by Holly Bourne
“You off to bed?”
“Yeah, probably. I should try and get some work done first.”
“You seeing any more of Noah this weekend?” His voice was casual, but he was giving me a look from under his half-moon spectacles.
I shook my head. “Nope. Don’t think so. He’s really busy rehearsing for this important gig.”
Dad smirked. “My daughter. Girlfriend of a rock star…I never thought I would see the day.”
“I don’t like to think about it that way.” I smiled back. “I think of it as, ‘my boyfriend, going out with an intelligent wonderful girl who he’s lucky to have’.”
Dad always had this thing about self-worth. Maybe that was where his sudden odd angst about Noah had come from. Maybe he was scared I would lose myself once I started to share myself.
His smirk stretched into a real smile. “That’s my girl.”
I sat before the box of tissues and waited for Dr. Ashley to break the silence.
There was a new framed picture on the wall – another generic watercolour framed behind shatterproof glass.
The session hadn’t started well. I’d apologized. It was something I’d always had an issue doing. But the deeply ingrained socializing force of manners prevailed, and I found myself muttering at the beginning of the session.
“What’s that, Poppy? I don’t think I caught that.”
I looked at the ground, like a toddler being forced to apologize to someone in the sandpit. “I said I’m sorry if I was a bit rude last time I saw you.”
He rubbed his hands together. In delight? No. Just my imagination.
“That’s perfectly okay, Poppy. We all get upset from time to time.”
He didn’t say sorry back and I couldn’t remember if he needed to. But I thought that was the rules of saying sorry – the standard response is “I’m sorry too”, even if you haven’t done anything to warrant an apology. It’s just how people do it.
That had been five minutes ago and I was still waiting for him to talk. The thing was, I knew he wouldn’t. Why would he? He would get paid whether I talked or not.
“So if I didn’t talk right now, would we just sit in silence for the whole hour?”
Dr. Ashley twined and untwined his fingers. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, Poppy.”
“But you would get paid anyway, wouldn’t you?”
Annoyance passed across his face but he did his best to smooth it away with a thin-lipped smile. “I suppose I would.”
“It’s easy money then, isn’t it?”
Another flicker of annoyance. I realized I was being rude.
“Sorry. I’m being rude again, aren’t I?”
“How has your week been?”
Classic trick. Distraction.
I shrugged. “Okay.”
“Any panic attacks? Unhelpful thoughts?”
I loved his term “unhelpful thoughts”. It conjured images of my thoughts as little elves running around in my head doing chores. When had a thought ever been useful? Apart from the major useful thoughts that famous people had, like when Edison thought about light bulbs, or Newton thought about apples. Most of my thoughts were unhelpful. How does the thought Does my hair look okay today? serve any purpose? But Dr. Ashley didn’t explain them like this. He said they were thoughts that would only have a negative outcome.
I shook my head. “I’ve been much better actually. Nothing. Not a sausage.”
“And why do you think that might be?”
Another shrug. If I had a pound for every time I’d shrugged in that office…
“Your mother mentioned you’ve met someone…”
I blushed. I was going to kill her.
“We touched on this last time. I can see from your face you’re not too eager to discuss it but this…boyfriend? Can I call him that?”
I nodded, red from head to toe.
“This boyfriend, do you think he’s helped? Or is it just coincidence?”
I thought about the fainting spells I’d had when I first met Noah. I’d been convinced it was something to do with him back then. I couldn’t help but smile to myself. I’d honestly believed I was ALLERGIC to him at one point. So silly. But it’d turned out to have nothing to do with him. I saw him loads and my body was back to normal. Yes, there were those times when I felt out of breath and my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest, but that was just normal love, wasn’t it? That was where all the clichés came from. Love just kick-starts adrenalin. And I had learned all about adrenalin from Dr. Ashley. About the fight-or-flight defence mechanisms that my body sometimes decided to employ without my permission.
“You seem deep in thought, Poppy.”
“Huh?”
“Anything you would like to share with the class?” He smiled at his own joke. I hate it when people do that.
“Er…”
Could I? I supposed I might as well. Mum and Dad were paying enough.
“Is that possible? Can getting a boyfriend really help? Things do seem to have calmed down since we got together.”
He nodded, his fingers pressed together in front of his face. “I see.”
“It might just be coincidence. Maybe it’s just all my breathing exercises finally paying off.”
“Perhaps, but it might not be a coincidence.”
“Do you think it’s a coincidence?” I challenged him.
He picked up his gold pen. I thought he was going to make more notes I wasn’t allowed to see, but he didn’t. Instead, he rolled the pen between his fingers.
“Hmm. That’s a toughie.”
I stayed quiet.
“In the brain, things are rarely a coincidence. The links, even the supposedly ‘faulty’ ones, are actually very logical.”
He thought about it a moment more.
“So it’s interesting that your…symptoms, for want of a better word, have…diminished since you found a male companion.”
I smiled at his description. It sounded like Noah was someone who escorted me to balls at the local village hall or something.
“So it may be that some of your issues stem from an inherent need to be wanted.”
Hang on. This bit didn’t sound right.
“…And now you’ve finally found someone who wants you…you feel validated.”
My fists clenched. “It’s not like that at all,” I blurted out.
Dr. Ashley looked concerned. He shuffled up in his chair, making himself look professional again. “Don’t worry, Poppy. It’s quite normal.”
Normal? Wasn’t that word banned from therapy? Wasn’t that word banned from modern society? You couldn’t say the word “normal” any more. It was like the “I’m sorry, I’m sorry too” rule. You’d say the word “normal” and automatically everyone said “Yeah, but what is normal?” thinking they were really, really clever.
I could feel my temper bubbling far quicker than it normally does.
I made my voice sarcastic. “Oh, so it’s normal, is it?” I sneered, scrunching up my nose. “It’s normal for all women’s problems to stem from needing the validation of men?”
He stayed calm, as usual, even though it was obvious I was about to get remarkably un-calm.
“I didn’t say that, Poppy.”
“You implied it.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did.”
He put his pen down and sighed. “I’m not going to argue with you, Poppy.”
“Do you really think that?” I realized my voice was breaking. “That I’m happy now, that I’m…mentally healthy now, just because I’ve got a boyfriend?”
He picked up the all-too-familiar box of tissues, pulled one out, and passed it to me.
I hadn’t realized I’d started crying. Bloody hell. Almost every session.
I tried to regain control over my emotions, but the word “validated” kept bubbling up in my thoughts like a kettle of poison.
“Are you feeling better, Poppy?”
I
nodded. “Yes thank you.”
“Do you think you could try an exercise with me?”
Another nod.
His voice was soft now, soothing, like he was reading a bedtime story. “This boyfriend of yours…?”
“Noah.”
“Noah? Alright. Now I want you to sit comfortably, relax, and close your eyes.”
I did what he said.
“I just want you to slowly let yourself imagine that Noah is, for some reason, not able to be in your life…that you are never to see him again. That he has disappeared without warning…”
I leaned back into my chair and allowed myself to entertain the thought. Almost immediately my chest began to tighten, my breathing got shallow.
“Imagine waking up every morning knowing you will never see him again…”
I felt my eyes bulge in my sockets. I imagined it. I imagined waking up in my bed, the sun streaming through the window, to nothing. I imagined never being able to smell him again, never being able to see his smile. My throat caught. I imagined walking past his apartment knowing he was no longer in it. I imagined sitting at the top of Middletown Common remembering our first kiss, but it was now empty and we would never sit there again. I gasped for air.
“Careful, Poppy. Breathe. BREATHE.”
But his voice seemed far away. My chest heaved, panic began to rise in my throat. I gulped for air but none came. I was choking. But all I could think of was Noah. And the pain. The pain of him not being with me for ever. There was darkness and I stumbled blindly into it. Falling…and falling… And far away I could vaguely make out someone shouting my name.
Sadness. There was unbelievable sadness. My stomach ached from it. My heart felt like someone had literally snapped it in half. I could hear screaming but I couldn’t see anything. There was only darkness.
And then I came to.
“Poppy? Poppy? Can you hear me?”
Ouch.
Someone was lightly tapping my face. The darkness was replaced by confusion. Where the hell was I?
“Poppy? I think she’s awake.”
I became slowly aware that I had a body. I could feel my limbs again. They hurt. Wherever I was, it wasn’t comfortable. I couldn’t be in bed. Usually bed was comfier than this.
I wanted to open my eyes but the effort needed to do so was overwhelming. I kept them closed.
“Poppy? If you can hear me, wiggle your finger.”
Wiggle? I could do that. I instructed my brain to wiggle my little finger and my brain obeyed. I felt it wiggle.
“You’re back. Okay. Poppy, when you’re ready, try and open your eyes. Take it slowly.”
I opened my right eye first but the light hurt. I closed it again, took a breath, and tried one more time. It stung but I kept it open and carefully opened my other eye. I couldn’t see anything at first. Just a blur. But the blur became a face. A face I hadn’t seen before. It was a tough-looking woman’s face. If I was going to be honest about it, a butch woman’s face.
“Who are you, please?”
She just laughed. “Your patient is back with us, Dr. Ashley.”
Dr. Ashley? Was he here as well?
I turned my head. Ouch. It hurt. Then Dr. Ashley came into focus. He was squatting on the floor. That was odd. I shuffled to get comfortable but couldn’t move my body. I was being pinned down by something. Hey! It was the butch lady. She was holding me down.
“Careful now,” butch lady said. “Don’t try to move just yet.”
“Poppy?” Dr. Ashley’s voice was even softer than his bedtime-story one. “Do you know where you are?”
“I’m not comfortable.”
“Sorry about that. Do you know where you are?”
I turned my head – it hurt again – and surveyed the room. Dim recognition dawned and got stronger. I recognized the nondescript paintings, the big chairs and the box of tissues.
“We’re in your office,” I told him, pretty proud of myself.
“Yes we are. Do you know what happened?”
I shook my head.
“You fainted, Poppy. I think you had a panic attack and it caused you to lose consciousness. You’re fine but you might’ve bumped your head when you fell off the chair. I didn’t get to you in time and I’m sorry about that.”
Fainted?
And with that extra piece of information, all the memories came back to me. Of the appointment, of Dr. Ashley, of thinking about Noah, and he was gone…gone…
“Noah?” I asked, worried.
“It’s fine, Poppy. It was just an exercise, remember?”
Relief flooded through me. Of course! The exercise. It wasn’t real. Noah was still here. He was still mine. I felt warmth creep through my veins, making me feel strong.
“Mary, get her up, would you? I think she’s feeling better.”
The butch lady held me under my armpits to pull me up and set me down on the chair.
“Thank you, Mary. I think I can take it from here.”
“Make sure she drinks that sugar water,” Mary said.
I looked at the table. There was a glass next to the tissues. I picked it up and took a few sips. It tasted good, much nicer than usual water.
Mary left and we sat in silence. I sipped at the water, confused. “What happened?”
“I told you. You fainted.”
I knew that much. “But why?”
“You tell me, Poppy.”
The cool leather of the chair felt good against my skin. I slumped into it. I thought back to the idea of Noah leaving – just reminding myself made my heart start thumping again.
“Noah. You asked me to imagine Noah not being in my life.”
“I did.”
“…And I passed out.”
“You did.”
I pressed my hand to my face – it was wet. I’d been crying. I hadn’t even noticed.
“Well, that’s not normal, is it?”
“I don’t like the word ‘normal’ in this room, Poppy.”
“Hang on. You used it just a moment ago! Hypocrite.”
Dr. Ashley smiled. “And I see you’re feeling better already.”
“You did say it.” He had. I distinctly remembered him saying it.
“Perhaps I did.”
“You definitely did.”
I smiled to myself, but the enormity of what had just happened made the smile disappear.
“What does it mean, Dr. Ashley?” I felt ashamed and in disbelief. Had my feelings for Noah really become so out of control so quickly? Was he really responsible for my panic attacks stopping? Because I now felt validated?
I felt sick.
“It means I want to up our sessions to twice a week.”
The week before the big gig, my English class had to go on a trip to London. As part of our World War I module, Ms. Gretching made us plod round the Imperial War Museum rather than actually teach us stuff for the exam. Typical. And Frank and I were therefore forced to spend the entire day together.
On the train up, things got weird.
I was looking out of the window while Frank pretended to read a broadsheet newspaper.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” I muttered, watching sheep and fields streak by.
Frank looked up and I could see his confused face reflected in the glass. “Huh?”
“Your newspaper. You trying to come across all caring-about-the-world. I know for a fact you’ve only read the sports page and have been trying to understand that double page about the economy for twenty minutes. Stop posing.”
Frank folded the paper up. “I wasn’t posing.”
“Yes you were.”
“Okay…maybe I was a bit.”
“Told you.”
“I’m bored. I can’t believe I’m missing rugby practice to go to a stupid museum.”
I rolled my eyes. “Poor thing! How will you cope?”
“Shut up.”
“I mean screw the trenches – they were nothing. Missing rugby practice is far more upsettin
g.”
“You’ve made your point.”
“I always do.”
Frank leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. “It’s going to be a long day.”
The train sped along. I read a bit of Frank’s paper. We tried to share his iPod but couldn’t agree on what to listen to. I ate a chewy bar and gave him half.
It appeared we weren’t so comfortable with each other away from the classroom. Things felt a bit stilted, which wasn’t usual for us.
Frank broke the slightly awkward silence. “So, do you know what you want to study at uni yet?”
University. Scary. I had tried not to think about it.
“We don’t have to decide until next year, do we?”
“I know that, but you must have a vague idea. UCAS time will come up before you know it.”
I’d had a few university prospectuses land through my letter box but I’d only skim-read them. I couldn’t concentrate for long. I got too freaked out and chucked them under my desk.
“Well…” I said. “I did always want to do English but Ms. Gretching is kinda putting me off.”
“I’m thinking of doing English too.”
I was surprised. Yeah, Frank always got good grades but I didn’t know he enjoyed it.
“Really? Not Sport Science?”
“Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how many girls do English?”
I elbowed him.
“Oww.”
“You’re really going to choose a university course based on its pulling potential?”
Frank rubbed his arm. “Not completely, but it’s something worth considering. I don’t want to spend three years surrounded entirely by men.”
“So what female-friendly unis have you looked at so far?”
He ticked them off on his fingers. “Leeds, Edinburgh, Exeter, oh and Sheffield…”
I perked up in my seat. “Sheffield? I’m looking at there!”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe we’ll end up at the same uni.”
“On the same course…”
“Maybe so.”
We silently contemplated our futures.
“I don’t think we would be friends though,” I said.
Frank’s face fell – for a second – or maybe I imagined it. “Why not?”
