweet candy of her giggling voice. That sound of her humming beneath the car radio as we drove through the country side— melodies dripping over my heart like falling rain drops.”

“That little kitten nestled up against my chest while I’d read. Or be watching some late night talk show—she always did fall asleep so easily— or all through the morning while I’d just lay awake, watching the sun stream through the blinds, dancing and illuminating her glowing blonde hair, the soft light caressing her olive skin “

“Walking together through endless trails of infinity. Round and round through the parks, sitting together on a grassy hill, hand in hand and gazing into eternity, watching the sunlight bleed out in the sky and give way to the vast stretches of the galaxy, and looking back into each others souls and seeing something exponentially greater. “

“But that girl, that girl is gone; dead and replaced by the heart eating, blood leeching vampire bitch she is now.

I leave the office still boiling over, revved up like a mad dog.  It’s September, and it still feels like summer.  The air his thick and hazy.  

The heat hits me immediately.  My brain feels like it’s frying. I’ve been sweating all through the night. I’ve been seeing her in my nightly feverish delirium.  I try to walk straight. I try to stand upright, but I feel myself being pulled to the ground, ready to crumble just like the thin walls of my manhood already have. Just like the foundations of my reality. 

Its a blazing hot afternoon, The streets I pass by are empty. The kids are locked inside. It’s just me and the hot breeze breathing against my face.  I want to scream into the empty alley ways and hear my voice die against the concrete.

It’s a small town; you can walk through the main strip from the  rich parts filled with overpriced craft coffee shops and trendy cocktail patio bars down to the part where I live— used tire sales and treasure troves of used junkie equipment— all in less than fifteen minutes. 

Walking through the rich part of town, I start seeing the people in the shops. I see the colourful sunglasses and sundresses and the oddly misshaped hairstyles. I see the thrifty looking designer outfits and mason jars filled with thick green soups with labels attached, saying “wholesome” “alive” “conscious” and even, “green”—as if the colour green itself needed more specificity. 

And of course, those sights remind me of her; How I lost her. My love was corrupted by green smoothies and virtuous bumper stickers  I hear her and see her in all the self congratulatory conversations and nods of approval and ingratiating smiles. It makes me want to vomit. All the happy, trance inducing music playing on the radios burns inside my ears. 

And the looks I receive bother me the most. Walking down the sidewalk, my head up and my shoulders back, I feel the looks upon me. I see them sizing me up, as if to say, “stop being so proud.” And “you should be ashamed” 

I try to stand and walk taller. I’m sick of feeling this way. I won’t be made to feel small anymore.  I won’t be a victim. I won’t be weak. 

And at that moment I see a pack of three young women. In the middle is a tall blonde walking almost directly along my path. We’re both striding forward without any hesitation, without any indication of changing course. 

She’s wearing loose baggy jeans pulled high around her waist.  A tight red and and white striped t shirt hugs her thin torso, exposing her braless chest and a fresh tattoo on her left bicep. I steady my gaze towards her eyes which are covered by dark sunglasses. Her head is slightly tilted back, displaying her long neck and her high cheekbones. 

As We near closer the smile she had had only a moment ago is now gone, replaced by a look of scorn. It is a look I’m used too. It is a familiar look. But despite my familrity with it, I am no less perturbed and enraged by it. By the time I am close enough to see the mole below her chin, I almost lose my stride

Alas, I do not. I maintain my footing. I continue walking. She makes quite a dramatic gesture of stepping aside as I continue straight ahead. I almost keep going until I hear her voice. 

“Fucking straight white males, Eh, Tiff?”

And that’s when the wire snaps. The wood catches. The fire ignites. The ice caves in. 

My body is piled on top of her on the side walk. My hands are around her throat. After tackling her down, her custom sunglasses flew to the ground, smashing into bits. I can now look into her eyes. 

Suddenly, my grip tightens as I become enveloped; absorbed by her gaze, sucked up into the vacuum of all time. 

And for a moment I loosen my hands, and staring deep into my eyes she speaks, less as a plead, more as a genuine question: 

“E-e-e- Ethan?”