The soft buzzing of the ceiling light hums in the rented conference room of a gymnasium, the space relatively spacious yet secluded. Silence takes precedence, but it is actually attention, waiting for a young women to finish her thought.
Looking downwards at her shoes, searching for the right words to get her point across the way she intends to as seven other individuals sit around patiently waiting for her to finish, allowing her grace. Ten seconds passed. Then a subtle exhale.
“Do you all truly believe gaslighting yourselves will really solve anything?” The young women proclaims, scanning each and every participant around her in the circle.
“Call me cynical, but c’mon, y’all are fooling yourselves that this shit gets better. No one’s dead friend or family members are coming back to life, all of us got messed up in the head in our own unique way, and for all we know, we may become unintelligible monsters at any point.”
Silence returns, but this time carrying weight. Some participants shifting in their chairs, eyes darted, not in disagreement — but recognition. The women loosens up in her chair, body arching forward, forearms slumping to her knees, and hands interlocking, almost as if the body signifying a state of satisfaction with getting those words out.
“Would you say you’re an unintelligible monster yet?” A voice replies back from across the room, cutting the veil of silence in the atmosphere. The owner of the voice comes from another young women, sitting directly across from the one who just made the remarks. A medium length mullet of platinum-charcoal ombre hair, and she wore a rugged vintage looking olive military jacket. The women abruptly taking notice to Roxanne, the facilitator of this session.
“I don’t mean it in like a challenging way” Roxanne added evenly, as she leaned forward trying to meet the girl in a communal understanding “just curious”.
The young women suddenly a bit taken back by a response, staring sharply at Roxanne, as if met with an opposition to her thoughts. Both of them bore similar sets of eyes blackened scleras and white glowing pupils. Both touched by the Dark Code Virus, a detail that didn’t need explanation.
“Do you know how hard it was… every morning for me to get out of bed, wake up knowing that both of my parents would no longer be greeting me in the kitchen in the morning,” the young women replied back, with distraught and shakiness in her tone.
With an onset of aggression, with the skin of her face tightening, “some of my closest friends that made me feel seen in my life and understood, are gone, dead, in the ground!” she continued to establish. “It hurts to keep up hope, that somehow… through all of this... that maybe I won’t go into a crazy, batshit, mindless zombified state.”
“And don’t you dare give me that ‘I understand’ bull- because you don’t. You’re not me, and I'm not you! An honest cursed delusion, to hope all this will turn around, and everything will return back to normal...” The women finishing her statements with notable shift in tone, ending the last of her remarks with genuine grief behind her words.
As the words reverberate, individuals are noticeably triggered, some murmur under their breaths and some clapback, the atmosphere has shaken up with all different emotions now stirring in. amidst the heightened state of the room, Roxanne looking upon the young women, giving her a few moments for her statements to have grace and be heard. Her eyes now properly introduced to this individual, clearly someone who has suffered tremendously, spirits shaken, mind in disarray, and a broken individual, yet something is still there. In the now pool of voices, Roxanne’s stare is met yet again by the young women’s as she tilts her head back up.
“Not the worst take I’ve heard” Roxanne said calmly, with those words quieting the room.
The young women, a bit taken back by the reply, and boldly staring Roxanne back. "You’re supposed to be disagreeing with me,” she sharply states.
“Why? You want me to?” Roxanne slowly yet calmly replied back.
“Isn’t it you’re job to tell me that I’m wrong, you all follow a script, to tell me that in spite of everything, it will get better,” the women snapping back. “You’re supposed to tell me the same shit all the other counsellors say, something that will comfort me, but in reality will not!”
Continuing with a calm demeanor, Roxanne lets out an exhale from her chest. “No. My job is just to sit here while you say what you actually think. Not what sounds dramatic or smart, just what’s real” she states.
“It’s exactly how you put it, it’s delusional to think you’ll ever get back the life you once had,” Roxanne continued.
“Well then what is the point of m- all of us doing here exactly?” the women remarking with a demanding tone. Frustration is visible across the flush of red seeping into her pale cheeks.
“You tell me,” Roxanne quickly and firmly replying back.
As the atmosphere of the air has heightened due to the back and forth, the women breathing hard, begins to slow the pace of her breath. It seems, as if for the first time, in what must be a long while, words are caught, received, she is being heard and challenged.
After a pause of silence, as the others sat in the circle have now resumed back into a state of attention to the speakers, the women tilts her head down. “I-I’m just tired of it, I don’t want to keep feeling like this” the women hesitantly said.
Roxanne nods her head, letting out a sigh of agreement, “you and me both.”
“But something tells me you wouldn’t be here today if there wasn’t apart of you inside, that still gives a shit,” Roxanne continues on to say, with each word intended to be fully received by everyone.
“So what was the point? I mean for you, what did you discover to keep going on?” the young lady asked.
Another short moment of pause, washed over the room. The women only now notices Roxanne fidgeting with something through her fingers of her left hand, and glancing at it. It’s a silver coin of some sort, perhaps some memorabilia of some kind with some significance.
“I didn’t find a point. I just stopped looking,” Roxanne says snapping the women’s attention back to the conversation.
“Well that’s… not particularly comforting…” the women audibly a bit disheartened saying.
“Yeah, truth be told, it’s not always supposed to be,” Roxanne says as she slowly leans back in her chair.
“Meaning’s sort of a luxury concept, most days it’s quite literally just maintenance. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. Figure out how to navigate the new road you’ve been plopped on. That’s the art of beginning again. I suppose,” Roxanne continues, shifting her gaze at the coin in her hand, back towards the eyes of the young women across from her.
The young woman looked down at her feet. The words weren’t warm. They weren’t polished, not how she was accustomed to with these types of counselling sessions.
But they weren’t fake either.
And that, at the very least, felt different.
The cloudy forecast paints the afternoon sky grey, and dull, overhanging the dense cityscape of H3-DES District. The electricity running through the transformers of the street poles can be heard whizzing even against the busy background city ambience. Two hours have passed since the group counselling session concluded, Roxanne exits the backside of the community centre building, towards the small alley parking lot. She slumps her bag over her shoulder to her front, unzipping the front pocket, rummaging through miscellaneous items, until she pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and a stainless steel zippo lighter.
Roxanne lights up a stick, and inhales a few deep huffs of rich tobacco, inspecting the smoke clouds she produced with each exhale. Her ears perks up to the sound of the door behind her open up, turning around to see the facility manager walking toward her.
“Ms. Furie, I don’t mean to interrupt you on your way out,” the lady said, as she walked in closer.
“No, no, not at all Ms. Mordreau. What’s up?” Roxanne asked while quickly distinguishing her newly lit cigarette on the ground.
“Apologies, oh you didn’t need to do that, I’m not such a pushover when it comes to that kind of stuff” she replied back, followed by casual chuckling.
“I just wanted to say there was already some immediate feedback regarding your session earlier, notable remarks appreciating your honesty and realness for how you approached the subject matters.” she added.
“Oh. Well, I just try to lend myself to them as a listener. They’ve all been through a lot,” Roxanne saying in a calm manner.
“Mhm. Mhm. Most certainly, and we appreciate people like you, being able to offer up yourself to them in this confusing point in their lives.” Ms. Mordreau starkly remarking in agreement.
“I just wanted to say, for a first session, this was incredibly well received. I would like you to be aware of that.” she added.
Roxanne pausing for a moment trying to figure out how to reply, exaggerated nods while hiding a bit of an awkward chuckle, she brushes up the back of her hair.
“Least I can do for them. I’m not where I am today without the people who spared a bit of their precious time to hear me out,” she proclaimed. “Even after three years I haven’t fully figured all this stuff out, but I do my best to trudge forward.”
“Everyone’s still reeling from that waking nightmare even to this day. So many people, gone, affected by it. Absolutely heartbreaking.” Ms. Mordreau says followed by signing a cross against her chest.
“You. You have to give yourself credit, for being able to take a hit like that firsthand, and still standing, now helping to lift others up again.” she added.
“But going back to what you said, the only way is indeed forward. You have a good rest of your evening now, Ms. Furie. See you tomorrow.” Ms. Mordreau concluded as she slowly turned to enter back into the building, followed by a subtle arm raised to give a wave of farewell before closing the door.
Roxanne meeting the wave with subtle smirk, than making her way towards her car. Ms. Mordreau may be by the books, and just procedurally stating things to positively reencourage, the new onboards, but deep down has some hints of being a kind old women. Reflecting on the fact that it’s now hard to discern the genuine article these days, with people and emotions.
Entering her car, Roxanne then sits and hangs back in her private vehicle, looking at the ceiling of the interior in a state of accomplishment of yet another day, so it seems. She reaches into her pocket pulling out her phone, placing it on the dashboard slot, and reading only a select few notifications that had popped up during the time she was working.
