The Tens

by Vanessa Jones

  Sophie had never considered that. Instead, admonishing herself for being petulant her whole life.

  'Anyway, I hear that you're not here to talk about the death of your parents, which we can always revisit by the way. Now, are you affiliated with any particular belief systems or religion? These are quite fundamental questions when you start therapy. It's just so I can get to know you.'

  'No, never been interested or even that exposed to religion, to be honest.' A flicker of what could have been disapproval went through Carla. Sophie knew it was her imagination kicking up again though. She'd been honing in and seeking out any kind of rejection that she could find from Carla, however subconscious. At the first flicker of rejection, Sophie knew she'd have an out and wouldn’t have to return to confront the ugly and terrifying parts of herself.

  ‘So why are you here, Sophie?’

  Sophie presses her lips together to stop from crying. ‘My husband. He’s left. And I… am… distressed.’

  Something flashes across Carla’s face that is indistinguishable to Sophie. ‘Were you happy in the marriage?’

  ‘Yes!’ Sophie declared, defensively.

  ‘Do you remember first meeting him?’

  ‘Of course. I took notice of him the very first second I saw him. It was back when I lived at Ruth’s…’

  Sophie thought back to when she met Alex. After her parents died, her mother's cousin, Ruth, took her in. Which was more of a formality than an actuality as Ruth had a tendency to live in a world where fairies existed far more than responsibilities did.

  Ruth had bright orange hair, dyed from a box which she had stocked up on; three full shelves of it in the cupboard. She demanded Sophie brush on the garish dye so she could continue smoking and watching her awful melodramas on TV. Within a month, an inch of white hair would protrude from her scalp and she'd croak at Sophie that it was time to do her hair again, even if it was late on a school night. Which she didn't mind because she wasn't that interested in school anyway. The other kids called her Ghost Girl, which was predominantly for the way she looked with her translucent hair and skin. But Sophie always felt it because she felt exactly like a ghost: invisible and floating around unnoticed. To others, the innocence that her face portrayed was alarming and almost off-putting. As if it brought into question your own lesser existence. If you could bear long enough to stare at her without questioning yourself, you would probably notice a mild superhuman quality. Sophie’s movements always seemed gently calculated. The fairylike whisper of the way she brushed her palms together, reaching an angelic arm behind her neck to gather a handful of hair to sweep to the opposite shoulder, the constant need for her feet to be near one another and the long lines of her legs that followed. Ladylike, gentile, graceful... words that applied but were also rejected with disdain for they meant something that she felt she was not.

  Ruth was partial to expensive pastel coloured kaftans that featured peacocks and sequins and her knobbly fingers were decorated in thick gold rings, even though she barely left the house. She spoke of no lover and no friends so it shocked Sophie to hear that she had absconded with a rich man to Greece, not long after Sophie moved out at age twenty.

  ‘I’ve called someone. They’re on their way,’ Ruth said as Sophie swiped more copper hair dye on her head.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Someone to install cameras. I’m sick to death of being watched.’

  ‘Who is watching you?’

  ‘Out there!’ Ruth pointed to the backyard with her cigarette balancing between her fingers, which were thinner than the cigarette’s body. ‘In the bushes and whatnot. Someone has got their eye on me and I’m sick of it. Sneaking around through the bushes, spying on me. I'm in no mood to have a peeping tom.’

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone out there.’

  ‘No, well that’s because you haven’t been paying attention.’

  ‘Do you think maybe you’re thinking of one of your shows you’ve been watching? Didn’t that happen to one of the characters the other day?’

  ‘If I say there’s some creeper out there, then there is.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Anyway, now I can prove it because those guys are here to install some security cameras. Let them in,’ Ruth barked at Sophie, not leaving the safety of her velvet recliner.

  Ruth was not terribly unkind but she was neglectful in a way that left Sophie feeling constantly invisible, so when Alex walked into her house, in all his luminous youth, in his thick work boots and navy coveralls, holding a reel of cabling in one hand and a takeaway coffee in the other, and looked at her like he'd recently gained the gift of sight, Sophie felt like she existed for the very first time.

  The security cameras were installed, taking a lot longer than other clients’, and Alex would hold Sophie’s gaze for a little longer than she could stand, throughout the day. She was shocked that Alex could even see her.

  On the final day of installation, Alex walked in holding two coffees: one for himself and one for Sophie, which she gratefully accepted.

  A few months later, Sophie moved out of Ruth's smoked-filled house and into a small one bedroomer with Alex, where they began their romantic bliss. They had barely been apart since. What’s more, is they rarely argued in the decade they had been together. A bit of spirited bickering that forced them to roll their eyes at each but nothing serious. Except for that one tepid afternoon. Still, Sophie didn’t think it had anything to do with much, really.

  They had been lounging in the backyard, Alex had spread a tartan blanket on the grass for them to lay on. Sophie lay, her arm shielding the sun from her eyes and her pallid sticklike legs getting washed in warmth. It was the kind of gently warm day that made them both feel the promise of summer, although still far away. Alex handed her a glass of icy wine and they sipped it amongst the provocative floral waft of the afternoon. Sophie rested her head on his thigh, not even flinching when the condensation dropped onto her forehead from Alex’s wine glass. There was perfection in the moment. The only flaw was the neighbour’s noisy lawnmower, chewing and grinding from one side of their yard to the other.

  But, as always, it was merely another calm before a storm.

  Alex wiped away a condensation drop from her cheek with his thumb. ‘Do you think if your parents hadn’t ended their lives that they would like me?’ He asked hopefully.

  Sophie’s body stiffened and she looked at his eyes, which were earnestly shining back at her. Her torso shot upright and she spilled her wine on the rug.

  ‘Careful!’ He warned her but was laughing as he shook the puddle off onto the grass. ‘I’ll get you another.’ He stood up. But Sophie stood up just as quickly and watched his chambray shirted back disappear into the house. It wasn’t long before he ducked back out with a full wine glass, almost comically to the brim.

  Sophie stood where she was, not moving.

  ‘Is the blanket too wet? I’ll get a towel.’ He said as he graciously handed her the wine which she refused to take.

  ‘How dare you,’ Sophie whispered.

  ‘What’s that, my love?’

  ‘I said, how dare you.’

  ‘How dare I what?’

  ‘You said my parents took their own lives. They were in a car accident, Alex! Is that what you think? That they did it on purpose?’

  ‘Oh, baby.’ He reached out to draw her in his arms but she remained frozen on the spot, watching the wine tip over the lip of the glass. ‘When did I say that?’

  ‘Just then! You asked me if they would like you if they didn’t end their lives!’

  ‘Oh sweetie, no! I said “if their lives hadn’t of ended”, he looked shocked and his face went a peculiar shade of grey. He searched the ground for somewhere to put the glasses. ‘You must have misheard me.’

  ‘I didn’t mishear you. I know what I heard.’

  ‘I didn’t say what you think I said, Sophie,’ Alex’s voice became serious. ‘Why don’t you finish your wine and we can
enjoy the warmth a little longer? Maybe have a nap if you like?’

  She took the wine from his hand and gulped it as she marched back into the house and ran a bath, so she could get away from Alex be alone with her thoughts. She was certain that’s what he said. But as she finished her wine and soaked in the rose-scented foam, she became less and less certain. She must have misheard him.

  Sophie brought herself back to the therapist’s room and regaled an edited version of how they met. ‘We’ve been so happy together ever since. Well, til now. And here I am,’ she splayed her hands out in front of her.

  ‘And I’m glad you’re here. Please, have some more tea,’ Carla offered.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The cool afternoon after her first therapy session disappointed her. Instead of feeling better, Sophie felt undone. Her thoughts were playing a coarse game of sport and she could barely spot the ball from her vantage point. It wearied her but not enough to stop the rampant inner tornado of self-blame. Her mind retraced over and over, the things she said. How did she come across? What did she say? Did she even believe some of the things she said? Knowing that as well as failing her first therapy session, she also failed the aftermath.

  Audibly, she groaned to her empty house. She could not stand her own mental swirl so she slid to the kitchen, opening the bottom drawer and pressed out two tiny white tablets from their crackling tray. She bit it and swallowed the two halves, the acrid taste forcing her to wince. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she remembered reading that biting them made them work faster. To be sure, she held the second tablet underneath her tongue willing it to absorb into her bloodstream from her gums, rather than the painfully long and drawn out digestive process, until she could no longer stand the taste.

  'Aark. Aark.' The crow, in the tree outside her back door, shouted at her so she flung the door back, stepped out underneath it and looked at it in the eye.

  'Why don't you just shut the hell up?' she said maliciously. It looked at her with disdain, its chocolate eye rolling over her. And then it lazily flew off, as if shrugging her away.

  Back in her bedroom, she rearranged the pillows around her in bed so that when the nightmare came, she would be safely cocooned from herself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A few days later, Sophie sat across from her therapist, for what seemed like both the second and the hundredth time. She surprised herself by not giving up on therapy. There was a pull in Sophie that was greater than her pain.

  Waiting for Carla's prompts, she pulled away her light scarf. Although too hot in the room, especially with the warm herbal tea Carla offered, it was a source of comfort and made Sophie feel like she was being held. How much she wanted to demand that a window be opened for once, the stench of a thousand people's breath stuck on the walls and furnishings. But Sophie was determined to be a good, polite girl.

  Carla positioned herself neatly in a grey linen chair, in a professional outfit that was neither fashionable nor comfortable. The ensemble was deliberately chosen to incite approachability and assuredness. But that did not stop Sophie from spending a lot of time looking at her therapist's feet; beige stockinged feet in a square-toed heel underneath navy pants. She reminded Sophie of a more serious version of Elaine from Seinfeld.

  Sophie was desperate to keep building trust with and please Carla, not only for her own progress but because she couldn't escape the fear that Carla would get bored of her soon enough and palm her off to a colleague. Especially once she realised she was beyond being helped. Like most, Sophie grabbled with the notion that there was something fundamentally wrong with her and no one in this lifetime could fix her. Alex leaving her had done nothing but confirmed this truth.

  Carla watched Sophie with umber coloured eyes behind her wireframe glasses. ‘What are you thinking about right now, Sophie?'

  'This morning, there was another dead bird outside my window. Although I didn't kill it, I feel responsible.'

  Carla seemed pleased by this answer and scribbled at her notes, tapping the top of her pen on the notepad resting on her lap in approval. There was a small pile of birds waiting for Sophie at home. It looked like a pile in a toy shop. They kept flying to their death against the window, despite Sophie stringing up some unused Christmas bunting.

  'In what way?'

  'I don't know really. Shouldn't I be able to save it?'

  'It's not uncommon to feel the burden of a saviour complex when we are unable to essentially save ourselves,' she said sensibly.

  Sophie didn't know why she said what she said next. Perhaps she was desperate to shock Carla out of their power dynamics. Perhaps it was she who was bored. 'Birds say things to me.'

  Carla twitched almost unnoticeably. 'Do you often think that birds can talk to you?’

  Sophie could feel her goading her but decided to press on anyway. 'The birds communicate with me. In a way. Which is exactly what a crazy person would say, I know. Anthropomorphism is one of the most prominent delusions.' Sophie didn't give Carla time to confirm or interject. 'It's not like a bird will come to me and start speaking in English but more that their behaviour is noticeable. Hard to ignore. There are cascades of warbles at irregular times in the night. Often, I wake up believing it's morning but it's still the same day that I fell asleep. They trill at my window and I have no idea what they are really saying but I do trust that they are talking to me. I absorb their sounds and wait for translation that often appears as my own thought-forms or epiphanies within the proceeding days,' Sophie let the words tumble out. Only after they had left her mouth did she feel the indignity of revealing too much.

  Carla sensed her hesitation. 'Go on,' she prompted by rolling her hand and pen.

  'Sometimes, like when my mind is a bit clearer, I try to concentrate really hard to translate what they're telling me. I can barely explain but I just know they have deliberately chosen me to talk to. I just don't know why.'

  Sophie stopped looking at Carla's shoes and watched her face and waited. But Carla surprised her by encouraging her.

  'You know Sophie, I can see why you would say that birds are communicating with you.'

  Sophie let out a big breath of air. Carla showed no trace that she was terrified of Sophie or that she was going to have her sanctioned.

  Carla pointedly looked at the clock and nodded at her. 'I'd like to hear more about this. I'm afraid our time is up for today. If it's alright with you, let’s continue this conversation in our next session? We can schedule it earlier if you'd like.'

  Sophie was perplexed, unsure where the time had gone but shook her head in agreement. Sure, she thought to herself, the damage has already been done. As she gathered up her things to leave, she glimpsed Carla's scrawled handwritten notes and noticed "birds" had been underlined three times and was ticked.

  Surprising herself and Carla, Sophie eagerly came back to therapy the next day, at Carla's insistence. Carla wiggled her bottom into her chair after placing fresh, steaming cups of tea in front of them both.

  With a sense of smugness, Sophie felt she had already endured life's tragedies and that the rest of her lifetime was her own. Naively falling into the knowing that all her life's atrocities had already occurred, she expected the rest of her life to be a comfortable and healthy experience with no unexpected turns. But Alex leaving had upended her sense of self and stability. From her current viewpoint, the rest of her life now seemed extremely shaky. Because she’d never planned on anything going awry, she’d never developed the resilience or mechanisms to cope. Sophie fiddled with something in her pocket as she debated going down yet another rabbit hole.

  ‘No word from Alex still?’

  Sophie sadly shook her head.

  ‘Where do you think he is? He must be somewhere, surely?’

  ‘If I knew…’ Sophie paused, unsure how to even finish her sentence. 'I don't understand why this has made me fall apart so much. I've been orphaned and still managed to never fall apart, in fact it made me stronger!'

  Lo
oking back, she should have been ragingly embarrassed by this state of comfort and foolishness. The very kind of state that almost always preludes disaster. She couldn't help but think it was all her fault that she was incredibly underprepared.

  Carla screwed up her face in response and Sophie immediately relaxed into her visible empathy. 'You know, sometimes— particularly as kids— we suppress things that are the most painful to us. Especially if we haven't learnt emotions and how to process them. This incident might actually be triggering dormant pain and grief that you never had the chance to process properly.' Carla paused to sip on her tea and watched Sophie over the rim of her cup.

  Sophie didn't want to believe her. Her whole life she had been waiting to "properly" feel the pain of losing her parents. She compared herself to books and movies where people had been left an orphan and had either turned wayward or felt an intense longing. But she couldn't relate at all.

  'Let me ask you this. Do you remember much about your parents, particularly right before they died?'

  Sophie felt uncomfortable with the question but mainly because there was nothing to retrieve. 'Nothing. It's blank.'

  'Good. Good. What's your biggest fear?'

  Sophie felt an immediate rage sweep through her body, pooling in her head. What an odd question. That's just resistance, she told herself. This is what therapists do. Most of their job is to push your buttons and then help you work through the reaction.