Chew your words pt.2
A short story about a young women named Monique.
Lying on her back in her giant bed full of pillows, Monique has just woken up. It’s Sunday morning, 7:48, the time she always wakes up at the end of the week. Her body’s natural alarm clock tells her she’s wasted enough time sleeping and that it’s now time to daydream. Time to accomplish something with her day; otherwise, what’s her purpose? It’s her day off today, so she makes herself come and cry at the same time. She feels really uncomfortable with masturbating on a workday. Looking at the ceiling, she starts to laugh at herself—well, at her reality—not because her life is miserable at the moment, quite the opposite. She laughs because she’s slowly realizing that she has rarely felt this good in all her 25 years of life.
The rays of sunshine pass through the curtains, and one of them illuminates her dark olive pupil. She thinks it would make a beautiful movie scene, filmed from a bird's-eye view. Her body would look better from that angle.
She lives in the small town of Kitzbühel, where she moved 5 months ago. Her parents agreed to rent her an apartment here, as they saw how much she was detaching from the real world. She has had this tendency since she was little. One evening when she was eight, during their vacation at her grandmother’s villa in Sicily, she overheard a conversation between her parents and her nanny while getting ice lollies for her brother and herself. She overheard her mother say she might need to come to terms with the fact that her daughter would never be what she had imagined. That she wouldn’t be as good a person as hoped, and that her personality would cost her all her friendships. Meanwhile, her younger brother, with his great social skills, would go far. From that moment on, not only did she never eat another ice lolly, as it always tasted like that bitter memory, but Monique also decided she never wanted to be understood by anyone. As long as she understood herself, that was all that would matter. So she never makes an effort to open up to others, and she often lies to silence their questions. She is somewhat detached about it; she has her own inner world that she cherishes deeply. It makes sense why Colin—her younger brother—is at Saint Andrews University while she is in Austria, working three days a week in a stationery/coffee shop. She doesn’t need the money at all; her family is so incredibly rich, but she kind of enjoys working there and serving different people. Having those quick, fleeting connections with people nourishes her.
After getting out of bed, she goes upstairs to get a fresh glass of water. The living room is bathed in the morning glow. The large windows overlooking the ski mountains offer the orange sofa a sunbath. The light reflecting off the windows makes Monique squint, reminding her that her body is tired. The marble floor feels cold under her bare feet. She fills her favorite cup with ice-cold water and eats three strawberries for breakfast. She would have had crumpets with honey if she were still living in London, but she plans to stop by a café on her morning walk, which always looks the same. Kitzbühel is so small it’s hard to get lost there—that’s a good thing, as she is horrified by the thought of losing herself. But the snow never embraces the mountains in the same way, and the people wandering the streets are also different. So, even though her route remains the same almost every morning, Monique enjoys every moment of it.
Swallowing her last strawberry almost whole, she makes her way to her imposing bathroom covered in jade green tiles. She slips into a pair of Levi's she left on the bathroom floor the previous night, untangles her hair with her fingers, and runs cold water over her face. Monique applies the expensive cream she found at the local apothecary, combs her eyebrows, and adds nothing else to her face, which is already marked by dark circles and a beauty mark just above her right cheekbone. Returning to her room to put on a large grey wool sweater, she grabs her copy of The Collected Poemsby Sylvia Plath and is ready to go.
As she leaves her house, she nearly slips on a patch of ice, and the February cold nips at her cheeks. Automatically, she turns right at the end of her street to go to her favorite coffee shop, where the wooden chairs are all carved with heart shapes on their backs. The sun makes the entire village shimmer, and she passes families happily heading to the ski slopes. She feels like she’s in a miniature winter diorama. Once inside the café, she goes to her usual table to drop off her things, then heads to the barista to order a macchiato and an apricot krapfen. She gives her name so they can call her when it’s ready. As she sits down, she takes a moment to look around, observing quietly without making any internal comments. Monique stands out from the décor. Her auburn-red hair and taupe coat contrast with the white-haired Austrian gentlemen around her. She is often lost in the thought that she’s just another person, a mere extra in the lives of others and even in her own life. She often forgets her name is Monique; in fact, she has never fully accepted that it’s the name she carries. That’s why the barista has to call her name three times before she goes to get her macchiato from the counter.
As she sits down again, she notices a young woman—maybe two years younger than her—sitting with two children in ski suits. They’re laughing and hugging; she seems really caring and loving with them. "Must be their nanny," Monique thinks. This scene makes her smile nostalgically. It reminds her of how much more loved she had felt as a child. People always told her she was a special kid with an old soul since she had odd, persuasive, and intense thoughts for her young age. But now, as an adult, it’s more strange and unsettling than anything else. She rarely feels the love she once experienced. To forget the discomfort of her thoughts, Monique immerses herself in her book. In the middle of a poem, her cellphone vibrates, displaying her brother's initials on the screen. She’ll call him back tonight—she’s not in the mood right now but finds it flattering that he’s thinking of her. She often asks herself what other people think when they think of her. Do they only imagine her face or her voice? How do people see others in their minds? This has always been a fascinating question for her.
Starting to feel bored by her reading, her eyelids grow heavy, making her want to take a nap in her large bed. Monique grabs her things, leaving on the table her macchiato, three-quarters finished, and the last piece of her krapfen—she doesn’t like things that come to an end.
Arriving home, she takes off her merino wool socks and her Levi's to get comfortable under her duvet. Remembering that her brother had called, she calls him back so she can nap in peace afterward.
"Hey loser, long time no see," he says when he picks up the phone.
"Hey Colin," she responds. She asks him how university life is going on campus, and if he’s still enjoying it. She listens to him brag about his good grades, genuinely feeling proud and happy for him. Colin, not too interested in his older sister’s encouragements, asks, "And what about you? Are you finally regretting your decision to move to that little nowhere town, Kitzigen?"
"It's Kitzbühel," she corrects.
"What’s that?" Colin replies.
"It's Kitzbühel, the name of the town I live in, not Kitzigen."
"Ah, doesn’t matter anyway. I’m sure you’ll be back by summer, realizing it was a mistake to leave mom, dad, and the few friends you had in London."
"Well, no. I’m actually quite happy here. I feel really at peace."
"Well, mom thinks it was a bad idea, and so do I."
"Thanks for reminding me that I’ll never be able to please other people when I’m true to myself."
"Ah, don’t start, you’re so sensitive, Monique."
"At least there is one sensitive human in this family," she says.
They talk a few more minutes about trivial things before Colin has to leave for his art history class.
Putting her phone on "Do Not Disturb" and without setting an alarm, Monique slips under the duvet with that bitter taste in her mouth that her family always leaves her with. A heaviness in her heart, she promises herself a hot bath and her favorite book after her nap, once again relying on herself to wash away the pain.
