Her cellular rings. His name flashes on the screen. She answers enthusiastically, but instead of his voice, she hears a bitter grudgy woman saying: “What do you want with my husband?”
Her enthusiasm turns into crude coldness.
“… He told me all about you!”
She’s not terrified. She’s not the least surprised. She’s hypnotizingly numb; as if she anticipated this call… as if it was the answer to her secret prayers.
“… He told me that you are chasing him everywhere and that he asked you over and over to stop calling him.”
Her mind commends her to speak but her lips stay sealed: “What’s the point of talking to this delusional woman. She thinks he loves her, she thinks she’s protecting her marriage. How can she be so blind?!”
“… Of course you have nothing to say. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
She remains silent as steel: “Why should I be ashamed? I love him and he loves me. You are the one who should be ashamed of your self- inflicted humiliation. You have no self –respect. You accept to live a lie instead of embracing the truth.”
“… It’s not that I care to hear your defense. I am just calling to tell you that “We” don’t want you to call this number again!”
End of connection.
“We? This is ridiculous. He would never deny his love to me. He told me that if it was up to him, he would end his marriage and marry me, but the only thing that was holding him back was that he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. No, he would never say such lies.”
A voice comes from outside her room.
“Don’t forget to take your pills before you sleep, Carla.”
“Ok mom”, she mumbles repugnantly. She glances resentfully at her medicines piled on the side table, then turns the light-off without touching them and slides into bed.
She tries to sleep, but the peace and quiet of her room crumble at the feet of her amplifyingly racing thoughts.
She flip and tosses in bed for a few hours, but twirling feelings mixed with looping thoughts keep building inside of her, increasingly warming both her body and head.
She throws the cover away. She walks barefoot on the floor hoping that it would cool her down. She opens the window for fresh air and meets the full moon instead. She lengthly stares at the glowing silvery circle which induces her gizmos with bewitching cosmic waves.
Her skin develops a sudden hostile reaction to her pajamas. She hastily takes her clothes off and carelessly wraps the bed sheet around her body. She moves back and forth like a wired rate. Now her head is boiling. And in a desperate attempt to deliver herself from this rising foaming lava that is eating her, an idea pops-out: “I am going to shave my head!”
She bursts out of her room heading to the bathroom. She opens the cabinet looking for her brother’s razor with no success. She hears her mother’s voice from across the corridor: “What’s that noise?”
“It’s nothing, nothing! Go back to sleep mom!”
As she returns to her room, the shaving idea is already dimmed leaving the stage for a bolder one: “I will confront him with what she said! I will confront them both!”