“No. He is smart. He sees the world differently and I agree with him most of the time.”
“How did your relationship start?”
“He gave me a bad grade. I thought I deserved better.”
“Do you still believe that?”
“No. I wrote a good paper, but it was evasive and he saw through my tactics.”
“What was the topic?”
“Plato’s The Republic.”
“Will you redo the assignment?”
“I dropped the course.”
“But the course is a requirement. I must say it’s unethical for you to have him as your teacher and I advise against that, but perhaps it would do you good to actually write the paper the way it was intended to be written. You’ll eventually have to take the course again.”
Sheilagh grinned. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s right too often and I like having that part of myself he can’t get.”
“Could it be something else?” she asked.
Misunderstanding, Sheilagh said, “Like what?”
“Maybe just think on it.”
She paused. Think on what? There was nothing to think about. Did she think she was afraid to write the stupid paper? “I’m not scared to write it.”
Megan pressed her lips tight, saying nothing.
“You think I’m using it somehow, like, to keep Alec at a distance?”
“Where did that come from?”
Sheilagh frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s in my head. I know what I’d write.”
“Do you? You have a habit of hiding from things you don’t like to face, truths that may be somewhat unpleasant to let surface.”
“I’ll write it,” she said with indifference.
“But will you give your honest appraisal of the story?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Will you allow Alec to read it?”
“No.”
“Because he’ll see through it?”
She ground her teeth. “Do you know him?”
Megan laughed. “No, I don’t know him. But I think he knows you. I’ve read The Republic, several times. It’s not an easy concept to grasp, but it’s an easy enough read.”
“You sound like Alec.”
“Does that bother you?”
“No. I just don’t like feeling forced.”
“We’re just talking.”
Sheilagh sighed. “I know what the story’s about. I’ve read it several times.”
“What’s it about?”
“The whole dilemma questions if an unjust man is as happy as a just man.”
“And?”
“Well… Yes, I think he is.”
The therapist’s brow lifted. “How do you figure?”
“The Republic was written in B.C. Plato had yet to see the modern day tyrant. He assumes power and greed drive the unjust man, but what if there’s actually a very rationalized driving force behind an evil person’s actions. What about Hitler?”
“What about him?”
“He truly believed his actions were justified. It had nothing to do with lust or greed. He was fucked up, bottom line. He did crazy, horrible things and changed the course of history.”
“You don’t think Adolf Hitler lusted for power?”
“I think he had perverse ideas of right and wrong.” Sheilagh paused when Megan gave her a strange look. “What?”
“I think you need to readdress you’re history, Sheilagh. Hitler targeted a race as a scapegoat. He needed an enemy to blame and thereby banished the Jews from society. He built on anti-Semitic ideas in order to win the election of 1932 and secure his place of power.”
“I know all that. My point is, he was unjust and quite satisfied with himself.”
Megan adjusted her posture. “I think we’re getting off topic.”
“Which is what? Plato? It’s a stupid assignment which is no longer required.”
“For now.”
Sheilagh frowned. Maybe she was missing something. Everyone seemed to think this ridiculous book had the key to all that ailed her. She didn’t want to look that deeply into herself. It was easier to look at others and make assessments.
Megan crossed her legs and waited.
“What?”
“Why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry,” Sheilagh snapped.
“You’re shouting.”
She was shouting. Tightening her lips, she mumbled, “Sorry.”
A few moments passed and Megan said, “Think about the word normal. You’ve used it a few times today. Once regarding Hitler’s ideals in comparison to Plato’s and once in defining how Alec makes you feel.”
“You’re twisting my words.”
“I’m only trying to address the fact that “normal” may be something even you strive for, but in your case it’s based on your perception. What’s your definition of right and wrong, Sheilagh?”
“It’s the same as everyone else’s.”
“Which is?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. The Ten Commandments.”
“Are you a Christian?”
“I’m Catholic.”
“Do you believe you are a just person?”
For some reason she didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Was she just? She was sitting there arguing with her therapist over the similarities of Hitler and Plato, which was obviously off tangent to her own crap. She could go on and on about philosophies and analyzing other’s mistakes, but when it came to herself, she didn’t have a single answer.
The problem with that stupid assignment is that Alec never asked for Plato’s thoughts. He’d asked for his student’s. Why was it so difficult for her to divulge such information? She knew the text by heart, but couldn’t seem to apply it to her life. Every time she tried, part of her pulled back as though shying away from a frightening shadow.
The commandments rolled through her head. She never killed anyone. She sort of went to church. She was as respectful of her parents in her own screwed up McCullough way. She believed in God, but didn’t hassle people about their personal beliefs in other Gods—to each his own…
But…
She shared a bed with a man who was not her legal spouse. She’d been with lots of men, dishonored her body, which was meant to be her temple. She didn’t want to get wrapped up in all that. It was a catch many Catholics faced and other than her brother Kelly’s wife, no one really waited until marriage anymore. Yet, knowing this didn’t restore a bit of the dignity that scraped away each time she gave her body to someone she didn’t love.
However, Alec was different. She loved him. He loved her. If he asked her to marry him—whoa! She was not going there.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Marriage,” Sheilagh replied, a little surprised at the course of her thoughts.
“Whose marriage?”
“I guess mine.”
“Are you thinking about Alec?”
She shrugged. “We aren’t there yet.”
“Do you think you’re a good person, Sheilagh?”
She nodded, but couldn’t vocalize her agreement.
Megan waited for her to look at her as if knowing there were conditions to her assessment of herself.
Sheilagh shrugged. “I coveted my brother’s lover.”
Megan appeared surprised by this admission. “Could you expand on that?”
Shrinking into the couch a bit more, she said, “His name’s Tristan.”
“Your brother’s gay?”
“Yes. Bi. I don’t know. He’s been with Tristan for years, but no one knows aside from me.”
“And who is Tristan to you?”
“He moved to our town after my brother returned from college. Luke blew out his knee and lost his scholarship. I was just a kid. When I met Tristan I was in love.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen or seventeen.”
“So you
were very young. How old is Tristan?”
“He’s almost thirty now.”
“Are you typically attracted to older men?”
“Not really. I mean, yes, Alec’s older, but Tristan always seemed more on my level.”
“Emotionally?”
“In a way. More socially, but I guess I sort of hero-worshipped him so maybe that’s not true.”
“When did you find out about him and Luke?”
“When I was eighteen. I was supposed to be leaving for college soon. I wanted to tell him before I left. I had no idea he was dating anyone, let alone Luke. He never acted gay. I…found them together.”
“They were being intimate?”
“Luke was wearing a towel and waiting for Tristan to join him in the shower.”
“What was that like for you?”
She scoffed. “To say I was blown away is an understatement.”
“And did this discovery affect other parts of your life?”
“No. Maybe. At first. I think I wanted to see what would happen. I couldn’t accept what I saw.”
“You were in denial.”
“Yeah, but as time went on I saw more than their relationship. I saw their love. In a look, a longing glance, a stolen touch. It sometimes seemed so blatant I wondered how no one else saw it. It makes me angry that they keep their relationship a secret.”
“Why?”
“Because Tristan deserves more than that.”
“What about your brother?”
“Luke and I haven’t been the same since. Things are worse now.”
“Why?”
“Because last time I was home Tristan kissed me.”
“And…”
“Alec was home visiting with me.”
“Does Alec know?”
“Yeah. We broke up for a while, but then we calmed down and talked about it. He says Tristan is confused and it isn’t right for him to play with my head.”
“And what do you think about that?”
“I think he’s right, but my instinct always has me jumping to Tristan’s defense.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. Everything having to do with him has gotten so confusing.”
“How did the kiss make you feel?”
“Angry.”
“Why angry?”
“Because six years ago I would have given anything to have him kiss me, but he waited until I was in love with someone else.”
“And how does your love for Alec compare to your love for Tristan?”
“It’s different.”
“Different how?”
“Alec is… He sees me, not as some little kid or a little sister to his friend. The word McCullough means nothing to him. He sees me as a woman, as his equal.”
“How would you describe what you feel for Alec?”
Sheilagh considered this. “Genuine.”
“And Tristan?”
“Maybe not so genuine. When he kissed me it changed things. He was always the man I couldn’t have, either because I was too young or because of Luke. He removed the obstacle and suddenly I realized I no longer wanted him. It’s like I’ve been walking around in a haze of make believe, using him as an excuse for being miserable all these years. If it’s not him, then what is it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“Maybe it’s me.”
“You said your relationship with Luke has gotten worse since the kiss. Does he know about the kiss?”
“Yes. He flipped out. I don’t blame him. Everything he said was true.”
“Do you remember what he said?”
“He said enough is never enough with me, that he was tired of feeling guilty over some childish crush I have on Tristan.” She looked down, shame resurfacing. “He said he was done with me.”
“Did you fight back?”
“No. I just stood there and took it, like I had it coming.”
“I find that people who believe in religions formulated on penance tend to be extra critical of themselves and often unforgiving of their wrongs. As a Catholic, do you follow the practices of confession? And if so, does it bring contentment?”
“I go to confession, but I never really get deep with the priest. I just brush over the basics, missing mass, cursing, pre-marital sex.”
“Does the idea of pre-marital sex bother you?”
“Not really.”
“And cursing?”
“No. I was raised by a woman whose favorite word is cocksucker. They’re just words.”
“Then why ask for forgiveness?”
She shrugged. “That’s what Catholics are supposed to do.”
“And when you’re absolved of these so-called sins, do you feel better?”
“Not really.” She looked at Megan. “I guess I’m not really a very good Catholic.”
“Who says you have to be?”
“God. My parents.”
“And what do you say?”
She laughed. “Sometimes I just want to say fuck it.”
“Meaning?”
“There are so many rules. I’m tired of them. I’m tired of beating myself up for not being perfect.”
“And what is perfect, Sheilagh? Who do you see in your mind when you imagine someone of perfection?”
She thought for a minute. “I guess no one.”
“Is that okay?”
Sheilagh shrugged, digesting all of this. For the first time since meeting her therapist she actually felt like she was getting some therapy. “So what do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to start over.”
Megan nodded. “Is anything stopping you?”
“People. They have this idea of me and if I changed it would all be fake.”
“Fake to…”
“Them, but being fake is my reality.”
“Does it have to be?”
They were running out of time. Sheilagh didn’t want to leave until she had an answer. A hint of what direction was the right one. “People hate change.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Experience. They have something in their head and the minute you surprise them they get all nutty.”
“Who’s they?”
“Everyone. My family.”
“So you’re saying your family expects you to be a certain way and it might disappoint them if you don’t deliver “old Sheilagh”?”
“Yes.”
Megan waited.
“If I wanted to test that theory I’d have to go home. I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
I’m ashamed, scared, all of the above. Her chest tightened. “Because everything’s all messed up. My parents are acting different. Luke hates me. Tristan’s an issue I don’t want to face.”
“How are your parents acting different?”
“They’ve turned the house into their personal love nest. It’s gross.”
Megan laughed then turned serious again. “Do you honestly believe your brother hates you?”
“Yes.” There was no question about it. Luke made his feelings perfectly clear and she couldn’t even argue with him.
“Do you hate Luke?”
“No, I love Luke,” she stated emphatically.
“And you don’t believe he holds the same unconditional affection for you, his sister.”
“He didn’t try to take the person I love from me.”
“You said Tristan kissed you.”
“He did.”
“Then how is that your fault?”
She frowned. “It’s not, I guess, but I let it get to that point.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I flirted.”
“It takes two people to flirt.”
“I propositioned him.”
“When?”
“When I was eighteen.”
“And nothing since?”
She shrugged weakly. “We danced together. We flirt. We’re alwa
ys making private jokes.”
“Sounds like a lot of we and not so much you.”
“Maybe.”
Megan glanced at her watch “We’re out of time. I’d like you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“I’d like you to write a letter to Luke. It’s not to give to him, but I want you to write down everything you feel regarding him and bring it with you next week to our session.”
“Okay.”
When she left Megan’s office she felt heavy as though the things on her mind were truly weighing her down. She returned to her apartment and opened up her notebook intending to write up the lab she had due, but found herself distracted. An hour later she was on the fifth page of a scribbled letter to her brother.
She made a pot of tea as she reread her words. Her eyes prickled with tears as she worked around the kitchen, heating up soup and stirring sugar into her favorite mug. Grabbing a pen from the few wedged in the bun of her hair, she adjusted her wording and scratched out some things that came off harsher than she wanted.
The sun set and her apartment turned dark, forcing her to move to the couch by the lamp. Sometime later there was a knock at her door. As she finished scrawling out her thoughts she frowned. It was after ten.
Holding the sheaf of well over eighteen pages in her hand, she shuffled to the door and opened it.
“Oh, good, you’re alive,” Alec said, a look of irritation on his face.
“What?”
“I’ve been calling you for hours.”
She frowned. “My phone must still be on silent from this afternoon.” She always set her phone to vibrate when she met with Megan.
Alec stepped inside and shut the door. “I was worried, Sheilagh. You usually call me after your sessions.”
“Sorry.”
He glanced around her apartment. “Is everything okay?”
“Sure.”
He frowned. “Did something happen today?”
“Everything’s fine, Alec. I lost track of time.”
His gaze went to the rumpled papers in her hand. “What are you working on?”
“A letter to Luke.”
The magnitude of this registered in his eyes. His expression softened. “Have you been crying?” His fingers caught her chin, turning her face to his.
“A little. It’s helping.”
“Did Megan suggest you write him?”
“I’m not giving it to him. It’s just for me.” And to share with Megan so she can make me look at things I really don’t want see.
Faking It (McCullough Mountain) Page 17
