First Time For Everything: ON HOLD

Chapter Nine

I stretched in my office arm chair and yawned rather loudly. Thank God for work. I know, that's really strange of me to say, but after dealing with Tom and Alexander's hatred for each other that boiled over two nights ago, work gives me an escape from my life and the ability to calm my clients' lives. Speaking of clients, I checked my daily calendar for my next appointment. "Yay!" I exclaimed as I saw that my favorite client was next. Not even a split second after my outburst, a knock resounded off my door. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear," I muttered with a smile on my face.

I threw open my office door and was greeted with sniffles, followed by a loud hiccup. I looked Richard over, my heart swelling with sympathy. He was seventeen years old but he looked like he'd had his share of lifetimes already lived. Well, heck. Of course he'd look haunted; the poor kid suffered from chronic depression and severe anxiety.There was a quiet matureness about him that commanded all my sincerity and respect. I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and led him into my office. "Wanna talk about it?" I asked him calmly.

"Don't I have to?" he asked in return after he blew his nose in the tissue I had handed him.

"Nope. Not really," I replied as he slid onto my plush sofa. "We only talk about whatever you want. So you tell me, what do you want to talk about or do you just want to listen to music or do nothing at all?" I smiled at him as I took a seat in my armchair that was opposite the sofa.

"Um..." he began but trailed off. He looked around my office, obviously trying to find something to talk about. "Why do you like Andy Warhol?" he asked as his eyes found the pop art painting of the artist.

"What? You trying to tell me you don't like him?" I asked, feigning shock.

"No, no. I like him. It's just... Well, don't take this wrong way, but you don't really seem like the type to be a Warhol fan," he admitted sheepishly.

"It's because I'm a Southerner, ain't it?" I teased, vamping up my accent for emphasis. He cracked a smile. "And there we have it, ladies and gentleman! Richard Wilcox has smiled today!" I announced to the air, beaming widely.

Richard chuckled and said, "Ms. Thrasher, you really are crazy."

I stood up and pretended to dramatically accept an award. "I would just like to thank the Academy for giving me this esteemed honor. It is truly an accomplishment that I have worked so very hard to attain. It has been difficult at times, but I carry on because I know that somewhere out there in this great wide world of ours, there are young people looking up to me, dependent on me to be a beacon of light to show them that it's okay to be crazy. It really is. Look where it's gotten me. Don't give up, my little crazies; don't give up!" I pretended to get overly emotional, earning another bout of laughter from Richard.

"Brava! Brava!" he said in between laughs as he applauded my performance. I curtsied low and mouthed "Thank you" to my audience of one. After our laughter died down, Richard looked out of the window, and I could tell that he had something serious to say, yet he didn't know how to say it. I could see his eyes glaze over as a new layer of tears coated his eyes.

I moved to sit next to him and I gave him a side-hug. "It's okay, Richard. You don't have to say it if you don't want to," I assured him.

"Sing me a song, Ms. Thrasher?" he whispered.

"Call me Veronica, Richard. Okay?"

"Sing me a song... Veronica?" He turned around to face me.

"Do you have a song in mind?" I asked, reaching for the box of tissues on the side table.

"No. Any song will do," he replied as I handed him the box.

I nodded my head and thought about a song to sing. "I know just the right one." I smiled and began to sing softly.