chapter 1

"i was on a train one day, when i was younger, and remember a little girl sitting in a seat near where i was standing. we were close to the front of the traincar and people were getting on and off beside us at every stop. every stop, back and forth, pushing and pulling - it was a hectic, hectic ride. i was getting frustrated by the business, but the little girl didn't seem to mind. she was bundled up in a cute little pink overcoat and had on a little pink hat and a little pink bookbag. she had to be about 5, or 6 at the most, on her way to school. she was adorable, her feet barely inched off the edge of the seat, and her adult teeth were just starting to grow in. she had innocence in her eyes that looked more like a grain of salt caught in between her eye lids, and a smile that made me stare at her in a way that made her mother uncomfortbale. her mother was much older than one would expect for a girl this age. she was seasoned by many years and nothing about her led me to believe she had an easy life. not the scowl on her face. not the scar near her eye. not the coldness in her voice. nothing. as i tried to look away from the two of them, the little girl pulled my attention back by asking her mother, 'mommy, who's driving us?'. unable to hear her daughter's little pink voice over the thunderous train tracks, her mother replied with a aggravated 'huh??'. the girl, wearing her little pink socks restated her question, 'mommy, who's driving us?' her mother, in her first act that allowed me to see that she might be a decent parent, replied, 'oh, sweetie, the conductor'. 'the conduckor??' the girl replied. 'no, the conducTor', stated the mother. then the little girl sat there, whispering the word over and over as her brain worked the difficult term and concept into her memory bank. she stared out the window for a moment, still mouthing the word "conductor" silently over and over again. then she asked her mother, 'whats his name?' the mother, now frustrated and unaware that they were still on the same conversation said, 'who's name?' the girl replied, 'the conductor's!'. at this point, i was into the entire conversation, and was very eager to hear what name the mother was going to pull out in order to satisfy the curiousity of her little pink daughter. but instead of a name, she abruptly replied 'i don't know'. and the little girl sat there for the rest of the trip, disappointed and wanting."

"and why bring this up now, phillip?"

for a moment, i forgot she was there. "because...she was left wanting. and i didn't understand why she couldn't be given something, anything to satisfy her insignificant desire to know. her mother could have told her 'bob' or 'fred'. or she could have told her that the conductor was a she, named 'sarah' or 'kimberly'. i don't understand why she had to be left in that state of wanting when satisfaction could have been brought so easily!"

"but, phillip, why do you bring this up now? how does the desire of a 6 year old girl prove relevant in our session? how does it make it's way into our discussion?" she probes to discover what i'm really trying to say. always assumming that i'm speaking in a code or analogy that takes time and patience to figure out.

laying on my back, i could only hear the softness in her voice on the other side of the room. i prefer it that way. "because her mother deemed it wrong," i said, " her mother made her feel as though it was wrong to want - wrong to have a desire that strong. her daughter wanted to know, and wanted to know from her mother! and it was her mother that told her she was wrong! everyone says it's wrong, to want something so bad that it consumes you, to want something to the point that it's presence or absense can alter the very essence of your being. to want a thought or idea or a change or an experience...they say it's wrong. they say we can't have what we want because life's not that way. because..."

"what is it that you want phillip?" she interrupts.

and her interjection caused me to think. they always do. she likes to catch me mid-sentence so that it forces me to think. and i do. sometimes i need to because i get confused. in this case though, i know perfectly well what i'm saying. i know perfectly well the thought i'm trying to convey.

"...i want a woman, doctor. and the other doctors tell me that it's natural in my state to want that, but i know it's more. i don't want a woman like they think i want a woman. i crave a woman. i want her in all of her imperfections and shortcomings. i want her with all of her faults. i want the beauty that is her failures. i want to see her in her absolute pureness. naked without having to feel as though she is not correct. i want to caress the hair in the places where she feels she should be bare. i want to kiss the parts of her body that she feels are too big. or too small. i want to lay next to her and cup her breast in my hand, conscious of the fact that i hold the nurture of life. i want to run my fingers across her stomach, knowing that i brush my fingers across the cradle of existence. doctor, i want a woman the way i want air. the way i want to wake up in the morning and the way i want to go to sleep at night."

she replies, "but do you really think that you can sustain a relationship in your condiditon..."

in an outrage, i turn and scream at her, "you do not know about my..." but i couldn't finish. as i turned to her, where her voice was, where i was sure her voice had been, there was nothing. no one. only a chair where she should have been. only the chair and the walls. and the door with the slit at the bottom for my food. and the bed that hurts my back. and the toilet i have grown to hate.

i lay back on my bed and weep, realizing once more that i will never leave this room.


i had this thought in my head for a moment, and may very well turn it into a book or short story, in which case this would be chapter 1 (hence the title of the blog). feel free to give constructive criticism if you like. thank you.