O.A. - Ruby

“The most vivid memory…” Let’s see… What kind of memory can I tell you? Which was more vivid, the beatings or the hard drinking? “…in my final year at university, I went home for the New Year’s holidays. Early in the morning on January 3rd, I was woken by the doorbell. Everyone was still asleep, so I got up to greet the early guests. There were two officers standing just over the threshold. They asked if I was the son of such and such. After my affirmative answer, they asked me to come with them in order to be present at the break-in of an apartment and possibly for the identification of a corpse. When the front door was broken in, the first thing I saw was the sole of HIS foot. It was a blue-green color. His whole body in fact was so many colors that it was as if some drunken fan of abstract expressionism had been painting on it. He lay face down on the floor and when the officers tried to turn him over for identification, his face literally stayed stuck to the floor. Later, the medical examination showed that my father had died on December 24th and due to the fact that it was very hot in the apartment, when he finally ‘met us’ he was not in the best shape. If you please that is the most vivid memory connected with him.”

It was apparent that the therapist tried to swallow as quietly as possible, but due to the fact that the only sources of sound in the room were her and me, it turned out to be awkwardly loud.

“But that’s not the funniest thing,” I continued. “My father has a twin brother whom I had not seen for twenty years. Imagine this picture if you will: the next day after the identification of the body, I was again woken up by an early morning doorbell. I decided that it was probably the officers again and that apparently I had not signed some document or other. I opened the door and his twin brother is standing there on the threshold.”

A wave of uncontrollable laughter came over me again.

“Later, as it turns out, my father’s neighbor had told him about the death.” With that I finished.

The psychotherapist took two long sips of water from her glass and again they were too loud. I then literally tried to pass gas loudly so that against my backdrop she didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she seemed to be, but the most I could come up with was a tense flushed face.

When I got home, the traditional evening food tasting ritual was already in full swing in the kitchen. Amir, Cam, and Sopha sat at the kitchen table and excitedly discussed bio-cemeteries and bio-urns made from biodegradable materials for ashes.

“… and the client themselves will be able to choose what kind of tree he will become after death.” summed up Amir.

“Tamatar paneer malay,” Cam handed me a plate of her latest culinary creation.

I glanced quickly at Amir and Sopha. They made barely noticeably nods, making it clear that this time, the dish turned out to be edible.

“Today is the last day of Indian cuisine. For dessert there will be shahi tukra with Indian tea, I didn’t have the patience to make masala. Starting next week I want to try Scandinavian cuisine.”

If I’m not mistaken, in Scandinavian cuisine there is a recipe for sweet herring…

“How was your debut psychotherapy session?” Amir had already finished the Tatarpanarmalan-or-whatever-it-was and was ready for dessert.

Camilla, Cam for short, was a cost consultant by education. Upon realizing that her chosen profession would not bring her either joy or lead to the discovery of her potential, she took up fortune-telling using Tarot cards and began to get very good at. Within six months, Cam had acquired several regular wealthy clients, thanks to which she could afford to earn a living exclusively by fortune-telling. In addition, she is an avid fan of the culinary arts and maintains a culinary blog on which she publishes her successful experiences in preparing national dishes from around the world.

Praise all the saints, today was the last day of Indian cuisine.

Sophia, Sopha for short, is Camilla’s older sister. She works as a veterinarian. All said she is the most emotionally mature person in our company. To her credit, even before I was correctly diagnosed, she understood that the problem was not that I took everything to heart, and once very tactfully even hinted that the matter could be much more serious and I should seek professional help.

Amir, he’s a one-man-orchestra. He’s perhaps the most direct and uncommon person I know. Sometimes (very often actually) it is difficult to grasp where his thoughts are going, things he likes to express aloud. I met Amir at university. We studied in different groups in the same faculty and became friends during a summer session. At one point the question of our expulsion came up. Our last chance to stay in the university was to pass a higher mathematics exam. In our case it was already the third and final attempt. My salvation was a cheat sheet with ready-made answers to the test. From the doomed expression on Amir’s face, it was clear that only a miracle could save him. By a karmic coincidence, it was on that day that I had an acute attack of altruism. I surreptitiously handed him the cheat sheet, which also became his pass to the second course. When we left the exam we were already very good friends.

I met Cam and Sopha at a training session in sports dancing where I happened to be by pure chance. For some time we eyed each other closely. They were, and are, very attractive girls, Camilla with red hair and green eyes and blue-eyed Sophia with her pink hair. I confused their casualness with overconfidence, something which led me to mistakenly think of both of them as arrogant bitches. They, as it turned out later, thought that I was an uptight and insecure nerd. In general, they were partially right.

We became friends due to a mutual love for cinema. It turned out that we are all fans of Darren Aronofsky and David Lynch.

The four of us began to live together, again by fortunate coincidence. Between all of us, only Amir had come to the capital on purpose, hoping to become a singer or radio host. In the meantime, he is working as an event host and tirelessly attending vocal courses. When Amir’s godmother moved to America, she left a four-room apartment near the center of the capital for her godson to look after. For a time, he lived in it alone. Then I, unable to find a job in my profession in another city, was driving home with my last remaining money. At the same time, I was thinking something like: I would not be happy and would not be able to live a full life, due to the fact that I have to hide my sexual orientation, so I would start looking for an alternative to positive emotions, drinking alcohol and using drugs… As a result, I would finish my own life in some bright, but not very dramatic way, as far as that was possible in the context.

So that’s it. I was passing through the capital and planning to stay for a couple of days with Amir, then those two days turned into six years. About three years ago, Sopha and Cam were passing through as well, to attend a music festival, and were planning to stay for a short visit, also “for a couple of days.” Thus, the four of us began to live together. Each of us has our own room, our own story, our own life and our own personal space. The kitchen, on the other hand, is the place for common gatherings, evenings with board games and the witnessing of the culinary (not always masterpieces) works which Camilla treats us to.

“Was it like in the movies, when you lie down on a couch, and the therapist asks what you think and how you feel?” Camilla asked as she poured hot water into the teapot.

“Today’s reception could probably be classified as ‘the acquaintance.’ The psychotherapist asked some questions, and I answered. Apparently, she has some kind of personal question-answer scheme. For example, I told her that I was writing a book, but she did not ask what about, and then I told her that I don’t have a boyfriend, but she didn’t ask why.”