Tasya
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“Don't you think you are going too deeply down the philosophical route?” Hugh asked.
“No, I don't.” Masha responded and her lips snapped into a thin smirk. “Humor me, if you must.”
Hugh's hands went to the back of his head and his eyes drifted to the ceiling as he tried to construct a fitting answer.
“I am not dreaming, in a coma, nor in a machine because… Because… I can recall my childhood.”
As if anticipating Hugh’s response, Masha fired back a follow up question even before Hugh could take his next breath.
“How does the recollection of your childhood connect to whether or not you are dreaming?”
Hugh realized that no other sound could be heard in the room. No sounds of heaters rattling, no wind blowing against the window, no clock ticking. It was as if every object in the room were holding their breaths and eavesdropping in on their conversation.
“Let us talk about dreams. That is a bit easier than comas and machines.” Hugh said, breaking the silence. “When dreaming, it seems to me that there is a lack of continuity. What I mean to say is that dreams tend to be fragmented, the stories they tell are not always logical, and there is not always a feeling of past, present and future. When I fall asleep I am thrown right into the middle of the dream’s plot without any knowledge of what had transpired before. The person in this dreamy plot has no childhood, he’s just a character who has no past, just an immediate dreaming now. But in real life, I can see how much my childhood has impacted, and continues to impact, my life.”
Hugh looked down at the floor and became quiet for some time. He took some time to focus on the sound of his breathing and his own introspection. Masha didn’t make a sound herself. She let Hugh grapple with his thoughts.
Hugh looked up and Masha was staring right back at him, her eyes had not lost a fraction of their intensity and attentiveness.
“Honestly, talking about whether I am dreaming or not is unhelpful.” Hugh said. “It solves nothing, helps me reach no conclusions, and provides me with no practical understanding of why I hallucinate. On the other hand, the events of my childhood, or at least how I perceive them, may afford me with answers.”
He looked over at shelves and took note of the books closet to him. He expected to see books on the paranormal which dealt with ghosts, witchcraft, sorcery, and other topics one would associate with a mystic. Instead, all he saw were works of fiction, from authors that he knew very well to others that he had never heard of before. Even though he did not know the authors, titles like 'The Black Hole Stranger,' 'The Rouge’s Dagger,' and 'The Cosmic Winter' rang of science fiction and fantasy.
Hugh didn’t take his eyes off the books as he started to speak.
“When I was a child, and even now as a matter of fact, I was very lonely. Looking at your books brings back bittersweet memories.”
Hugh felt a hand inside his chest squeeze, grip, and push down the raw emotions that were bubbling within.
Speaking about his childhood was a difficult task that required focus to keep his composure and tears at bay.
“I used to spend a lot of time reading to escape this loneliness. The characters in the books would become friends for me. Even after turning over the final page, I would fantasize about the heroes walking beside me, their swords and shields my companions that defended me against the loneliness from within. I believe this absorption into fiction was a way for me to escape the loneliness caused by my father’s death and my mother constantly away at work.”
Masha laced her fingers together and closed her eyes. She sat that was for a few minutes and Hugh started to think that she had fallen asleep or was trying to mentally escape from his outpour of emotions. As Hugh parted his lips to speak and check up on her, Masha stirred and her eyes open.
“I want to tell you Hugh,” Masha said in a gentle voice that sounded like a mother reassuring her child, “Hell is not other people, the past, nor our families. Hell is being stuck in the past and not developing as a person in the present.”
“So, what should I do, to develop as a person? Also, could it be that my hallucinations are a product of my childhood?” Each word Hugh spoke brought him closer and closer towards Masha, he was on the verge of slipping from the edge of his seat. He was feeling that their conversation was building towards a revelation that would answer his every question.
“To develop, you need to connect with other people.” Masha spoke with her hands, slowly rotating her palms towards the ceiling. “As for your hallucinations, I cannot say for sure, but I believe that you have already answered this question.”
Hugh stared back at Masha, mouth clasped shut so as not to speak and disrupt her from elaborating further.
Masha looked back at him from across the table, and to Hugh's dismay, said nothing. She merely shined another one of her slicing smiles, this one hinting to Hugh that she was intentionally withholding information from him.
“So, now what?” Hugh blurted out. “Maybe you could give me some more concrete advice, like, I don't know, ‘go to a book club,’ ‘learn to play chess,’ ‘get out more often,’ or ‘blame my family for every miniscule problem in my life.’ Everyone needs to connect with people, I do not see how your information is particularly special for me.”
Masha sat back in her chair and threw her feet onto the table. A glistening pair of orange high heels were now strapped to her feet and her dress had turned from purple to black. She tapped her heels in the air to the beat of some music that Hugh could not hear.
“If you want to join a book club, a chess club, or somewhere else, then please feel free to do so. You do not need a guiding hand to do that. But now, you need a guiding word on what to do next.” Masha started to speak slower and more deliberately, but her tapping feet were picking up speed and bopping faster and faster to a soundless high tempo rhythm. “You need to go. Someone is arriving soon.” Masha plucked her phone from the table and pointed it at the door from which Hugh had entered. She was signaling for Hugh’s departure. “Well see each other again, I promise.”
Hugh stood up, thanked Masha for her time, and glanced around the room once more before leaving. Every book around the room was fiction, not only the ones closest to him. Hugh didn’t know what this said about Masha or her mystic abilities, but the sights of those spines written with fantasy names was a sight of both melancholy and comfort.
Hugh left the office and searched for Timmy behind the receptionist's desk. He wanted to pay for his visit and inquire how to book a follow-up appointment with Masha. However, once Hugh reached the desk, the receptionist was nowhere to be seen. Timmy's chair was empty, his desk lamp was off, and his laptop was folded shut.