CALLUM
If there’s one upside to running a little late, it’s, well,running. For once, I’m almost too warm in my porous jacket, and I shed it as soon as I step into the chaotic WMU Student Health Center. I bumble around the second floor for a while, searching for the counseling offices before I finally find them on the other side of a glass overpass.
Some signage would have been useful.
Checking my phone for the time, I let my pace slow when I confirm that I’ve made up for my post-gym, post-shower tardiness on the way over, and I knock on the door to room B207 after a quick check-in on the Health Center app.
Anita Young, my assigned counsellor, opens the door after a few seconds. “Hi, you must be Callum,” she says after I enter. “Please, have a seat.”
I settle into the green beanbag chair across from her desk and immediately sink way too far into it.
What a way to make a first impression.
With my cheeks burning, I unfold myself and plant my legs on the floor to keep myself vertical.
“Sorry,” I mutter, keeping my gaze low.
“No big deal.” Anita’s voice is soft, and when I tilt my head back up, she’s smiling gently at me. “Trust me, you aren’t the first person who’s done that. I keep asking this place to give me another real chair, but you know how slow admin can be to move things along.”
I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Not that I was expecting Anita to be judgy, but it’s good to know that she isn’t overly clinical.
Besides, she’s affirming. The little pride flag decal above her desk certainly isn’t lost on me. If I’m going to get any kind of benefit out of coming here, I know I need to open up, which hasn’t happened in years.
“Okay, you were triaged rather quickly based on your intake questionnaire,” she starts, pushing her long black hair back, “so let’s get into it. Have you had any kind of counseling or therapy before?”
I shake my head.
“And do you have any questions about the paperwork you filled out?”
“Nope, I think I’m okay.” The intake form was pretty basic, asking me for basic medical information questions, some of which I didn’t have clear answers for.
Anita nods once before giving me a quick overview of how all this works. I get two sessions a month with her for six months, before dropping down to one indefinitely. Everything stays in this room, other than if I’m at risk of harming myself or anyone else, and while I’m not sure if that’ll make it easier for me to spill my secrets, who knows?
After a pause, Anita looks up from her tablet. “I know you answered this in the intake form, but what are you hoping to get out of our sessions, if you decide this is a good fit for you?”
Where do I even start?Become a functioning person? Erase the first nineteen years of my life and start fresh? Learn how to talk to people without clamming up?
Finally convince myself that I’m not gonna wake up back in Wisconsin tomorrow?
“What I put on the form, basically,” I say. Sheesh, that’s not helpful at all. “I mean, I’d ideally like to be normal.”
Or at least the version of normal that I wasn’t raised to be.
“What does normal look like to you?” Anita asks.
My mind goes to Ian, and I remind myself not to make a habit of it. In this case, though, it seems appropriate. He’s a normal guy—casual, collected, funny.
Cute.
Really,reallyfreaking cute.
Come on, that’s rude.
“Sociable, I guess?” I say instead. “I don't really speak up that much.”
The scratching of Anita’s pen on her tablet is the only sound in the room for a couple of seconds. “Being a quieter person isn’t anything to be fixed, Callum. There’s nothing abnormal about that.”
“I know, but I think I’m more than just quiet. Besides, I’m already so different from everyone else, here and in general.”
