“That’s a hard question to answer,” I said. “I would like to be mentally well and to have some kids of my own and a wonderful wife. I would like to live your most average middle class existence. Average is the key.”
“Dreams are a powerful thing,” Rosa replied. “I would like to have a normal relationship with my daughter and grandkids. I would love to own a home of my own. You are lucky in that department. It must be nice having a rich father who sees about you. I didn’t even know my father until I was grown and he certainly wouldn’t have bought me a house as an adult let alone a doll as a child.”
“It has it’s ups and downs,” I said as I stared out into the parking lot watching people coming to and from the many stores. “My father can be very overbearing at times and loves to direct and run my life.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but are you having any symptoms of your schizophrenia today?” She then asked inquisitively.
“I keep hearing what sounds like a car door shutting,” I replied. “It doesn’t bother me anymore. I hear it constantly and have grown used to it.”
“That must be weird.”
“It freaked me out when I was in my early twenties and in college,” I said. “I thought I was at the end of my life and grew suicidal. I didn’t want to live crazy. Who would want to live crazy? I was extremely paranoid at the time.”
“What was your ex-wife like?” Rosa then asked me changing the subject to something she thought was less deep.
“She was a bookworm and a librarian. Our house was filled with books and book cases,” I said. “She struggled with her weight like many women. She was a very short woman and had short brown hair and green eyes. I towered over her.”
“Did you love her?”
“I loved her very much and my mental illness put her through hell.”
“You can’t help that though no more that a person with cancer can help it,” Rosa said.
“I know that sounds good, but try getting most people to believe that. It’s not a perfect world we live in,” I replied.
I and Rosa both grew quiet as we sat and enjoyed the pack of Turkish cigarettes I had bought this morning. I had spent my last five dollars after breakfast on a totally frivolous pack of tobacco, but it was so enjoyable. It’s those little pleasures in life that can make living so meaningful and worth the time. I finally pulled on my backpack and walked on home after Rosa gave me a hug goodbye. I was tired of delving into so much introspection for the day. I walked home feeling melancholy as I mulled over Rosa’s questions and my subsequent answers. It’s hard to rehash the past; hard indeed.