North of Nowhere

Chapter 1: It's All About the Psychology

“When did the visions start?”

            It was the quack my mother had hired that asked this in a high-pitched, nasally voice, and even though it had only been around 5 minutes since the start of the session, I already I hated him. I hated his dry puffy lips, his saggy face, and the way he spit when he said his ‘p’s’ like he had when he made the whole introduction to my mother about how ‘every p*spit*erson is different.’ And he ‘couldn’t p*spit*romise that he could fix my p*spit*roblem.’

            Blah. Blah. Blah. It had sounded more like he was just trying to tell my mom in a more sympathetic way that, in his office, there were no such things as refunds. And if that were true, boy would he make a bundle out of me. I knew for a fact that my problem wasn’t something he could solve. It wasn’t all in my head.

            It was real.

            At least that was what I assured myself.

            “When did the visions start, Maya, p*spit*lease, tell me.” The quack, I think his name is Dr. Freddo or something, repeated to me. I still didn’t answer. I think it’s because, maybe if I don’t my mom will realize that it’s worthless to take me here. It’s stupid to waste her money on a guy who wouldn’t be able to figure how to fix a tear in a paper bag, even after someone had handed him a roll of duck tape and there was a large neon sign pointing to the rip that said “Tape Here.”

            Also, they aren’t ‘visions’ and I hated that he kept using that word. He was slowly digging his own grave, and I could care less about what he wanted from me.

            And I know it’s stupid and childish to act this way, but whatever. Nothing I say to this guy was going to change anything so why bother? Eyes on the clock, I gripped the fake leather upholstery that made up the couch I was on, while doctor F stared at me, more than a bit frustrated. His eyes looked old and watery behind his oversized glasses and I said silently to myself, “Only 53 more minutes of this session and I’m done.”

            The me that was reflected in the glasses frame, with her messy blonde hair and annoyed brown eyes didn’t look convinced that any of this was worth it.

            “P*spit*lease Maya,” He said, almost begging now, “How am I s*spit*uppoused to help*spit* you, if you don’t help*spit* yourself?” I just rolled my eyes irritated that he would put that, of all the cards on the table. Only apparently for my mom, who had sat quietly across from me all of the now 9.5 minutes of my session (so much for doctor-patient confidentiality) the eye roll was one too much.

            “Mayallyn,” she said tersely, and I stiffened knowing when she used my real name, she meant business, “Tell Doctor Fredrick when the visions started, sweetie.”

            The whole ‘sweetie’ thing didn’t faze me one second. I wasn’t stupid; I knew exactly what my mom was getting at. Her voice rang with the lurking undertones ‘I’m paying a four hundred dollars for this session so don’t WASTE it’ and I glanced at her, allowing our eyes to meet so she could realize that the message had been received.

            Knowing I either had to answer Freddo, or let her make my life miserable, I simply stated, “They aren’t visions.” Well, ok, I didn’t simply state it as much as I spat it out at him like he spat his ‘p’s’ at me, but it was well deserved.

            My mom looked a bit smug, and the doctor a bit confused as he looked up at me questioningly, “Huh?”

            “They aren’t visions,” I repeated slowly, “Are you deaf?” My mom shot me a look, and trust me, I knew I was acting like a brat. But if anyone else had a situation like mine, I doubt they would act much differently.