You Are My Only Sunshine

Chapter 6: Dr. Allen Thinks She Can Help... I Don't

Chapter 6

Dr. Allen Thinks She Can Help… I Don’t

I pulled into my drive and sighed when I saw the familiar car parked in front of my house again. I cut my engine and sat there, staring at my grandparent’s car with a little regret. I knew I had to get up and face them, but it took me awhile to gain the energy.

                My house is a piece of crap.

                You might think I’m kidding, but I’m completely serious.

                The whole place is falling apart. The white paint is chipping, the metal chairs on the porch are rusting and soon to collapse. One of our windows has a giant crack going down its center, my dad and I discovered it one winter. We’re pretty sure it had cracked from the cold, unless one of our neighbors kids was doing something silly again (they’d already broken about half my things). Our yard looks awful. Even though it was nearing fall and many yards were a mucky green, our grass actually brown and muddy. My mom used to plant flowers, but after she died we didn’t bother replanting them. They would never compare to how fabulous hers looked.

                It was sort of my dad and I’s fault that our house looked like crap. We just let it go once she left. She had this thing about having a presentable house and I really do miss it.

                I walked inside, letting the door fly back loudly behind me. They were all in front of me, having coffee at the kitchen table again. Déjà Vu washed over me, and I knew that this wasn’t going to be a good thing.

                “Quinn,” grandpa said, like everything was normal.

                “Hey grandpa. Hey grandma,” I said with fake excitement.

                “Sit down, tell us about your day,” grandma said, gesturing me over to them.

                Obviously, they were working up to serious stuff.

                “A few friends and I went to Sweet Lillian’s Custard after school is all,” I said, brushing it off. “Sorry dad, I forgot to tell you.”

                I think dad had called them when he was worried where I had gone. Now I really felt bad…

                “Just at least text me when you’ve made plans,” dad said.

                I thought of the crack that now stretched down my phone screen. That was going to make things more difficult…

                I nodded. “Of course.”

                We sat there in an deepening silence; where grandma prodded dad a little too hard and very, very obviously, and grandpa gave him a meaningful look very, very obviously. They aren’t the best at being sly.

                Dad sighed and said, “I also scheduled an appointment yesterday, for Monday. It’s a hospital appointment, and we can look into your depression.”

                I stared at him, mouth gaped open.

                Grandma quickly butted in, “This is just so that you can be happy. We don’t want you feeling down in the dumps all the time. We need to make sure you don’t have Bipolar Disorder like your mother had, and if you do we can get you medication so that you don’t feel like that. This is just to help you.”