The Existence of Amy Read online

  The Existence of Amy

  By Lana Grace Riva

  Copyright © 2019 by Lana Grace Riva

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 1

  I register the light before anything else. No thoughts yet, no feelings, just light. Light is usually a symbol of hope, yet at this very second, it's distorted into disappointment. It guides to my first thought of the day – 'I'm still here'. Still a live human being fumbling to cope with existence.

  I keep my eyes closed a little while longer. Almost in the hope I might be mistaken. Perhaps this is actually what happens next and I've passed in my sleep. But of course, I know that's not the case. I've got another day of facing it.

  I raise myself up and sit on the side of my bed for some time. I don't know why I do this. All it really does is prolong things, but it feels like I need this step. I need to stay in contact with my bed for these last few minutes of vague comfort before it all starts.

  Eventually I get up and accept it has begun.

  I have a shower. I get dressed. I have breakfast. I get my things ready to leave. This all takes quite a large amount of time because… well, this will become apparent soon enough. For now, it's safe to say that my 'getting ready' time is far from in alignment with what would be deemed average. Even to what would be deemed above average. It is in no way connected to average.

  After a somewhat exhausting, frustrating and irritating time I eventually find myself standing in front of the door and pause for one last moment before leaving. I search for some instruction and cling to it when it appears. 'You can do this'. 'Don't listen to those other thoughts, you are stronger than them'. 'You can absolutely do this'.

  Can I though? It's very much debatable.

  I step outside in the knowledge that the worst is yet to come.

  It's always worse outside. My home could perhaps be described as my 'safe space'. However, I would venture that a far more accurate description would be that my home is my 'safest space possible to achieve without actually feeling all that safe'.

  The first challenge I am tasked with is my journey to work.

  I work in an office that is unfortunately not walking distance from my home. I don't own a car, nor do I even drive, so the only option I am left with is to use public transport. Given I have to work to pay my bills I conclude I must face this option or face being unable to afford my home.

  For the majority of the time my brain correctly calculates which side should win in this battle between facing public transport and facing losing my job. Unfortunately, however, not all the time.

  Today thankfully I am feeling able to tackle this.

  As I stand waiting for the bus to arrive, I try to search for some kind of calm that I can persuade to accompany me on the journey. Sometimes I can catch a glimpse of it, but it always seems just beyond my reach. Not near enough to make it worth even attempting persuading discussion.

  I am at least a little fortunate today in that the bus arrives not long after I reach the stop. Waiting time equates to thinking time and I need less of both if I am to be successful.

  As soon as I step on the bus, I immediately embark on scanning the options as fast as I can. There is substantially limited time for this, so I know I must use it wisely.

  It's rush hour, the busiest time of day, so there's a long line of passengers waiting behind me. It's obvious they are feeling not such their patient selves. I don't know whether they're desperate to get to work, or desperate for the journey there to be over. Perhaps they're in a similar state of distress as myself but it seems quite unlikely. Whatever their reasons, the result is an unpleasant atmosphere of vast grumpiness.

  Anyone taking slightly longer then an arbitrary acceptable time to find a seat and sit down will likely be met with loud sighing and/or tutting. In addition to this they will be gifted with an assumption that they are impolite, inconsiderate, and a generally horrible person for holding up the bus.

  I don't want this assumption labelled onto me but neither do I want to raise my level of discomfort at being on this bus any higher than it's already at. So, I carry out my scanning as quickly as I possibly can and hope I make the best choice for which seat to sit in.

  Today I perhaps wasn't quick enough. It really is a difficult thing to get right. I have selected an aisle seat but unfortunately its adjoining window seat is currently empty. I read the expression on the passenger to alight behind me – 'Well that was lovely and selfish of you wasn't it – hoping to spread out over two seats were you?'.

  I desperately want to answer them. To defend myself. It's hard though to answer when you are both transmitting messages only in silence. How can I form a look on my face that will read 'I'm not intentionally being selfish, I promise! I just have this thing… and I can't…'. My answer wouldn't be sufficient anyway – it's not something easily summed up in a few apologetic sentences.

  Instead I avert my gaze from their face and let their scorn carve through me.

  A few minutes pass when someone inevitably stops next to my seat asking if they can sit in the window seat. I get up to let them in and they smile at me. I say a silent 'thank you' because they seem like a relatively acceptable bus seat neighbour. The main criteria for this being that they keep within the space of their own seat and don't allow any of their body parts to touch any of mine.

  The fact they smiled at me offers some small relief too. They can't have been too offended at my aisle seat with empty window seat choice. But also, there is something very beautiful about a stranger smiling at another stranger. One little moment of kindness. One small tiny glimmer of niceness in what is otherwise a quite horrendous ordeal for me.

  People begin engaging with their bus activity of choice – phones, books, newspapers – productive ways to pass the time. There are a few sat simply alone with their thoughts, but I imagine they are likely still being productive. Perhaps they are going over a work presentation they have later in the day. Planning a to-do list. Planning a party. Thinking how best to tackle a tricky conversation they need to have with a work colleague.

  There are endless ways to engage in productive thinking. My brain rejects them all. It simply does not have capaci
ty for those. It will of course argue it is being productive, but I fear it may have a distorted sense of what constitutes productive.

  I must focus on continually scanning and ensuring I'm aware of any potential dangers so I can protect myself. In addition to this, any dangers I have failed at protecting myself from in recent hours must be ruminated on over and over. There's a rather lot to keep my brain occupied with.

  If anyone was paying attention to my appearance, which I thankfully doubt they are given how busy it is, they might likely wonder if I was in physical pain. I am perched on the front of the seat trying my hardest to ensure my body touches as little of the seat as possible. The end result is that I look like I might be suffering from some sort of back or stomach pain.

  Either of these perceptions would be welcome really, given they are normal ailments, so I hope indeed they are what is concluded if anyone should decide to ponder it.

  Odd as it may look, I have been instructed this is how best to keep myself safe given what I'm working with, so I have to comply.

  As I near the end of the journey it's a little quieter on the bus, but I almost wish it wasn't because this could mean I am the only person departing at my stop. Departing necessitates alerting the driver to the fact that they need to stop the bus. This alert comes in the form of a bell press.

  'Please someone else press the bell', 'please someone else press the bell', 'please someone else press the bell' is charmingly chanting over and over. Inside voice chanting at least – I am not the crazy lady on the bus that people avoid sitting next to. I am the crazy lady on the bus who hides it well (maybe not even well, but better than the first crazy lady).

  My chanting is interrupted by the noise of the bell press. Someone has been unknowingly kind to me and pressed the bell. If they were made aware of the magnitude of their kind act, they would likely be perplexed at it being referred to as such but still, I direct to them another little silent 'thank you'.

  I make my way to the door as the bus draws near to the stop, but I haven't timed it right and I'm in a standing position when the bus makes a sudden jolt.

  I have two choices in this moment. I could grab onto a pole, keep upright, and avoid injury. Or. I could listen to the screaming voice 'DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING ON THIS BUS.' And hope and pray that balance alone will keep me upright.

  Some physical instinct takes over and alerts me to the fact that if I don't touch the pole right this second, I am going to fall. Balance is not going to work. It's out. So now the choices change.

  Grab onto a pole, keep upright, and avoid injury. Or. Fall onto bus floor and touch infinitely more (and worse) bus surface.

  I grab onto the pole.

  Thankfully I don't have to stay holding it for long as the bus soon arrives at the stop and the doors open displaying my escape.

  Ok, don't panic Amy. Just do not touch any part of you (or your clothes, or your bag) with that hand until we can rectify this.

  It's a cold day. I would normally have both hands in my pockets, but instead I have only one in a pocket. The other is being held slightly away from myself. As far from my side as I think I can get away with without looking weird. If that is even possible, which in this moment I try to believe it might be. I am likely deceiving myself.

  I don't have far to walk to reach my office building, I feel a faint sense of relief when it comes into view. This a very minor feeling though compared to the others surging through my body.

  I feel a wave of something similar to what I imagine someone might feel when a car is hurtling towards them, and they're not quite sure they have enough time to get out of its path. This sounds ridiculous doesn't it. I must be exaggerating surely.

  Unfortunately, I'm not exaggerating. Not even in the slightest.

  Chapter 2

  I walk into my office building and an image of Ben standing outside the elevators comes into my view. Ben works in a different department to me; our paths don't cross all that often directly with work. However, we have come to know each other through the occasional social occasion and bumping into each other in the office kitchen and around the elevators.

  Someone I know is always standing outside the elevators at moments like this when I don't want them to be. As if this isn't hard enough, I have to figure out some way to engage in conversation also. I don't want to chat yet. I'm not ready. I slow down my walking but he's already seen me and is clearly smiling at me so I can't really get out of this without looking rude.

  I could pretend I dropped something or lost my key pass but he's the type of person who would simply come over and try and help me, thereby delaying things even further.

  Ok. Try and be normal Amy.

  'Morning!' 'Rubbish weather today isn't it.' 'Any plans for the weekend?' I'm not really a fan of small talk but I believe it does have its time. And this is going to be one of them – come out and shine small talk.

  My ability level for conversation stops at some kind of autopilot location in these situations. It's really the best I can hope for. Ben seems happy enough to stay at this level too. I say this but I really have no idea if he's happy. I am way too distracted to take in other people's emotions right now.

  We depart the elevator and I relax a tiny bit as I know I'm not far now. We are just about to part company when he turns and says, 'I think a few people are going out for drinks tonight aren't they – hope to see you there?'

  He hopes to see me there. I hope to see me there too. Hoping isn't always strong enough but I stick with it and reply, 'Yes, hopefully.'

  He smiles and continues on to his desk whilst I make my usual detour to the bathroom.

  I feel slightly better after, but not fully. Never fully. Did I wash them enough?

  I somehow manage to resist the urge to go back and instead walk in the opposite direction along to my desk.

  I slept well last night – this should really translate to me arriving at work well rested, ready to be my fully charged productive self. I feel anything but rested though. I feel restless. I feel uncomfortable. I feel like I've just been through an ordeal and need time to recover.

  Recovery time never arrives though, it simply doesn't seem to exist. It's always straight into the next.

  That's how it operates. Any notion of resting and relief will not be entertained or tolerated.

  Chapter 3

  I work in an open plan office. I wish open plan offices had not become so fashionable. I understand it's an environment intended to help people feel less isolated. One big sociable, open, freely communicating group, happily all up in each other's space. No risk of anyone feeling left out or lonely in this design.

  My problem is that I welcome a bit of isolation. I actively seek it out. Regularly. I prefer if at times people do not notice me. If I was hidden away in a cubicle for most of the day, I'd find this whole office thing a much easier experience.

  I can't hide the crazy so well when I'm in plain visible sight of all my colleagues.

  But people like me are not really considered when it comes to office design. I can concede this is fair enough. The needs of one slightly (ok, very) odd employee versus the likely majority of the rest… well, I was always going to lose. So, it gets added to my burgeoning list of things to cope with instead.

  I like the people I sit next to at least. We are in a group of four desks and thankfully none of the occupants I deem too hazardous. Most of the time anyway. It can all change in a moment, but generally they do not behave in any way that alarms me on a regular basis.

  Ed sits next to me and is one of my most favourite people in the world. He's kind, caring and extremely passionate about his work. This results in us talking and discussing and planning and inspiring, then realising hours have glided by. I am so thankful to him for this. He doesn't realise the extent of how amazing this time is for me, but he receives my silent gratitude every time he gifts me with this break.

  Sally sits opposite me. We were a bit wary of each other at first but have come to be friends. She's very
strong in her opinions and loud in her voice which is probably what put me off her on first impression.

  She has endless stories to tell about how fabulous her life is and will tell them loudly to anyone who shows even a vague notion of listening. She will continue on even when people stop listening, although perhaps this is because she simply has not noticed she's lost their attention. In time though I have seen beyond this with Sally. I notice other sides of her more now, so I find myself less irritated by the loudness.

  To be clear, there is irritation on both sides of the friendship – far greater really on Sally's side. She is subjected to a frequent cloud of frustration hovering over us and it has somewhat tainted our relationship.

  Lastly there is Nathan who sits diagonally opposite me. Nathan is funny. Not funny weird like me. Funny that regularly induces actual streaming tears from those who hear his words. He brightens many of my days. He doesn't take life too seriously. Even at times when he really probably should. He's just in it for the laugh. I am really jealous of Nathan.

  We work at a digital agency which in essence I love. It's high paced, high stress, high achieving, and high feeling. There's so much low in my life that this collection of high is much needed and addictive.

  I reach my desk and am grateful to note that I'm the first one to arrive. This doesn't happen often enough for my liking. My intention is always to arrive first, but other factors often step in to prevent this intention from being fulfilled.

  I take off my coat and place my bag on the floor in an exact location where I have previously assessed and deemed acceptable for it to reside. I of course still assess it again to ensure it is still acceptable.

  I take out my tissues and set about making my desk a space I can feel some sort of comfort in using. Comfort is not the best word to use here really. There is no comfort in my world. I can only hope at best for some small distant resemblance of it.

  The others soon arrive but thankfully I have finished before they are close enough to our desks. It doesn't always go so smoothly. I have had to become somewhat of an expert at diverting their attention whilst I carry out my necessary tasks. I say I have become an expert, but I suspect perhaps I may be deluding myself in this. No one has ever mentioned anything about it at least.