Ding!
Amelia pulled back and Mike swallowed the raisin.
“To review,” Dr. Carroll said and he sounded aggrieved. “Alexei ground his raisins underfoot. David threw his away. Persephone ate hers. Amelia and Mike engaged in sex play. Joanne and Whitney also seemed to think this was some kind of sex game, and Angelina put hers in her pocket.”
“I studied mine,” Ainsley said and she sounded saintly and wronged. “If you ask me, Doctor, my life is like a raisin, puckered and dehydrated and prunish and dead. I need to find a way to make my life expand and bloom and be filled with nourishment and moisture again. But it’s hard. I broke my back playing soccer four years ago and, without warning, I dropped like a stone, and then I’m incapacitated by pain for weeks. I can’t hold down a job. I can’t have any kind of regular life because I could fall down at any second.”
“Have you seen a physician?” Dr. Carroll asked.
“Yes. I can have an operation but there’s a fifty-fifty chance I could end up paralyzed. And then I’d be even more like this stupid raisin. Puckered-up like an old lady before I’m thirty.”
“Wow. Thank you for sharing, Ainsley.” Dr. Carroll sounded deflated, as if his raisin exercise hadn’t had quite the desired results.
“That’s all you can say? Thank you for sharing? You’re not very helpful,” Ainsley was angry.
“I can’t exactly say go and play soccer if it might paralyze you, can I? But you could take up art, or knitting, or crocheting, or pottery. You are thinking in very limited terms, Ainsley, and that’s hardly my fault. The opposite of being a raisin is not being a soccer player and if you can’t see that for yourself, you need to stretch the muscles of your imagination. Come on now! What else are you good at? What else do you enjoy?”
“I do enjoy baking. And making clothes for dogs. And teaching kids to paint.”
“There you go then.”
“I also love acting in amateur theatre and making costumes for them, and I like making hats and quilting and—”
“Yes, we get the idea,” Dr. Carroll interrupted her. “So, can you see there’s more to life than your being a tiny dried-up raisin?”
“Yes. I can.”
“Good. Now, Alexei, you crushed them under your boot.”
“I was trying to make wine,” Alexei said, with a lopsided smile.
“Others may believe you but I don’t. You’re angry, Alexei. Are you going to be okay this week, out there in the world?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“You don’t sound too certain. I think we need to find some tools for you to put in your toolbox.”
“I’ve already got every kind of tool there is,” Alexei looked confused.
“Emotional tools, Alexei, not real tools. For example, let’s say someone enrages you on the construction site. Let’s say they call your mother a whoring pig.”
“I will kill him,” Alexei said instantly.
“Now that’s the kind of thing I’m trying to help you avoid,” Dr. Carroll said. “Remember with D.T.O.T., you want to do the opposite thing, okay? What would be the opposite thing?”
“Buy him a coffee,” David offered helpfully.
“I’m supposed to listen to advice from the guy who can’t even leave his desk in case he cries or loses control?” Alexei was scathing.
“Alexei, be gentle now. David is only trying to help. We’re all trying to help. What if you ignored the man who insulted you?”
“He would think I was a pussy.”
“What if you said look, I could fight you and win but I’m not into that today, so pick on someone else.”
“He would think I was a pussy.”
“And so what if he does? What do you care what some moron thinks?”
“It’s my reputation at stake, that’s what.”
“But Alexei, take the heavyweight boxing champion of the world. Do you think he feels he has to fight every punk who insults him or his mother? You need to pick the fights that matter.”
“Like the one with Gino. That fight mattered and I didn’t pick it and now look.” Alexei scowled at Joanne and Whitney.
“You feel betrayed by Whitney,” Dr. Carroll said. “But Alexei, what Whitney felt for you wasn’t personal. She just liked the excitement. Her life has been so terrifyingly bland that she could hardly breathe and then you came along, offering danger and excitement but just about the time she was getting bored of being with you — not because she was bored of you but because the danger was lessening — then along came Joanne. Whitney is an addict of misery and of excitement. She thinks she’s cured now, because she’s with Joanne, but pretty soon she’ll need a new fix or all her anxiety symptoms will return.”
“That’s utter nonsense!” Whitney shouted and the group could tell she was searching for a stronger phrase but her adherence to social niceties kept her language scrubbed. “Doctor, you’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Actually I do. I was delighted when you and Alexei hooked up. I thought you were D.T.O.T.ing but now you’re repeating yourself and D.T.O.T. means doing the opposite constantly, in order to keep things even and balanced, while you’re just doing more of the same.”
“So we’re supposed to swing between behaviours as if we have some kind of psychosis?” Mike spoke up. “One week I should be king of public speaking and the next I should avoid people?”
“No. One week phone them, the next week email them, then meet them for coffee. Make a list of fear-inducing situations and rotate them. Whitney has come up with one solution for tranquillizing her anxiety, and that’s sex. She needs to find other things. Whitney, have you had any kind of honest conversation with your daughter?”
“About what?”
“About her anxiety?”
“No, I’ve been too happy. I didn’t want to get depressed.”
“Nice,” David commented. “She’s the reason you came here and now the only thing you can think about is who you can roll in the hay with next.”
“That’s not true!” Whitney flushed. “I really like Joanne. I mean I liked Alexei too but it was just sex, sorry Alexei. But with Joanne, I don’t know … I can be myself.”
“Be myself,” Doctor Carroll mused. “Such a bandied-about phrase and what does it mean? This would be a good time for us to look at values. I know it’s been a longer session than usual, but we are making great strides here. So, our actions and behaviours are largely influenced by our values. What does each of you value? Take out a piece of paper and write down five values.”
“I don’t have any,” Alexei said.
“Of course you do,” Dr. Carroll said. “You value your masculinity and you value being respected for that. You value being liked for your body.”
“I mean I don’t have any paper,” Alexei elaborated. “I do have values. I value my mother and my brothers and sisters. And loyalty to family is everything.”
“I don’t have real values,” Angelina said. “I value my stuff over everything, at the expense of everyone and everything.”
“I value helping people,” Shannon said, looking at Alexei with a helpful expression.
“I value family,” Persephone said.
“I value money and family and success and love,” Mike said.
“I value harmony, peace and tranquility,” David said.
“I value excitement,” Joanne said.
“I value me,” Whitney said, “and I’d like to increase my knowledge of the values that make me happy.”
“Amelia?”
She was quiet. She wanted to say that she valued being part of society, that she valued being a contributor to the world, being a good daughter and granddaughter. She valued being a girlfriend, even though she’d never been one. But she couldn’t say any of those things and so she simply lifted in shoulders in a hapless gesture. “I val
ue the potential of having values,” she said. “That’s all I’ve got.”
“Ainsley?”
“I value love, marriage, babies, and family. Being part of a community.”
“Wait.” Amelia piped up. “I want to contribute something to the world. I’d value that. I value the courage of people who do bold things in life, people who save other people’s lives or stand up for a cause even if it means putting their own lives at risk.”
“Very noble. Well, group. We did a lot and we achieved a lot. For your homework this week, I’d like you to meditate upon the foods you eat. Eat slowly, with deliberation. Taste the food, every bite. The saltiness, the sweetness, the texture, the temperature. And drink water, really taste the water.”
“Angelina,” Dr. Carroll asked abruptly, “can you stay back? I’ve found someone who might be able to help you with your hoarding.”
A look of fear crossed Angelina’s face. “But I’ve decided that I don’t think I’m ready to change,” she said, her chins quivering.
“Don’t worry, it’s okay, the therapist I’ve found for you is very nice, she won’t rush you. Will you just sit and chat with me a bit about it? You can always say no, once I’ve told you about her.”
Angelina sat down with the enthusiasm of someone going to the electric chair while the rest of the group left the room.
“See you next week,” Dr. Carroll cried out as they left, “and don’t forget: D.T.O.T.! D.T.O.T. till the cows come home!”
As Amelia prepared to make her great escape, Mike grabbed her by the arm. “No, you don’t,” he said. “Not this time. This time, you’re coming with me.”
12. AMELIA AND MIKE
“I HAD THE WORST WEEK BECAUSE OF YOU,” Mike said. “We’re going to have a chat. I’m taking you for coffee and not here at the hospital. We’re going somewhere nice. Come on.”
Amelia wasn’t happy but she followed him to an old beat-up white car. “Nice ride,” she said. “I thought you were the next Steve Jobs.”
“It takes time,” Mike said. “Here, let me clear the seat off for you.” The passenger seat was covered in papers and books about marketing and computing.
Amelia gave the stack that Mike put on the back seat a cursory once over, and announced, “We’ve got nothing in common.” She looked at him pointedly and then pulled on her seatbelt.
“I think we eat a raisin together pretty well,” Mike said and Amelia smiled.
“Yeah, we do. Does your girlfriend know you’re taking me out for coffee?”
“She does not and I’m not proud of that.”
“Not being proud of your actions isn’t good enough. I should leave,” Amelia said but she made no move to unfasten her seatbelt.
Mike rested his head on the steering wheel. “Fine,” he said. “Go, then. I’m tired of chasing you. These groups knock the shit out of me if you must know and I’m tired. I have to make up the hours I spend here and work is super pressured. So if you really want to go, then go and I won’t bug you again.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Amelia spoke quickly. “I do want to talk to you too. I’m sorry. I’m afraid of getting to like you too much. And I most likely shouldn’t have said that either but it’s true.”
He put his hand on hers and next thing they were necking across the gear stick, with Amelia still strapped into her seat belt.
“You make me so hot,” Mike said and he cupped his hand behind her neck. “But let’s go. I want to tell you about Jane because I want you to know who she is, so she’s not just some arbitrary name. We started dating when we were both fourteen. Babies. We went through high school together and she was head of the cheerleading squad and I was the quarterback hero. It was like Dr. Carroll said, and it was great. But then school ended and I feel like we did too, but I don’t know how to tell her. How do you tell someone you’ve spent eight years with that you don’t want to be with them any more? It’s killing me, Amelia. And the truth is, maybe things won’t work out between you and me, but the fact that I feel about you the way I do means that Jane’s not right for me.”
Amelia wanted to throw up. Her stomach lurched when he said that things might not work out between them. She gulped and didn’t want to say anything in case she cried, so she sat very still.
Mike put the car into drive. “Let’s go somewhere better than this to talk,” he said.
He took her to a coffee shop with leather sofas and low-slung wooden coffee tables and original art on the walls. Amelia felt out of place. She knew nothing about the cool trendy side of the world. There were galleries and coffee shops and boutiques and all manner of things that she was completely in the dark about. Her idea of a good time was to walk down a street she had never been on, and to look for treasures. She loved nothing more than the glowing shimmer of light behind tightly closed curtains, where she imagined a family enjoying peace after a long day and sharing the adventures they had had with each other.
She sat down on a sofa and waited for Mike to return with their lattes. He settled in close to her, his thighs touching hers.
“I want to kiss you so much,” he said, “but we must talk first.”
“Mike, can I say this?” Amelia dipped the tip of her finger into the foam of her latte and stirred it. “I’m not part of this world.” She gestured around her. “And it never mattered to me before I met you. But now I realize how out of touch I am. The only thing I know about is Joan of Arc and the English literature that I study. I don’t know about art or politics or economics or the best music to listen to or places to eat, or anything like that. You’ll think I am exaggerating, that I can’t be that much in the dark, but I am. I don’t watch TV. I never have. TV just seems so stupid. And I don’t go to the movies either. And you might think that my way of living sounds unusual and interesting and it is to me, but it won’t be to you or anybody else. And you’ll get annoyed when I repeatedly have no idea what you are talking about.”
He listened intently while she spoke, his eyes focused on hers. “Amelia,” he said, “you can teach me things about your world that you find wonderful and I can share things with you that will enrich yours. I’m not some big party guy. I go snowboarding in winter. I ride bicycles in summer. I rollerblade a bit and that’s me.”
“I can’t snowboard. Or ski. But I can ride a bicycle,” she offered. “And if you wanted to go to a movie with me, I would like to try. I shouldn’t dismiss movies. Maybe I’d like them with you.” They smiled at each other.
“But first,” he said. “I have to tell Jane.” His face clouded over. “She’s a good woman, she is.”
Amelia ripped a piece of paper from her notebook. “Here’s my email and my phone number. Contact me only if you break up with her.”
He agreed and took the piece of paper from her. “Stay a little while, though. Let’s trade stories,” he said. “What’s your earliest childhood memory?”
Amelia laughed. “You sound like Dr. Carroll. Well, Doctor, my earliest memory is of my second birthday party. It was a day of freezing rain and I still wanted to have my party outside. I couldn’t understand why no one else wanted to be out there in the rain with me. I cried and cried and everybody left and my mother was mad at me for ruining everything.”
“Where was your father?”
“He was there but he was already on his way out the door. He left us for years, but he’s back now. My dad’s a whole other ball of wax. I’ll tell you about him one day. He’s a saga, no haiku there.”
Mike looked confused.
“And you,” Amelia said, changing the subject. “What’s your first memory?”
He grinned. “It was the first time I rode my bike without training wheels. My dad was running next to me and my mom was watching us and she was smiling. It was a summer’s day and I felt so proud of myself and happy.”
“That’s a lovely memory,” she said. “Are you still close to your
parents?”
“Very. And you?”
“Yeah, I am. But they’re not what you’d call ordinary. The only ordinary one is my Nana and she raised me. She home-schooled me and she was more like a mother to me than my Mom. If you must know, my mom’s an obsessed body-builder and a fake tanning freak, and I live with her and my Nana in Scarborough. My dad’s a nationally-acclaimed poet who lives in an empty mansion in Rosedale.”
“When did they get divorced?”
“They didn’t. They’re still married. And, I swear, they’re still in love. Like I said, it’s a very long story.”
“Sounds like a very interesting story,” Mike said and he looked at his watch. “Oh, man. Listen, I have to go. I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to think I don’t want to talk more because I do. There’s nothing I’d like better but I have to get back to work. Can I drop you anywhere?”
“No, I’m good here for a bit.”
“Are you sure? I hate to leave you. I’ve got a project I’ve got to get finished and—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Amelia said. “But promise to always tell the truth.”
“I promise. Oh, Amelia.” He pulled her to her feet and held her close, and she fitted perfectly into him. She laid her head on his chest, wrapped her arms around him, and both of them pressed tightly together.
“You smell so good,” he said. “You smell like strawberries and wet grass and trees after a storm and electricity in the air and hot sunshine. You smell like all those things and more. And you’re so tiny, Amelia. You’re like a tiny little bird that landed near me by mistake and I’m so afraid you’ll fly away.”
“I won’t,” she said. “Not yet. Only if we can’t be together. Then I’ll have to.”
The Nearly Girl Page 21
