Like Never Before

“These nightmares of yours – the flashbacks, have they been occurring with the same frequency here, as they had in America?” inquired the middle aged woman named Abigail, her hair pulled back into a neat bun that rested near the base of her neck.

“Uh . . . no, not really,” replied Ella from her place on the couch, her eyes focused intently on the cream colored ceiling. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve only had like one nightmare. And it wasn’t even as bad as they usually are.”

“Would you care to expand on that? On how bad the nightmares tend to be?”

“Well, usually, they’re really vivid. It’s almost as if I can feel the bullets going through me again, but this time it wasn’t like that. It didn’t feel like memory. It felt like a nightmare. Sounds weird doesn’t it?” she mused aloud. “What I mean is, when I woke up, I wasn’t drenched in sweat or panicking. I just sort of lay there for a few minutes and then went back to sleep. That may seem like a normal thing, but it’s not for me. Whenever I have one of those nightmares, I always stay awake, but it’s been different since I’ve been here. This last week, I’ve slept so much better than I had in a year. And I don’t know why that is, but I just feel better. There’s a fucking ocean – shit, can I say fuck?”

“Express yourself however you see fit.”

“Alright, thanks. Um, well like I said, there’s a fucking ocean and an entire country between me and Venice. I'm not constantly being reminded of what happened and the fact that people don’t look at me with pity is just . . . AMAZING! I feel like the pressure of constantly seeming alright has been lifted from me.”

“How so?” she looked up from her notebook.

“At home, I always felt that I had to seem alright. That I had to smile and laugh and just always be on it, so I wouldn’t worry my parents. But here, that pressures off. If I want to be moody, I can be moody. If I want to cry, I can cry. There’s this freeing sensation. I don’t have to be the one with the smile all the time and that – surprisingly enough – has actually led to me smiling more and the smiles are more sincere. Does that make sense? Feel like rambling and not really making sense. You’d think after a year of therapy, I’d know how to express myself right.”

“You’re expressing yourself perfectly fine, Gabriella.”

“Ella,” she corrected. “Gabriella makes me feel like I'm about to get grounded.”

Abigail smiled gently. “Ella, you’re expressing yourself just fine. And as for feeling more liberated here, that is perfectly normal. As you said, there is a great deal of land and water that keeps you from the location in which you were shot and from that young man . . .” she looked through the files searching for his name. “. . . Ah, there it is, James. Tell me, do you feel better knowing that he is in America and you here?”

“A lot better,” answered Ella honestly. “I honestly can’t stand the sight of him. Whenever I see him or just catch a glance of him down at the boardwalk, I get really annoyed. I get frustrated and I want to punch something. So I end up going out for a run so I don’t actually hurt anyone.”

“Am I correct to assume that things between you and him have not been settled?”

“They’ve been as settled as they’re gonna be.” Ella closed her eyes tightly. “After I got out of the hospital, I went over to his place to yell at him for not even going to visit me while I was in there. I mean. He’s the reason that I nearly died. It was because of his stupid actions that I ended up there, and he didn’t even go check out how I was. And so I went over there to let my thoughts to be known, I broke his . . . uh . . . car window, but you know . . . it seemed like a good idea at the time. And then we got into a shouting match. And he tried to make himself seem like he was the victim, like he ended up being hurt just as bad as I was. I couldn’t stand that, because I'm the one that’s gonna have a jacked up arm for the rest of her life. So that ended badly and then he visited me at work a few days before I flew out here and that ended up horribly, but I don’t care. I don’t want to patch things up with him. Fuck him.”

“Because you hate him?” she set down her pen, eagerly staring at the young brunette on the couch.

“Hate him? Hmm, no, I don’t hate him. Not anymore. I'm done hating him. It takes up way to much effort. Now I'm annoyed by him. I don’t think about him when he’s not around, but whenever I see him, I just want him gone. I feel my life is better when he’s not around. All the stupid things I’ve done in my life have been connected to him. And I know I can’t blame him for everything, I was just as eager as him to get into the trouble, but that’s not fun anymore. That’s not what I want. I want to finish school up, I want to get a good job and one day, I want to start a family. They might not be the most exciting goals, but they’re what I want. And he doesn’t fit into my life. Hating him takes away time from other more important things. That’s why I'm just annoyed whenever I see him. I'm afraid that even by being, let’s say ten feet away from him, something will happen to me again.” Ella’s voice swelled with emotion, cracking slightly towards the end. “I don’t want to get hurt again. I felt so useless when my arm was healing. It’s not healed right but it was so much worse. I couldn’t go bathroom by myself. I couldn’t take showers alone. I couldn’t do the basic things that I took for granted. It was a humbling experience, no doubt, but it was just so hard and draining. And I know that you’re gonna say that I should try to make peace with him. But there can’t be peace, there can’t be an alright relationship with James.” Her phone began to vibrate in her pant pocket, signaling that the hour of therapy had come to an end. “Times up,” she muttered. “Guess I’ll be on my way now. Thank you for listening and I’ll be back next week. Same time, right?” she stood up and grabbed her coat from the couch, slipping it on without looking at the therapist in the eyes, she always hated when she got to over emotional during a session.

“Yes, same time.” Agnes stood up. “You don’t have to be embarrassed of your emotions. They’re what make us human.”

Ella nodded in agreement. “I'm just used to pretending to be alright.”

“Ella,” she said her name softly, her posh accent making it sound as if she were referring to a royal. “You’ve said it yourself. This is a different country. Here you can and should be yourself. So come on then, let’s see that face.”

She looked up; the few tears that had broken free were streaming down her cheeks.

“There is nothing more precious or beautiful than sincere emotions.” Agnes declared. “Never be ashamed of what you feel.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with that, Ella walked out the door, wiping away the tears as she stepped into the waiting area outside. There were a few people waiting there, a young lady that looked only a few years older than herself and a couple of middle aged people. She nodded politely at them before walking outside, into the partially sunny street. She stood at the entrance for a moment, staring out into the street, wondering what she should do next. Evan had offered to wait in a nearby café for her. He’d said that they could catch a movie or an afternoon snack together. But she’d told him that she’d be alright on her own. They were great friends, but even great friends need some space or else they’ll get sick of each other. So instead of going home to the house in Catherine Place, she decided that a long walk was exactly what she needed.

There was no end location for her walk. She honestly didn’t know where the hell she was going. All she knew was that it felt good to breathe in the air, even if it was polluted. At least it wasn’t as polluted as the air in Los Angeles. The air in LA County had contributed to her having horrible allergies, but just like in Berkeley, Ella felt herself without her pesky allergies and could go almost an entire day without sneezing, which was a true feat for her. She wandered around the streets in silence, not thinking of anything in particular, just focusing on the architecture that surrounded her, the people that were out and about, and their accents. She’d always been fond of accents. Her love of them was mostly due to the fact that her mom had a thick Irish accent and when she was little, Ella used to have one to. Her mom was the most English she heard in the day.

When she was little, the television at the house was always set to Spanish programming, so her English came from her mother and she sounded like an, Irish lass, but when she went to kindergarten that changed. The kids made fun of her for speaking funny. They teased her on the playground, snickered whenever she answered a question and eventually, the accent disappeared, but she kept her love for them. And so she walked with a smile, glad to be among so many different accents. London was amazing. She’d only been there a week, but she already felt that it was the greatest city on earth. There was something truly magical about London.

She walked until the sky began to darken. Realizing that she hadn’t a clue where she was, she stuck her hand in the air and began to wave it madly. She’d never hailed a cab before. That was something that New Yorkers, Londoners did, not Southern Californians. In Southern California most people were dependent on their own cars or on the bus, but it was mostly cars, that’s why the traffics always so bad. In time, a cab pulled over and she jumped on in.

“Evenin’ Miss,” spoke the plump man in the front seat, as he looked at her through the rear view mirror. “Where we off to, tonight?” he asked.

“Catherine Place, Westminster, please” she replied, she didn’t remember Evan’s exact address but as long as she got herself in the area, she’d be able to get home alright.

“Lovely area that Catherine Place,” he commented. “The wife’s partial to walkin’ about there when we’ve got the time on a weekend. Says it’s like something out of one those films from the BBC, she does.”

“It is a really nice area. I'm still getting used to how beautiful it all is.”

“Recent addition then?” he kept driving straight.

Ella nodded before realizing he wouldn’t be able to see her response. “Real recent, uh, I’ve actually only lived there a week. Love it though, like your wife said, it’s like a BBC film. One of those period classics,” she quickly added.

“And only a stones throw away from the palace,” he was referring to Buckingham. “Quite a view, isn’t it? Reckon there’s not one finer in all the world.”

“I actually haven’t seen it yet.”

“You’ve not seen it? But you live right around there!” exclaimed the shocked cabbie.

Ella chuckled softly. “Yeah, but I haven’t really had a chance to wander there. I’ve been exploring other parts.”

“Which ones, Miss?”

“Soho, mainly,” she tried to remember the name of the places she’d been to, but none came to mind. “My friend’s in love with it, so we’ve been there practically every day.”

“Soho’s nice, trendy area, but nice enough,” he declared. “You ought to see the palace though. Won’t regret it, Miss, promise ya that.”

“Then I’ll see it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Looks best when the sun’s rising, gives it a glow unlike any other,” he said. “Sometimes when I’ve got the late shift with the cab, I drive by there, just to have a look. Then I go home and sleep before my next job.”

“What’s your other job?” she asked politely.

“I work at the UPS, I'm a supervisor there. It’s good money and all, but I’ve got three little ones at university so I’ve got to work a bit more to cover their expenses. Good kids they are. Hardworking and bright, so bright, got that from their mother they did,” he laughed to himself. “They wanted to get jobs to help out, but I said no. University’s their job. Once they finish there, they can start working and if they like, they can help me out when I'm old, but I'm not looking for them to sustain me. Worked hard me whole life, I have. Saved up a nice bit for me and the wife,” he said proudly. “Have a house out in Surrey, been in my family for generations. And I think that’s where me and the wife will go once the little ones are done with university and I retire. Sell the house in London and put that money with what we’ve got saved up.”

“Surrey’s beautiful.”

“You’ve been?” he turned a corner.

“No,” she smiled sheepishly, “But I’ve seen it in movies and on television.”

“Well you should visit. Absolutely lovely it is.” He grew silent for a moment before asking, “So where’d you live before Catherine Place? Somewhere else in London, by chance?” he asked.

“No, I’ve actually just moved to England. The house on Catherine Place is the only spot I’ve lived in here.”

“Really?” a look of genuine surprise took over his face. “Must have quite a job to afford such a home or married the right person.”

Ella tilted her head back, letting laughter rush from her lips, “It’s actually not like that. I'm at university and I'm studying abroad for the year with my best friend. His family owns that house so that’s why I'm staying there.”

He nodded in understanding. “What are ya studying at university, Miss?”

“Political Science and Peace and Conflict Studies,” she answered, she looked out the window, the, scenery was beginning to look more familiar.

“One of my boys is studying political science over at Cambridge. Wants to be a lawyer, make a fine one, he will. What do you want to do with your degrees?”

“Well, law and then ideally maneuver myself into politics, either as a politician or a consultant.”

“God willing you’ll make it, Miss,” this time he made a left. “Seem very personable, you do. Most people don’t talk to us cabbies, just sit back there and twiddle on their mobiles or listen to their music. Act like we don’t exist, but you’ve been very friendly. It’s good to be friendly. Like my mum always said, get more bees with honey than vinegar.”

“My mom says that to.”

“Mum, American?” he asked.

“Irish,” she shifted in her seat.

“You’re Irish? Don’t look it, if I say so myself.”

“Only half, my dad’s Mexican so I don’t really like either, I'm just in the middle somewhere.”

“I’ve never met a real life Mexican in my life. Love the food though. A bit too spicy for my stomach, but I still go out to this little restaurant with my wife, every two weeks we have a date there. Then end up with ghastly indigestion but it’s so good, I can’t, not eat it.”

“Are you serious? Oh! Would you mind telling me where the restaurant is? I’d love to be able to grab some food.”

“It’s called La Perla, if you type that into the internet, I'm sure it’ll come up, but it’s on Charlotte Street. Very nice place, decent pricing too, it’s not expensive like some other places.”

Ella scribbled down the name and street location. “Thanks! I'm definitely going to grab a bite to eat there.”

“Hopefully, you’ll enjoy it. Know sometimes food isn’t the same as when it’s authentic, but I like it well enough. Ah. Seems we’ve arrived Miss. These drives are always faster when there’s conversation flowing.”

“They are,” she agreed, she looked at the meter and pulled out the money. “Here you go, Sir, have a lovely day and I wish you and your kids the best.”

“Thank you, darling, same to you!”

Ella climbed out of the cab and began walking down the street. She was familiar with the houses, having seen them a few times. She soon found her home and pulled out her key, sticking it in the lock so she’d be able to get in. When she got inside, she smelled the distinct odor of burnt eggs.

“Evan!” she exclaimed when she saw him trying and failing to make eggs.

He looked up from the pan. “Ella. Hello. Was just making some dinner,” he looked down at the burnt eggs. “Think they’re almost done.”

“Oh Evan, you know you’re a horrible cook. Here, let me have those,” she grabbed the pan, thinking that maybe there was some way of salvaging them, but no, they were burn to a crisp. “Don’t think we’ll be having eggs for dinner.”

“Doesn’t look that way, no,” Evan sighed and leant against the counter. “Sorry about this. I just thought it’d be nice to make you some dinner after your session. Should’ve remembered I can’t cook,” he laughed.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts. Here,” she handed him the pan. “Why don’t you clean that up and I’ll fix us up some rice and chicken, make a little salad as well.”

“But you’ve been out all day.” Evan protested.

“I have, but I'm not tired. All I did was sit, on my ass for an hour and then I walked around for a bit. So just let me make us something good to eat, because burnt eggs aren’t a dish I'm all that fond of.” Ella pulled out the chicken from the refrigerator. “How was your day?”

“It was alright. Went to the National Gallery, spent most of the afternoon there and then I came back to fix dinner, but as you can see, that didn’t work out so well.”

Ella pulled out a pot and pan. “It didn’t, but don’t worry. In an hour we’ll be feasting.”

“Oh good, cuz I'm famished.” Evan patted his stomach. “So would you like any help?”

“I think it’s better if I do the cooking alone. I'm not in the mood for food poisoning.”

“Oi, that’s not nice.”

“It’s not. Food poisoning is a serious thing,” she washed her hands in the sink. “So see any hot guys today?”

“Saw a few, but they weren’t really my type. How about you? Have you met the man you’re gonna do unspeakable things to?”

“Hmm, not yet, but there’s always tomorrow,” she said.