Compose_The Arts Series

by Lily Kay

  I liked her no-nonsense approach to therapy, and I could say anything in front of her without feeling condemned.

  Today she dressed casual in a long beige linen skirt and a black short-sleeved plain shirt. Some turquoise dangling earrings matched the beaded necklace hanging below her chest.

  “Yeah.” I played with the hem of my light khaki shorts. Humidity invaded the weather, explaining my navy tank top with my hair in a side braid again. “Although, sadness took over when Jamie left me home alone this summer.”

  A mega understatement.

  My brother was supposed to be my saving grace while I lived at home completing the three-week outpatient program. Since the drive to Boston took two hours, once I graduated from inpatient to outpatient, I went Tuesday through Thursday, spending the night with my best friend from high school.

  “What do you mean?”

  I sighed. “He ended up taking an internship out in California, leaving me all alone with my parents and their smothering. Once I moved back home, I wanted less attention, not more, you know?”

  “Your parents were worried about you. We all were.” Dr. Liz folded her hands and rested them in her lap.

  “Well, I dreaded him leaving. I guess it’s good for his career, yadda yadda, but it would’ve been nice having him there.”

  Being the only Asian in my town didn’t bode well for my popularity. Jamie, the ever-protective older brother, made sure to stick up for me whenever he could. Defending me got much more difficult when he graduated high school. It’s debatable whether I was more upset about him leaving after high school or leaving me home alone this past summer.

  My mind floated back to the day he told me about winning the internship. I was still in-patient, and he popped by during visiting hours.

  “Hey, kiddo. You’re looking good.” When only a half-smile emerged, I realized something was up. Jamie and I had gotten a lot closer over the years, even with his three years on me.

  “Okay, cut to the chase. What’s going on?”

  “What, no shooting the shit first?” He shifted his weight to the edge of the folding chair.

  “No, because it’s clear you’re hiding something. I’ve known you for almost all my twenty years of existence.”

  He extended another uneven smile, still hiding his teeth.

  “You always were blunt, lil’ sis. Well, you know the internship I applied for in California with Google?”

  “Yeaaaah.” Shit, I knew what he was going to say.

  “They called me, and I got it.”

  Silence.

  “Lou?”

  I tried to smile.

  “Hey,” I mustered. “I’m happy for you.” This wasn’t about me anymore, I could put on my big girl panties and support him.

  “You’re not mad?”

  I forced the happiest face I could. One where my eyes disappeared, and my smile took over my face. “Nah, I’m excited for you. You’ve wanted this for forever. You owe me, leaving me alone with Jim and Carol once I get outta here.” A light chuckle escaped.

  “You’ll be great. They work during the day, and you can avoid them at night by going to the concert series. Mom and Dad shouldn’t harp on you too much.” Jamie mimicked my forced enthusiasm. “Besides, you’ll get a three day respite each week when you’re doing out-patient, right?”

  I snorted. “Yeah, but then there’s still the rest of the week. And when I’m done with the program? Knowing Mom, she’ll probably take off work to be home with me the last week or two before school starts up again.”

  “You know you can always call me or email, or text or sky-write it.” He gave me a nudge and I leaned into him, the nudge turning into a half hug. “You going to be okay? If you want me here for you, I can postpone it.”

  “Fuck no, Jamie. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. You deserve this internship.” I pushed him out of our side embrace. “So, when do you leave?”

  “In a couple days.”

  I gave Dr. Liz an abbreviated version of our conversation. “I missed him over the summer. I still do.”

  “Maybe it’s time to reach out to him.”

  I already gathered this. “I’ll call him. I’m probably going through some mild brother-withdrawal here.”

  Dr. Liz prodded some more. “Good to be back?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I’m glad to be out of the clutches of Jim and Carol. And excited to start the year, but yesterday equaled a total clusterfuck.” I covered my face.

  “Okay, do you want to tell me about it?”

  I gripped the pillow tighter against my tummy and proceeded to tell her what happened.

  “The suck of it all is I think I could actually be attracted to this guy, but I know I fucked up. I was a total bitch to him and completely embarrassed myself in front of the whole studio. He probably thinks I’m an absolute poser and have no talent at all.” I raised the pillow and covered it over my head. “Aaarrgh!”

  “Well, I think it’s actually progress. You put yourself out there and were vulnerable, which isn’t easy to do.”

  Dr. Liz’s face resembled a statue. I wondered if she ever raised her voice.

  “I got defensive when boy-wonder started criticizing my work. He doesn’t have the right. It’s mine not his.” The pillow resumed its place and covered my stomach.

  “If you’re going to be writing music for the world to hear, you’re going to get feedback. The question you should be asking is, was it constructive? Were his words meant to tear you down or offer ways to make it better?”

  I groaned, moving the pillow yet again, and covered my face, while my head leaned back against the cushions.

  “The latter.” My voice muffled from underneath my hide-out.

  “And can you handle people giving unsolicited evaluations of your work? Because feedback will happen everywhere, online, in stores, wherever people will hear it, they’ll be assessing.”

  Emerging from the shelter of the pillow, I glued the pillow on my lap.

  “As long as they don’t do it in front of my face. I’m officially hermitting away from the internet. I’m kidding. I know I’ll be okay with it because my music will have gone through a butt-load of edits and iterations by myself and people I trust. I’m not too concerned about censure. I just started the piece, and I guess I wasn’t ready for the feedback.”

  “Okay. How do you want to proceed from here?”

  “I want to transfer.”

  “Do you think you can let go of the pillow and place it beside you?”

  Dr. Liz knew how I used the pillow as a security blanket. I anticipated the tension increasing in my stomach and placed the pillow next to me.

  “Now stand up. Raise your arms above your head, take a deep breath, and fling them down to your sides and exhale with your voice.”

  I did this because it helped.

  “You’re moving the energy out and about.” I repeated the movement she demonstrated, keeping my eyes shut this time.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. I repeated the action and sat back down. My eyes darted between Dr. Liz and the pillow next to me.

  “Do you want to answer my question, now? How do you want to proceed from here?”

  I inhaled twice. “I feel bad about being a bitch to Gavin at the restaurant. I know I have to apologize. And then from there? I don’t know. I think he has a girlfriend. Clearly, I’m not even going to go there. I guess I can work on my confidence some more.”

  Laughter busted from my belly at the ridiculousness of my understatement. I’d take laughter over the gnawing sensations usually loitering in my stomach.

  “Apologizing sounds like a good start. Do you want to discuss why you were hurt by his words? To me, they sounded thoughtful and professional.” Dr. Liz’s head tipped to the side, her hair rem
aining in an impeccable bob.

  “I know they are now. But obviously I can’t redo my sucktastic response.”

  I directed my attention to the Picasso print of flowers hanging on the wall to Dr. Liz’s left. I considered them for a moment. How simple and beautiful they were, and what my life might be like if I came back as a flower. I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.

  Dr. Liz brought me out of my musings. “And how does this make you feel?”

  “Yeah, pain, I guess. I mean, I was vulnerable. I started the song after I got out of in-patient. I’m trying to find my sense of, I don’t know. I want to feel rooted. And I don’t. I feel like I’m about to crash at any moment and I’m tired. Like he criticized my healing process. I know it’s not fair to him since he has no idea what happened to me, but I think I would’ve felt better if I hadn’t messed up.”

  “What are things you can do when you feel vulnerable or attacked?” Her head cocked to the other side.

  “I can pause. Breathe. Get out of my head and listen to what people are saying.”

  “It’s okay to excuse yourself and come back after a moment. Nothing is forcing you to face something you’re not ready to. Give yourself a moment.”

  Dr. Liz showed me some acupressure points on my wrist to help with relaxation. She pressed in spaces on the outside of my wrist, in between my wrist bone and where my hand began. “Rub these with your thumb and middle finger.”

  I found the indents she described and started to rub. A calming sensation enveloped me to the point of wanting to take a nap.

  “And now would you like to talk about the part where you are attracted to him?”

  “Nope.” My attention returned to the Picasso print since evading eye contact with Dr. Liz prevailed over acknowledging her censure.

  “Louise.” Dr. Liz placed her clipboard on the end table next to her chair.

  “Yep.” Dr. Liz and I had many a stare-down before and unfortunately for me, she proved an admirable opponent. I’ve tried in the past to pull the silent treatment on her, but it never worked. She always succeeded in getting me to talk.

  Positioning herself, she leaned back into her chair and propped her feet up on the ottoman.

  “Look, it’s not worth it. He has a girlfriend and he already thinks I’m a freak.” My arms flailed in the air before letting gravity pull them back toward my lap.

  “Are you sure? The woman could have been anyone. A friend, a colleague. You’ve written him off before even giving him a chance. This is the second time you’ve talked for him when he’s not even here. Are you intentionally sabotaging your chances before any can begin?”

  “Fine. I’m afraid to let him in because he’ll think I’m from the looney bin. And he won’t be far off. And he’s older and probably way more experienced. It freaks me out, okay? He’d probably roll his eyes at how inexperienced I am. And I can’t handle it. And my scars.” I exhaled.

  Dr. Liz remained silent. One of her specialties? Drawing out more information. She hadn’t pushed me too hard yet, but she’d strike sooner than later.

  We still had to discuss the self-abuse and the teasing I endured growing up. How I refused to approach the topic of my biological family I knew nothing about, other than the fact they didn’t want me.

  The abandonment left a deep hole in my heart, regardless of how much my parents loved me. Of course, I loved Jamie and my parents. More than I let them know. It still didn’t negate how I was abandoned by people who were supposed to love me unconditionally and be there through all my major childhood milestones.

  Instead they were blurred faceless figures in my imagination.

  Tears threatened my nose and prickled the inside passages. My stomach knotted, which made me want to punch out the pain. Though I proudly attested to the fact I hadn’t punched my stomach since starting therapy with Dr. Liz freshman year, though the ache still lingered.

  “I keep having bouts of this searing, I don’t know, this kneading in my stomach, and I hate it. What if I’m with someone and feelings of shame come back? I’d spazz out if someone tried to touch me.”

  I paused, and shook my head, mortified at the idea of a man seeing my naked stomach. Or any part of my naked body. “I want to be completely healed before I start seeing someone.”

  “And what does ‘being completely healed’ mean?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know. I guess not having shitty abandonment dreams anymore. Where I feel good about myself and never think about calories or grams of fat before I eat. When I can say I’m beautiful and believe it.” My fingers attempted to calm the pain building behind my forehead.

  “And then you’ll be healed?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be healed.” I sighed and grabbed a Kleenex, attempting to expunge any remaining sadness before I headed to class.

  “You know being healed is not some final stage to complete. Your healing is a process you take at your own pace and no one can determine where your journey will take you except you. The pain can ease, but there will be times you’re tested. How you manage it is the trick. Work on having a healthy response without constantly reliving the past.” Dr. Liz paused and started to say something when I cut her off.

  “I know. And learning to trust a male in an intimate setting is also part of my healing, blah, blah, blah.” I finished my facial mini massage and waited for her smackdown.

  “You say ‘blah, blah, blah’ but you’re right. You’ve never let a male in beyond friendship. It appears your fear of being alone, of being abandoned, has manifested in such a way where you’ve decided to let nobody in. You keep everything sealed tight under lock and key. Makes me inclined to encourage you to break out of your own prison.”

  “Nice metaphor.”

  Dr. Liz didn’t respond. She waited for me to answer with depth.

  “Fine. I hear ya. Though I don’t think Gavin’s going to be the one with the key.” Air quotes accompanied my last point.

  “Well, keep your mind open. And you don’t have to speak for him. Speak only for yourself.” Dr. Liz pulled out her planner and flipped through the pages. “Next week, same time?”

  “Works for me.” I moved to grab my backpack, stealing some lavender lotion and applying it on my dry skin. The faint white dried lines on the back of my hands boggled my mind, with upstate New York experiencing record high levels of humidity.

  “Okay great. Well, you have your homework. Keep doing your affirmations. I want you to journal about how it feels to say them. Next week we’ll begin EMDR to help with your abandonment.”

  “EMDR?” This was the first time I’d heard the acronym.

  “Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Therapy. It’s a technique I find works well with my PTSD clients. You should google it.”

  “Um, okay. Will it hurt?”

  “No, not like you think. It helps address the source of pain and create new neuropathways. But we have some homework to do first.” She pasted on a reassuring smile and patted my knee twice.

  “I guess it’ll be fine,” I muttered.

  “And Louie?” Was the sky falling? She never called me Louie.

  “Yeah?”

  Dr. Liz sat behind her desk, no doubt writing some voodoo shit about our session today. She peered up. “Give yourself a chance. Don’t shut him out yet.”

  “Roger.” And then I bolted out of her office.

  Chapter 4

  After my session with Dr. Liz on Tuesday, I endured a very painful sight-singing class. Piecing together music in my mind? I was the bomb. The ability to sing notes off a sheet of music in perfect pitch without hearing them first? I lacked talent.

  My shoulders had slumped in defeat when Dr. Haven entered through the door, solidifying her role in either the premature demise of my career as a composer or the glimpse of hope I might ha
ve a chance to make it beyond my undergraduate degree.

  To her credit, she must have wanted me to succeed because she approached me yet again about getting extra help from the tutor.

  “The earlier you start, the easier it will be for you come midterms and finals. If you wait too long, you’ll only fall even more behind. Remember Wednesdays room 251, at noon. First session starts tomorrow,” she implored.

  “Yes, Dr. Haven.”

  “You’re a smart, hard-working young lady. I suspect you’ll make great music but not if you can’t pass these last two classes.”

  “Thank you.” I’m sure she meant to compliment me? I had determined yes, she thought me fabulous. These courses would only make me remarkable.

  There, some more affirmations for you, Dr. Liz.

  Wednesday had arrived and no surprise, Dr. Haven reminded me, yet again, how today was the first day of tutoring sessions. As the sole student she pulled aside at the end of class, I comprehended my trek down the stairs to room 251 would be solitary.

  Emmy feebly waved as we departed in opposite directions, and I groaned inwardly. I pulled out my cell and texted the gang, letting them know only Emmy would join them for lunch.

  Dr. Haven made it quite clear if I wanted to have any chance at passing her classes this year, I’d have to spend many hours with the tutor. Apparently, I owned the honor of being the only major in level five, who sucked this bad. Yes Dr. Liz, no longer in the mood for self-affirmations. Maybe yesterday, but not today.

  I turned the handle of the door and prayed my tutor wasn’t some weirdo like Joel from freshman year, who liked to sniff the air whenever he spoke and then talked down to us like we were still in diapers whenever we made a mistake.

  Waiting in solitude, I pulled my cell out again and checked the time. Five ‘til noon. Mid-text to my brother about classes, the door opened and in strode Gavin.