“No,” I replied. She probably conveniently forgot since she was so busy.
“Oh, well, you have it all written down here,” she frowned at the page, but then looked at me with a smile. “Do you have a copy of the insurance card?” she asked.
I shook my head but pulled out my wallet in the off chance that I had it, which, I didn’t.
“I’m sorry. I can bring it next week if you need a copy of it,” I offered.
“No, this looks good. I’ll put it in the system. As long as the info is all valid, I won’t need a card. Did you write the insurance info down on the sheet just from memory?”
“Yes,” I laughed. “I remember things really well. My mom says it’s weird,” I chuckled again. The grandma lady, Barb, smiled at me, and I went to sit down again.
I pulled my phone out and scrolled through my Instagram feed while I waited for the shrink. My pool pic post from around lunchtime was doing great. I had purposely posted it when I knew most kids would be on their lunch break at school. There were lots of great comments about me being missed and how classes just weren’t the same without me there. I even saw a comment from one of the guys I got into the fight with yesterday. He said he was sorry about yesterday and would see me Friday for track. I had been worried about possible team fallout from the fight. I “liked” his comment and replied with, “I’m sorry too. I’ll see you Friday.”
A door opened, and I looked up to see a tall brown-haired guy probably in his mid-forties had appeared. He wore black pants and a light blue button-down shirt. The top couple of buttons on his shirt were undone, and the long sleeves were rolled up to his elbow. I tsked his sleeve rolling. My mom would murder me if I ever rolled sleeves like that.
“Brandon,” Dr. Hamilton said my name, and I stood from the couch. We walked toward one another and shook hands. I stared in his brown eyes as we exchanged greetings. Dr. Hamilton’s handshake was firm, and the inside of his hand felt calloused against mine. “Please, follow me,” he requested and gestured behind him with his head.
I followed him down a short hallway that had two doors opposite one another. He opened one of the doors and stepped inside. I’d seen enough TV shows to know that the shrinks often had a separate office, which was probably what the other door led to. It was where they would go to be un-shrinky.
“Have a seat,” he instructed as I walked in behind him.
The room was spacious and had the same planked tile floor with an off-white wall paint. There were several options for seats for me to select from out of a square configuration. There were two black leather couches in an “L” shape, opposite one of the couches were two matching black leather chairs, and then one side had a single chair with a small table next to it. That was clearly his spot, and I was tempted to act like I was going to sit there, but I didn’t bother. I sat in the middle of the spacious, firm couch that was directly across from where he would sit. While he got comfortable and messed around with his notebook, I rubbed the spot on my thigh that I had pounded on before I came here. The motion of rubbing over the muscle spread the pain of the deep ache, which relaxed me a little.
“So, Brandon, tell me a little about yourself and why you’re here.”
They always start out like this on TV.
“Have you spoken to my mom?” I asked.
“Yes. Your mother is a patient here. She spoke with me as well as her doctor.”
“Then you probably know about me.”
“I know about you from someone else’s perception, Brandon. But I’m interested in hearing about you from you.”
I nodded to play along.
“Okay, well, I’m sixteen-years-old. I’m a tenth grader at Beverly Hills High.” At a loss about what else to say, I shrugged. “I’m on the track team.”
Dr. Hamilton hadn’t written anything down as he watched me talk, which was starting to make me more nervous.
“That’s a good start. But all of that information can practically be found by anyone in the public. As a minor, your job is to go to school. So all you’ve shared with me is your age and job information.” He set his notepad on the table, folded his hands across his mid-section, and stared at me. “So, Brandon, tell me about you.”
I looked away, unsure of what to say. I was sure he’d be thrilled to hear that I cut myself. Perhaps I’d save that treat for another session. I quickly ran through a typical day in my life and thought about what I could share with him.
“I listen to rock music, and I like to hang out in our pool. I have a PlayStation, and my favorite game on it is Madden. My mom got me a few jobs modeling.” I paused for a moment before adding, “I have a good sized following on Instagram.”
“Instagram. Are you active on other social media platforms, or mainly Instagram?”
“Mostly Instagram. I have a Facebook account, but things started getting weird over there, so I just stick to Instagram.”
“How’d they get weird?”
“A bunch of friends at school followed me. Then when my mom got me a few modeling jobs, I ended up being followed on there by people in the model industry. And it was just kind of weird, like I couldn’t separate things.”
He nodded as if he understood.
“Do you not have anyone in the modeling industry following you on Instagram?”
