Alone in the room with my prosecutor

My prosecutor said I should lie my bones alone, in this cell, and watch the paint dry. He said that every morning between 10 and 11:30, I am to sit in this cell and try to make flowers bloom like in a Disney movie, try to make people lick the most delicious chocolate off their hungry lips, and make their noses follow the trail of the most sensual perfume of their lives, down the rabbit chute in Wonderland. All out of some empty walls. 

Four empty walls, to be precise.

I said that when I was 10, I got some beautiful white lilies on my birthday, and I was gleaming with joy at the sight of.

My prosecutor came in my empty cell, rightaway, and said a cutting “no” that echoed around me.

Then he told me how the story really was.

On a disarmingly beautiful and sunny afternoon, your back was in a bit of pain, from how bad you’ve fallen off your back the other day. But you wanted a bike, what can I tell you? The price we pay.

You remember how you played that game you loved every single day? The one where they were shooting each other, and of course, the part that you liked, was that you could choose your character. You always went for the blonde or the brunette. Nothing in between. They all had ponytails, and they were dressed like warriors. Big chunky iron vests and all. You had a team, and your mission was to steal the flag of the other team by entering their “house” and killing everyone in your way.

And that day, you played that game too. I remember you were so obsessed that you barely stopped for bathroom breaks. You postponed it for as long as you could.

And of course, breaking your flow, to have guests for your birthday was the last thing you wanted, but that was happening, and there was nothing you could do back then to stop it.

Or perhaps it would’ve been, but you weren’t rebellious enough at that age.

And by guests, I mean grandparents. It was a family gathering.

So when you got your lilies from your grandma, you stared at the flowers for a few good minutes, once you were alone in the kitchen.

How beautiful the petals, how magnificently they folded, like pieces of fabric on a dress. I imagined the dress, falling easily on my waistline and dropping down at my toes. The upper part, the corset, was adorned with big glittery lilies right at the top, and it made me look huge, powerful. I liked that.

If only there was a game where I could be that character. What would I name her? Queen Maxine. No, better yet – Queen Selena. You liked Selena. It had musicality, purity. But Maxine had gumption. That was a tough choice.

But what would I wear down my ankles? You wondered and cast your eyes in the corner of the kitchen in the most innocent state a girl can be.

I would wear those types of shoes that Cinderella had. Those were the most incredible heels I have ever seen. Transparent, slim, glittery, perfect for my feet. Like a diamond. No, like 10 diamonds combined in one enormous one. They would be so comfortable I could walk in them for hours, I thought.

OH, where would I go? To a ball, perhaps. I would have an astonishing date, the most beautiful prince in the world. But I wouldn’t have a cruel fate, and I wouldn’t rush home at 12 o’clock either. I would stay for as long as I wanted.

Oh, can you imagine? You kept saying to yourself as if there was another person with you in the room. 

I liked my prosecutor’s interventions. I thought they added a special je ne sais quoi to my story. No, in fact, I knew exactly what they added. Backstory.

Because I tend to be in my head a lot, detangling complicated thoughts, brushing them, and placing them neatly on my nightstand. So they would be there, in order for the next day.

Little did I know that the next day, they weren’t there anymore. They hoped back into that messy brush, and now I had to start all over.

It’s exciting, really, to detangle your thoughts every morning. 

To me, at least, it’s like I’m plunging down in a pool (and I never liked the sensation, not even in games) where I always find something different. Some stuff I know, they’re there, waiting still. But some are new stones that I have to lift, in order for them to transform into something else.

And whenever I pull a stone from the bottom of the pool, I’m being dragged from my hoodie up, by a powerful force, water dripping from my soaked hair and clothes, up in the air, and then into a cell. That’s where my prosecutor waits for me, and analyzes my stones.

And when I try to say something quickly, he stops me with a wave of his hand (that’s so annoying) and says: now let’s tell this story right.