“Why do you think that is?” She cocks her head. “Do you keep people at a distance?”
“I mean, have you met people? If I wanted to be close to someone, I’d get a dog.”
I expect her to laugh, but she just watches me. “You don’t strike me as someone who wants to be alone, Asher.”
I look at her, then at the wall, then at my hands, which have started shaking a little. “I used to think I was a ghost, you know? Like, I could walk through the world and nobody noticed. But after last week, every time I go to Safeway, I get recognized. Guy at the deli counter called me ‘survivor.’ Is that an upgrade or just sadder?”
“Sounds like neither makes you happy.”
“Who said I was looking for happy?” I say, and mean it. “I just want it to stop feeling like… like I’m two seconds away from puking or passing out, or both.”
She nods, lets the silence get real thick. I hate it. I’d almost prefer a full-tilt emotional probe. Instead, she asks, “Have you talked to your family?”
I try to roll my eyes, but it comes off more like a wince. “My mom calls every morning, my dad every night. My sister’s been sending TikToks of dogs that survived house fires, which I think is a joke? We’re Jews, so we process everything with food and guilt. I think Maya’s on a new mission to make me laugh at tragedy.”
Dr. Sharma smiles for the first time. “That sounds like love to me.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the heron print, which is technically a crane, but whatever. “But it’s not the same as..”
I stop myself, but it’s too late. She pounces. “Not the same as what?”
I chew the inside of my cheek until it almost bleeds. “Never mind. It’s dumb.”
“I doubt that,” she says, gentle, but not letting go.
I shake my head. “It’s just… There’s this guy. On the team. Not like that” I blurt, then want to rewind time, because now I have to explain the ‘not like that.’
She waits.
I sigh. “It’s Darius. Webb. The goalie. We were together, I mean, we were running partners during the” I wave at the windowless room, “event.”
I can’t say the word shooting, not today. “We haven’t really talked since. At the wake, he just sat with the rest of the starters and never looked my way.”
“Do you want him to?”
The question wallops me. I look at my hands. “I don’t know. I mean, yeah? I keep thinking if someone else saw what I did, maybe it’s not just in my head. But he’s probably just trying to move on, like everyone else.”
Dr. Sharma’s voice is softer now. “Do you think reaching out would help?”
I consider it, then shake my head. “No. I’d just be bugging him. I’m fine, really. It’s just… hard to go from being invisible to being the guy everyone expects to have a take on tragedy.”
More silence. I want to say, “That’s time,” and bolt, but she leans in.
“Last thing. If Darius reached out to you, would you respond?”
This time, I don’t have a joke ready. “In a second,” I say, and it’s honest.
Dr. Sharma closes her notebook. “Maybe think about reaching out anyway. Even if you think you’re not supposed to. Sometimes, connection is the only thing that keeps us upright.”
I nod, more to make her stop than because I believe it.
But for a second, I think about what it would be like to sit with Darius, both of us still alive, breathing, not saying anything.
I almost smile.
She wishes me well, tells me to try “mindful breathing,” which is hilarious, and I leave the beige room with the taste of oat milk in my mouth.
———
