29 Jan 2009

New short story. Jan 2009

The secret adventures of a sullen boy.

She looked over her small rectangular glasses and smiled her unintentionally condescending smile
“There are some Freudian theories that fit what we’re talking about here.
Now I’m aware of you’re dislike of Freud but hear me out…”

She began to speak of abandonment issues and the 5 formative years, all the textbook stuff. And he tuned out. Though nodding and ‘hmm-ing’ every sentence or two, his mind was elsewhere within her first couple of syllables.
Not out of any disrespect – after all, he had wanted to be there, asked to be there, and she was intelligent and spoke to him on a level he appreciated.
But the superiority complex inherent in his very character, automatically controlled and edited any receiving / decoding / transmitting of information it deemed to be superfluous. And so it went for the next 20 minutes.

He was in front of a mic stand. Lead guitar just behind him - bass to the left and rhythm to his right, keyboards and drums towards the back of the small dusty black stage. A bottle of Rioja, normally half empty, sat at his feet. Tonight it was half full.
The small crowd knew every word, but didn’t scream, just sang along in unison. Smiling, understanding it all.

“…Nietzsche.” He snapped back in.

So as not to appear rude or indeed bored by her good intentions, he falsified a genuine response to something of which he had not taken in even a single word.
“O.k, though to be honest, Jung is more easily adaptable for me – in relation to all these ‘day to day’ issues. The shadow, you know? The denial of its existence and the unnatural requirement to repress these urges due to the culture of the society we have created?”

Time stood still, as it did when the teacher in your maths class would pause to consider the fact you’d been asleep for the 10 minutes prior to him demanding an answer from you…

“I understand – though I think what you have told me about your early childhood directly relates to how you have been feeling these last few years.”

She bought it.

He was clear. And immediately knew how that was just another problem they’d be discussing the next time he came to see her.

The lights went red, the drums stopped and the lead swapped his Gibson for an electric-acoustic. Things were about to get serious.