The Disappointment Kid (Completed)

16

Tests, tests, tests. It was worse than school. Then a whole lot of waiting for the results. Again, worse than school. Finally, a man in white scrubs who looked older than Abraham from where I was standing back then – so I reckon he was probably around 50, from where I am standing today – beckoned me and my father into a room. Emma had gone home to inform my mother about recent events. I didn't envy her the job. Mother would be less than thrilled to find out that she had been kept out of the loop, worse, that she had been kept out of the loop because she was part of the problem.

I sat down in a chair next to my father with Doc Methuselah on the other side of the desk. Pretty much the usual set-up, I suppose. I was nervous, not so much because I could be seconds away from being confronted with some sort of fatal disease, although I wasn't too keen on that, either, to be frank. No, my main fear, and you might find this rather strange to say the least, was that the doc might turn around and say something to the effect that the explanation was right in front of us, in the form of my rather expansive figure. Because, although I had lost a considerable amount of weight, I still saw the old Katherine when I looked in the mirror. I hated mirrors – and cameras. Anyway, factor in my lifelong experience that – for my mother at least – any physical ailment was always down to my body shape, self-inflicted if you will, and you will understand that I was terrified of the doctor's next words. My mother's attitude was so ingrained in my soul that I couldn't imagine any other explanation. Diagnosis: fat. Treatment: lettuce leaves and cottage cheese. Until death. Never in a million years would I have expected what the doc actually came out with.

"We've run all the tests we could. We will have to wait for one or two test results, but I am fairly certain that they won't change my diagnosis." Doc focussed on me now. "Katherine, we are convinced that these recurring symptoms are psychological rather than physical. Now, that is not to say that there is nothing wrong with you or that you are faking this thing. You are quite obviously self-medicating with alcohol. The chats that the nurses and I had with you earlier, in which we managed to make you open up a little bit about yourself and your life, confirm our suspicions." Doc zeroed in on my father now. "Your daughter's mental health is at stake here. I am no expert in this field, so I am not even tempted to have a guess at what exactly the issue is. What I do know for sure is that Katherine needs professional help."

"My daughter is mentally ill?" My father sounded outraged. "Because she has bad stomach cramps? That's ludicrous." 

He started to rise.

"Mr Shelley, please, sit down! What your daughter is going through is a very real thing, like a broken leg. She needs treatment, urgently. Mental health issues can become life-threatening very quickly."

My father reached for my hand and dragged me out of the chair.

"Come on, Cat. We are leaving!"

* * * * *

The first thing I saw, when we turned into our street, was my mother's shiny Merc. My stomach, which had settled over the course of the last few hours, started cramping again.

"Leave Mum to me, Cat. You go on up and lie down. It's probably just a really bad hangover, and all you need is some rest."

Dad's tone was gentle.

Warily and wearily, I followed my father into the house and snuck up the stairs as quickly as I could. I wasn't strong enough for a confrontation with my mother. Not today. I dropped onto my bed like a ton of bricks.

Mental health issues. Finally something that would make my mother proud of me – not. On top of being fat and ugly, shy and socially challenged, I was now officially a fucking psycho, too.

"Guess that's it. Mum is probably looking for the phone number of an adoption agency right now. So much for her loving me," I muttered to myself. "Fucking great, now I'm talking to myself. That's the fucking proof right there. I am fucking mental." 

I conveniently blocked out the small truth that I had been talking to myself my entire life, out loud, too. Not in public, mind you. I wasn't mental... well, at least, not that mental. Were there degrees of 'mentalness'? Was that even a word?

"I don't bloody know, Elisa. But I do know that you are not helping. You are making things worse. Can't you get over your fucking self for once? I have had enough of your expectations, your ambitions, your desperate clinging to the fucking top of the greasy pole. We can't all be fucking perfect like you, Elisa."

My father's shouting brought me back to the present. I sucked in air. I had never ever, not once in my life, heard my father raise his voice like that, let alone use this sort of filthy language. I must admit that a small part of me felt happy that he was standing up, for himself and also for me, but a larger part felt terrified. Would this be the final straw? Would our family now fall apart – all because of me? I know that it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I hated my mother. I truly hated her. But I also loved her. I didn't want my parents to split up. I also didn't want to be responsible for such a monumental shift in our family's tectonic plates.

"You take over for five minutes, and the next thing I know, my daughter is a diagnosed freak? What on earth were you thinking, John?"

"Shut up, Elisa. For once, keep your fucking trap shut! Cat is not a freak!"

"Cat? CAT? Who the hell is Cat?"

"She wants to be called Cat. So, we'll call her Cat. End of!"

"We will most certainly not call her Cat! Her name is Katherine! It's an old, cultured name. Cat! Do you know any famous authors, any famous classical characters called Cat!"

Even when she was seemingly asking questions, my mother spoke in exclamation marks. How did she do that?

"She wants to be Cat. She will be Cat. Simple." My father sounded calm and collected now. "She wants to be loved – by you. So, you love her. End of."

"She will not be called Cat, ever! It sounds positively ridiculous." My mother's voice was shrill, and she was clearly outraged.

"You...will...love...her!" My father's voice was barely discernible, it was so quiet, but he still managed to make it sound like a threat. I had never heard my father so commanding, so in control. I had my first inkling of what my father could actually do in a court of law. 

Tears started to well in my eyes. "Thank you, Dad. And I'm sorry for every time I disrespected you. I love you," I mouthed.

"You'd better not call her Cat in front of my friends. I'll never live that down. We are all very particular about our children, including their names. And Katherine is making it hard enough for me as it is. Nobody else's child is as socially inept as our Katherine. And now, all that drinking, her failing grades. I've got more than enough to cover up, thank you very much."

Oh well, at least he had tried.

I grabbed my headphones and let the music override any other noise. Guess Mr Grim was right. The eavesdropper will not hear many good things about themselves after all.

At least nobody was talking about me being grounded anymore. Plus, when I had opened the door to my room earlier, the first thing I saw, was my phone on my desk. Hail to you, Emma. I guessed the magical reappearance of the phone was her doing anyway.

I fired off a quick text to Henry, telling him that I was okay and that I would be back in school tomorrow. He answered that he had something to tell me and that he was looking forward to seeing me.