Life After Zombie

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝔼𝕝𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

Squeaks from the bottom of my seat echoed through the plain hollow room as I readjusted my left ass cheek to keep it from going numb. We were all seated in a circle, unable to hide from our therapist Alice. Her navy blue blazer was unbuttoned, showing a silky blouse, the same color as the four white walls. I didn't understand the reasoning for being in a place like this during our therapy sessions. I would much rather prefer the Shelter house. At least it had character inside rather than this drab place.

Brooke continued to look my way with a raised posture showing concern on her face. I tried to block her out because I couldn't just walk over and tell her what happened in front of everyone. If I did that, then I would have to express how I felt about it and then I'd have to explain further as she pressed me to talk about it. Not having a chance to look at my damaged face I had a feeling that I looked like I'd been through a crash collision course. It wasn't only her stares, but a few others too that convinced me of it.

Brushing it off, I crossed my arms and focused on the elderly woman who was speaking about a time when she lived in Sicily with her grandmother. The baked goods she described making with her granny made my mouth water.

"Those are some really great positive memories, Maria. Thank you for sharing that." Alice applauded and we had to as well to show our support. "Okay, let's see..." she said, skimming her eyes across the group. She looked at me and then back down to her notepad. "Leona, right?"

I didn't understand why they called these meetings Zombie Anonymous. We all knew everyone here. It was a foolish name to give it. Mr. Dune was my usual therapist, if you would call it that. He knew he wouldn't get anything out of me so he never bothered focusing on me. Something about this woman was different. I thought about how Mr. Crusty, as we called him, always blew his nose with the same old flannel handkerchief.

I finally took my eyes off the white wall across from me and back to her.

"I know your original coach in the ZA meetings was Mr. Dune, but I hope you don't feel any pressure in me asking what positive memories you have. Would like to share with us?" She crossed her legs and leaned in a bit, giving me her full attention.

My lips felt like they were super glued shut letting nothing slip out. I didn't want to spill any of my memories on the floor for them to have pity for the teenager who has to now live always in fear and afraid of change. Frankly, that's how I feel each time someone brings up a memory of their past. I never liked reminiscing about that.

The one I felt most like that for was Brooke. Her last thoughts before becoming a zombie was when her mom and dad announced she was going to be a big sister. It was the best moment of her life. She told us that all her parents ever wanted was to give her a sibling to grow up with. However, things were difficult for them back then. Having to watch her mom prick herself in the tummy over and over again was hard to watch but she was old enough to understand that they were trying to conceive. She never did get to meet her baby sister. Her mom was nine months pregnant the day Brooke turned.

I kept my mouth shut as the woman continued to wait for me to speak.

"I don't remember anything," I said, crossing my arms and looking away.

"Okay, I understand. Maybe next time," Alice lightly spoke.

Getting ready to move on to the next victim in this Kumbaya circle, I heard a heavy sigh. "Bullshit."

My head responded to the sound and my brown orbs focused on a pissed off Brooke.

"I call bullshit," she repeated, like a challenge. "We are all sharing some bit of us in this..." Her arms flew up as her eyes wondered around. "...terrible, colorless room. I mean gosh..." She slapped her hand down on her lap. "Can we get like a picture on one of these sad walls please!" She was giving me quite a whipping with her words. A few laughs escaped from a couple of people, including Alice surprisingly.

Brooke veered back to me. "But seriously, as a friend, it's good to just let it out sometimes. Share what you're going through." She looked down at her fiddled hands that lay on her lap. "Because," looking back up at me with brows needled together and almond shaped eyes frowning, "You don't have to go through it alone."

Holding back the tears from escaping my lids, I closed them shut. She was right. I needed to let some part of me out. I could hear my body begging for a release every time I would get worked up. The unwanted past crashed through my mind—mainly the bad ones taking over and pushing aside the good ones. But it was only to keep them safe, locked away as dust would form. I didn't want to forget them if I spoke about it. But that was my fear and I needed to let go.

Taking a deep breath, I could feel the air slide all the way down to my stomach. My eyelids finally separated and I looked at the wall for comfort. "Every year, my dad and mom and I would have our own special Thanksgiving food during breakfast time before going to visit family." I smiled as I pictured my mother prepping the turkey the day before. "It was our little way of celebrating Thanksgiving with just us." Finally, a tear made it down my cheek. I thought of the images of my parents sitting at our glass circle table, big enough for just the three of us. Laughter and smiles of them warmed my heart. "My dad had the messiest bed head ever." I laughed as I wiped my tears away. "My mom was a bit too late in getting a turkey so she got this small quale looking bird." The small crispy bird lay on a bed of steamed carrots and potatoes. "It was like we had our own little turkey." More laughter came from my lips as well as happy tears.

A huge weight was lifted off me. I didn't realize how heavy it existed until this point. It felt good to let it go. After sharing one of my memories, Alice and the others gave clapping hands and she thanked me for opening up. After the session was over, we were dismissed back to our quarters. Walking over to the shelter with all the other Stiffs and Brooke especially close to my side, images of the Thanksgiving breakfast still lingered. It was a welcome thought and the fear of forgetting dissipated.