Where I Laid Me Down To Sleep

Epilogue

“I thought you would be a painter.”

“Me too.”

“Life.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess we can’t ever tell...”

“No,” she said.  “We can’t ever tell.”

“So, how is it being a therapist?”

“I try to help people.”

“Why?”

“Somebody really helped me once.”

“Back then?”

“Yes.”

There was along silence, and then she said, “He saved my life.”

Tim didn’t say anything after that.  There was nothing more to say, only that life had handed them very different paths, as life hands everyone different paths.  It had been  good career for Natasha Evergreen.  She had been an Art therapist for others.  But, after her mother’s death, and after one client named Brittany, she had to stop.

Brittany was only fourteen years old when she came to the office one day.

* * *

Of all the mothers and children Natasha Evergreen had ever seen, and there were many, over the course of time that she had tried to help others, she was unprepared for what she saw in Brittany.

Brittany was fourteen and she had long dark waist length hair and she was only in the ninth grade.  She was pregnant and she had been referred by the school counselor to Natasha’s clinic.  They claimed that she was out of control and acting out, and her mother came with her to the first appointment.

Her mother was forty four or so, and she looked like she had seen so many parts of life it shocked Natasha at first.  She was tanned in the way that people tan themselves artificially in the Christmas months, under lights, in tanning beds.

She was nut-brown, and recently divorced from her husband.  Brittany’s sister had moved out, and her mother had a new boyfriend living with them who had made advances on Brittany.  It took Natasha two sessions to figure these things out, because she separated them at first in order to get all the history.

Brittany was in love.

He was a senior in High School and he was from a very prominent family in town.

Brittany was pregnant.

When Natasha brought the two of them into the office together, the first thing her mother called her was a “whore.”

Brittany sank back into the pillows of the sofa in Natasha’s office and pulled some tissues from the container as she began to weep softly.

“I can’t help her,” said her mother.  “I can’t raise a grandchild at this time in life.”

Natasha kept her eyes on Brittany, while she cried.

“I don’t have the resources to help my daughter raise a child.”

“I understand,” Natasha said.

“Brittany?”

“I love him.”

“I understand,” Natasha said.

“Do you think we can bring the boy in for a session?” she asked Brittany’s mother.

“No way.  I have already spoken to his father myself and he’s going to college.  He doesn’t want anything to do with this baby.”

“Have the children spoken about this?”