joe

“LAURIE, SWEET heart. Wake up.”

Aunt Rachel was kneeling beside my bed, smelling of sweet perfume and wearing matching satin pajamas. “You didn’t come for dinner last night.”

I breathed deep through my nose, rubbing my eyes, clenching my stomach from hunger. I then imagined Aunt Rachel sitting alone at the dinner table downstairs in the dining room, accepting that I was too upset to eat.  She was never the kind of person that does much alone. She always has a friend over to help her with little decisions, or to make big decisions for her. I remember from years ago visiting here, very often she’d have a friend over to help her pick out what she was going to wear that day, as if she was completely incompetent to do it herself.

I didn’t answer her, just kept my head on my pillow and stared into blank space.

            “Your father called.”

Still, nothing from me.  I had nothing to say or nothing to think about my father. Aunt Rachel was still sitting there though, waiting for a reply.

            “He has arranged for you to see someone while you’re staying here. Only until you get better, though.” She shifted a little bit in the way she was squatting by my bed, and each time the perfume would race to my nose, almost stinging my nostrils.

I knew she was talking about a therapist, and I am surprised that my father took the liberty to pick up the phone, dial the number, and speak these words to her. I couldn’t even imagine this happen, as I haven’t seen him be as proactive since my mother died. This isn’t really saying much at all, but still- I didn’t believe he has come around yet.

            “So,” Aunt Rachel continued, taking my hand. “If you’re feeling good enough today, your first appointment is at noon. So, we’ll have some breakfast, catch up, and I’ll take you there! Common, I made eggs and bacon, and your favorite- toast and grape jam, right?”

I sat up, and smelt the strong breakfast cooking downstairs. I’d feel bad not to accept another meal from Aunt Rachel, who is trying to make things better for me, and it surprised me that she remembered that my favorite breakfast when I was younger was toast and grape jam. Still, the thought of breakfast made me want to be sick.

 “Okay.” I said anyway.

She led me by the hand down the stairs and into the bright kitchen, where she pulled out a barstool for me.  Even her kitchen was clean, which I had not remembered from past experiences here. It’s always been somewhat of a mess, with stained pots and pans from attempted cooking and leftover chopped vegetables left out on the countertops.

            “You must be starving!” Aunt Rachel cooed, going into the kitchen on the opposite side and making me a plate. She piled the food on there as if I haven’t eaten for years. She set it in front of me, turning back to make herself a plate.

            “Eat up, eat up!”

Looking down at the plate, I see she had made a smiley face with my eggs and bacon. Right, as if this would cheer me up.

She stood across from me behind the counter, holding the plate carefully above her right hand, eating with her fork with her left.

I took a bit of egg on my fork, and nibbled on the toast where the least amount of jam was. The food tasted good, like it used to taste all those years ago, but I still couldn’t just dig in and eat until I was satisfied.

            “So Laurie,” She started, ripping off a piece of bacon with her teeth. “I cannot wait for you to meet everyone in the neighborhood.” She waved her fork in a circle. “They’re very nice- you might remember some of them from when you were younger.”

I took another feeble attempt at my eggs, playing with them with my fork.

            “You remember Minni Mae, right?”

I thought of the name in my head, and something clicked. I did remember her, just a little, from a time I rode my bike with another boy in the neighborhood when I was five. We went past her house and she stopped us, dangling a vine of cherry tomatoes in our faces that she grew in her garden, apparently. She kept trying to convince us that if we ate her cherry tomatoes, we’d be famous one day.

I faintly remember her saying,  “… and then you tell everyone they were from my garden. My, I’ll be a rich woman someday!”

 I still shook my head no to Aunt Rachel’s question. I’d rather let her do the talking at this moment.

            “Oh, well… She remembers you. She adored you, Laurie. Anyway, since this is a five house community, you can imagine how fast rumors fly around and gossip spreads.” She crunched at her toast. “It actually gets quite ridiculous. You can’t get away with anything because there’s always a pair of eyes on you.  I can’t wait to reintroduce them to you… I mean, when you’re interested, that is.”

I nodded even though none of it seemed appealing to me. In fact, I’d rather not meet these people at all. I don’t want to be mixed in into this convoluted mess they call a community.

Aunt Rachel reluctantly looked down at my near to untouched plate and picked it up.

            “Well, you should go get ready for your appointment.” She dropped the plate into the sink, and glanced at the refrigerator. She had this collection of multi-colored sticky notes, of which she’d write little notes of reminders to herself, post them on the fridge, and take them down once she’d done them. My mother would always be telling me about them, and how they were a complete waste of time since she never ended up taking them down, and nothing got done. I could see it was true, since the refrigerator was absolutely plastered with millions of colorful post-its; I have no idea how she can possibly keep track.

Aunt Rachel then stopped in her tracks suddenly, took out a pen and pulled open a drawer, and scribbled on a neon pink post-it note. “More bacon.” She muttered underneath her breath.

            “Thanks for breakfast,” I said and walked upstairs. I started to turn into my room, hand stopping at the doorknob, but faced the other way to another door. I opened it and turned on the light. I slowly breathed in, and then out- and readied for the start of my new life here, which I am trying so hard to accept.

            “Laurie?” Aunt Rachel called up.

            “Just have to go to the bathroom!”

Closing the door, I thought about breakfast, it made me nauseous. The room was small and yellow, the porcelain bowl on the left next to the sink. My reflection was unsatisfying. I glanced not to my dark hair that ran down to my breast, slim face and arms, but to my stomach. A couple months ago, I would have done it. I would have done it without question. But I walked out of there before I could think about it anymore. She was dead… And it counts for something. At least stop for her, I thought to myself a while ago. I grabbed my bag from my room, and met Aunt Rachel in the car.

 

 

            “My name’s Joseph. You can call me Joe.”

The room smelled like a doctors office with a mix of coffee beans, which were lined up in small bags on a shelf behind Joe. It was a weird compellation of smells, and it made my stomach churn temporarily. I hated when things didn’t smell familiar- when they didn’t smell like home. Then again, I wasn’t sure home was what I needed right now. Not home as it is now, anyway.

Joe was tall and thin with brown and thinning hair, but only looked as young as his early 40’s. The crows feet collecting around his eyes were terribly visible and distracting, as was his obnoxious button on his jacketed chest that said, “I believe in you!” I wondered how old he thought I was, and instantly hated him.

            “Joe what?” I asked.

He looked up from his half circled glasses, surprised by this question.

            “Just Joe for now, Laurie.”

He shuffled through papers on his clipboard before continuing. “Now, Laurie… Before I get to know you personally, I want to understand,” He pointed two fingers to his head. “your mind.”

I stared at him ready for whatever convoluted test he was going give me.

            “So, I’m going to show you some pictures, and I want you to tell me what you see. You’ve seen this done before, right? So you know how it works?”

I didn’t answer. I thought it was stupid that he’d start with the most stereotypical thing that a therapist could do- ink pictures. Who sits down to make this ink blotches, anyway? Is there an artist involved? Or just a scrawny 5 year old with some black ink?

            “Okay.” He pulled out the first ink image. “What was the first thing that came to your mind, Laurie?”

I could see the shape of a nose and a large ear, and the dot somewhere for an eye.

            “Um… A dog, I guess.”

He nodded, and replied, “Yes, very common response.” He then held up another one. “How about this one? How do you see it?”

It was obvious. The curves of the ink and small dot in the middle could only be a picture of a woman’s waist, and I began to say it, breathing in, but it’s what he wanted.

            “A vase,” I said. It did look like a vase also, I guess.

He frowned, and turned the picture to himself, lowering his glasses.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Why Joe, what do you see?”

He smiled and chuckled, and put the picture back. I clenched my fists, looked at the clock, knowing I still had another hour and a half to put up with this.

            “How about this one, Laurie?”

He pulled out another one from his collection, and unlike the first and second one, it was a strange and unfamiliar image. Odd blotchings in strange places… I didn’t understand.

            “I don’t know, Joe.”

Joe didn’t question this response at all, just put the picture and the rest away, and smiled at me. One of these smiles with a cocked head, hands in lap, and crossed legs.

            “Nobody gets that on the first try. You’ll get it, Laurie. I believe you can.”

This guy was a crack. He was full of bullshit, and I bet he even knew it. I was going to have to get used to his boring and clinical offices, I knew. I would have to get used to Joe’s face, his bald spot, his bullshit. I’d have to put up with it all until they decide I’ve actually accomplished something, I guess. What it is, I don’t know. But what I did know was that I’d have to fake it. They will always find something wrong with me no matter what, no matter how long I stay in therapy or if I do change the things about myself being the reason I am here. I knew on the way back home with Aunt Rachel that absolutely everything has changed, and everything is to be getting used to.

            “So dear, how was it?” She asked me.

She drove in her somewhat wobbly Subaru Wagon down the back roads on the way home. It seemed to me she cleaned everything for my company except her car, which was jam-packed with stuff from where she works (she’s a part time photographer for family portraits and such). She had her cameras and film sitting in the back seat, as well as pictures that were crumpled and ripped, which I assumed were discarded ones. There were also miscellaneous papers and wrappers everywhere, including shoved in the crease of my seat.

Aunt Rachel noticed my fixation on her car, and reached one arm back to the back seat, trying to sort out her mess.

            “Sorry, I know it’s a pigsty in here… I totally forgot to clean my car.”

The car swerved to the left, and another car honked and sped by. She returned her hand to the wheel.

            “So…?” She reminded me of her question, which I was less than enthusiastic to answer.

            “It was alright.” I said.

She sighed. “I know it can’t be easy, Laurie. But this is honestly what’s best for you. And I know you may not think that now, and who am I to be telling you what’s right for you, but you just have to trust me on this one, okay? You know, after my own mother died,” She took a break from that sentence, swallowed, and began again. “I stayed in therapy for around a year. And I know your situation is much different, but I never really had this great relationship with my mother like you and Heather did. I felt like I could never talk to her, like, if I went up to her she would just wave whatever I had said away.”

I thought of Grandma Helen, and how she never seemed that way to me at all. To me, Grandma Helen was this sweet old lady who loved to make iced tea and sit by the pool on hot summer nights. She was also the kind of grandmother who would buy you practical gifts on your birthday and Christmas such as underwear and socks. I never heard from my mother that they never had a close relationship. My mother never really talked about Grandma as a mother herself. Grandma Helen died not too long ago… two… maybe three years ago. She had a heart attack while on vacation with my Grandfather in Florida. They were thinking about retiring and moving there one day.

            “So when she died,” Aunt Rachel continued her story. “I had all these locked up feelings that I had never really expressed to her. I wanted to tell her she was rude, that she was prickly and unemotional and bitchy, but most of all… I just wanted to tell her that I loved her. I’ve never really said that to her, you know. Oh, actually-“ She raised her finger and glanced at me. “Once. When I was  ten. I walked into her room, and said,  ‘I love you, mommy’ to which she replied, ‘Oh. That’s very nice.’. Like I said, our relationship was shotty.”

I couldn’t imagine having a relationship like that with my mother, we were very close. I couldn’t decide which was harder then: Loosing a mother that was very close to you, or loosing a mother that was never very close to you, but you still had so much to say.

            “Then I guess all those emotions and unsaid feelings just kind of… exploded. I became somewhat depressed and had to see a therapist. When your father called about you, I called my old therapist to refer one for you and your specific situation. I guess what I am trying to tell you, Laurie, is that there is no reason for you to feel shame or embarrassment. And who knows- maybe Joe will really help you. And maybe he wont. But please, give it a try, okay?”

I didn’t know what else to say except for,  “Alright.”

            “Thank you, Laurie.” She quickly patted her hand on mine, and continued to her 10-2 position.

The car was then silent for a bit, and I looked around me again, as if there was more junk to discover in her car. I looked down to my feet, and noticed three filled CD books, some were lying carelessly and unprotected on the ground. I wondered what Aunt Rachel listened to. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found all 3 of Daniel Hayz CD’s, including the ‘Best Of’ hits.

Soon enough, we rounded the car into the cul-de-sac and slowed when we got to her house. I unbuckled and got out as quickly as I could.

Entering the house, I made it a point to run up the stairs to my room before she got in, to save me from unwanted conversation. I made it up to my room, and quietly closed the door. I just wanted silence and peace- if that was possible. So I rested my head on my pillow, and just tried not to think. I tried not to think about Joe, or Grandma Helen, or Mom. But of course, that’s all I could think about. Now instead of silence, I needed a distraction. Right then and there, my phone from inside my pocket rang. Looking at the caller- ID, I was happy for once in weeks.

            “Kate.” I answered.

My best friend Kate from my old town. We’ve been friends since the third grade, and we were practically inseparable. After my mother died, I had stopped talking to everybody, including Kate. She didn’t stay away, however. She often came to my front door and asked if I needed a friend. The response would be the same every time. ‘No, I don’t really’ and shut the door in her face. I always felt terrible about it, and I haven’t talked to her since she stopped coming to my house and stopped calling me, figuring she’d give me space.

            “Hi, Laurie.”

            “Kate, I’m… really glad you called. Sorry about-“                          

          “Don’t apologize.” She said, and I heard muffled laughter on the other end. “It wasn’t your fault at all, in fact, it was normal. Um… how’s… where are you?”

I took a moment to answer, looking around at my surroundings in this pop culture infested room and the shortage of trees outside.

            “Sandy Hook in Rhode Island.”

            “Where?”

            “Exactly.” It’s no wonder nobody ever heard of this place. It was on the beach, but a completely deserted small town, or so it seems.

            “I’m just so sorry you had to move. We all miss you over here.”

I thought of all my friends; Kate, Rebecca, Mike… all of their faces flashed in my head and suddenly I felt more sadness than I already had.

            “I really miss you guys too.  But, I really have to stay here, I guess. Or as long as my father is… you know. Who knows how long that will take. Maybe I’ll already be in college.”

There was a short crackling over the phone before Kate replied, “Well, good thing we know we are going together. That way we can spend four years living together. The best of times are still to come- just remember that.”

I nodded and looked forward to going to school together. We both agreed on going to The University of Connecticut after we graduated, and living in hallway dorms together, like it was always supposed to be.

            “I’ll be counting down the days. Honestly, I don’t know how long I can make it here.”

On the other end, someone called Kate’s name. “I have to go soon, I’m sorry, Laurie.”

I was disappointed. I didn’t think I wanted to hear from a friend, but it was just what I needed. “Alright.”

            “Oh, and Laurie?”

            “Yeah?”

            “I’m so sorry.”

I was sick of hearing apologies, but this one I really liked to hear.

             “Yeah. Me too.”

 

Reviews

[Rhea752]

nicely done. i enjoyed this piece very much. gosh i would have punched Joe if i had the chance. i mean who wants to sit through 90 min of that crap.