A short story from Ms Max
Lucy Lamloin farted softly just as there was a loud knock on her office door.
‘Damn’ she hissed under her breath, and began frantically waving the air around her.
‘Just a moment!’ she called, a pearl of sweat forming on her seashell-pink upper lip. They were extremely potent this morning, she noted with alarm. Probably those damn kidney beans she’d bought on impulse. God knows why. A quick dance to stir up the air had her looking almost graceful, like a tense Flamenco dancer. And in a camel business suit.
‘Come in!’ she sang out merrily, hoping by now the rich odour had dissipated slightly.
In strode Tom McGup, Finance Manager of the large Insurance Company where Lucy was presently entrapped.
‘Morning Lucy’ said Tom pleasantly as he approached, always smiling.
‘I need a proper Tax Invoice for this purchase order’. He waved the Coke machine service bill at her.
‘Oh sure, I thought that wasn’t going to be enough’. Lucy grinned and walked briskly to her desk and back. She wanted him out of her office as quickly as possible.
‘Yes, so many of these companies think they can get away with it, but times have changed’. Tom sniffed the air and frowned.
Lucy could see it was the beginning of the end and she rushed forward in an effort to both distract and usher him out. The thought of being so embarrassingly caught out, especially by Tom McGup, was more than she could bear.
‘I’m rather busy…’
Her attempt to rescue the situation worked and soon she was alone.
‘For God’s sake.. .’ She laughed weakly, the door firmly shut again.
‘It’s just ridiculous! Why should I feel so much pressure in this stupid place? It’s not right’.
Lucy felt quite distressed. It was a petty incident. Really of little consequence, she told herself. Yet it seemed to highlight her growing sense of despair in this job. She couldn’t understand the annoying, panicky feelings she was experiencing lately.
Shaking her head, she attempted to snap out of it but instead began to tremble as the urgency of her inner anguish mounted.
‘Got to keep it together’ she whispered frantically, her heart thumping. A feeling of utter terror began to grip her again; it was the second time this week.
‘Oh no’, she gripped the desk breathlessly.
‘I think I’ve got to go home, I can’t stand this’, and as she made the decision her dread subsided and an odd feeling of calm began to take its place.
For Lucy Lamloin’s inner voice was screaming to be heard.
Back in her small neat unit she locked the door and almost wept with relief.
‘What is happening to me?’ she wondered aloud, fearful as if on the brink of something indescribable and unknown. Lucy could sense it, a horrible feeling of change, of reality shifting and the sensation petrified her. For thirteen years she had worked in marketing and finance and enjoyed it, mostly. She had even worked for two different companies.
Why now this strange sense of desperation? As if she was suffocating under the weight of all those years. Perhaps she was going mad, some sort of chemical imbalance or hormonal crisis. She was only 38 for God’s sake. There was plenty of time for marriage and children, she knew that. What on earth was the matter? Just get a grip, have a drink, calm down. Ok.
She breathed deeply and walked into the kitchen, farting silently down the hallway.
Lucy Margaret Lamloin was very good, indeed expert, at talking her way back to cool rational thought, sensible and clear. She wasted no time on fanciful imaginings and unrealistic wishes. She knew what she wanted, she knew who she was and she had no illusions.
‘No, they died long ago’ a voice whispered in her head.
‘Stop it!’ she said out loud, alarmed at the intrusion.
‘Pull yourself together Lucille Lamloin! I won’t tolerate it...’
No sooner were the words out of her mouth when Lucy realized it was the voice of her mother.
‘Oh God’ she wailed, her hand covering her mouth as she struggled to keep control.
She was angry and frightened, and at a loss to explain this new hypersensitivity.
‘I’m going to call the doctor’ she said firmly, and reached for her phone book. It was nothing some simple medication wouldn’t fix. They had an appointment at 4.45 which she took. Lucy replaced the receiver and sighed. Everything was going to be fine.
She slipped off her shoes and lay on the couch, covering herself with the red mohair blanket purchased on sale at David Jones. Drifting off she began almost at once to dream, a very real and vivid dream.
She was in an attic, a long troubled passageway with a low ceiling and no windows, awkwardly crouching her uncomfortable body down, and trying to find her way through a mass of dusty antique furniture. All around her were valuable ancient pieces; enormous grandfather clocks, ugly jewelry boxes and dreary wardrobes made of hard dark wood. The atmosphere was oppressive and Lucy found it hard to draw breath, as if the pervading sense of doom was sucking the very air from her lungs. She crawled past intricate cobwebs made of fine wire toward a square trapdoor which opened far below. Peering over the edge Lucy began to breathe again as she gazed out over an enormous ocean. Sparkling bright blue, it seemed to pulsate with a lively and vibrant power, and on it there was a beautiful, golden lion dancing with an Indian woman. The lion was huge and shaggy; his mane framing a strong, joyful countenance, and the woman was wearing a blue and yellow sari, rich gold jewelry and elaborate colours on her laughing face. Lucy felt a great longing as she stared at the strange couple. She knew that if she jumped she risked drowning, but if she stayed she would suffocate and die.
Lucy woke suddenly in confusion, the dream twisting her insides with raw emotion. Lying still and allowing it to fade she clung to the feeling of hope, the beautiful image of the lion and the girl dancing. Perhaps it meant something. It certainly didn’t make sense. She laughed thinly and sat up shaking her head. ‘I need help’.
A sense of conviction settled in her body as Lucy rose to change her appointment.
‘I don’t need a doctor, I need a bloody psychiatrist and I’m going to find out what the hell is going on here’. An image of herself traveling through India flashed into her mind. She shook her head hard. No way! She, Lucille Margaret Lamloin, had responsibilities, a mortgage for God’s sake. She couldn’t just go off dancing around the world like some crazy hippy! With as much control as she could muster she reached for the phone.
And so Lucy Lamloin took the first step towards uncovering a part of herself she had buried almost completely. She would seek help to manage it. To control it.
It, however, had other ideas.
