The Mango Avenue


Posted by Barnacle, Inc. | Posted in

 (Tell-tales, the randomness of the writer's minds)

I always tell my friends that the best way to rid of deep-down 'deep-ression' (redundancy intended) is going to a farmer's market every Friday. Why, they ask. It's simple. The people are nice there. The local farmers are kind enough to make you happy and help you with your troubled week, or months sometimes. They could even be your substitute to coffee if you happen to lose your way not finding any nearby cafe - and that makes you awfully sick and more deep-ressed. One farmer, George, is my favorite. He sells so much variety of vegetables freshly-picked from his farm, about three miles from the city. Whenever I see him every Friday (sometimes he's not in his little green stall, and that makes me sad), I tend to spend my day talking to him. Our acquaintances had developed to some sort of privileging over the months since I bumped to this little farmers' fare. My friends are getting worried though that I've been distracted from my work. I'm actually working in a consulting firm. Although my friends entirely know that I hate my job the first day I worked, still, they always make me realize that I'm doing this for my dog, Daisy. I don't know why I even bothered to note such reason, but it kept me from quitting my job for fifteen years. Daisy must be proud of me.

My depression is daily. But the farmer's market fare is just once a week. Adding that up, my week except Friday is hellish. Friday is my escape pod out of a week of being in a hell hole. But it happens that my strolls in the city led me to some interesting new places. More farmers' fare, Turkish toy shops, ridiculously-named candy stores, a variety shop that sells magic wands and hats and of course, a store that features a worldly-variety of apples. I got curious that day. I called my friends to come over, so we can all dive into apple madness (my favorite fruit is apple). It was late in the afternoon when we finished buying baskets of apples representing 25 countries in total. It led me out of the day's dose of depression. The place of wonderful stores is located somewhere in Mango Avenue. My discovery of a bastion of anti-depressants like Mike's Organic Fruits, Susan's Candy Bonanza, Rachel's Cupcake Chowder, Dante's Italian Antiques and Plom's Toy Tower has liberated me from weeks of  depression, sadness, emptiness and whatever that comes to your mind and thank goodness not suicide. My delusion of a wonderland was not at all surreal. I grasped it entirely. It was real and experiential. It was there. Mango Avenue is no illusion.

My fat, stinky boss called me back to office. He noticed I haven't been going to work for a month. I know well for a fact I lost some salary. But Mango Avenue just kept enticing me. I went to the office. My boss, who was divorced by his wife because his fatness and monstrous weight keeps breaking their bed, bad-mouthed me. He said the company lost some clients because of me. I don't why. I work as a janitor there. He kept lambasting me. My patience grew into a total black-hole. I smacked him in the face. I felt a sound of breaking bones. My right hand broke. But my boss's nose bled horribly. He screamed. I cried. I quit and dashed immediately out of the offuce before the security catches me. I felt bad that day. To get rid of some hot temper and bloodstains in my shirt, I planned to go to Mango Avenue and buy some new clothes for myself and for Daisy at Vicky's Cashmere. When I got there, right before the corner, I saw nothing. Deserted, unhappy, barren. No one was there. Not even my friends who begun loving the place minutes after I did. I felt sad again. It's got worse. The worst part is, I saw my friends sitting in a corner where Sally's Frozen Cream Deluxe used to stand up high. It was the first time I saw them cry - in unison. They looked at me, with those unwarranting sad faces, hoping. Hoping for what? For a wonderland. But it was gone forever. The sadness and loneliness were shared. Me and my friends just stayed there until we run out of tears. We left, as dusk begun to fall down, with dismay. That day, we lost Mango Avenue. Mango Avenue lost us. We walked, and walked, and walked, still hoping that any of the wonder stores would come at any moment. We walked unhappily. The feeling was no longer surreal, nor joyful not wonderful. It was nothing buy emptiness. We walked - until - we saw something. People, buying things. I happen to see some carrying paper bags that bear the logo of Holly's Happy Tacos. Right there and then, we realized. Mango Avenue was never lost - and will never be gone. It's life is the people. It's life is us. It's life is the happiness that feeds its own. That day, we were just lost. And my friends kept laughing while I was crying the whole time. I hated them. I was lost.