The universe sure does have a mischievous sense of humour when it comes to derailing my plans. One moment I’m innocently pottering about my local supermarket, contemplating that evening’s dinner options, the next, a ghost from my past appears, shattering my tranquillity.

I’d just finished up at the coffee shop, dragging myself away from the delightful Tyson  before lust got the better of me. After a good afternoon of attempting (and failing) to make a sizable amount of progress on my graphic novel, I thought I’d treat myself to an extra cheesy pizza for dinner. Sure, I may have been aspiring to live healthier, and all that, but difficult times call for special measures. An evening of pizza and TV was my start to a weekend of self-discovery. The plan was simple, I’d not leave my flat for a full 48-hours. I’d brew a pot of fruity tea, wrap myself in a billion blankets on the sofa, and open my laptop to journal until my fingers ached from all the typing. I’d laugh and cry as I recounted the inner mumblings of my mind. I’d crank up some Carly Rae Jepsen and see where my words took me. Who knows, perhaps come Sunday, I’d be a mindful sage, wise beyond my years. I wouldn’t need superficial romance to validate me. I’d be a woman equipped with enough self-awareness to take on the world solo, baby!

”Ella?” a familiar voice called from across the aisle.

At first, I couldn’t quite place it. I knew I’d heard it hundreds of times before, but from where? 

I turned toward the sushi aisle, a pang of guilt hitting me for not knowing instantly. How could I have forgotten? I’d heard that voice for hundreds of hours, chronicling her hopes, dreams, fears, loves and ambitions. 

“Jo!” I yelled, hoping my voice echoed her enthusiasm. Not that I felt it.

”It’s been donkey’s years,” she beamed, yanking me into a hug.

She wasn’t wrong. The last time I saw her, Dean and I were still a fresh, young couple, plotting our grand move-in together. Jo didn’t approve.

How could I forget…

“How are things? Is Dean doing okay?” she asked, her voice lowering an octave or two as she said his name. 

“Life’s life, you know,” I responded. 

“Mark and I moved recently,” she announced, answering a question I hadn’t even considered to ask, “the boys are settling into secondary school, though I think the decrease in living space is testing their patience.”

There was a warmth to her voice. She could barely contain the barrage of questions just waiting to spill from her lips.  

“How’s everyone at the office? Is Jerry still leaving passionate notes of protest on the air-con controls?” tears swelled in her eyes as she reminisced. 

“Don’t sweat it, you’re really not missing much,” I said flatly.

She chuckled, “I doubt that. You guys were always a hoot, especially the chair championships! I swear the wheels on yours were coated with WD-40 or something!”

I let out a small laugh, the most I could muster when it came to work talk. 

“So, how is Dean doing then?”

”Oh, you know. Same old, probably,” I mumbled, fixating my gaze on a pot of edamame beans perched on the shelf behind her.

”Things still going good between you guys?” she wondered, a frown crumpling on her forehead. 

“We split,” I admitted, bracing myself for the wave of sympathy I was fearing.

”Oh babe, I’m sorry,” she uttered with little surprise to her voice.

Did she already know? Had she been peeping on my Facebook? Perhaps she’d predicted we wouldn’t last long.

”Don’t worry, it was mutual,” I fibbed, continuing to find it impossible to meet her gaze.

I wish I hadn’t said anything. I could have just fibbed and been on my way. Maybe I could have said Dean was away on business. He was off training up staff in a new gym branch that had opened over in Brighton. I could have skipped off and Jo would have gotten on with her delightful life with Mark. But of course I had to tell her the truth. Of course I had to give her enough information to yank her back into my life. 

It’s for this reason, I have no one to blame but myself for the invite that followed my confession. She wanted the two of us to spend the weekend together. She couldn’t let her darling Ella suffer in isolation during these tough times. 

“There’s a new rage room,” in Harper Park. Let’s go tomorrow, let out all that pent up fury!”

“There’s no fury. It was all amicable,” I promised, clenching my fist and gritting my teeth as I said it. 

Still, she insisted. “It’ll be perfect,” she promised, “plus it’ll give us a chance to catch up good and proper. Nothing says I’ve missed you like smashing up some unwanted furniture.”

She yanked me into a hug, giving me a mini form of whiplash in the process.

How did going to grab a pizza turn into this. 

***

I’d love to say that I stood my ground: that I told Jo I was too busy this weekend to be skipping off to some daft warehouse in Harper Park to smash up sinks and kick over bookshelves. I had better things to do with my time, after all. Journaling and listening to Carly was much more productive than her daft suggestions.

All it would have taken was some fib about visiting my dad or mowing the lawn to get away from her. Sure, it would have been a shameless lie, but who cares? It’s not like my deceit would come back to haunt me in any profound way. 

So why is it that I somehow found myself sat in the passenger seat of her car, that Saturday morning, being driven to Karma-Geddon? What witchcraft did this former friend and HR Manager of my company have which forced me into agreeing? Had I been brainwashed, hypnotised, or threatened on some sort of subconscious level?

The cleanliness of her car shamed me greatly. Despite this hulking great people-carrier ferrying her laissez-faire husband and feral offspring on a daily basis, she’d managed to keep it in pristine condition. Yet there I was, a single gal in a one bedroom flat, barely able to keep my washing up bowl from overflowing with grubby plates.

A podcast about conflict management is playing on her stereo. Jo mutters and nods with every air-headed suggestion the co-hosts make. 

“The key is to keep in control, despite which direction their emotions take,” one of the floating voices proposes.

”Steering the tone of the room is two-thirds of the battle,” the other agrees. 

Even on her days off, this woman is patched into her work, drinking in the hogwash even when off the clock. 

Everything, from her overly sensible haircut, to her creaseless jumper dress, screams “professional”. This is a woman who has ironed out her image to a tee. Why she was drawn to me all those years ago when we worked under the same roof continues to escape me. 

“The flat we’ve moved into is pretty delightful,” she chirps.

Apparently it’s a nice two bed on the outskirts of town. The only downside is the distance from the industrial estates. 

“The bus fares are quite costly. Makes Mark getting to interviews pretty tough. I’d offer to drive him, but getting the kids to school before the office makes it quite the plate spinner,” she giggles. 

All this talk of public transport, school runs and work makes me wonder what the two of us used to talk about. I’d spend hours in cafes with this girl, gossiping and laughing away. Were things always like this? Were our chats always so…beige?

I felt a weight drop in my stomach with this thought. Were my feelings a sign that I’d outgrown this girl? Or was it something more? Had I grown stale and bitter in my years away from her?

Our arrival at Karma-Geddon didn’t make me feel any better about my own life circumstances. The reception area was just as pristine as the inside of Jo’s car. And this was a building known for trashing the place on a daily basis! Was it only me who was a scruffy little kipper?

Wafts of menthol assaulted my nostrils the moment we stepped for on the faux-marble floors of the reception area. Fairy lights flicked from light pink to soft blue. The melodious strums of a harp danced around the room. 

I’d always assumed these places would be industrial, rugged and blasting heavy metal music into your eardrums you waltzed through their entrance. This wasn’t the tone I’d braced myself for. What were we here to do, smash up sinks or rest cucumbers on our eyes?

The owner, Kai, was equally as dissonant as the business he’d started. He waltzed into the waiting area, practically gliding in. His clean, dazzling white tunic practically blinded me as he slipped through the bead curtains leading into the back area.

Kai guided us through the safety induction, his ASMR voice tickling my nervous system and almost sending me into a premature sleep.

”As cathartic as today’s session might be, we have to remind ourselves of the dangers,” he purred, his suppressed West Brom accent sleeping through the zen-like voice he’d evidently been perfecting over the years. 

Jo and I were the only ones here today. Perhaps everyone else in town had long sorted through their emotional turmoil. Perhaps I, and for some reason, Jo, were the only ones in need of finding an outlet for our emotions.

Come to think of it, for that matter, why was Jo here? Surely her happy go lucky life, with her flourishing career, dishy husband, and beloved children had no need to smash up a room for release. Something about this picture didn’t make sense to me.

“You must ensure you keep your protective gear on at all times,” he advised, practically pleading as he instructed. 

I wish we didn’t have to. The boiler suit Kai gave me was slightly too small for me. He had offered to get me the next size up, but I wasn’t having that. 

“I’m a size 10!” I insisted. 

“Very well,” he smiled, as I forced the dull gray fabric past my waste and over my shoulders. 

The safety mask made my throat twist and recoil. The smell was rotten and wrong; a far cry from the menthol delights of the reception area. Hints of sweat and vomit pulsed from its scuffed plastic. Why vomit? Was it a trick of the senses? Or had some fool really vacated the contents of their stomach whilst in a fit of room-smashing rage? The mysteries of the human mind never ceased to amaze me.

Jo’s phone buzzed into life whilst she was zipping up her protective gear. The sight of the number caused her to let out an involuntary sigh.

”How’d it go?” she asked the person on the other end of the line, seemingly knowing immediately what the call was about.

”Oh, well not to worry. Plenty more opportunities out there!” she chirped, the scowl on her face betraying her faux optimism.

She told the caller she loved them, then hung up. 

“Mark,” she said, noticing I was staring. “He had a job interview today.”

”Oh?” I muttered.

She smiled her weakest smile to date. Her gaze didn’t quite meet mine. 

***

Something about the rage room itself felt anticlimatic. Perhaps that’s on me. I’d assumed the lush, glistening, zen-like delights of reception would have followed on into the main feature itself. A part of me had hoped it was all a flawlessly engineered experience: create an obnoxious setup then allow us to smash that obnoxious setup to smithereens. That would have perked me up to no end.

Turns out, nope. It was just a lifeless, grubby room with some second-hand bookshelves, a Facebook Marketplace coffee table, an alcohol-stained sofa, crumbling plasterboard, and a selection of oversized televisions from the mid-90s.

I clutched the aging baseball bat in my hand. The rubber surrounding the handle was coming loose. I can understand why the smashables were dated, but could they at least have forked out a couple of quid on some shiny new weaponry?  

I approached one of the aging televisions with caution. Deep down, a piece of me didn’t have it in me to attack the defenceless box. It reminded me of the one my nanna used to have in the living room back in the day. I imagined it being hers: the horror on her face as I turned her beloved entertainment hub into a pile of useless circuitry and shattered glass. She wouldn’t have been best pleased.

Jo wasn’t quite as hesitant by comparison. In she charged, a war cry bellowed from her lungs. 

“Die you son of a…” she yelled as she dived through the air, her sledge hammer raised high above her skill.

To be fair to the TV, it took a good few pummels before succumbing to her wrath. Its outer edges slowly separated from the main body. With every hit, more and more cracks formed in the glass. After Jo’s tenth, unrelenting hits, the back started to come apart, exposing the mechanical innards housed within.

One of the rotting coffee tables in the corner housed an old stereo player. Each level of the player contained a unique set of dials, knobs and cassette holders. It was the sort of antiquated nonsense Dean used to claim to love.

”It’s so retro. Reminds you of simpler times, y’know?”

Yeah, give it a rest Dean, you pretentious slab. At least nanna had a reason for loving her clunky television. It was the only option she had. 

I raised my bat in the air. With all the strength I could muster, I brought the cylinder of wood down onto the player. I could picture Dean’s stupid, shocked mouth gaping open at the sight of me trashing his beloved monument from a lost time. 

With that hit, a switch flipped inside me. All of a sudden, I could picture everything in that room belonging to Dean and me. Had we stayed together longer, he’d have no doubt replaced all of my stuff with outdated tat found on Marketplace.

“Can you believe they’re selling these gems for a tenner, babe!”

Up that bat went, slamming down on the rotting contents of our flat. Coffee tables gave way, bookshelves buckled under the force. Dusty plates and chipped vases were reduced to piles of useless rubble.

Jo rushed around the room, hurling her metal block into every pane of glass and column of wood she could find. I joined the battle, whacking and battering the place to oblivion. We were like warriors in a dance, skipping and twirling our bodies as our weapons collided with the contents of the rage room. The furniture occupying this space became something more than unwanted donations: they were the baggage of our present, everything that frustrated and tormented our souls. We weren’t having it anymore. It was time to shatter those pesky obstacles, time to turn our demons to dust and rubble.

Jo roared with every hit of her hammer. Behind her rubble-caked mask, the bright glow of her grin shone through. She was a maniac, having the time of her life. Her glee was contagious. I felt it too, crawling through the air and wrapping itself around my nervous system. 

Minutes turned to seconds in the glee of the destruction. In the hullabaloo of it all, I hardly noticed my body grow tired amongst all the carnage. My mind may have transformed, yet my body hasn’t had a chance to catch up with the latest developments. My muscles ached and my bones winced, yet it was my lungs that were the first to go.

”I’m thrilled you’re having fun, girls, but be mindful of yourself,” came the soft, soothing tones of Kai’s voice through the intercom.

The two of us stumbled backward, our weapons dangling loosely in our hands. We stood back-to-back. We leaned against each other, using us both to support ourselves as we flopped down toward the ground.

The thunderous inhales and exhales of our breathing flooded the room for a few moments before transitioning into manic laughs.

”Good?” she asked, knowing the answer.

”I just didn’t think you had it in you,” I joked. 

“Everyone needs an outlet,” she beamed, “especially us uptight HR gals.”

The room was a shambles. Collapsed bookshelves, mutilated monitors, and shards of china flooded the ground. It was as though a bomb had gone off. Who knew we were capable of such destruction?

“My life’s gone a bit wrong,” she admitted.

“How so?” I asked as I rested my skull against the back of hers.

”life’s catching up to bite me on the arse.”

”Tell me about it,” I agreed.

”Turns out forty grand a year isn’t that much when you’re trying to provide for your two kids and husband,” she joked, a sadness lurking under the sarcasm.

“I’ll have it!” I yelled. 

For a second, I feared I’d offended her. The giggles of laughter that eventually escaped her lungs put my fears to rest, however.

”I always thought Mark and I would be one of those power couples you see on Insta.”

”No you didn’t!” I insisted, half joking, half serious.

”Really!” she insisted, “he had such ambitions when I met him. He’d even written out a roadmap.”

”If only people’s heads were as screwed on as they make them out to be when selling themselves,” I said.

***

The drive home was slightly less prim and proper than the journey to Karma-Geddon. Jo’s car remained in pristine condition, but we certainly weren’t. Hair spiralled in every imaginable direction. Our tops hung awkwardly off of our torsos. Beads of sweat continued to dribble from our pores. We were in such a shambles. Even Jo, and her often well-kept image was dishevelled and compromised.

“I’m sorry,” I confessed.

”What for?” She eyeballed me for the briefest of moments, trying not to divert her eyes from the road for too long.

”For swanning off,” I confirmed.

”I swanned off too! That’s a relationship for you. They have a tendency to yank you out of the world.”

Raindrops pattered against Jo’s windscreen. Sunlight peaked from behind the precipitating rain cloud ahead. The sight of it saddened yet chirped me up all the same. For an afternoon that was once upon a time intended to be one spent behind a keyboard in my flat, it really had spun into something quite unexpected. 

”Are you gonna be okay, Jo?”

”Of course!” she pipes up, her default HR voice taking over. 

She glanced at me in the rear view mirror, a slight furrow in her brow. The question was written on her face. And what about you?

I remain silent.  

The Harper Park industrial estate grows ever smaller in the side-view mirror. Karma-Geddon is now but a spec, nestled between plastic manufacturing plants and tool workshops. Kai and his team had likely long swept up the rubble of our fury long before we’d even left the car park. I liked to think some of the remnants of our pain had been swept away along with the debris. Unlikely, but it’s nice to fantasise about, particularly when old memories return to taunt. 

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