Stories, Thoughts, Poems, and More

THE NEW NORM

“What to do,” Mena says aloud, just to hear a voice, even if it’s her own.

Closing her eyes, she feels twinges of the dreaded, all too common pit in the stomach stirrings of anxiety. Her apartment is clean, her laundry is only two days out, the breakfast dishes have been washed, and her bed has been made.

“Damn.” She fights the pathetic tears she feels forming, refusing to spend another day feeling sorry for herself. Go shower and get dressed. Come on, get up, get up, get up! She doesn’t have to wash her hair today, so this will be quick.

“It doesn't matter that he’s gone,” she sings, luxuriating in the warmth and force of the water hitting her body, creating a silly tune with nonsensical lyrics as her voice grows louder and her fingers start snapping.

“He wasn’t good for you, baby. He was draining,

And paining,

And feigning

His l-o-o-o-o-o-ove for you.”

Okay, enough. This isn’t helping anyone. Just stop thinking about him. And stop thinking you’re insignificant and isolated and old and hopeless and . . .

“STOP THINKING!”

11:00 a.m. her iPhone displays, lighting up with an incoming text message from her dentist confirming her appointment for Thursday. At least she has something to do on Thursday, a reason to get dressed and leave the apartment.

Forgoing makeup, which is the norm these days, she pulls her hair back into a messy bun, which is also the new norm. After dressing, she walks aimlessly around her apartment, thinking of her two grown sons, her ex-husband, her ex-boyfriend, and her friends who are still working and don’t have much time for her anymore, especially because she has become, and here’s that word again, insignificant, in her retirement.

Nobody understands how her days are not filled with flowers and hearts, rainbows and puppies. Speaking of which, a big no to all the people telling her to get a pet.

“That will help,” they suggest sympathetically as they are convinced they’ve found the magic balm for her loneliness. She explains to them all that being single and caring for a pet is a big responsibility. One she’s had before and doesn’t want again at this juncture. Been there, folks.

Sitting in her recliner, she listens to the silence, focusing on the ticking of the clock she bought at the craft fair she attended alone two weeks ago, hearing a car horn blaring in the distance.

“I can make or break this day. What’s it gonna be?”

Jumping up, Mena grabs her phone, her jacket, keys, and a water bottle. Maybe she only needs to break a piece of the day. She’ll figure it out.