When I told Dr. Anna about what had happened, I tried to keep my tone calm and matter-of-fact. But I knew my voice had risen an octave or two; perhaps it shook a little from anger. Dr. Anna only gave me a small nod before humming in thought.
She questioned me:How did it feel to see him? Why were you indifferent? Did you feel satisfied with how the conversation went?
After noting my responses, Dr. Anna swiftly moved on.
"That's it? You don't want to grill me more about it?"
She continued to scribble before smiling patiently at me. "Was there more you wanted to add? Are you having second thoughts?"
I rolled my lips in, crossing my arms defensively. I slowly leaned back in my chair. "No," I'd grumbled.
She gave a firm nod and crossed something off in her notebook. I sat up straight again, my neck craning as if I could catch a glimpse of what she wrote.
Reconciliation with Brian.
Cross.
Ability to display empathy and closure.
Cross.
"Let's move on," she gently pressed.
If I knew what she wanted to move onto, I would've tried to stay with the Brian thing a little longer. That session had not been fun. Not that any session was. They were hard work. Draining.
But last week had been a real doozy. I thought we’d explored all there was of my childhood and teen years, but for some reason, Dr. Anna wanted to revisit my friendship with Lissa. I’d touched briefly on it in prior sessions: how we met, how long we’d been friends, and our fallout over Simon.
But Dr. Anna didn't want to expand on any of that. She prodded and poked until I had no choice but to delve into a past that still pained me. To explain Lissa, I had to recount the trauma I faced at being viciously bullied.
My personal hygiene had been neglected since I was regularly left on my own. I rarely bathed or showered, and my clothes were constantly dirty with holes sprinkled through them. It took a teacher, Miss Finley, who pulled me aside to talk to me about my personal health. She started to carry spare underwear and little bars of soap, the kind they give you at hotels in packets. She instructed me on how to clean myself if I had no access to running water at home, including using the school sinks if I came to school early enough. It didn't stop the bullying, but at least I knew I no longer smelled.
Then Lissa decided to befriend me. This beautiful girl who had the boys in our class eating out of her hand with her grown-up looks and haughty attitude. For some reason, she decided to take me under her wing. I never looked back. And that bully? I paid her back tenfold.
I was in two minds about bringing that up to Dr. Anna. She would likely ask me if I regretted my actions—and the way I’dfelt as I recounted my years of torment, I knew I wouldn't be able to lie to her.
"So your friendship was based more on gratitude and owing Lissa."
"In the end, yeah."
I thought back to those early years at the end of middle school and into high school. Lissa was the first person who made me feel safe, like I belonged. Soon, nearly everyone wanted to be friends with us or date us. Well, date was a strong word. While Lissa had her sights firmly set on Barron, with the odd fooling around with one of our friends, I was less discriminatory about who I chose to share my bed with. Or the back of the swimming shed.
"I know I should feel sad that a long-term friend, someone who I considered a sister, is no longer in my life. But honestly? All I felt was relief." Lissa had always been selfish and untrustworthy. She regularly talked shit about our mutual friends, and there were times I knew she fooled around with some of their boyfriends. I was stupid to think I was safe from her trail of disloyalty.
I didn't mention to Dr. Anna that witnessing Lissa laid out on Brian's lap and knowing she went home with him pierced my gut more than knowing she’d slept with Simon. Lord, Dr. Anna would have a field day analyzing that.
Giving up on actual work, I logged onto our socials page and clicked on the analytics, smiling when I saw the jump in numbers.
I didn't have time to dwell on Brian. I wasn't lying when I told him I had a lot going on. Not only the emotional work I was doing on myself, but career-wise, things were exploding.
At the behest of Linda, I started doing tutorials on our pages. Unbeknownst to me, Linda had procured permission from Yvonne, the beach curl teen, to post a before and after pictureon our page. Linda complimented me on my patience with the young girl, how I explained everything in layman's terms, and how I went over details slowly for the wide-eyed teen who soaked everything in. I wasn't the greatest with kids, but I saw something of myself in Yvonne when I was just starting out in the beauty industry: eagerness and a hunger to learn.
So, once a week, Linda would post a make-up or hair tutorial. Sometimes, with the client's permission, or one of our staff members would offer themselves as models. The pictures and videos started to gain traction. Nothing viral, but our salon gained about a thousand extra followers.
I tapped on the latest picture on our page. This time, it was of me. I had Linda add in deep cherry red highlights to my hair. The fullness of my waves toppled with the burst of subtle color throughout my dark strands proved a huge hit. Fifty-two new followers overnight.
Okay, some might be bots, but at least the numbers were headed up. I ran through the comments, deleting the ones that were clearly bots, hovering over the two negative ones, itching to respond before shrugging and moving on. Haters were gonna hate. I knew my hair looked good.
My eyes scrolled quickly down the many lovely comments from clients and random strangers whose algorithms brought them to us. They were all pretty much the same.
