Description: Partially inspired by my poem with the same title
Chaos unto harmony (the story) -------------------------------------------
Chaos unto Harmony
Accepting chaos –
Instability, impermanence, ending.
Harmony is only existent
If the shattered pieces of yin and yang
Fit flawlessly together.
Prologue
I died when I was ten. Three days later, I woke up at my funeral to the great astonishment of my parents and close friends. Everybody gathered around my partly-lifted coffin. Probing questions marked their faces. All I could do was look at my baffled yet joyful mother. A weak utterance came out of my mouth, “Mama, we’re going to America.” Nobody believed it at that time. A year passed by, our new life began in the Big Apple while our past remained in Novosibirsk, Siberia for us to reminisce about in times of nostalgic longing.
Like many other Russians, we lived in New Jersey. Like many new immigrants, we believed networking was an essential process of surviving in a world so novel and frightening to you. In as little as two months, we got acquainted to quite a few Russians, Polish, Chinese, Greeks, and Italians who helped us settle in – some of them to this day remain our comrades. Six months after our arrival, my father was working in a bakery shop in Brighton Beach. My mother was a psychic for couples next door. Meanwhile, I was almost fluent in English in my grade school. I had difficulty befriending people at school however. It was not because of the language barrier. Nor was it because of cultural differences because the majority of the pupils consisted of minorities.
It was all in their thoughts.
Chapter 1: Chaos
Each night I dream of life so foreign to me and yet, which I wish for everyday unconsciously just as willfully. I dream of a tall, robust, and dark-haired man. His eyes are sparkling deep blue sea and his smirk is sly as a fox. It is an enigmatic smile that I am trying to solve when looking at him, but never actually do. I sense that we are in love because of all the warm and tingly fluids I feel in my stomach when he and I are together. Two small children run up to us and hug us. It’s two little twin girls. They look like two little angels with their ivory skin, curly blond hair, and smiling lips of pure innocence and joy. Their eyes are grey and full of depth and mystery. No matter how hard I try to look into them, I cannot penetrate the mirrors to their soul. What do they feel? What are they thinking of? What do they want? I do not know. I can only guess and ask whether I am right or not. And that is a pleasant feeling.
Then I wake up to the alarm clock ringing. It’s 6 am and the sun is still sleeping. I get out of bed and head toward the bathroom with my eyes half closed. I splash cold water on my face and blink a few times to fully awaken. I look in the mirror and see a woman peering back at me. Her name is Yelena Petrova. She is thirty-two and still single. Other Orthodox Christians she knows married in their early twenties and are happily living together with three children or something like that. Her eyes are grayish blue and full of soul. She has wavy dirty blonde hair and pale skin complexion that people valued in the Middle Ages. She seems to be in shape, slender but with curves at the right places. Well, from my objective point of view if I put myself into men’s shoes. But why is she alone? How come she is not happy? I smile at my mirror image in a melancholic manner.
“It must be the irony of fate,” I tell myself.
My deep in thought reflections are interrupted by a ring on the telephone. Mother. Only she has the decency to call me at such an inopportune hour when she needs something.
“Allyo? Da?”
“Lenochka, how are you my child?” my mother’s tone seems as though she’s on to something.
“Just getting ready for work. What is up? Anything wrong?” I hint to her to get to the point.
“Well…a client of mine has a son your age. And…”
“And you two heroines decided to arrange a blind date for us both, right?”
Awkward silence and then an apologetic, “Yes.”
I sigh hopelessly.
“I’m sorry darling. But what am I supposed to do, just sit around?” She starts. Her hysteria is moderately calm, but I can still sense the sadness and desperation she feels inside of her. It’s been some time. “You are going on thirty-three. I am fifty-five. You don’t have any children yet to care for. I do not have any grandchildren to spoil…Just give it a chance. Maybe he will be the one.”
Only for the love of my dear mother.
Psychologist’s job consists of waiting for his patient to speak first, listening about his troubles, worries, and fears, and then responding with, “And how do you feel about that?” The patient should be the one to make his own conclusions. At least this is how the policy operates in the clinic I work. But I, on the other hand, tend to break the regulations from time to time. Especially when I cannot repress my patients’ thoughts from permeating my head. A patient came in today emitting a strong energy I could not ignore. He comes in my office excitedly. He frantically paces from one corner to another until he finally sits down on the sofa. His aura is so tremendous that I can’t help myself: the psychic in me must scan him. I bet it’s that young gardener she’s sleeping with. I’m gonna rip his head off!
“Is something the matter between you and your…wife?” Tact is beyond me today.
“Yeah!” he exclaims. “How do you know? I never told you I had a wife!” Intuitively “Only a jealous husband gets so infuriated.”
He continues to talk about his unfortunate situation of his wife’s possible adultery. My ears listen attentively, but my head is elsewhere. She is not cheating on him. She is cold towards him only because he doesn’t give her enough love, care, and attention. He’s too busy with his job responsibilities. And yet, paradoxically, he can find the time for a shrink session, but not the closest person to him.
“…I bring in the money, feed and clothe the family. She doesn’t even have to work! Is that not enough?”
“No Mr. Rigors, it is not enough.”
A shocked frown distorts his face.
“Listen, Mr. Rigors. As of today, I am terminating your session with me. I believe you don’t have any serious problems in your life that cannot be mended. I prescribe to you to call in sick and take this time to go buy a box of chocolate and a bouquet of flowers, and come home to your wife. Talk to her. You cannot be certain of her infidelity to you unless you speak to her face-to-face. Confront her, but gently. Work aside, there are other priorities in your life that are in need of consideration. If it’s something that doesn’t work, you can always come back to me. Or sue me for moral damage.”
His face becomes even redder. But he still has the politeness to say thank you before he leaves.
Chapter 2: Harmony
The date, although starts rather pleasantly, doesn’t go that well in the end. The man with a charming and kind mother turned out to have very perverted inner thinking. He takes me to a chic restaurant. Yet, I feel that we should be in the Second Cup next to it: to avoid the prolonged awkwardness and to have access for an easy getaway. He is wearing an elegant blue velvet suit. I am in my dark-red dress. On my neck, I wear a gold necklace that my mother gave me for luck when I was a little girl; I often use it for getting in a trance and finding things. He’s gallant and polite enough. His thoughts are just the opposite.
“Would you like a dessert? Ice cream? New York cheesecake?” he asks. I hope you don’t. I work very early tomorrow. I want to have more fun with you tonight, toots.
“Uh..no, thank you.” I smile uneasily. “It’s getting late. I have to get up very early tomorrow. Can you take me home, please?” Yes! Let the good times roll, baby.
“It would be my pleasure, Yelena.”
-------
At the doorstep, he eagerly waits in spite of his calm and patient facial expression to enter my house. And get in my pants, obviously.
I begin, “Well, here we are.” Here we are indeed. Invite me in already, so I can show you what it’s all about.
“Thank you for the dinner, Brian. Have a good night.” What? You’re not going to let me in? At least give me a smooch!
“Good night, Yelena. Sweet dreams.” He reaches to touch my lips, but meets my cheek. Rigid bitch!
“By the way Brian, I’m not a rigid bitch. I just have self-respect.”
The door closes behind his baffled face.
Today is like any other weekday. The grandfather clock chimes 6 and the alarm’s buzz follows by. I completely ignore it. In an hour, my mother calls to know how my rendezvous with Brian went. Good thing I installed the voicemail. I decide to call in sick after two additional hours of forty winks. I want today to be different for once.
I drive to Central Park. My eyes spot a lonely bench nearby the pond. I sit, eyes fixed on the ducks in the green sea water. A brisk breeze of cold and at the same time tepid wind blows by and a moment later, a man sits down beside me. I glance at him and a feeling of familiarity and warmth rush in me. The same deep blue sea eyes. The same dark-brown hair. He looks my way and smiles. The same cunning grin! I try to penetrate his head, but no thoughts seem to come out of it. And the same mystery. My lips quiver with ecstatic delight. And then two little blonde girls run up to him. Twins.
“Daddy, daddy, come play hide-and-seek with us!” one of them shouts in excitement.
The other pulls his wrist with her tiny soft hands until he gets up.
He looks back at me, still grinning.
Then they disappear. As if I have been awakened from a dream.
Epilogue: three months later
Each Friday is my holiday ever since that coincidental occurrence. Each Friday I go to Central Park and sit on the same desolate bench. Hoping to see him and his two little angels. Will he ever come here again? At the same time as I? At the same place? I do not know. I can only guess. And hope. If Fate wishes for it to happen, the wind will deliver him to me.
My possible sweet harmony.
May the wind deliver
The cold and sweet intense gentleness
As the rhythm of the melody may charm
Those who are the worthy ones.
Submission Name: Chaos unto harmony (the story)
