Hey folks. New character. Enjoy. Love to all.
***
He adjusted his tie and collar as he walked into the old civic hall. There was a kettle filled with hot water on a side table in the corner close to the entrance, with bland-looking biscuits stacked on a plate. Tea bags and cheap instant coffee along with mini packages of cream occupied the corner of the table. The hall was huge, completely vacant save for the group of people in front of him.
They were seated on wooden chairs in a circle. It was almost comical how stereotypical these meetings were. Just like on television, one had to grab a name tag, scribble his name on and take a seat to become part of the "circle of trust". He didn't trust a damned soul in the “circle”.
Leading the meeting was a beady-eyed, podgy middle-aged lady with purple hair. Her name was Page. She acknowledged everyone, smiled sweetly, patted arms gently and spoke with a soothing voice. Next to her was an obnoxious-looking man, with bell bottom pants, a moustache and bejewelled fingers. Yet another stereotype met.
"Douchey pervert. Check," he thought to himself. Next to the Douchebag was a waif-thin woman in what could only be called pyjamas. She was clutching a teddy bear in one hand and a tissue in the other.
"Scared woman-child. Check," he ticked off one more stereotype on his mental list. An obese man wearing a baseball cap backwards with a chocolate stain on his upper lip was sobbing in silence next to the Woman-Child. An elderly lady with knitting needles on her lap looked forlorn and in pain. Her tear-soaked, wrinkled eye bags evidence that this meeting was going to be painful and excruciating.
“Tick, tick and tick,” he thought to himself. “Stereotype central.”
“Uhh, Aidan, take a seat will you. You’ll be sitting next to Amanda,” Page cooed at him. Funnily, he liked the sound of Page’s voice. She truly was soothing. He wanted to turn around and leave. He wanted to run away. Why was he here? Did he really deserve to be relegated to the average stereotype of an anonymous group meeting?
His body knew things he didn’t. He found himself seated next to the Old Knitting Lady. Her red and white sticky paper nametag said, “Hello, my name is Amanda.” He cleared and throat and Page prompted him to introduce himself.
“H-h-h-hello everyone. My name is Aidan,” he heard himself say. As if it were really out of a tv show, the group chimed in drearily, “Hullo Aidan.”
“Aidan, uh, would you mind introducing yourself again, only this time, tell us why you’re here. Why you’re really here...” Page insisted, in the most gentle way possible. He knew it was crunch time. He had to face it. He had to face his own pain, and just like in the movies, the first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one. His palms were instantly sweaty, his brow immediately furrowed, his eyes began to sting. He knew he was about to cry. Again, as he had for the past few days.
“Hello everyone. My name is Aidan and I have a broken heart,” he whispered. And then burst into tears.
