I already know what my answer is going to be, but I can let them stew just a little bit longer.
They can tell I’m playing them because as I go to leave the breakroom, they start discussing decorations, food items, and group costume ideas. I swear if they try to make me a Spice Girl, I will lose it. There are only three of us, there’s no way we could do that. An incomplete group costume seems like no big deal, except my brain will trigger on all cylinders about why we couldn’t be something else or what other people will think of it.
Spiraling thoughts start to ensue.
Who is going to decorate? What food will we have? Are we really inviting the entire faculty? I fire off questions in my head, feeling more irritated by the minute. My mind flashes with images of shopping for supplies and decorations, and not finding the right costume.
I feel the urge to crack my neck as an irrational feeling of anger swarms inside my brain over this entire debacle. I can feel the anger trickle down my neck and into my hands. God, Eleanor,calm down.I shake them out as I make my way down the hallway.
Class just ended and the hall is jam packed with students moving in every direction. Most of the kids are dressed in the school colors: red, gold, and blue. Tonight was the first football game of the season and everyone was getting excited for it.
Football is a religion around here.
Walking down the halls, I see some familiar faces and some unfamiliar. It was nice to see the kids smiling and laughing, especially the ones I see as clients. I never had the opportunity to see my clients outside of their sessions in New York—there was never any likelihood that I would run into them on the street or see them at a book club. I just had to go home and hope they were doing well, and when I saw them next I might get to see improvement.
But I have to say, it’s nice to see some of my clients out of the office, showing signs of stability and joy.
Passing by the principal’s office, I peek in to see if Benny is still here and feel a twinge of disappointment when I see his office light is off. Sarah is standing by her locker with one of her friends as I pass by. She smiles at me, but continues talking to her friend. My goal with interactions outside of sessions is to be discrete. I have no idea how much these students share with one another and it feels like a breach of confidentiality to acknowledge them unless they approach me. So I return the smile and head to the front doors.
The disappointment I was feeling about missing Benny fizzles immediately as I step outside and see him, standing by my car. He waves at me earnestly, like he’s happy to see me.
I walk up to him, fighting the smile tugging at my cheeks. Why did I feel so happy being around this guy? Hedoesradiate positivity, like happiness is just second nature to him. Which is the exact opposite of me lately. Maybe that’s what it was—my soul wants to be that again. Positive. Happy. So maybe it’s just drawn to positivity and sunshiney-ness.
Or it was drawn to Benny specifically. I still wasn’t sure.
It was definitely confusing to my heart to see how excited he always was anytime he was around me.
“Well hello, Ms. Bailey! Long time no see!”
He stands next to my car, with his hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. Probably to indicate a barrier between us—bossandemployee.
“Hi, I thought we were meeting at Wafflin’?” I go to unlock my car.
“I figured we could walk. It’s so nice out, and I have to make a stop on the way.” He puts his hand on the hood of my car, leaning in closer to me as I open my door—barrier gone.
“Oh, that sounds great! Can I change shoes?” I wiggle the brown leather clogs on my feet in his direction.
He laughs. “Why? Those are the perfect walking shoes.”
He was joking. I liked when he joked.
Most of the time his joking was unintentional, like he didn’t think before he spoke. Which made him even funnier to me. But occasionally there were fun moments where he made the extra effort to make someone laugh. And when it was for me, it felt sweet.
“Perfect for you, maybe. What size are you? Maybe we can trade!” I laugh and reach in my car for my spare Hokas and swap them out.
I see Benny staring at me when I finish tying my laces. “What? Do I look weird?”
“So weird. I had my heart set on the clogs.” He winks and shuts my car door for me. He keeps his hand on the doorframe as he surveys my shoes, his eyes crinkling in the corners when he looks back up to me.
“Cute.” He gives me a playful smile.
I shove his shoulder as we start to walk down the sidewalk to Wafflin’. He winces sarcastically, rubbing his incredibly muscular arm like I made a dent. His arm was solid, and I found it very difficult to not just caress it.
We walk in silence for a few minutes. It was kind of nice—natural even. The urge I usually have to fill the silence wasn’t there. I didn’t get many quiet moments these days, and definitely not when I was in New York, the city that never sleeps. Even in my job, it was important for my client to feel safe enough to shareeverything.
It’s my job to study and interpret someone’s mind and behavior. Allowing someone the space to be open and vulnerable was an integral part of a successful client-therapist relationship and if I ever wished for a client to bequietI was doing them a disservice. Also knowing our minds are always working, alwaysthinking,I needed my clients to talk.
A quiet session is never a good thing.
