27 Revelations

by Harlow Hayes

  Group therapy? I was going to kill Dr. Moore.

  “I will be in contact with Dr. Moore to make sure that you are meeting the conditions of your probation. Good luck.” He walked out and shut the door behind him.

  I was glad he was gone. I needed to speak to Dr. Bradley alone.

  “Dr. Bradley, I like Dr. Moore and I am glad you recommended her to me, but I don’t think I can—”

  “Mara, she wouldn’t want you there if you couldn’t handle it. It’s all a part of getting you better, and now it’s part of the deal so…” She threw her hands up in defeat.

  I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t say anything. That was the deal. Not doing it wasn’t worth putting my education on the line. Finishing this master’s and ultimately my Ph.D. had been my dream for the past seven years. Besides, I had accumulated too much student loan debt, so I needed that Ph.D. salary coming out. I stood up and made my way to the door and Dr. Bradley followed.

  “Thanks again,” I said, dazed as the storm cloud seized my mind again.

  She patted me on my back. “You need to heal.”

  I knew she was just trying to help, but I didn’t want to hear that soppy crap. I had to go to group and share with strangers. Just more mess inserted in my life against my will. My own knowledge and seeing Dr. Moore once a week was fine. I didn’t need a third intervention. I could take care of myself. Just me in my own little corner, minding my mind, minding my own business. I didn’t need anybody.

  I left Dr. Bradley’s office and walked back to the bathroom. I stepped into a stall and pulled out the gray sweats I had packed. They felt soft against my skin as I pulled the pants over my legs. I slipped out of my flats and laced up my chucks, tossed on the T-shirt I had packed, and put on the matching zip-up. I leaned on the stall wall, already exasperated from the day. What was I going to do?

  I opened the stall door and walked over to the mirror. My hair looked too neat pulled back, so I took it down and let it fall past my shoulders. I walked out of the building feeling as if a rain cloud was lingering over half of me while the sun shined on the other. I was happy to be able to graduate, and even more happy to not be sitting in a jail cell, but I was terrified about what could be next. The fear sat on my chest like a boulder, suffocating me. I wanted to go home, take the other half of my Xanax and sleep, but I would miss that lunch if I did, and I would never hear the end of it because Melanie would never let it die.

  I felt like I hadn’t seen her in a month. Sure, she had come home periodically, but she seemed to whiz past most of the time. I guess that’s why she wanted to do this lunch, but the thought of having to sit through a meal and look at Rosalina and Kate was disheartening, and I was forced give myself a pep talk.

  This will be quick. This will be quick. It was the mantra I said over and over as I walked with my hands in my pockets, grip tight on my pepper spray.

  Probation. I am on freaking probation. It was all I could think about. The straight-A student, the payer of parking tickets, the recycler, the overall doer of good—at least most of the time—was on probation. Why was this my life? I didn’t have an answer and I knew I would never get one.

  Chapter 3

  I walked through the doors of some burger joint and was greeted by Melanie, who sat on the other side of the restaurant. She waved with such enthusiasm and her smile was so open and wide she could have swallowed me whole. Kate sat next to her, which left me right where I didn’t want to be, and that was next to Rosalina. I had succumbed to peer pressure and said yes to this lunch date knowing I was inducing a slow and painful death. I wanted to scold myself for being such a pushover but my energy would have been wasted. I had more important things to worry about, like staying out of jail.

  Melanie was cute. She had an athletic body and a thick head of long, dark brown hair. If asked to describe her personality the only word I could give would be lively. In my own way, I liked Melanie. She was respectful. She paid her rent on time and she never left a mess for me to clean up, but her jolliness was something that I didn’t quite understand and at times was just annoying. Next to her I was nothing more than a dusty old rock that took up space.

  I walked over to the booth and took my designated seat next to Rosalina. Melanie beamed with delight.

  “Mara, I’m so glad you made it, I was beginning to worry.” She reached for her glass of water.

  “Yeah, sorry. My meeting went longer than I thought, but I’m here.” I forced a smile.

  “Can we order now? I’m starving,” Rosalina said.

  I wasn’t surprised.

  “Do you know what you want, Mara?” Kate asked.

  “You don’t have to wait on me,” I said, surprised that they even had the decency to do so.

  “It’s all right, I don’t know what I want, either. I almost didn’t get here on time myself,” Melanie said.

  “Yeah? Why’s that?” I asked.

  “I had a difficult client at the bridal shop. I mean, a real bitch. She acted like I didn’t have other clients to service. Then she went and told my boss that I was being rude.”

  I tilted my head back in exhaustion. “No!” I said.

  It appeared that I was being sympathetic to her plight but in actuality, I was angry with myself for even asking. Was this what my afternoon was going to be? Burgers and bitching? I had no interest in listening to the complaints of others or engaging in simpleton conversation.

  “But anyway, I am so excited that we could all make it. How’s everyone’s day so far?” Melanie asked.

  We all looked around, wondering who was going to speak first.

  “Well, my day was pretty great,” Kate said, twirling her straw in her drink. “The torts exam that I was worried about went better than I expected. I also have a couple of interviews coming up for internships, so I’m excited about that.”

  “Ooh, that’s nice,” Melanie said. “And Rosalina, what about you? I bet you get to see a lot of crazy stuff working as a nurse. Now tell me, because I can’t remember, but you work in the ER, right?”

  “No, I work in the psych department. And my day was fine. I had a woman admitted today covered in super glue and dollar bills. She said her cat made her do it, so same old same old.”

  Her face still had the same expression that it had on it this morning, and it read ‘bitch.’

  Melanie’s face wrinkled up, disturbed. She turned to me. “And what about you, Mara? You’re in school to be a therapist, right? I always wondered what it would be like to be a therapist.”

  I leaned back and tapped my foot against the base of the booth. “My day was fine. Just met with my clinical coordinator about making up some clinical hours this summer so…”

  “Make them up? Why did you miss them in the first place?” Kate asked. She spoke to me like I was kid that didn’t do their homework

  God. Why did I open my big mouth?

  “I was on medical leave. I was in the hospital for a couple weeks after the New Year.”

  “The hospital? How did you end up there?” Rosalina asked.

  “Is that why you moved in late?” Kate asked.

  “Yes, how did you? You haven’t told me this yet,” Melanie said, her voice the only one with genuine concern.

  “It was silly, really… I was out with some friends on New Year’s celebrating my birthday and I slipped on some ice and hit my head. So after that I had a difficult time with school, so now I’m making it up.”

  “We knew that you were late moving in but we didn’t know you were in the hospital,” Rosalina said.

  “Yes, that’s terrible, but you’re doing better now, right?” asked Melanie.

  “Yeah, of course, I’m doing much better.”

  “Good,” Melanie said.

  Awkward silence ensued. I reached for my bag to grab a mint, but I knocked it off the edge of the booth instead, and the contents spread across the floor.

  I jumped out of my seat to gather my medication bottles that had rolled down the aisle. A woman pas
sing by stopped to help and Rosalina looked at me, astonished, as I scrambled to gather them all.

  “How much stuff are you on?” she asked.

  “Just some stuff to help with my migraines, that’s all.”

  I stuffed all of the bottles back into my bag and acted as if nothing had happened.

  “We should definitely do this again. At least once a month. What do you guys think?” Melanie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kate said, reluctant to be blunt. She knew we didn’t want to do this again, but I knew she was also too afraid to hurt Melanie’s feelings.

  “I mean wouldn’t it be nice to have a girls’ night or something like that?” Melanie asked.

  “Yeah… that would be great,” Rosalina said, scratching her head.

  Kate and I gave her the eye.

  “Yay! I am so excited for us to get to know each other better.”

  Eat shit and die, Rosalina. That’s what I wanted to say to her. She couldn’t speak for us, but Melanie was so inflated with happiness at the thought of us bonding, I knew turning her down wouldn’t make house relations any easier, so Kate and I succumbed for the greater good.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  “Do any of you ladies have a male friend? You know, the romantic kind?” Melanie asked. Her smile was too big and basically unbearable.

  We looked at each other and shook our heads.

  “Well, that’s just not right. You are successful, beautiful women and you all are single?” she asked.

  “And that’s why we are successful,” cracked Rosalina.

  Melanie’s smile turned to a frown. “Well, that’s not fair to say. I have Matt and—”

  “Mara isn’t single,” Kate said.

  I turned my head toward her, perplexed. “What? I am very single. What would make you say that?”

  “I’ve seen the hot guy that you’re always hanging out with. I’ve seen him come by the house.”

  I choked on my own saliva. How did she know about Frankie? He hadn’t even been there that much and he stayed in the car every time he came. We were always discreet.

  “Ohhh, yes!” Melanie said. “The super-hot one. He drives the Mercedes, right?”

  She knew, too?

  “Frankie is not my boyfriend,” I said.

  “He’s gay, isn’t he?” Rosalina asked.

  I almost cracked a smile. The question was absurd if you knew Frankie.

  “No, Frankie isn’t gay.”

  “Then what’s the problem? He’s nice to look at, that’s for sure,” Rosalina said.

  “Yeah, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Kate said.

  “Yes, he would be perfect for Kate,” Melanie said.

  “Trust me, you don’t want Frankie. He is not the type of guy that’s into the relationship thing,” I said.

  I took that Rosalina and Melanie understood my meaning by their silent nods, but what I meant didn’t matter to Kate.

  “Who said anything about a relationship?” Kate said. “I’m sure he’s good for other things… unless you guys are—”

  The statement made me want to gag, and I tried to appear unaffected.

  “No,” I said, shutting down any notion that Frankie and I were fuck buddies. “Frankie and I are just good friends. Always have been. There is nothing sexual about our relationship.”

  Melanie and Kate accepted my explanation, but Rosalina was not so easily convinced.

  “You sure?” she asked.

  I glared at her. “Positive.”

  Chapter 4

  Rainwater trickled down my umbrella handle and onto my hand while I waited for the train. My chucks were soaked and my feet made a squishy sound with every step. I hopped on a train and got off near Edgewater. Like the bus, the train freaked me out, too, so I decided to walk the rest of the way in the rain rather than further endure the smell of strange wet people stuffed in a moving tin can.

  I didn’t know what it was about the rain, but I liked it. I always had. Maybe the soft sound of it falling calmed me. Maybe it was the sky, the way it looked before it cracked open, or maybe it was because of my nana. She loved the rain, too. She would tell me that the rain was a blessing, for it made small things, withered things, dormant things, grow into something beautiful, and the thought made me happy even if only for a second.

  The building I was looking for was not the building I usually met Dr. Moore in. I had memorized the directions from the GPS so I could focus on my surroundings. All of the buildings started to look the same and I almost gave up until I realized that I had passed the building several times. The sign next to the door was clear as day, a copper plate drilled into the limestone that read Edgewater Counseling Center, and I wanted to kick myself for wasting so much time. It was a small professional building with an awning, flower beds on each side of the entryway, and cement benches on either side for people to sit. I stood in front of the sign and stared at it, head spinning and heat flushing over me all at the same time. I sat on one of the benches to collect myself and watched as people walked in and out, and I wondered if their lives were any better for it.

  For ten minutes I thought about not going in, but I didn’t have a choice. In that time three people had come out to smoke, which nauseated me, and another confronted her husband about his cheating. My immediate future flashed before my eyes. Cheaters, addicts, and angry people that didn’t know why they were angry. Welcome to group therapy. Once I mustered up all the courage that I could, I stood up and walked in.

  The walls of the entryway were painted a soft, pale yellow and were decorated with all sorts of abstract art pieces, some, if looked at for too long, could give a person vertigo. Several people sat in the waiting area and I just stood there looking like an idiot, completely out of place, not sure of where to go next. I walked up to the receptionist’s desk to inquire.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I leaned over her station. “I’m looking for Dr. Moore’s group. Her group therapy session.”

  “Oh, yes, honey,” she said while pointing. Her southern accent reminded me of home. “You are going to go down this hallway, make a left, and it is the second door on the right.”

  For so long, I’d believed that I was untouchable. That life couldn’t and wouldn’t grab me and pull me into a place so dark. Because I was a good person. But life apparently didn’t give a shit. I should have grasped that while I listened to the people that sat across from me in clinic. But no, I was the one that could cope, the one that could compartmentalize. My life was not theirs. I had, like everyone else, experienced sadness, anger, and frustration, but now I felt pain, real, soul-crushing, not-wanting-to-go-on pain, and I finally understood what it was like on the other side.

  I knew the techniques, the theoretical orientations, but here I was needing help beyond what I could give myself, beyond what Dr. Moore could give me behind closed doors. I couldn’t believe it; the counselor had to go to group. I felt like I would be labeled as the village idiot if they knew what I did. Many of my classmates had already seen other therapists, simply to process the horrors that they had encountered, and I understood, but that wasn’t me. I was all right. But these people weren’t therapists. They were teachers, managers, wives, husbands, and in their eyes, I was supposed to have it together.

  The room was large, with standard white tile floors and a large window that provided a view of the courtyard. There were five armchairs that sat in the middle of the room in a circle, each one with a composition book and a pen on the seat. There was a long table a few feet away from it with coffee, small sandwiches, and donuts spread across it. Four other women and Dr. Moore all congregated there, sipping and talking. I walked over to a chair.

  “Mara, you made it,” Dr. Moore said to me.

  I gave her a half smile, then buried myself in my phone.

  I did like Dr. Moore, but after signing me up for this group, she had lost all of her cool points. If I had to guess she was in her mid to late thirties, very hipster chic, with short
dark hair cut close to her face. She wore blue jeans, a blazer, and black high-top Chuck Taylors. We were both crazy about them. Her obsession had started in college after her best friend passed away in a car wreck. Her friend loved them and wore nothing else, so to honor her she kept an arsenal, all high-top.

  I had worn them since middle school, which is when I got my first pair. At the time, they were a fashion statement, and I begged my dad to get me some, but he refused, telling me they were lesbian shoes, which was one of the most idiotic things I ever heard come out of his mouth, and there had been many.

  But on my thirteenth birthday I received a package in the mail from Nana, and inside were the most beautiful blue high-top Chuck Taylors I had ever seen. It was the first and only time she had gifted me something store bought. In the end, I think Dad and Nana argued about those shoes, but Nana didn’t care; she didn’t like him either. I didn’t realize that until I was much older, but in her own way, getting me those shoes was the best ‘fuck you’ she could give him without actually saying it outright. Nana passed three months later and I wore those shoes until they fell apart. Even now, I still have them, all ratty, lined up with the rest of my collection against the wall.

  “All right, ladies, it looks like everyone has made it, so let’s get started,” Dr. Moore said. She walked into the circle and took the seat to the right of me. “As you already know, I am Dr. Moore, and I am beyond happy to see everyone here today. In your seat, there should be a composition book. We are not going to go into detail about it this week, but in the future it will be used for reflection, so hold on to those.”

  I took the journal and stuffed it away in my bag.

  “To start us off, I want to go around the room and get everyone’s name. Tell us a little about yourself, like where you are from, what you do for a living, then we can begin,” Dr. Moore said. She started to her right and worked her way around the circle. While the names were being said, I wondered how they’d ended up here. The first was Roe. Roe Collins, who was masculine in appearance, sat deep in her chair with a frown across her face, and a don’t-fuck-with-me look that steamed from her eyes. She was definitely here for anger management. Her occupation: barista.