Alice, a frail young woman, wearing a black pants and a plain t-shirt with black, clunky shoes is waiting in a bland therapist studio staring at the four yellowed walls that surround her. Alice is sitting on a dirty brown couch, playing with her hands and staring distantly at the wall.
Why did I even come back here? People have more important problems than me. Real problems (pause) maybe I’m just making a fuss, something out of nothing- you know? (Sighs). But then what about the days when I can’t hold back, can’t keep it in? It’s ruining my life. (Pause) But is this the best way to overcome it? Is this the right way? But I can’t back down now, I can do this, I need to do this, I will. (Pause)
I still think about my first appointment. He came into the room; a small man, his shirt stained and un-tucked, his brown beard un-trimmed and a definite whiff of cigarette smoke followed him as he walked about the room. He smiled at me very kindly. That first meeting, our first conversation keeps playing through my mind…
‘So, what do you need?’ he says. I look at the floor, frozen, I change my mind, this isn’t right, I can’t do it! I can’t think of anything but this room, it’s disgusting; his desk is cluttered with food wrappers: McDonalds, KFC, Burger King, surely a man like this can’t help me? But then I’m not doing such a great job of helping myself. (sighs) Maybe he’s more qualified than I think. He sees my expression and fearing the loss of a customer, he jumps in with the reassurances- you know the drill, ‘Don’t be worried, we’ll start simple’. It’s started, but maybe we can just talk about other things, there’s no need to bring up something that’s buried in the past, (pause) is there?
‘Alice, is it? Alice Rose?’ he looks up over his glasses as he opens a brown paper file and slides a piece of paper inside. ‘Yes’ I say. He asks me to answer a few questions. He asks me my address and about my job. But the truth is neither is very impressive. I live in a small flat, 3 rooms and the bare necessities. My neighbours are criminals and thugs, but they never bother me, I’m just a presence in the halls. A ghost. I can’t hold down a job no matter how hard I try, the last lot said I’m not a ‘team player’, but why do I need to be? Can’t I just get on with my work without being constantly bothered by others? Is that so hard to ask? The psyche’s interest peaks and he asks me if I have any friends, or close family. I say no, blunt and honest. I drifted from my family years ago; I moved away as soon as I could and never looked back, I can’t go back there. He smiles, and it reaches his eyes. He pities me. Why? He doesn’t know anything about me. He wants to know why I don’t socialise, but it’s not my fault I can’t let people close to me, I just can’t trust.
(Go to black)
(Alice is in her flat, sitting on a garden chair in the living room looking out the window at the people on the street)
Today’s session was different.
“How are you feeling?” What a question. I know he means well, but, I feel the same as I do every other day. Lost. I live my life the same way, wake up midday, eat budget cereal, read one of the many unreturned library books taking up space in my apartment and back to bed ready to repeat it all over again. No visitors, no friends, no life. The same old routine. The psych says that I’m the one stopping myself from going anywhere in life. I disagree. The guilt I feel stops me from being alive, it keeps me as a presence, a ghost. (Pause)
It’s not my fault, that boy did it, he made me feel this way, that 17 year old boy. The one who lived next door to me when I was 8. He stole my soul, made me a ghost. He is the reason I drift through life, he is the one that made me unable to love, to trust, to dream. Only nightmares. It’s him. (Pause, a tear threatens to escape the boundaries of her eye, she blinks sharply twice and it is gone, held inside.)
I can see the psych looking at me, he wants to know more, dig deeper into me and uncover my past. The memory is vivid and I can feel more tears burning my eyes as I remember every touch, every detail, every feeling. The psych looks expectantly at me, waiting. Should I tell him? Reveal what has been hidden for so long, what tore me from my family and locked me indoors, afraid of the world and the darkness that lurks around every corner? Perhaps it’s time, time to tell someone how the monster next door pried his way into my family, befriended my brothers, my parents, even me. I was under his spell, he seemed so kind, always sticking up for me when my brothers would tell me to leave them alone. I thought he was my friend too, but I was ignorant of the truth. He only wanted one thing from our family, one very dark thing- an evil that burned inside him desperate to escape and who more convenient to unleash it on than the child next door, so accessible. But how could I know? I was 8. Innocent. He stole that from me.
I remember the day, summer, it was so warm and beautiful. My mum had bought me new shoes for my birthday, pink and pretty. I loved them and I wore them for the first time that day. I went to meet my friends by my primary school, in a secret place that only we knew about. A long thin path led to it, thick bushes surrounded the border and a group of trees which provided juicy apples and pears stood tall and proud in the far corner. In the centre of the body of grass, a small pond lay, the sunlight would shine off the glittering water on a day like that, the definition of perfection. My friends and I called it the secret garden; it was our special place, where no-one went but us. Wonderful. But on that day, he saw me walking alone, he said he’d walk with me, to keep me safe. Of course I was thrilled to have him with me, my brother’s friend. I had a friend that was better than anyone else in the world, or so I thought. My other friends weren’t there when we arrived, they were still on their way. “Even better!” I thought, “I get to play out with my brother’s friend!” But he had other, darker intentions. He took my hand and led me through the trees, he said he was taking me somewhere I had never been before, somewhere special. Deep, deep into the trees, the sunlight was blocked by the canopy overhead, darker and darker as we got too far for me to see a way back. He stopped and looked down at me, he seemed different, there was a burning in his eyes, the evil within him, I could see it even as a child. I tried to run but he was much faster than me, he dragged me back by my hair and my pretty shoes fell off. Kicking and screaming, the trees cut into me and my blood seeped out. He threw me to the ground, I couldn’t breathe I was crying so hard, he grabbed the material of my blood stained dress and forced me onto my back. I couldn’t stop him, he pressed me down with his body, his hands holding my arms still so I couldn’t move.
(Alice closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, relief floods through her as tears stream down her face)
Before he left, he told me if I ever said anything to anyone, he’d kill my family. I was just a child, I didn’t understand why he did what he did, but I kept his secret. Until now, now the psych knows, he knows everything (Pause) Almost.
The psych looked at me, and for the first time in 17 years, somebody saw me. Alice Rose.
(Stage black, curtain down)