My inspiration for this piece was from a previous relationship of mine. Although nothing to the...
Show full author's note »
* * *
The sign was daunting to say the least. Imprinted in bold black lettering on a shiny gold plate, the words rang loud and clear. What awaited me on the other side of that door would be frustrating, irritating, and downright boring.
I stood in the hallway debating whether to stay or make a break for it. I didn’t want to be here and my car was waiting in the parking lot. The keys in my back pocket taunted me.
I didn’t have long to consider my escape plan because the door suddenly opened. Standing there was a pretty looking woman. She was not much taller than my five foot three frame. She wore a gray tweed suit that emphasized her legs and lanky form. Her short, bouncy blond hair outlined her face. Her eyes, framed by full black lashes, were a soft shade of chocolate. The smile presented was not a warm, welcoming smile, but one of business. She was here to do her job, which, unfortunately, put me in an uncomfortable position.
“I was wondering when you would arrive. Please come in.” She motioned me with one hand to enter, her fake smile never once faltering. Taking one last long glance down the hallway, I stepped into the room.
It was more pleasant than I would have thought. The walls were a fading yellow shade and the wide picture window let in sunlight, illuminating the already bright space further. In one corner sat a mahogany desk while on the opposite side of the small enclosure a large, comfortable-looking couch sat with pillows of all shapes and sizes strewn across it. Pictures and frames decorated the walls, and the rug was soft under my feet. The atmosphere alluded to one of comfort, but I found no comfort in its bogusly cheery walls.
“Please have a seat,” the woman said as she gestured to the already crowded couch. I shoved most of the pillows out of the way and tried to make myself somewhat comfortable. The woman sat across from me in another recliner chair. In her hands was a pad of paper, a pen, and the paperwork my parents filled out. She took a moment to look over everything and then looked up at me, the phony smile returning to her lips.
“Hello, Abby. My name is Dr. Moor. How are you today?” she asked. The sound of her forcefully cherry voice grated against my already irritated nerves. I was pissed at my parents for making me do this. It’d been a year already and Dr. Moor was the seventh person they have tried to get me to talk to.
I’ve never been the touchy-feely type. And for my parents to expect me to spill my guts to random strangers just because they have a degree in Psychology is like asking a dog to speak English. I have tried hard to suppress the thoughts and feelings of the past and to allow them free now would be ludicrous. But she was waiting for a response. I composed myself and formed a polite answer.
“I’m doing just great! That’s why I’m here isn’t it?” Well, almost polite.
Dr. Moor smirked but continued, “So, Abby, you are here because of an incident that occurred last October at school, am I correct?”
I opened my mouth to let out a disgusted sigh. She knew exactly why I was there and yet she felt the need to repeat what the both of us already knew, which enhanced my irritation.
When I didn’t answer she went on. “I want you to tell me what happened in your own words and how it affected you.”
So she is taking the direct approach. Two can play at this game.
“Well,” I said, sarcasm coloring my tone, “something bad happened. So I guess that should tell you something.” I crossed my arms over my chest, stubbornly.
The bogus expression on her face didn’t falter and her tone of voice stayed the same when she answered, “I know this must be difficult for you. But why don’t you tell me something good about it.”
I rolled my eyes. She was not going to give up. I guess I had to tell her something in order for her to let me leave with a seal of approval. I carefully chipped off a piece of the wall that blocked my memories and for a moment I let my mind wander.