CLAY
It wasn’tmy first time in a therapist's office. Not even Dr. Ramirez’s office. But it was the first time in a while. I’d forgotten his office didn’t look like the others I’d been in, where everything was intentionally comfortable and homey; they felt more fake than the bedroom displays at Ikea. This one felt like someone’s office.
There was the desk, nothing fancy, but it looked sturdy, pushed into one corner. It had a great view of the large glass wall that looked out onto the landscape. Rather than toward the mountain range, this window faced the thick forest of trees outside the main entrance. The fir trees were thick and green, but the others were losing their vibrant fall colors as their leaves fell.
I sat in the armchair, rather than the couch, fidgeting nervously as he wrote something down. “Why do you, uh, write? Isn’t typing the thing now?”
“For some,” he said with a smile. “And some prefer it because it’s quicker, and they can type while looking at someone.”
“But not you? Isn’t eye contact important?”
Ramirez smiled. “For the past twenty minutes you’ve been here talking, you’ve done everything in your power not to lookinto my eyes. Having to look down as I’m writing gives people the chance to breathe and not feel like I’m staring, as if I’m impatiently waiting for them to talk.”
“Isn’t that what you want, us to talk?” I wondered.
He chuckled. “Talking is a vital component of the process, but forced communication helps no one. If you want to talk, then talk, but I’m not going to stare you down until you say something.”
“Look, we covered the basics already,” I said, pulling at a loose string in my pants and frowning. “I’ve been dealing with the...the death of my family. I’ve told a few other people about it, my life still sucks and here we are.”
Dr. Ramirez nodded. “Okay, that more or less sums up what you said to me, though you boiled it down to a few simple sentences, so bravo on that one.”
“I didn’t think therapists were allowed to be sarcastic.”
“We’re not allowed to be a lot of things, but sarcastic? Absolutely. In fact, it’s important, in my opinion, to make sure a therapist is prepared to tailor their approach to each patient for the sake of that patient.”
“What, not guest?”
He smiled. “While you are in this room, you’re a patient. As I recall, that was precisely what you didn’t want to be called the first and only time you ever came into my office.”
“Well, let’s just say I’ve come to realize how much of a head case I really am,” I said with a frown. “Fine, why don’t you ask a question? Maybe that will help because I’m out of shit to say.”
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Out of things to say.”
“I mean, yeah, I said what I came to say.”
“I would say you came here with a prepared list of things to speak about, and when you pushed yourself to speak aboutthem, you rushed to get them out of the way. Don’t mistake me, it’s quite a change from the previous time you were here. It shows you’re willing to express those things you’ve been living in agonizing privacy with for the first time...but you lack the tools to express them properly.”
“God, theraspeak,” I muttered.
He laughed at that. “Fine, tell me about Isaac.”
I stiffened. “What about him?”
His brow rose. “I may spend most of my time here or in group sessions, but I am not so sequestered that I miss things. You two are...close.”
“So?” I asked, hearing the defensiveness in my voice, but unable to stop it. “I’m close to Cade too, but I don’t hear you asking about him.”
“Would you like to?”
“I...what?”
“If you don’t want to talk about Isaac, you don’t have to. We can talk about your relationship with Cade instead, if you wish.”
“Relationship?”
