Patricia T. Schultz

A Raisin Named Wanda

The other day I had writer's block again and so I went to my therapist. He won't admit it but I'm pretty sure that he's already given up on me. After another session of me hysterically questioning the ways of the world plus my purpose in life and him holding the window wide open with a suggestive look, he gave me a raisin. I asked him what to do with it. He took another long sip from his vodka bottle and said: 'Figure it out, Einstein!'

So here I sit at my desk staring at a raisin and hoping to find a solution. A solution for every tiny problem in my life: writer's block, my insecurity, my overweight, my lack of concentration - oops, telephone! That was the most stupid booty call I ever got. It was my ex-boyfriend offering me his help, just in case there is something in my apartment that needed to be fixed. At two o'clock in the morning? ? I told him about the raisin and all. Of course he thought that the raisin story was a metaphor for our thing going on and he told me he wasn't ready for commitment, still. I told him 'Bye,' but actually meant to say 'Commit my ass'!

Right. Here we go. Raisin. Former grape. It used to be a delicious fruit. Round, ripe and appetizing. A symbol of youth and juicy pleasure. I'd better turn the heating down before I sound like that shoe-obsessed chick from Sex and the City. My god, what does it take to figure out the meaning, the sense of a raisin?

'You'll find out when you feed the cats, you'll find out when you feed the cats...' I look to my left and see one of them meouwing in an oracle kind of voice. We give each other a staring eye contest. We are so close to each other, none of us can even frown. Finally she gives me a playful punch with her paw, which has my other cat rolling on the floor in hysterical laughter. 'Guys, please leave me alone. I have to meditate on this raisin to find out who I am ?' The cat on my desk is looking at the other cat, shrugging its shoulders, while the cat on the floor has to bite one of its paws to keep a straight face. I promise them a lobster each and they finally leave.

Oh, I must have fallen asleep. I had a weird dream. I was princess Lea and instead of the two tails I had two gigantic raisins stuck to my head. I am at this bar with Darth Vader, who is totally drunk and keeps talking about being Luke's father. I don't listen because I'm too busy staring at the raisin chanting at the piano. Somebody taps on my shoulder and it's Harrison Ford dressed up as Ally McBeal. He wants to know whether I liked him in Working Girl. All I can do is to give him a double thumbs up.

Next thing I know I had the lead in the Shakespearean play Thou art a Raisin, Desdemon. It was about this huge woman called Othella who suspected her husband Desdemon was cheating on her. A raisin is supposed to be the proof of Desdemon's infidelity. At the end of the play, which started out as a tragedy but ends as a musical, Othella, Desdemon and the raisin inhale helium and for some reason sing 'Satisfaction' by the Rolling Stones. They get no applause.

Luckily not all dreams can come true ? I need a coffee to really wake up. Then I'll be ready to create and ready to figure out this dried fruit here. All it'll take is a cup of hot coffee. Kitchen, here I come. I can't believe this: I'm out of coffee! I need caffeine right now or else this wanna-be-Freud will win. That can't happen. It would be worse than admitting wanting to be like Joey Potter from Dawson's Creek. Maybe my neighbor can lend me some coffee. I hope he is still up.

My neighbor was still up. So was his girlfriend. She looked quite confused when, after I'd got some coffee, I asked my neighbor if he would marry me. I tried to explain all about the raisin and my therapist but she just kept staring at him. Confused and slightly aggressive. So I cheerily said goodbye and left the lovebirds all to themselves ? Boy, does she know some bad language ? but he'll be fine. Single, but fine.

This coffee is good. It does its job. It helps me with my thought process. Raisin. Catcher in the Raisin. Raisin Wars. Raisin Interrupted. Okay, this is a nightmare. I will never figure out the sense of this raisin. How did I get into this? Is this my version of a quarter life crisis? Caused by a dried fruit and a person who won his college degree in a 'So you want to be a therapist' competition. And what the hell is my purpose?

'Your purpose is to feed the cats, so feed the cats.' This time it's both of my cats playing the oracle. I look at them. They look at me. The one cat is already giggling again. Then it bursts out laughing, running out of the room. 'I'm sorry,' it meouws laughing. I can hear it pound on the floor with its paws. The other cat is still sitting there. I explain my raisin mission to her. What it means to me. But that I still love my sweet little cats. 'Whatever,' she says and leaves the room. I want to say something but she just goes: 'Talk to the tail, 'cause the muzzle won't listen.'

Where am I? Raisin. Maybe my therapist thinks that my brain resembles a raisin. Dry and wrinkled. And above all small. I hate him. I don't even now why I consult him. I mean do I really need a person who claims to have a college degree to give me a raisin to figure it out? Please. Here I am, twenty-six years old, a writer in heart and soul, and I have no idea about a raisin? Please. Somebody got an idea, please ?

It's already four o'clock in the morning and I still haven't figured out my little raisin friend here. There she sits at my desk waiting for me to come to the final conclusion. Waiting for me to find out my purpose in life by thinking about hers. She wants to tell me her story but does not dare to speak because she knows exactly that it would freak me out. It would be just another big laugh for my cats. I bet she doesn't want to witness all that again. I mean, she used to live in a small red box with her fellow raisins and one day this psycho, also known as my therapist, pulls her out to be my object of therapy. I kind of feel sorry for her. She doesn't even have a name yet. I think I'm going to call her Wanda...