What Brings Me to You

by Loralee Abercrombie

  "What does this have to do with me?" She looked at me with urgent, piercing eyes. It was at that moment I could see Charley in her. There was something behind those eyes, though Mrs. F's were gray. I could see her thinking, the storm behind them so evident.

  "You know so much. She's told you so much. She trusts you. Or I should say based on what you've written trusted you. I love my daughter, Teddy and I want her to be happy. I need to know, what happened with you two?"

  "I love her."

  "You love her," she didn't look at me, just absently repeated it like she couldn't believe that it was true. It was true, and her incredulity stoked the fire I was trying to keep under control. I had to keep it in check. The tenuous truce I'd garnered with Mrs. F. was the only way I was going to see her again.

  "Yes. I’m not going to give you any details because it's no one else's business but ours and, frankly, I don't trust you, but I will tell you that I screwed up. Big time. I need you to help me get in touch with her, Mrs. F. Please. Give me an address. A phone number. Something. I'm going out of my mind."

  "Teddy, if she hasn't reached out to you, then it's likely she doesn't want to see you. I don't know much about my daughter, but if she's anything like me, she's not one to let something go easily."

  "You're probably right and if that's the case then I'll accept it, but I deserve closure, too. You read the letter so I don't think I should say it again, but I'm going to: she changed me. She fucking changed me and I want her to know that. Even if she doesn't want me, I need to tell her that I'm a better man because of her. Please."

  "I just don't know if I can do that, Teddy. It doesn't seem right and, despite what you think, I'm trying to do right by her."

  "I don't think it's your call, ma’am. You want to do right by her? Don't let her throw away what we have. I love her. Let me get in touch with her, please."

  "I don't want to be in the middle here, Teddy, but I see you're hurting. I'm not making any promises but I'll talk to her. If she wants to see you then I'll give you the address."

  I pulled the letters out of my bag, glad that I didn’t chuck them into the Hillsborough River like I’d intended. "The letter?"

  "I'll give it to her,” she it and carefully folded it into her purse. “Kid, I don't know much about you, but if you were able to get through to my daughter, get her to open up to you, then I owe you for that. No matter what she says to me when I see her, I'll let you know."

  "Thank you." I breathed a heavy sigh of relief at the idea of closure.

  "I always knew she was special,” she stated wistfully.

  "I wish she knew it." I wasn't sure how I meant it or how she took it, but the tears spilled over her grey eyes and into her wine glass.

  Mrs. Feinman gave me the tiniest glimmer of hope. Whether or not Charley wanted to hear from me, I’d finally know for sure. It was obsessive, but I needed to know. I needed to know if there was even the smallest chance that we could be together. I was so certain of the depth of my love for her that if I could see her, talk to her I could convince her of it, too. I needed to convince her because without her my world was so dark. She was my eyes. Without her I was blind.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Charley

  When I woke up I knew exactly where I was, I just had no idea how I got there.

  "Hey," Kelsey said. She was in a chair next to the bed I was laying in. I still had on all my clothes but I was freezing.

  "Hey," my voice was hoarse and scratchy but at least sound came out.

  "Are you okay, Charley?"

  "That's a dumb question considering I'm laid up in Student Health, Kelce."

  "No I mean..." she looked all concerned and I didn’t really want her to ask me if I was okay again. I just wanted answers.

  "How did I get here?"

  "You walked, Charley. Don't you remember? I was with you."

  "You were?"

  "You fell in the hall,” the way she averted her eyes told me there was more to the story. From what I remembered it was more than a fall. I was tearing through the corridor grabbing onto walls and doorframes trying to get the Earth to quit turning. “You told me you needed help. You kept saying you couldn't breathe. We walked over here together two hours ago."

  My mouth was dry and I had a wicked headache, the pounding only increasing with trying to comprehend what she was telling me. "Did they give me something?" Her eyes darted from mine toward the door and I thought she was going to avoid answering that question too. "Kelce, it's okay. Did they give me something?"

  "Yes we did." I followed Kelsey’s gaze toward the voice, and an older man in a white coat, gray slacks, and what looked like crocs strode in carrying a clipboard. "We gave you a sedative to help you relax, Charley."

  "Oh." Shit! A sedative? Like I was a crazy person?

  "I’m Doctor Musgraves.”

  “Nice to meet you,” it was an automatic response. Under these circumstances it was not nice to meet him at all.

  “How are you feeling?" He asked. Why does everyone keep asking me that?

  "I've been better."

  "Any dizziness? Nausea?"

  "I have a headache. I could really use some water."

  "That's one of the side effects of the Ativan. We'll get you some water," then he glanced reflexively at Kelsey. I guess she took the hint because she volunteered to get me a water bottle. I sat up on the cot and when she left and asked, "When can I leave?"

  "I'm going to discharge you after we talk, Charley."

  "About what?"

  "We think you may have had a panic attack. Have you ever had one before?"

  "I don't think so."

  "Charley, we see this a lot. You're in a new place away from home, high pressure, high stress academic climate, living with strangers, lack of sleep and on and on. You're not alone and it's nothing to be ashamed of. The facts are one third of all college students suffer from some sort of mental issue or another which is exacerbated by the environment. That being said, we need to get you well so you can continue in your studies."

  "I'm fine, Doc. Really." Please don’t treat me like a crazy person. Please.

  "Charley, honey," and he grabbed my hand in both of his as if I were his own daughter. I didn’t know if this was typical of dads, but it seemed so natural for him. His wedding band was a scratched, dingy gold which made the whole thing that much worse. I imagined him in a cheesy Christmas sweater, baking cookies with little girls with brunette ringlets and red ribbons in their hair, singing Jingle bells and licking batter off of spoons. Everything I'd just gone through with my mother; how she stood and glared at me, how she left without even saying goodbye, came rushing back. The tears fell one by one down my face onto my jeans; a couple onto Dr. Musgraves' hand, which was still cupping mine in my lap. His voice was so calm, so soft it was painful to listen to. "Charley, I looked at your records. You're here on a full ride -that's quite an accomplishment. I don't want to see you throw it away because you refuse to get help. If you have another attack like you did, it will put your scholarship and your housing in jeopardy."

  "So what are you going to do? Give me little blue pills or something?"

  "Not entirely," he tore a script off of his pad and pulled a card from his wallet. "I want you to make an appointment with a campus counselor. Here's who you should call,” he handed me the business card. “Charley, this is your prescription for little blue pills but it's not to be filled until after you see the counselor, understand? You need to talk about the triggers for that attack so you can deal with them properly."

  "Okay."

  "I'll be checking the counselor log. If I don't see you on there in the next two weeks I'm calling you back in, understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good, I'll get your paperwork."

  He turned and left the room and I examined the script and the card. His handwriting was typical doctor handwriting so I couldn't read it. The business card for the counselor was different. It was an ecru color with green letterin
g and the USF Bulls symbol in the upper right corner. STUDENT WELLNESS COUNSELING was printed in bold at the top. Underneath, COLLETTE MUSGRAVES in simple black, block. Keeping it in the family, I thought.

  I'd almost let the two weeks elapse but something told me Dr. Musgraves wasn't kidding when he said he'd check up on me, and I just couldn't handle seeing him again. I made an appointment with the female Dr. Musgraves twelve days after being discharged.

  The counseling office had a totally different vibe than the barnyard that was the health center. The office was quiet; there were inspirational posters all over the walls because the place needed something. The ugly, gray, commercial grade carpeting and the was-white-when-it-was-painted-but-now-looks-kind-of-brown color on the walls was downright depressing. The irony of all of this was not lost on me. How is anyone supposed to get cheered up in a place like this?

  "Charlotte Feinman? Come on back."

  *****

  I’ turn on my phone for the first time in days. Seven weeks and people are still blowing up my phone with obligatory condolences. I’m so sick of it. I have twelve missed calls. Most of them from mom. There are two from Collette. One from her dad. I don’t even bother to listen to the messages because I know what they say. She always says the same thing. That’s Collette, restrained. I know that I need to call her back. I can't avoid her forever. I don’t want to, but when your best friend is your only friend, and your only friend is your therapist, things get complicated.

  *****

  Dr. Musgraves likes ‘em young, I thought when I first saw the Mrs. Dr. Musgraves. She was…young. She couldn’t have been much older than me. And she was gorgeous. Long wavy brown hair that was so shiny it looked like a show pony’s mane. Her skin was a flawless alabaster color. She wore a tailored white shirt with a gray pencil skirt and low, sensible but stylish heels. She was taller than me, but she wasn’t tall. She had small glasses with red frames that on anyone else probably would’ve looked dorky but on her it was cute; sexy even. I imagined her male patients having fantasies about her.

  She looked so put together but it was clearly a façade. She seemed a bit flustered when she came in carrying a manila envelope and notepad. She sat down in a huff in a deep leather studded chair across from the identical one I was in. She didn’t cross her legs like I thought she would. Instead she touched her knees together and turned her toes in toward each other. Her posture was awful and she looked like a little girl sitting in Daddy’s easy chair. Nothing seemed to fit, and I wondered if maybe she needed therapy as badly as I did.

  Despite all of that, I liked her right away.

  “Charlotte, it’s good to meet you. You can call me Collette,” she breathed as if it were the first breath she’d ever taken.

  “Call me Charley. Why not Dr. Musgraves?”

  “Okay then, Charley,” she scribbled in her notepad then answered my question, “For one, Dr. Musgraves is my father and two, I’m not a Doctor yet.” Father, I thought. That’s why she’s so young. Wait, what?

  “Pardon? You’re not a doctor yet?”

  “I’m a PsyD candidate. I’m performing my internship here under the supervision of Dr. Steward, the head counselor. I’ll be debriefing him after each of our sessions, hence the notepad. It goes without saying that confidentiality extends to him as well, so you have no reason to feel anxious. We agreed it would be best if he were not present for our sessions, though.”

  “Oh.”

  Her eyebrows knit together under her red-framed glasses and she frowned. “Would you prefer to speak with him, instead?” She seemed a little slighted when she asked. Like I’d really hurt her feelings or something if I said yes. Truthfully, I didn’t really want to sit in this freezing office, in this big squeaky chair, with an old stogy man anyway. I really liked Collette –maybe her stylishness would rub off on me. Maybe I wouldn’t have to talk about my “issues” and we could just chit chat and then we’d become besties. Probably not, but I liked the way the image sat in my mind so I smiled.

  “No. This is fine.”

  “Great. Let’s get started, shall we?” Instantly the smile faded and I was nervous again which she picked up on right away. Damn, am I that readable? “Charley, it’s okay to be nervous being here, but I’m not going to ask you to talk about anything you’re not comfortable with, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. Why are you here?” Didn’t she just say…?

  “Dr. Musgraves told me to be.”

  “I see. Why is that?”

  “Apparently because I had a panic attack.” I said the words, but something tells me she knew already. She had to. If the manila envelope wasn’t already a clue, then her dad having been the one to treat me in the first place meant she had to know something.

  “Have you ever had one before?”

  “No,” I stated emphatically.

  “You sound sure of that.”

  “I am. I never felt like that before.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I was dying.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “I felt like I was going to die. All I could think was I’m going to die. I really don’t know what more information you can need than that.” I knew I was being snippy, but I did not appreciate being asked to relive one of the most terrifying and mortifying experiences of my life. In the time it took me to work up with courage to go there, the rumors had spread all over the dorm that I was crazy. I heard one of the downstairs neighbors say to another girl as I passed, “That’s the schitzo girl from six.”

  “Okay,” she said flatly. But you have felt out of control before?

  “Doesn’t everyone? I don’t really know what you’re getting a.”

  “I’m talking about anxiety. Have you ever felt out of control? Maybe not to the extent of the panic episode but perhaps something working up to that?” I bristled. There had been moments over the summer where I’d lost myself. Where I’d uncorked the lid that I kept fastened so tightly on my emotions. It started when I yelled at my mother when I got the letter from Yale. It only escalated with each subsequent argument with Teddy. I’d sulked for days about how I’d lost control. I blinked at Collette. Her countenance was impassive, even a little cold, but there was a recognition in her eyes. She knew she hit on something significant even if I didn’t. She changed directions slightly when it was clear that I wasn’t going to dignify her question with a response.“What happened before the attack? Can you go through your day up to that point?”

  “I went to class. Came home. Read for a bit. Talked to my roommate then talked to my mom.” I wasn’t ready for her to know how significant that was, in fact I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to share my past and my family history with anyone else. I opened up to Teddy and it backfired on me. I watched her scribble some more into her little notebook. She was still writing but I was done sharing. Without looking up from her page she asked me about my relationship with Kelsey. I told her that we were good. I liked her, and she liked me, but we weren’t best friends or anything.

  “Do you associate with her at all outside the dorm?”

  “Sometimes,” was a total lie. She’d invited me to go places all the time, but I never went. Collette looked at me hard and sniffed. Did she know that I’d lied?

  “Hm. You said you spoke with your mother before the attack. What was the conversation about?”

  “Just boring stuff,” I shrugged. Collette removed her quirky glasses and set them on top of her pad on her lap. Her eyes were brown and deep set which, without the unusual frames, made her look older and harder.

  “Charley, the purpose of this first meeting is two-fold. First and foremost is to get to know your basic family and medical history. Determine patterns. Things that may trigger your panic episodes. I know the questions may seem a bit mundane so bear with me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to like me, Charley, but you do have to trust me if we move forward after today. That’s the second purpose of this
meeting. The trust needs to work both ways. I need to trust that you’ll give me honest answers so that I can help you properly. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I was pretty sure she just called me out on my lies, but I didn’t feel intimidated or guilty for lying. I just wanted not to do it anymore. Something about it made me feel like I was betraying sisterhood or something. Maybe because she was so young, or maybe because she was that good.

  “Great. So you said that you and your mother talked about ‘boring stuff’. Do you remember anything specific from the conversation?”

  “Yes,” I was being honest, but I wasn’t going to elaborate. She saw it in my face and didn’t bother asking me to.

  “Okay, then, we’ll table that for another visit.”

  The rest of the meeting proceeded that way. She’d ask about my family and I’d be purposefully evasive or shut up and not answer at all. She asked about friends, same thing. I knew that the image I was painting of myself to Collette was pretty pathetic. Like I was the college equivalent to Quasi Modo, but she asked me not to lie, so there really wasn’t a way out of it. Towards the end of the session she gave me some breathing exercises to do if I felt like I was getting, in her words, “worked up” again. When the fifty minutes was up she walked me to the door. Before I slinked out she put a sympathetic hand on my bicep. Her touch startled me out of the rage that was building in my chest.