Dear Valentina [The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel]

☆ Chapter Twenty-One: April 14th, 1959

"You will lose someone you can't live without,
and your heart will be badly broken, and
 the bad news is that you never completely get
over the loss of your beloved (...)"
 ― Anne Lamott

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.      APRIL 14TH, 1959.

WARNING: Depiction of a panic attack/anxiety attack
 (I'm aware that for some people reading about a
 panic attack can trigger one so I just wanted to be
super cautious with this even though it's a
 major aspect of the final scene)

☆

      The morning felt normal.

      Sharp bickering rushed into the four-walled confines of her bedroom, a muffled yet typical argument from the next door neighbors that seemingly started always the minute a new day commenced. Sunlight dripped from beneath her lace curtains, golden and in small splinters of brightness. She could hear the galloping charge of Brooklyn traffic from below her fire-escape, a cacophony of impatient drivers manning automobiles, bustling workers opting to walk, and owners pushing open the security bars on the windows of their businesses.

      The solid six-hour-long sleep from the previous night pleasantly swaddled her waking mind as Valerie blearily opened her eyes and rolled onto her back. With the monotonous canvas of her simple room greeting her, not to mention the bonus hours of sleep, the young comedian would have assumed it was just like any other day. If only the calendar would stop acting as a daunting reminder that actually, it was the exact opposite.

      Bushy haired and chilled from the unexpected drop in temperature, Valerie slipped into a thin robe before heading down the hallway. Her feet arched while walking across the hardwood panels, mimicking mouse-like steps in trepidation, as if she was in a house filled with people and she was nervous about waking someone else. An avalanche might unexpectedly erupt if she stepped out of line or announced herself too loudly, she unconsciously felt.

      Nothing out of sorts marked the kitchen. The bright red kettle sat next to the gas stove, boxes containing cereal and sugar lined on top of the counters, a round clock hung high above the refrigerator. It looked just as it did yesterday evening after her and David collectively cleaned the area after finishing dinner. Meeting the point where the kitchen and living room shared the same space, Valerie couldn't help but abruptly freeze. She expected ― well, she didn't actually know what she expected. Maybe for the walls to be contorted in irregular and mind-bending shapes with clocks liquefied over the surfaces, like a Salvador Dali painting. Maybe for the fridge to be turned over, the microwave and toaster torn into scattered metal pieces, the oven pumping hot and dangerous fumes from its open casket. Something to display the utter despair of today.