The morning dragged past, every second a minute, every minute an hour. Concentration was hard for me, something I usually excel at. Things rattled around my brain. Things I couldn’t seem to shake. The team-building issue preyed on my mind. I had to get out of it, this pathetic evening palaver. My time is precious and I refuse to hand it over to near strangers without a fight.
But now I’m away from it, out of the office, a feeling of freedom at being absent from my desk slowly unfolds in my chest, blooming beneath my skin. I gave Ruth my opinion of her silly idea before I left, telling her it was akin to bullying, forcing people to spend time away from their homes and families when they had other commitments. Her face flushed a deep shade of crimson, a mesh of humiliation spreading over her chest and up her neck.
‘I’ll give it some serious thought,’ she said as I moved away.
‘Please do,’ I half shouted. ‘Otherwise you might just find yourself with a whole host of vacant hotel rooms and a hefty bill for something that isn’t getting used. Because I certainly won’t be there and neither will half the people in this office.’
I could hear her gasp of embarrassment and anxiety as I hurried past, grabbed at my coat and slipped it on before dashing out of the door and down the stairs.
The traffic in town is a never-ending stream. All of these people on their way to somewhere else, hindering my progress when all I want to do is get home. Each car, each bus, each large, cumbersome van that obstructs my view ahead, is an obstacle, all of them stopping me, doing their utmost to slow me down.
The bouquet of flowers on the passenger seat rolls about as I take a corner too sharply. Water drips onto the floor in tiny spherical splashes. I lean over and place the flowers in an upright position towards the back of the seat, their stems pressed up against the headrest. They need to be perfect for when I take them to Deirdre, not a mushed-up mess of petals and wet stems. She wouldn’t like that at all. Aunt Deirdre was all about perfection, keeping things neat and tidy. A place for everything and everything in its place. Nothing like me. I learnt to adapt as time went on. But it wasn’t always easy. Being pristine has never been one of my fortes but I was always ready to try, to be the best I could be for her. She deserved that much after taking me in. Being orphaned at such a young age and uprooted to a new home with somebody I barely knew was bound to have an effect on me. I think I’ve turned out pretty well given the circumstances. Things could have been a whole lot worse. I could have ended up in a foster home or a children’s home, somewhere totally alien where I felt like an unwanted addition, a person that didn’t belong, but I didn’t. I ended up with Deirdre. She cared for me, did her best.
I gnaw at my bottom lip, my teeth grinding at my own flesh. There were times, however, when even that didn’t feel good enough. There was a hole in my life that she wasn’t capable of filling. A family-sized hole.
I shake away those thoughts, focus on the road ahead and set my mind to the things that I’ve got planned for when I get home. Delving into the past isn’t always the best idea. Not today. Perhaps not any day.
The lights change to red and the car stalls before I’m able to drive through. I curse under my breath, feel my temper begin to flare; people in vehicles, passers-by, even inanimate objects are all working against me. My fingers are heavy on the steering wheel as I tap out a dull rhythm. This is meant to be an easy afternoon. No work. And yet the day is now beginning to feel heavy, the sensation of near happiness that was blossoming within me rapidly dying and rotting away, like blooms in autumn, ruined by their harsh environment, perishing because of a lack of light. I try to push away the darkness that has started to envelop me but it’s always hard to shake them off, these moments of fathomless despair. These white-hot flashes of fury. Anger presses down on me, rushes up and down my spine, brushes against my skin, creeps and slithers its way through my pores beneath my flesh and into the marrow of my bones.
Behind me a horn blares, then another one. And then another. The lights have turned to green. People are waiting for me to move. I should put my foot down, drive away as fast as I can. But I don’t. The nearby noise intensifies my mood, thickening it. The beeping of horns, the shouting, the frantic gesticulating from other drivers forces me out of my car and onto the pavement. Blood roars in my ears, thumps against my skull. I glance around, fists furled, eyes narrowed as curious pedestrians stop to observe the unfolding drama. I give them what they want, upping my anger levels so it’s obvious for all to see.
‘Had a good look, have you?’ I bark at a middle-aged man who is standing close by, a bulbous carrier bag clutched between his white bony fingers. He shakes his head and walks away.
I march to the car behind me and bang on the driver’s side. A young guy winds down the window, his thin, wiry goatee beard reminding me of a teenage boy attempting to look like a grown man. He’s slim, his skin a deep shade of sunbed orange. He’s wearing cream chinos and a too-tight pale blue T-shirt. The sight of him sitting there with a half-smile on his face irritates me beyond reason. An image of me driving my fist into his face loiters in my mind, blood spattering over his perfect clothes and the pristine interior of his vehicle, small splashes of red everywhere.
‘The lights are on green now. You need to move your arse, missus.’ He’s holding his palm over the horn like some sort of threat and he is grinning, a row of gleaming white teeth just visible behind his thick, rubbery lips.
I feel the red mist begin to lower even further, try to stop it, and fail miserably. It drops down, trapping me. I’m unstoppable now, all reasoning evaporated.
‘Driving your dad’s car, are you? You stupid little prick.’ The words are out before I can stop them, a long line of expletives that should have stayed in my head. I can’t seem to help it, my untethered anger driving me on. ‘Maybe if stupid fucking idiots like you weren’t allowed to drive, then the roads would be a far more pleasant place to be. As it is, we have to put up with arseholes like you, driving everywhere as if they own the frigging road!’
I take a step back, lift up my foot and slam it into the side of his door. Not once but twice. ‘Now why don’t you take your stupid fucking car and shove it up your arse!’
Without waiting to see the look on his face or hear his reply, I open the door of my own vehicle, slide in, slip it into gear and drive off at speed. Behind me, in my rear-view mirror, I can see him as he gets out to inspect the bodywork for any damage, his eyebrows arched, his shoulders hunched. There won’t be anything to see. No scratches, no dents. Nothing at all. I’m wearing rubber-soled boots, not steel toecaps. He’s lucky the only thing I hit was his car. He’s lucky I didn’t smash my fist into the side of his face and break his perfect little teeth. Today is his lucky day. He got off lightly.
My temper doesn’t diminish on the drive home. If anything, it increases, a wave of fury clamping itself around my temple, thudding away at my brain like a gavel hitting solid stone. By the time I reach my driveway, I can barely think straight, so many thoughts whirling around my head, banging and colliding as they all vie for my attention.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Time – it is always against me, snatching away great chunks of my life and leaving me restless and jittery. I need to get these flowers in some water. I need to do lots of things this afternoon but before I do any of them, there is something that is nagging at me, an urge rippling just beneath the surface of my skin.
Inside the house, I place my bag, boots and coat at the bottom of the stairs, drop the bouquet in the sink and fill it with water, then head upstairs where I throw off my clothes and pull on my running gear. This is what I need to shake off these feelings of anger and hurt and frustration. Why are some people so determined to go against me? They seem hell-bent on stopping any progress I try to make, throwing hurdles in my way, making my life more difficult than it needs to be.
I tie up my hair, pick up a few extra items and head outside where the air suddenly feels fresh and welcoming, a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the office and the recirculated exhaust fumes I pull into my lungs when driving. This is bracing, a break from the rat race, a break from the outside world.
The grass sways in a soothing and majestic rhythm, long waves of pale green moving like a line of dancers as I set off, the reassuring heft of my backpack a solid reminder that the world isn’t always a threatening place to be. A reminder that I am the one in control of my own destiny. I have the power to make or break my future. All I need to do is keep my head, not let my temper leak out over trivial situations and spoil everything.
Up ahead, I see it, my route, the familiar territory that calls out to me, pulling me on, helping me to feel alive. A place where I am able to throw off the shackles and drudgery of my day-to-day existence and be the real me, the one who is glad to be alive.