I catch the glance, play it off as if nothing has transpired. She wants me out of here. I’m being difficult and she wants nothing to do with me, or she’s at least frustrated with me. I’ve seen the same situation play out too many times in my own office – not that I’d ever dismiss a kid who was in need of real help, but I’ve seen them deflect and avoid to no end.
That’s pretty much what I’m doing.
I decide to cut her some slack and cut out of here early. After looking down at my watch, I get up and make my way to the door. “Look, I should go. Maybe this isn’t working.”
“Do you want it to?” she asks, her words bouncing off my back as my hand rests on the doorknob.
Memories of Shane overpower me. His smile. His eyes. The feel of his hand in mine, of his lips against mine, of his body curled against mine. I know he’d want me to get better. I’m not serving him any kind of justice by just existing. Being able to forgive myself is going to be the only thing that will let me move on and maybe possibly be happy once again.
Sighing and raking a hand through my hair, I turn on my heels and walk back to my seat. “Yes,” I answer definitively. “I do want it to work.”
Her smile is subtle, but it’s one of victory. She’s won and she knows it. Pulling her folder back onto her lap, she clicks open her pen once more and jots down a few notes. “Okay, then. Let’s start from the beginning.”
Dr. Baker and I spend the rest of the session talking about before Shane and I started dating, about how my family was a huge support system and Shane’s wasn’t. Before we get into any of the serious stuff, our time is up.
She leaves me with one last thought that swirls around in my head. “Dylan, we can talk about your past as much as you’d like and I obviously want to know where you’ve been, but the more important part, and the part I want you to think about until our next appointment, is where you want to be.”
After closing her files, she offers me a sympathetic look. “You’re a smart man and an experienced counselor. You know that no matter how much we talk about it, you’ll never be able to change what’s already happened. But if you let me, we can figure out how to change where you are. If you let me help you, I can help you get where you want to be.”
We make arrangements for an appointment next week. Walking out the door, the bright sun blinds me. On the short walk back to my office, I think about her parting words. WheredoI want to be?
Eight years ago, most days, I felt like I was barely breathing. Getting out of bed and showering every now and then was a major feat. Receiving a letter at the end of the fall semester of my sophomore year telling me that I had one more semester to pull my grades up before I got kicked out was my first motivation. I wasn’t going to let Shane’s death be in vain. I was going to fight my hardest to prove that his memory could live through me. But, getting over Shane’s death was all superficial. I graduated college, got a job, helped others, but never helped myself.
Can I say what prompted me to get help now? No, not really. I guess there is a certain point at which too much time spent alone really is too much. Rounding the corner, my thoughts stray to Matt. There was nothing wrong with him, but there wasn’t anything special either. He wanted more, a house, kids, and the whole shebang. I want that, too, eventually; I think. But it’s a definite certainty that I don’t want that now, and I didn’t want it with Matt. He was a good enough guy, but “good enough” isn’t how I want to spend the rest of my life.
As I walk back through the office, Reid pops his head out of his cubicle. The second my ass hits my chair, he’s walking through my door. He’s moved beyond the pleasantries of an invitation. Resting his ankle on his knee, he leans back in the chair as if he owns it. He may as well; he’s in here just as much as I am.
“Can I help you?” Sarcastically, I prompt him to start talking when the silence becomes a bit too much. He shakes his head, and drops a file on my desk.
“We meet with Calhoun High School tomorrow about the Hernandez kid. I thought we could review some stuff.”
“We both know these files inside and out. What do you really want?” Of course, he gets nothing but the “cut the shit” look from me.
“How’d it go, with Dr. Baker?” Reid at least has enough good sense to cut to the chase.
I didn’t tell anyone that’s where I was going, so unless Braden developed an ability to speak in full sentences instead of “uh huhs” overnight, I’m not sure where he’s getting his information from. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You left about an hour ago. You walked. You seem more on-edge than when you left. So let’s just say I’mthatsmart and put it all together. Oh, and you wrote it on your calendar.” Smugly, he chuckles as he watches me shift uncomfortably in my chair. “So, how did it go?”
Shrugging, I admit, “Okay, I guess.” Having barely sorted out how I feel about it, I honestly don’t have much to say to Reid about it.
“You’ll go back?”
“I have an appointment next week, so yeah.” Relief replaces his smugness. “Why are you so worried about my mental well-being suddenly?” I ask, and even though his concern isn’t grating on my nerves necessarily, it’s definitely something I’ve noticed lately.
I half-expect him to tell me to shut the fuck up, but a serious look takes up residence on his face. “We both lost him, maybe not in the same capacity. But I lost you, too. You just up and left. Maddy and Braden have changed my life in the best ways possible and I see how unhappy you are. I just want to see you happy, that’s all. So if it means annoying the shit out of you about talking to someone and dealing with whatever is going on in your head, then that’s what I’ll do. I’m not going to let you fade away and miss out on the life you deserve all because of something over which you had no control.”
His raw honesty cuts through me. His thoughts reflect my own and help abate some of the guilt I feel over moving on.
“Plus, you’ve been kind of an asshole lately.” He laughs, standing from his chair. “You might want to work on that while you’re there, too.” I grab the squeezy stress ball next to my phone and chuck it at his head as he walks toward the door. He turns back to me after it hits him, and he bends to pick it up.
When he looks over at me, he’s trying to stifle a laugh. I shrug. “What? I didn’t do it.” He tosses the ball back at me, and by “tosses”, I mean launches it right at my face. At the last second, I duck and it misses me, bouncing off the window behind me.
When I pick my head up from under my desk, Reid is laughing his ass off. “What? I didn’t do it,” he quips and we both share a loud chuckle.
Though I try to concentrate on my work the rest of the day, I find it nearly impossible with Dr. Baker’s and Reid’s words replaying in my head. It’s five o’clock before I realize it. As I’m packing to go home, my cellphone buzzing from an incoming text pulls my attention out of those thoughts. It’s from a number I don’t recognize, but the “how’s the shoulder?” question lets me know it could only be one of two people. And I highly doubt Eddie the trainer would be texting me.
Rather than being annoyed that he’s somehow gotten my number, I find myself smiling at my phone like an idiot as I type out my response.
