“Yes! It’s not what we see,
it’s what we perceive!”
Heads swivelled to look at the unassuming figure 4 rows from
the back of the lecture hall, aisle seat.
Unaccustomed to such attention as she usually didn't speak out so
vehemently, Casey cleared her throat, sat back down, opened her mouth again and
croaked out, “Ughhh...” as the lecturer motioned for her to elaborate.
Laughter wove among the audience, and then thankfully the
attention was once again drawn to the main reason for the group to have
gathered: Peter Austin-Holmes, a self
proclaimed guru of spiritual enlightenment.
Casey continued to shrink into her seat as his voice carried throughout
the room; effective at enthralling his audience, capable of convincing them
that he was indeed, the best person to teach them how to be happy. Casey checked her voice recorder again in an
effort to relax, to make sure it was still recording. She would have to edit out the part that she
jumped up, jacket flapping around her, to exclaim her complete
affirmation. She shook her head, trying
to get back into the moment. She hugged
her jacket closer.
“Who here knows how to be spontaneous?” Casey watched Peter
survey the room as he asked the question.
A few tentative hands rose. He
smiled. “Who wants to become more
spontaneous and enjoy what life is giving to you right now?” Almost every
hand rose this time. Casey pulled on a
piece of her hair, just watching. He was an expert at reading the crowd, going
with the moment and feeding off the energy in the room. He was the perfect teacher, and everyone was
soaking it in. She smiled, a small smile, because Casey didn't often do things
that were big or flamboyant in any way.
She was much more comfortable observing and recording, and because of
Peter, she accepted that.
She checked her watch, noting with satisfaction that the
seminar would be over in approximately 5 minutes. An autograph and photo opportunity would
follow, and finally refreshments in the main lobby of the theatre.
Casey had been waiting for months for this night, to finally
see - in person - Peter Austin-Holmes.
His writing was magical, almost as much as his stage presence, she
realized. He had literally changed her
life the first time she picked up one of his books. The title of it was “Do What YOU Want!”, and
Casey took all of it to heart. She
noticed in small ways, then larger ones, how her life became more satisfying as
she began to accept herself, even the quirks.
She changed on the outside as well, cutting her waist length brown hair
to a pixie cut, which suited her small frame and heart shaped face. She stopped
biting her nails. She smiled more. She was moving on, inside and out.
Casey blinked, noticing that she had completely missed the
last five minutes as the audience was standing and applauding voraciously. She stood as well, clicking off her recorder
and sliding it into her jacket pocket as she slipped into the aisle. She turned briefly, gazed at Peter
Austin-Holmes, and made her way to the lobby.
Only the staff was in the lobby so far, and Casey
steadfastly stared at the wash-room door as she quietly headed for it. She didn't need nor want any interaction with
anyone else tonight. She wanted to give
Peter her full attention. She finished
up, and then walking to the sink examined herself in the mirror. The soap smelled of lilac, the water warm and
soothing on her hands. Maybe she should touch up her lipstick.
When Casey exited the wash-room the lobby was considerably
fuller than it had been, pulling a small wrinkle on her brow. Hopefully the autograph and photo session
wasn't done already, she wanted to watch him interact with people, one on
one. She wanted to see how changed others
were, just like she was. She moved
through the crowd, back to the auditorium door. There was still a line up to the stage, and
she could hear talking about the photos being taken behind the curtain to the
right. She sighed, relief evident in her
grin. She sat in the same seat as
before, content to wait and watch.
Peter Austin-Holmes came out from behind the curtain, his
hand on a red-haired woman’s elbow. She
clutched two books and a large glossy print, her smile huge. They were laughing and chatting as he hugged
her goodbye. His eye was caught back at the table as she left, and he greeted
the next person in line.
The soap smelled of lilac.
The water was warm. Casey pulled her hands out of the stream of water in
slow motion, looking back up into the mirror.
She dried her hands, trying to shake the feeling of déjà vu, and made
her way to the lobby door.
The place was packed, and with her head bowed slightly down
and her arms wrapped around her, Casey made her way through to the auditorium
door. Hopefully the autograph and photo session wasn’t over, and as she pushed
through to the auditorium she saw the line up to the stage. She smiled, relieved, and sat down.
The soap smelled of lilac.
The water was cold.
Casey blinked, seeing her reflection in the mirror. Her
features pinched slightly, and she turned the water off, still looking at
herself. She shook her head slightly,
then reached for the basket of towels. After her hands were dry, she opened the
washroom door to the lobby and stopped. It
was so full there was hardly any room to turn around, and the din was almost
unbearable. Casey covered her ears and
headed for the auditorium door.
It was locked. Casey
pushed again, just to make sure. She
looked up, maybe this was a mistake, she couldn’t have missed the autograph and
photo session! She had questions that
needed answers! Casey looked around for
someone to ask about the locked door, and was greeted again by a wall of
humanity, smelling of champagne and sea food.
The servers were completely engrossed in their drunken guests, and there
were no other employees she could see. Swallowing against the lump in her
throat, she pushed her way to the outside door (reminding herself to be
assertive), and burst outside.
The words for this evening:
Bitter and Disappointment. Casey
wrapped her arms around herself and started to trudge to the next street to
grab a taxi. She was despondent, questioning herself and breaking one of
Peter’s key rules: blaming herself. The
one person she would actually pay to go see and she got too caught up in the
revelry to actually go in to see him.
A siren started up somewhere nearby, the music of the city
at night. A taxi pulled up, and Casey
slipped in, numbly grateful for the heater.
“Van Dale Apartments on 10th, please.” The driver nodded at
her through his rear view mirror and smoothly pulled from the curb.
Casey leaned back into the seat, reaching into her pocket
and pulling out her recorder. At least
she still had this! She smiled, reaching into that glad place that Peter
Austin-Holmes always talked about. She
still had this.
The sirens were very close now, and Casey slipped the
recorder back into her pocket and covered her ears. She hated loud noises. She looked up to see the driver saying
something to her in the mirror. “Pardon
me?” She uncovered her ears, wincing at
the wailing.
“We’re here for a bit, lady. That cop there is stoppin’ all
traffic.” He motioned out the passenger
window at the officer who had parked on an angle across the small street. “If you wanna just settle up now and get out
I understand, ya know?” The one nice cab driver in this city. Well, she deserved that much this night.
Biting her lip, Casey tore her eyes from the police officer
and looked at the driver. “Yeah, sure.” She pulled out a bill, passing it through the
hole in the glass. She opened the back
door, noticing as she stepped out on the side walk that they’d only gone a
couple of blocks. She sighed and slammed
the car door. Ten more to home.
The soap smelled of lilac.
The water was red.
Casey lurched forward, her hands instinctively trying to
grip the side of the sink but sliding off, why was there so much water? Her feet slipped on the water, connected her
bottom sharply with the tiled floor, thumping loudly.
“Someone’s in there!”
Casey rolled onto her side, noticing that the deadbolt on
the door had been turned, locking her in. Who locked her in? Did she do that? She didn't remember, and couldn't think of a
reason why she would have. There were
stalls in here, and music, not like this was a one toilet bathroom off a gas
station. There was a crunch underneath her and she glanced up, noticing the
narrow window was broken and she was lying in glass.
Why was there so much water? Why was her head swimming?
The door shook as the man on the other side slammed into it. So many sirens outside.
She let her head loll to the side to rest, brought her arms
up and stared, shocked at the two magnificent red crosses on her wrists.
Red water fell.
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