“Our house? Since when do I have any say here?”
“We’ve always let you pick your furniture, your clothes, your food, your friends.”
“Friends. What friends? Everybody hates me.”
“We don’t.”
“‘We’? Which we? You? You and Daddy? You and Gregory? You love Gregory a hundred times more than me. Why did you even have me?”
“Why? Because we wanted you. I wanted a daughter more than anything. Don’t you know that?”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“Melinda, I don’t want to fight,” Victoria said, trying to be patient. “I just want our family to work. Your job is to get educated, and you can’t do that if you’re sleeping until noon. And I hate being your human alarm clock.”
Melinda walked to the opposite corner and turned her back. “School is a fucking joke. All my teachers want is for me to sit like a doofus while they preach.”
“We’ve been over that, honey …”
“Stop the ‘honey’ shit. I told you I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m sorry,” Victoria said. “Daddy and I have talked with your teachers. They understand you have a lot to say, but they don’t want you interrupting class. They want you to wait until discussion time.”
“You never take my side. It’s always my fault.”
“That’s not so. We’ll send you to another school if you want. You could get into Andover or Exeter. You’re brilliant. And witty.”
“Sure; ship me off to New Hampshire, so you don’t have to deal with me.”
“That’s not true. We want you to feel challenged. Wouldn’t you love being around students whose minds work like yours? Why won’t you consider it?”
“You can’t wait until I’m eighteen, can you? I can just see you signing me up for the Army. ‘Please take my daughter. She’s got a lot of talent, but she needs discipline.’”
“What’s so wrong with discipline? Raw talent’s not enough, Melinda. Look at your father and me. We didn’t turn out so bad.”
“Spare me the litotes, Mother. You think you’re such hot shit, don’t you.”
What a nightmare—Abington in a reverse mirror, Victoria thought. “I know I’m no ‘hot shit’ of a mother to you, Melinda. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But what I am or am not has nothing to do with when you go to sleep. You make noise at night. It keeps us up, and it’s not good for you. Surely you can apprec—”
“Appreciate what? I love this speech. The ‘after all we’ve done for you … ’ It’s such total fucking bullshit. You don’t give two shits about me. You never did.”
“This can’t go on. We have to do something. Maybe counseling.”
“Great. Pack me off to some shrink, because you don’t like me. You’re fucked up, and I get blamed.”
“Look, Melinda, there are rules. If you can’t follow them, we’ll make other arrangements. There are other people in this house besides you. And yes, we are going to counseling, whether you like it or not.”
“Fuck you.” Melinda grabbed a porcelain figurine of an ice dancer she had won at a skating competition and hurled it to the floor, smashing it to pieces at Victoria’s feet. “Are you happy, now? See what you made me do?” Melinda screamed, breaking into tears. “I wish you were dead.”
“She’s so awful,” Victoria told Martin moments later. “There’s no reasoning with her. It wasn’t a discussion, it was a diatribe. My head feels like a punching bag. I’ll be awake all night for sure.”
“Do you want some tea?” said Martin, leading Victoria into the kitchen.
“I heard it in Gregory’s voice; he was relieved to get out of the house. I can’t believe this nightmare. I couldn’t wait to get away from my parents’ house. Now my son can’t wait to get away from his.”
“What happened in there?”
Victoria reported the details like a war correspondent.
“This changes things. I agree, we have to do something,” Martin said. “What are you doing next week?”
“Jury selection in the Barlow trial starts Monday at ten. Tomorrow, I have to prep the rest of my witnesses. They’re in from out-of-state; I can’t stand them up.”
“We’ve got to help.”
“There’s someone I’d like to talk to,” Victoria said, wondering how receptive her old therapist from college, assuming she could find him, would be to hear from her. “Whatever we’re dealing with, I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That something horrible will happen. I’m failing as a mother, Martin. I’m failing. And I don’t know what to do.”
15
Monday, December 7, 1981
On the last week of the term, Victoria arrived for therapy in a panic about failing biology. The impending catastrophe would blemish her otherwise perfect transcript.
She promptly spilled her herbal tea on her skirt and on her lab notes, which scattered on the floor. She shot out of her seat in a fury. “Goddammit! Now what?”
“Here, let me help you,” Dr. Speller said, barely containing his smile. The more flustered Victoria became, the harder he choked to keep from laughing. “My, my, what a mess,” he said, helping to wipe everything up. “We should write a paper together about this: ‘Advances in Psychoanalytic Technique.’”
Victoria laughed with him, then said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do about biology. The only reason I took it was because my suitemate said educated women need to understand medical terminology. But everyone in my class is pre-med or a science major who’s already taken biology and chemistry in high school. It’s not like English, where I remember every character from every novel I’ve ever read. I don’t think scientifically, and there’s just too much to memorize. My GPA will be ruined for sure.”
“What are you working on now?”
“DNA transcription. The professor uses an overhead projector. This morning, a fly landed on a transparency of a DNA helix. It lolled across the screen like it was laughing at me. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“There must be someone who can help you.”
“There’s my TA, Leslie Kilway. She teaches lab and recitation. She’s preparing us for finals.”
“Can’t she help you?”
“I’m not sure how I feel about her.”
“Are you saying there’s a connection between how you feel about Leslie and whether or not she can help you?”
“Like I said, I’m not sure how I feel about her.”
“Well, do you like her?”
“‘Like?’ I don’t even know what that means. ‘Interested’ is better. I’m interested in her, and I think she feels the same way about me. But there’s something about her that turns me off.”
“How so?”
“I know Leslie wants to help—even though I’m standoffish she’s offered to go over the material; she must know how much trouble I’m in grade-wise—but the way she acts makes me think she’s dull.”
“Dull. Do you know anything else about her?”
“She’s finished medical school and is doing brain research.”
“You say she’s trying to help. Let’s talk about what that feels like for you.”
“Jesus Christ, do we have to do this today?” Victoria said irritably. “All I said was that someone is trying to help me. Why do you have to make such a big deal of it?” When Dr. Speller kept silent, she glared at him; when he didn’t respond right away, she asked, “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“Not yet,” he responded firmly.
Victoria glared at him. He didn’t flinch; it was clear he was going to outwait her. She resumed, “Leslie asked if I wanted a one-on-one review of photosynthesis and the Krebs cycle. She said that and a question about the genetic code would be on the exam.”
“Can you tell me more about Leslie?”
“Look. I don’t have time.”
“Make time. It’s important.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’
m sure your feelings about Leslie are important.” Dr. Speller leaned forward and removed his glasses. “Look, Victoria. It’s crunch time with your bio course, and this person has been trying to help you. But something’s gotten in the way of your accepting it. Finals are in two weeks. Our last session before winter break is next Thursday. We don’t have time to fuck around!”
“Don’t yell at me.”
“If I raised my voice, it was only for emphasis.”
“I don’t like it when you do that. It makes me think of her.”
“I had to get your attention.”
“Well you did, all right. What do you want me to do?”
“What we always do. Like when we work on dreams. Your job is to say your thoughts about Leslie without censoring them, just as they go through your mind.”
“Suppose there isn’t enough time today?”
“Then we’ll find time later.”
“I thought sessions were only Mondays and Thursdays.”
“Therapy is supposed to fit your needs, not just my schedule. Let’s get going and see how far we get today. Tell me about this person.”
“She’s older than me, around your age. She dresses in faded jeans and sweaters that look like they come from J. C. Penney. I picture Leslie changing her own motor oil. She looks like she spends time outdoors. I think she’s tougher than me, that she could beat me up if she wanted to.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
“I don’t know. You asked me to say what’s on my mind. That’s what I was thinking.”
“That’s fair. She’s intimidating?”
“She turns me off.”
“Is it that she’s stronger than you? Or does she remind you in some way of Lorraine?”
“We’re going down the wrong path,” Victoria said. “This isn’t about being scared of Leslie. I could figure out how to change my oil if I had to. It’s something else.” Victoria mulled over her thoughts. “I’ve got it. It’s not about her; it’s about being with her.”
“Good. What comes to mind when you think of being with her?”
“Annoyed.”
“Annoyed?”
“I know she’s smart. How else could she be a doctor and a researcher? Here’s the thing. She talks so slowly and so methodically, I just want to scream, ‘Hurry up and get to the point!’ So, my mind wanders, and I tune in and out. I only hear bits and pieces of what she’s saying.”
“Like when a record skips?”
“It’s more than that. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of conversations and can’t remember what was happening. People like Leslie bore me, and I get snippy with them.”
“Well, whether or not she likes you, she’s definitely interested in you.”
“How do you know that?”
“I hear it in the way you describe her. She wouldn’t have asked to help if she was indifferent.”
“Maybe she feels sorry for me.”
“That’s your default position,” Dr. Speller said. They’d been over that before, how Victoria fell back on automatic assumptions when she wasn’t sure what something meant. “It sounds like she takes pride in her teaching and wants her students to do well. But the fact is you don’t know why she’s interested in you.”
“That’s true. I don’t like the feeling of not knowing.”
“Here’s what I think,” Dr. Speller said. “Your mind works very fast, Victoria. Lorraine and you go back and forth lickety-split. Not every time, though, because she’s not always in the mood. You, however, usually are in the mood, so you look for that kind of interaction. Are you with me so far?”
“I’m trying. Keep going.”
“Those rapid-fire back-and-forths have become the standard against which you judge whether a conversation is interesting.”
“That’s true. The content doesn’t matter that much; it’s how we’re talking.”
“Exactly. It’s about engaging each other’s minds, but not everyone’s mind works like yours. Having a quick mind is good when you’re problem solving, but it gets in the way when you rush to judgment about people. People like Leslie have something to offer, too. You know, someone could be smart and interesting even if they speak more slowly than you. They might even say something worthwhile,” Dr. Speller said, titrating his sarcasm carefully.
“You know, that’s how my mother gets with me. She’s impatient. I guess I treat people that way, too.”
“You guess?”
“You’re right. I do treat people like that,” Victoria admitted.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it—working it out together?”
Victoria flushed, her body warm, almost glowing. “I’m feeling weird, now. Something I never felt before.” She described the heat on her face and skin.
“It’s called warmth. You liked what I had to say.”
Victoria felt warm down to her toes. “Well, whatever it is, I want more!”
“You know you could get used to it,” he teased.
“What’s happening to me?”
“Well, not wanting to get into clinical mode …” They laughed. “I’d say you’re getting desensitized to intimacy.”
Her eyes moistened.
He said, “It’s waiting for you, even with Leslie. I hear it in how you describe her. You’re not some charity case; she genuinely likes you. ‘Warm’ and ‘like,’ they’re all around you. Give it a try, okay?”
“Okay,” Victoria said through tears for which there were no words.
16
As soon as she returned from the session, Victoria called Leslie Kilway, who agreed to meet the next morning. Leslie had already staked out a table in the student union by the time Victoria arrived.
Notes and textbook in hand, Victoria said, “Thanks so much. How much time do we have?”
“No hurry,” Leslie said. “I’m free until my three o’clock meeting with the chairman of the research committee. What would you like to cover?”
“I can’t wrap my head around photosynthesis and the Krebs cycle.”
“Photosynthesis is how plants capture and store the sun’s energy,” Leslie offered, diving right in.
“And the Krebs cycle?”
“That’s inside the part of cells called mitochondria. Think of the Krebs cycle as a refinery that converts potential energy into a usable form.
“And DNA?”
“DNA codes for the proteins that make cells work.”
“Proteins?”
Leslie flinched. “I think you need more than just definitions. Let’s start at the beginning.”
“It’s that bad?” Victoria said.
“Well …” Leslie sighed, rolling up her sleeves as if she were about to tackle a lab experiment. Except for a ten-minute break at 11:00 AM, they worked together for the next five hours. Leslie wouldn’t give up until Victoria understood that photosynthesis captured the sun’s energy to build hydrocarbon molecules, without which life would be impossible. Leslie didn’t stop until Victoria could conceptualize, not just memorize.
The following Wednesday, Leslie concocted a mock final for the class. Victoria came away confident she could eke out a B. “I can’t thank you enough,” she told Leslie on her way out. “The way you stuck with me until I got it. I never had a teacher who was so patient.”
“I knew you could do it. I enjoyed the challenge of figuring out how to help you understand. Besides, you hung in there the whole time. Most people would have given up. Talk about determination; that was impressive. Hey,” Leslie added, “would you like to have pizza with me and some friends tonight?”
“Really? Aren’t they all older researchers? What could I say that’s interesting?”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You know literature and philosophy. We’re so into science we lose sight of the rest of the world. We’re meeting at seven at Sam’s Pizzeria on Pine Street. I’ll pick you up, okay?”
“You know, I’d like to walk around Society Hill first, since it’s close to Sam’s. I’d enjoy some comp
any.”
“Sure. Should be fun,” Leslie smiled. “I’ll get you at six.”
That evening, as they walked past a contemporary house on Seventh and Spruce, Victoria said, “This place looks like a giant refrigerator.
Some discount appliance store must have dragged this monstrosity here and plugged it in.”
“That’s so funny; I love how you put things,” Leslie laughed. “Like when you said your English professor’s muttonchops and tweed suits make him look like a dehydrated cell membrane. You crack me up.”
Victoria felt a ripple of warmth rise through her spine. “You have to admit this building is atrocious. The city should demand demolition or face charges of abetting cultural depravity.”
Soon the girls were chatting amiably about Philadelphia history. Victoria loved having someone to share ideas with. Time flew as they ambled through the neighborhood.
Just when Leslie and Victoria arrived at Sam’s, a couple leaving the restaurant barged into them. There, arm-in-arm with a dark-haired woman about Leslie’s age, was Dr. Speller.
“Excuse me, miss. I’m so sorry,” he said before recognizing Victoria. The woman with him was taller and curvier than Victoria. Her eyes glistened like gemstones as she looked down on Victoria with disdain.
As if she had been punched in the solar plexus, Victoria couldn’t breathe for a moment. She had imagined running into Dr. Speller many times, but never with someone like this. Dazed and dissociated, Victoria was overcome by déjà vu. Even though it made no sense, she had felt this way before—less of a woman. Victoria fled to the ladies’ room where she splashed herself into the present with cold water. “How could he! How could he!” she fumed out loud, subliminally aware that she was more disturbed by the woman than she was by Dr. Speller.
Although the conversation was convivial and she felt welcomed into a new social circle, Victoria struggled throughout the rest of dinner to keep from thinking about the sinister look in the dark-haired woman’s eyes.
17
After they had eaten, the crew gathered for drinks at Leslie’s apartment, which was different from anything Victoria knew: garage-sale area rugs, Marimekko wall hangings, mismatched couch and armchair, and science journal reprints strewn on every surface. Someone passed around a jug of Mateus, and everyone clinked different-sized plastic tumblers, toasting neurotransmitters and new friends. Two sips went straight to Victoria’s head.
Intensive Therapy Page 7
