Umbilical Cord

She was a curious individual. She never seemed to be one hundred percent aware of what was going on around her. She seemed to be far more aware of what was going on inside of her. She would take every moment she could to explore the deepest recesses of her mind. It was almost a ritual; something she did at every opportunity, any moment of peace. In this case it was her english lecture, a time where a group of awkward students would provide their opinion on a novel they probably didn't read.
She sat at her desk staring blankly at the white board as her professor lectured about the need to escape in James Joyce's Dubliners.

As he described a woman's failed attempt at escaping a difficult life of caring for her drunken father her mind drifted to a world not far from one in which the woman of Dubliners was living. She imagined her life two or three years before. It was dark around the edges and possessed nothing but raw feelings that still lay open and weeping.

"What is keeping her from leaving?" her professor asked, "Why didn't she leave her drunk father, and escape to this world she barely knows how to spell?"

He always asked these questions and the same people would always respond with the same cliche answers they knew the professor would like. This is the thing about the average person, they are one hundred percent aware of what's going on around them rather than being aware of what is going on inside of them.

She raised her hand this time knowing that her answer was something that would cause her heart to ache, "Without her they would fall apart. Her father would drink himself to death, subsequently starving and beating his other children to death. She wants to leave, everything in her is telling her to elope with her lover, but she is still attached by this emotional umbilical cord to her suffering life. She doesn't care if she can't spell this new world's name; all she knows is it is so far away from Dublin that she will eventually get to a point where this umbilical will rip off... but she knows she couldn't handle the pain... so she stays.... because she likes the pain, the feeling that these people she considers her family actually need her. Quite frankly I find it sad and pathetic."

The whole classroom went silent almost as if they were contemplating the response. She knew they were just judging her; probably wondering what kind of deep seeded issues she gained during her ugly and unnatural childhood.
The professor however paused and actually contemplated her response. As a result he continually nodded his head breathing and and exhaling, "Yes... yes... exactly"

At this remark he closed the class, looking far more relieved than any person should be over a group of strongly formed words. After studying the overly pleased man she quickly packed up her stuff, threw on her jacket and backpack and then put her ear buds in.

It was cold and windy. She raised her shoulders up to protect her neck from the cutting breeze. She ducked her head and focused on the sweet sounds of Debussy; finally directing her attention to the hours of practice and work she would be doing throughout the afternoon. As she walked through the tunnel which expelled itself to the rest of the campus she took a moment participate in her ritual. She knew why she had to do it right now, but she never wanted to say it out loud. It was pathetic, her need to do this, as she had perfectly crafted her argument inside the lecture.

She wandered down the hill into her main building where she walked straight to the silver elevator. It pushed up to the ceiling of the building, releasing her into a hallway that was full of passion and emotion that made her feel level again.

She had learnt in her life that the way a person deals with a new conflict will never be one hundred percent correct until the third or fourth time the conflict arises. Very much like practice techniques. As she says, failure is the best pathway to perfection.

She picked up her instrument and began to rehearse her masterclass repertoire. This evening at half past five she would be presenting this piece to other students to obtain a grade that will give her a diploma that she spent thirty thousand dollars on. This is her life, pay, practice, stress, perform, receive grade and repeat.

She didn't hate it. It was a relief to her. She got to live on her own, be her own person, and learn how to be her own self without the influence of her emotional umbilical cord. 

She had detached hers two or three years ago you see.

An hour or two passed by when a familiar stranger knocked on her door and slowly opened it. She put her instrument down, pausing to write some notes in her practice journal, then turned up to the stranger and forced the most painful expression her brain knew... a smile.

"How are you doing?" 

"Fine" she almost vomited from the sheer force of the smile.

"Is everything ok? I heard something happened last night at jazz rehearsal"

She paused, immediately becoming in touch with herself forgetting that this comforting and loving stranger was standing there.

Last night she received a phone call from the host of the umbilical. One of her family members had gotten themselves into some trouble and needed help to get out of it. This is where she almost considered to drop everything and go help, however she simply asked them one thing:

"Why do you never call?"

This resulted  in an argument that has happened so many times, however this time she said it. Something she wanted to say so long ago, but like the woman in Dubliners enjoyed the pain.

"I don't care. I can't care. I want to be happy. I want to live. I want to be my own person, but I can't. I can't with any of you. I know I am insane like you. I know I came from you but I don't want to keep wearing it as a badge of honour. I want it to be something that sits in the back of my head nicely and quietly like patients at a doctors office waiting for their turn. I want you to wait your turn and realize that I am trying to live my life. I am trying to grow, and become successful and healthy and happy. But every time I see you have called or texted, I hurt. I want to vomit! I love you all so much but I can't stand to sit in it anymore. Please just let me live, just let go and let me breath! I want to wake up and take in air that is so fresh and untainted that I feel reborn, that this poisonous umbilical cord of shit has been cut off! Please! I love you, just... not the way I did... not anymore"

She heard silence and then a cut on the other end. The sound of a snap, almost similar to that of a pair of scissors gliding to a belly button of a new born child, getting ready to help them enter into the new world... and then snip, they wail, and bleed, and become an individual.

She lowered the phone. Mouth opened, and looked down the hall. The band played Cotton Club and she sank as the band motored through 200bpm, almost the same speed as her heart. She knew what had happened, but for some strange reason she could still feel the cord. She rubbed her stomach and clenched her fists, knowing it was still there. The band stopped, and the change over started. Like she always did she got up, brushed herself off and walked into the rehearsal room, sat down and played. Like she always did. If she wasn't playing she wasn't living.

"Are you ok?"

She quickly looked up the stranger staring at her. 

He was there for her from day one in her new life. As she scratched at her stomach she could feel something strange. She looked up at him and realized what she had done.

"You don't look great, what happened?"

Her phone buzzed, and she already knew what the text would say.

"Can you please tell me what it says, if I look I will disappear forever" she continued to rub he umbilical cord.

He lifted the phone to his face, and it told me already what had happened. He swallowed hard and knelt down next to her, taking off his glasses and put the phone down.

Her heart was slower than ever, because the hosts wasn't beating. She found it hard to breath. All she wanted was to breath but know without the cord she couldn't. She underestimated how difficult it would be. That minute of bravery ruined her. She knew it.

"Please," her voice quivered, almost ready to fall apart "tell me, so I can breath."

He looked down at the phone one more time trying to figure out if he read it wrong or if there was another way to deliver the message.

"She killed herself" he looked up the corners of his mouth quivering.

She cracked a smile at him and exhaled. She breathed in a quivering breath and laughed, grasping at her stomach.

"It's gone" she looked at him as she clutched the empty space on her stomach one more time.

"What's gone"

"The cord" she said proudly.

"I don't understand, are you ok?"

She paused, the gravity pushed her to the ground. The laughing stopped floating and the tears reached her throat and she soon vomited the ball in her throat through her eyes. 

She never knew a pain like this could exist.

He took her hand and consoled her to the best of his ability. He looked at her as she heaved in another breath.

She felt the pain and uttered under contractions of agony, "They never tell you how much it hurts, when they cut your umbilical cord off. They never tell you that it never actually goes away."