I Can't Fly

Chapter 8

At 10 am the next day, my Mom and I strolled into the therapist's office. The therapist must be running late to her first appointment of the day. How lovely. We sat all alone in the waiting room, allowing more uncomfort to slip into my nervous mind. My Mom and I had been through this event many times before. A few years ago, we quickly learned that each appointment had a specific time slot. Therefore, there was no need to wait for long hours like getting to see a doctor. It relieved some of our tension. 

The main layout of the room was simple. Four chairs were positioned against the wall for patients. A table was placed in the center of the room. There was even a Keurig machine on the lonely counter in the corner, next to a sink and trash can. I immediately turned down the idea of making us some hot chocolate or tea. Instead, I tried to keep myself still as I mindlessly tapped my foot on the floor. 

The stuffed animals, board games, and books organized around us moved us into the imagination of a child's playtime dream. My eyes took their time taking it all in. My mind tried to make some sort of conclusion about this woman, but I couldn't form a picture. Was this going to be the time we found an intelligent, friendly, constructive therapist? Was my Mom going to have another moment tonight and spiral out of control? Lose herself? Would Mom be able to pay our insurance and bills after taking so many days off of work? Would my Mom let me get her new medication since it seems like the old one isn't working as well as it used to? I shifted in my chair. My butt ached, and each move I made caused the chair to creak. Why can't I get comfortable? I leaned away from all of the stuffed animals, games, and books. My darting eyes glanced at my Mom, who looked the most relaxed in days.

 Finally, the door opened with the therapist peaking her head in. "Hello, Hello! You must be Alyssa. I have heard so much about you!" Well, that's an overstatement. Aside from what I thought, my Mom smiled.  

"I want to let you know that I was the one who talked with your daughter this morning. I was able to arrange all of my other morning appointments to be postponed to different days. This morning is all about you." I wouldn't expect anything less. 

Two hours earlier while my Mom was still sleeping, I had an urgent chat while this office's secretary. With the fuss I put up, I was soon transferred to the therapist, Dr. Hemingway. I tried my best, but I couldn't contain my emotions very well. Thankfully, my Mom did not wake up. After an intense five minutes of me quietly yelling and recapping last night's events, Dr. Hemingway complied with my wishes to take in my Mom immediately. 

"First thing's first. I was wondering if you would move into my therapy room. It will be the place I meet with you for each of our sessions. I want to make you as comfortable as possible."

My Mom nodded as Dr. Hemingway led the way. She smiled at her but scrunched her face I got out of my chair. "For these sessions, I will be talking to your mother one-on-one. While she is with me, I would like for you to sit out here. At least for now, I want to see who she is when she is not with others." I shoved my immediate words back into my throat and nodded. With that, she slipped into the office behind my Mom. The door locked, and I felt as if something very precious had been ripped from me. There wasn't even light escaping the room where the door connected to the floor. 

What did Dr. Hemingway think? That I was going to break into the room? What was her plan? I looked out the conveniently placed window. Rain drizzled from the sky as I predicted. In our area, weathermen were never successful in determining when it would stop. I approached it and stared out at the parking lot. It was easy to imagine all the potholes filling up with water and cars spraying water as the drove by. As much as I kept my senses occupied, my mind was elsewhere. My selective hearing picked up a muffled conversation in Dr. Hemingway's room. I crept up to the door, but the conversation continued to be incoherent.