The tears that glisten in his eyes aren’t as sad this time. “Sounds like someone really smart. There’s a slight hesitation, but then he’s giving me a small nod. “Okay. Yeah, Teddy, I think I’d like it if you were here.”
“Great. I’ll leave my number at the nurse’s station. Feel free to use it anytime.”
With one last small smile, Cooper turns and follows Dr. Krazinski out the door.
Cooper
Well, here I am. Back in my own personal hell. You’d think I’d either learn to stop doing this or at least be better at it. But no. Once again, I’m locked in the psych ward, surrounded by a delightful group of people.
There’s no question as to why most of them are here. Blonde Barbie sitting on the couch is practically a skeleton. Talkative Terry is huddled in the corner arguing with air. Picky Patty has a bald spot the size of Texas. And Itchy Ian has been scratching his arms and neck and pacing for the past three hours.
I know I’m being a bitch. It’s a defense mechanism. So sue me. Besides, I’m not wrong. I mean, seriously, people, must we be so obvious? Have a little mystery about you. Like me. Am I suicidal? Homicidal? A full-blown psycho? I like to think you’d never know just by looking at me. But let’s be honest—the long sleeves in the summer are a dead giveaway.
Dr. Krazinski walks over to me, and I jump up, willing to submit myself to his tender mercies just to escape the hell thatis the dayroom. “Mr. Sorenson, glad to see you are eager for our session.”
“Not to burst your bubble, Doc, but I couldn’t care less about talking to you. It’s just that anything beats hanging around here. Having to watch them all day is driving me crazy.” I smirk, but apparently my humor is lost on the doc, who remains as stoic as always.
We enter his office, which is surprisingly inviting. The deep green walls and low lighting are calming. The chairs are as soft as a cloud, and don’t get me started on the variety of throw blankets available. Dr. Krazinski may be a bit cold, but his office is a warm hug. I plop down in the chair after grabbing my favorite blanket, glad that nobody else decided to use it today, or else it would be in the laundry.
“So, Mr. Sorenson—”
“Cooper, please. I hate my last name,” I interrupt, allowing a little information to slip out for the first time since we met two weeks ago.
“Cooper, then,” Dr. Krazinski says. “I had a different question, but since you’ve opened this door, I think it’s important that we continue down this path.”
Fuck.
“What is it about your last name that you hate?”
I find myself biting at my nails, a habit I thought I’d broken years ago. I contemplate lying, but then an image of Teddy pops into my head. The longer I resist treatment, the longer it will be before I get to go home. I’ve already missed so much time with him. Maybe I can do this. It would be nice to not feel like I was suffocating all the time, and something about Dr. Krazinski feels different from all of my previous psychologists. I decide to try to trust, just a little, and hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later.
“My last name reminds me of every single person that has hurt me. My mother. My father. My u—him.” I’m unwilling to assign him a title that he does not deserve, even if it is his biologically.
Dr. Krazinski holds my gaze briefly so I can see the moment he chooses not to push. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. “Which of those people, if any, would you be willing to talk about today?”
Choice. He’s giving me a choice—something that has been taken from me far too many times in my twenty-six years. It seems letting the doc in wasn’t a mistake after all.Not yet anyway.Pushing down my inherent pessimism, I respond. “We can talk about my mother.”
“Why do you refer to her so formally?”
“She is nothing more than the woman that birthed me. The title ‘Mom’ was given to another woman almost twenty years ago. A woman who loved me when she didn’t have to.”
“I see. Thank you for helping me to better understand. Why don’t we start our session with your biological mother and finish it up with the mother of your heart? I think it’s important to finish with something that brings you joy.” Dr. Krazinski’s smile is kind and encouraging, not all condescending like my previous therapists, who would have been acting like they were doing me some kind of favor.
After some consideration, I nod and begin. “My mother was…complicated. More often than not, she was high, and she only had two parenting styles: mean and uninvolved. Her world began and ended with my father. When their relationship was going well, meaning they had a plentiful supply of drugs, it was like I didn’t even exist. She had no room in her world for anyone that wasn’t Wade Sorenson. When their relationship was on the rocks, suddenly I was remembered, but only because I provided her with an outlet for her anger.
“Her abuse was never physical. That was more my father’s style. No, hers was worse. Annie Sorenson was a master at making me feel like absolute trash. Like dog shit was worth more than me. To her, I was ‘useless’ and ‘stupid’ and ‘a waste of good money.’ That last bit is actually how Teddy and I became friends, which led me to Mom.” I smile, the memories of the day I met Teddy running through my head.
“What are you thinking about that is making you smile?” Dr. Krazinski asks, interrupting my reminiscing.
“I was almost seven when I first met Teddy. I asked him to be my best friend because he said he’d have his mom make me a birthday cake.” I can see the confusion on Doc’s face. “I’d never had a birthday cake before. According to my…Annie, I wasn’t worth the expense,” I explain. “Teddy and his mom, who basically adopted me as her own, made sure that I never went without a birthday cake again. Until I moved, that is.”
“How old were you when you moved?” Doc asks.
“I was a couple weeks shy of turning fourteen when my parents overdosed behind the Piggly Wiggly. Afterwards, I was sent to Nebraska to live with my father’s brother.” I can feel my walls coming up.
Dr. Krazinski must notice as well, because he gives me an out. “We don’t have to talk about him just yet. We can wait until you are ready to open those wounds.” He moves the conversation to a topic that’s easier to handle. “Will you tell me about your mom?” Sensing my hesitation, he adds, “Please?”Damn, he’s good.
“Nyla Davenport…Mom…was a godsend” I begin. “Teddy introduced me to his mom for the first time the day after we met. He dragged me to his house when he heard my stomach growling. Mom didn’t even hesitate. She took one look at me and said, ‘It’s nice to meet you, Cooper. How do you feel aboutpeanut butter and jelly?’ She made us both lunch and sat with us, radiating happiness, while we ate.
