Chapter 1: Pressured Thoughts, Narrow Walls
“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” – Pablo Picasso.
If there is something about fall, it’s that it’s quite ambiguous. It hangs onto the vibrant colours of the summer before to keep the warmth. Yet, also bringing in the cool air of the Winter coming. Between that and the constant sudden spurts of rain it can be quite nostalgic in some sense. The streets covered in fallen leaves, and bathed under the warm orange lights of the street lamps.
The city sleeps, and the lights gone out of the windows of the apartment buildings. Maybe not for all, as the clatter of rain pattering down on a lightly lit sheer curtain window. Unfortunately it’s not one of falls tumultuous weather patterns but fingers tapping down on a keyboard. A desk scantily clad with papers strewn about, sticky notes all over the walls. In the center of the manuscript chaos sits Roxanna re-editing her section of a column for Visualizer Magazine.
A task lost between countless coffee breaks, adding paragraphs, taking out paragraphs, re adding paragraphs, switching pictures and it’s finished. Artists can sometimes be nit picky and cause her headaches. But her boss is a whole other level of accredited frustration. Re working this column was bad enough, but having her boss tossing in her doing more articles on art exhibits, auctions and interviews with new comers in the art community.
Half of the articles having nothing to do with a section she’s not affiliated with. She finds it hard to blink, her glasses rendering her no longer of use. She closes her eyes, circling her neck, a plank of wood would have more flexibility than her own neck. Her posture arched for hours, she’d given up on her posture long ago. Roxanna is quite sure that her boss after being appointed three months ago had it out for her.
Every work she presents to him is picked apart and scrutinized. A mistake as small as a spelling error, would grant her the displeasure of having to do an article from scratch. When there weren’t any mistakes, he’d give her piles of work that is most often outside of her jurisdiction. She honestly believes he’s using her to take on his work load. Roxanna used to joke that she’d been somewhat a workaholic; few people used to ask if she took breaks. But to think that joke unwillingly became her reality.
Gone are the days, when days off were actual days off. Her nose scrunches up at just looking at the manuscript and for the day it’s published. She’d seen enough to recite it in her sleep. She rests back in her chair, a jolt of electricity runs through her. Her back protesting its own release. Roxanna sets her glasses aside, pinching her nose bridge. Her eyes dry and irritated to the point they could crack. She reaches for her eye dropper on her desk; soothing them like rain, during a long desolate drought.
Her eyes close, the medicine taking effect. “Is it even possible to have my day back now or ever?” She thought to herself. No endless work commitments, no having a screen in front of her for hours on end. Just her and whatever she does for that day. She opens her eyes again, her vision begins to focus. The darkened blanket of sky peeking through the slit of her curtain.
Just like the later months it's easy to lose track of time, her swivel chair forever imprinted with a Roxanna shaped indent. She glances at the numbers in the corner of her screen. 11:25 pm. 8 hours and some minutes to 7:30. And 9 and some minutes to 9:00. She rolls her chair back and head out the bedroom to the bathroom.
The murmur of water clambering down her head to the tile of the shower floor. “Why don’t you quit, it’s clear there’s no place for you at your job.” She hears her inner voice interrupting the peace as condescending as ever. Its lack of understanding the joy she feels looking at a new exhibit. The scenes in each piece like an unheard voice. A reflection of different cultures, ideologies and philosophies and hands that created them. The first love she keeps falling for deeply.
“You’re idealistic values have brought you nothing but a stress induced, lifeless, unappreciated wannabe whose eyes are married to a screen 24/7” Her inner voice chimes in again, “face it nobody cares about your dusty articles. So why bother waste your energy?”
Roxanna hates hearing the pessimism of her own voice. She'd rather the criticisms of her boss over the cynic of her mind. If it weren’t for the praiseworthy reviews on the website from the viewers she doesn’t know how she would’ve lasted this long. At least she knows there are still those out there that truly appreciate her work.
She slides open the fogged up glass door, the cool air kisses her skin, she reaches out of her warm chamber for her bathrobe. Fresh lavender permeated the apartment, from the beige, pillow covered sofa with a bohemian blanket hung over the headboard. To the wood grain counter tops in the kitchen. She'd call it a relaxing shower if it wasn't for her thoughts.
Her reflection follows her from the standing mirror. She picks out her pajamas, a two piece button down set, with strawberries embroidered into the soft fabric. Cute designs that she’d never wear outside the comfort of her own home. A comforting guilty pleasure of her own, At best her co workers have seen her in business casual consists of satin solid coloured button downs with trouser pants.
A metal scraping howl fills the air from the hair dryer. She runs her fingers through her hair, a tangle of warm air mingling and weaving between them. She'd learned a hard lesson one morning after cutting her hair that shorter doesn't mean easier managed. She allows the air to warm her, to block out the pinching cold seeping through the concrete.
Roxanna would turn up her heater if it wasn’t broken. But maintenance has been taking their time getting back to her. A faint growl pulls her from her blanket of warmth. She'd skipped lunch and dinner in favour of "fixing" her column. Her stomach, the cat spirit letting out angry growls. “Alright I get it now hush. Why are you always so noisy?”
She heads to the kitchen, the fridge overran with sticky note reminders, planners and to-do lists. The leftover beef pasta sitting there waiting for her. She sets the plate in the microwave. The smell of the tomato sauce and the aromatic garlic coming off of it made her stomach growl even more impatiently. “Don’t you see it’s heating up. Hold a little more patience will you?”
A mild cramp claws at her stomach in defiance.The beep of the microwave echos in the silent room. She takes her plate to the living area. The Television switched to a drama she's been meaning to catch up on. She can't remember the last time she'd laughed or cried this much. Finally pulled away when her dinner was gone.
She steels herself with work in the morning. She takes her plate to the sink and heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Unfortunately the last thing left for her was the desk of scattered paper.The only thing left in her mind was bed, that was until she saw her scattered desk. Something she can't simply ignore and just dive into bed. The disorganized chaos will haunt her.
She neatly stacks the papers, put away the stationary and pack the thumb drive, freshly printed manuscript and laptop in her messenger bag. She slugs her way to bed and crawl under the sheets. She melts into it's softness and warmth.
She closes her eyes wrapped in a warm hug. At least that's how it should've ended. But she ended up tossing and turning, she groans. Disappointment none, frustration plenty. 3 months. That's how long it's been since she slept peacefully. She’d blamed her boss for the constant stress, but this is before he arrived.
Roxanna has no clue how she functions anymore. She stares at the ceiling and grabs her phone off the night table. The rectangular screen lights up to two unread messages from her mom and her best friend Celine.
Mom: Hello my little foxy Roxy, how are you? Did you get my package? I hope you enjoyed them. I thought you’d be needing a taste of home. 3:24pm
Roxanna softly smiles a hint of forlorn. She misses the days her her mother would rub her back and hum a soft tune her to sleep. Now thinking about it she did have these problems from childhood.
Roxanna: The strawberries tasted great mom, your best batch yet. Even if they arrived a little bruised. Sent 1:22am
She switches to Celine's chat log and sees a notification come in with a ding.
Mom: That’s no good. I made sure to have them packaged well. I even took precaution noting to the delivery personnel that it was fragile. 1:23am
Roxanna's eyes widen. Her mother is never awake this late. She feels guilty to have stripped her of the privilege she no longer has.
Roxanna: Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you, and only a few of the strawberries were bruised. Which made for a good morning smoothie. Seen 1:24am
Mom: I’m happy you found a good use for them. But, that doesn’t take away from the fact that they weren’t in perfect condition. I'm going to file a complaint. 1:24 am
Of course her mother wouldn't let it slide. She prides herself on always delivering the best from her farm. And is very particular about her products being delivered with blemishes.
Roxanna: There’s nothing they’ll be able to do now that half of them are gone. Besides, as long as they’re delicious it’s okay with me. Seen 1:25am
Roxanna starts typing goodnight in the chat box. She hears a ding and erases it.
Mom: Roxy be honest, you didn’t answer the question of how you were. Is everything okay over there? You’re not overworking yourself or anything right? 1:26am
Roxanna: I didn’t? Must have been so excited about the strawberries that it slipped my mind. And no i’m not overworking myself, and yes everything is okay. Wouldn’t be having strawberries if I wasn’t. Seen 1:26am
Mom: It sounds to me like you’re not telling me the truth. Call it intuition but it’s been sometime since you last called or visited, la mia piccola volpe. So tell me the truth, are you really okay? Do you need anything? 1:27am
Roxanna hadn't told her mother about her insomnia. She knows her mother would start hammering her to fly back to Sicily. Or she'll fly down herself and it will be worse than a few bruised strawberries.
Roxanna: There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve just been so caught up with work to even notice. I’ll try taking time off to visit you soon. I promise. Seen 1:28am
Mom: If you say so, Roxy, let me know when you’re coming. I'll have some fresh strawberry creme puffs waiting for you on the table. 1:29am
Roxanna: Okay mamma, will do. buonanotte, ti amo Seen 1:29am
Mom: Buonanotte Roxy, ti amo anch’io. 1:30am
She switches over to Celine's chat log.
Celine: Hey Ro, you won’t believe the exciting news I have got for you. Call me when you’ve got the time. 5:15pm
Roxanna looks at the time. One thing about Celine once she's asleep, even if the house is moving she wouldn't know. She tries face timing her and surprisingly she answers. A half laden eyed Celine pops up on her screen.
Celine: Hello~
Celine's voice a bit raspy. She wipes a hand across her face in an effort to wake herself a bit more.
Roxanna: Hello my favorite sleepy koala, I didn’t pull you off the train of dreams did I? Or were you already at your stop.
Celine: Maybe you did, but I didn’t like that stop anyways. So what’s up with my favorite insomniac going.
Roxanna: Still your favorite insomniac I’m afraid. I don’t think the new body wash you got for me works.
Celine: It didn’t, the nice vendor lady in the Netherlands said it would work like magic. Did I get scammed? Should I go back for my money?
Roxanna laughs a bit, she won't lie the effect was there after her shower. That was until she closed her eyes. She can hear the disappointment in her voice. Celine had taken the trip just to find that body wash.
Roxanna: Maybe it wasn't strong enough for me. Anyways, what did you want to tell me? Your text sounded like it was something exciting, did you get a new sponsor deal or is it a collab?
Celine: About that, my news might have to wait till the morning, i’m too tired right now.
Roxanna: You sure, seeing your message got me excited. Then give me a hint, is it fashion or food? Or is it a trip?
Celine: No, sorry too tired. Your excitement will have to wait until tomorrow, but you can continue guessing if you’d like. But as a hint it has nothing to do with vlogging.
Roxanna: Nothing to do with vlogging huh? Okay then I’ll wait till tomorrow. I’ll see what time I have open to meet and text you.
Celine: Alright, I just hope the calming effects of that lavender wash works on you soon. I don’t want to have to confront that sweet lady the next time I think of going to the netherlands.
Roxanna: I hope so too, and please don’t, it’s not her fault I can’t sleep. Goodnight.
Roxanna chuckles a bit, seeing that Celine went right back to sleep before hanging up. She drops her hand on the bed and stares at the ceiling again. She could go to the doctors again but it'll just be a waste of money and they'll tell her the same thing again and prescribe her more medication. Medication that does nothing but make her sluggish and give her constant headaches.
Nothing ever works. At this point it's a punishment for something she has no recollection of. The walls around her slowly closing in, the tall blank ceiling close enough she can feel her own breath. At first the feeling was only contained to her room at night, but then the intoxication spilled into the day affecting her work. The elevators so narrow she can't breath.
But her body was too heavy for the stairs, she might tumble down in exhaustion. “You can’t even handle a little pressure, are you that incompetent?”
“I’m not incompetent, just tired.” Roxanna tries to reason, but with who is the question.“Your boss says otherwise. Everyone can see it, why can’t you?”
“Your ignorance of self is why people don’t like being around you.” Roxanna might be cordial with her co-workers, but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to be around her.
Right?
To mute her inner voice makes it shout. She hates hearing herself. She wishes the world around her to be quite. “Stop talking, please.” The bed gives way under her. She's suspended in a void between falling and sinking. Her lungs filling with water. No room left for air, no light, a murky abyss. The way back to the surface so near its impossible. But at least there was peace. A silence so comfortable it hugs her. It gives her breath. She closes her eyes.
