He sits there, across the table, the pages scattered in his lap and making him look as if even he doesn't really know what he's supposed to say or do next. I find him funny and for a second I try to imagine how a date with him would look like. Is he usually messy or it's just when he's in here? Would he spill his drink on him, in a courageous attempt to gulp the drink in a manly one shot?
But then he looks me in the eyes and my thoughts fly away like scared birds on a late winter day.
"Do you cry?"
"Who doesn't?" I choke on a smile and shrug his stare off by looking somewhere above his head.
"When did you last cry?"
I pause there for a moment with a bitter smile. "You know, last night I started watching a new TV show. The tags said 'comedy' and 'romantic'. I thought it was a good choice to brush off loneliness and gray thoughts, so I got cosy in front of the screen. The first episode wasn't funny at all. It was bitter and sad. And I cried. I cried for the poor fate of a very ordinary woman, realizing at the same time that her reality was mine as well and that this world is such a sad and superficial place to live in."
"Because whenever you dream big, out of your league, you're brutally brought down and stepped on. Everyone wants to teach you a lesson sooner or later. That's the sad truth, I'm sorry," I slump on my seat, scratching the leather and wishing I was somewhere in the sky, a burning bubble of gas, cold and distant, unaware of the surroundings.
"And why superficial?"
"You know why that lady in the TV show made me cry?" I lean in closer and look him in the eyes.
"Because she was fat. She was fat and considered a failure from every single point of view. No one looked at her with compassion. Not to say that except for her mother, no one loved her! And the poor being had so much love in her, you know? So many feelings she was bottling up day by day, giving out nothing but love and taking care of everyone. She knew she wasn't anything special and she wished for another type of living. But she actually cared too much for those around her to do anything extreme. Until life decided to do it for her. Don't you find it sad, doctor?"
"So you identified yourself with this character and cried because...?"
"Because I wonder why we can't see what's on the inside, rather than judge what's on the outside. Because we do not see we're but shells and stellar dust and that when we'll get old, beauty and slenderness won't survive to the diseases that will take over our bodies. Because people don't understand that being fat is not a choice. Just like there are a lot of natural skinny persons, there are people that cannot lose weight or that get fat really easily, no matter how little they eat! But no... we're too much centered on good looks and bling-blings, rather than on what really matters."
"And you cried because...?"
"Because I saw her sell her soul to the devil for a little bit of happiness and I wondered if I should do the same," I play with my fingers in my lap. "I wondered if I should throw myself away and fill in someone else's shoes and lead a life of lies and pretending. So you tell me, doctor, what's wrong with me? Why am I like this? Maybe it's melancholy?"
He looks at me and seems to ponder over whether disclosing or not the name of the disease to me. And he just sighs and looks over his notes once more, biting the end of his pencil.
Smiling, I stand up. "You're over-analyzing me right now, doctor," I pick up my coat and purse. "You see, there's one thing I learned during these lonely years."
"What's that, miss?"
"That depression comes silently, without making a parade over its crowing in one's heart and mind."