To say the least, the next week at the internship is troubling, as I'm constantly having to dodge Catalina's complicated attempts to talk. I obviously know she means well, but if I'm being honesty, it's been bugging me. I've been pushing her away more and more each day.
Others would have already given up by now.
I know deep down, she isn't like the others, she actually cares. As I remember the moments when past friends had given up on me, I can't picture Catalina in that position because I know she won't give up. Whether it's for the better or worse.
Catalina's persistent, I'll definitely admit that, and at times that trait could be endearing, but at times like these . . .
It is not endearing.
Dr. Belford is quick to notice the tension between us but doesn't comment on it. He insists on giving us more cases to work through and since I can't reject his tasks based on our personal issues, I work with Catalina.
"Another correct diagnosis! You're very quick to learn, Alana."
"Thank you," I say, accepting his compliment.
Catalina even flashes me a proud smile and says, "I think she's been doing great. Dr. Belford, can I tell her about the event?"
I frown in confusion and glance at Dr. Belford, as he gives an approving nod to her. I have no idea what they're talking about.
"On Friday, there's going to be a celebration! It's to celebrate the new interns and how you've all settled in. It's going to be a great time to talk."
When she says that, I'm immediately aware of the fact that it's a signal that her attempts to talk to me are going to become more and more obvious as the event approaches us.
"Sounds fun!" I say excitedly, hiding how I actually feel about it.
Dr. Belford seems to see through it and adds, "it's not a mandatory event so you don't have to go."
Catalina turns to him, and says, "she will be going."
I know then that I have no choice.
***
"So, is there anything you want to talk about?" Catalina immediately asks when we arrive back to our rooms.
"I'm fine," I respond, faking a smile.
All I want is to be alone.
"Stop lying to me," she whines.
It's hard not to give in with that pout she's giving me. She continues whining, thinking that she's going to convince me. It's as if she knows the mysterious effect that it has on me.
"I'm not lying."
"I don't want to be annoying but I will be if I have to," she warns me.
"I thought you already were being annoying . . ." I say, trailing off.
"Oh, that? You haven't seen anything yet. That was barely a scratch at the surface."
"Well, there's nothing to talk about."
"Are you sure?" She asks.
"Yes," I snap at her.
Without allowing her to say anything more, I quickly run into my room and shut the door behind me before she can get in.
I hear her knock on the door a few times before I feel her leave, which allows me to have the alone time I've been craving all day.
I sit with my back against the door, and for 2 seconds, I even start to feel bad for my harsh treatment with Catalina.
That guilt goes away when a white note is slipped under my door that reads: TALK TO ME!!!
That's it. Enough is enough.
I suddenly open my door, and I find Catalina leaning against it. She almost falls, but like always, manages to catch herself at the right moment.
Again, she tries to give me her prize worthy smile, but I make a conscious choice that I will not fall for it. I can't prevent myself from calmly yelling at her for her actions.
"Anything you need to talk about?" She asks.
"Stop it!" I yell loudly in frustration.
And that isn't as calm as I thought it would sound.
"What?" She asks, furrowing her eyebrows in false confusion.
"Stop. Just, please, stop. I don't need your constant questions and nagging! I've experienced this for years, and I'm fine."
Did I just admit to something that isn't real?
"If you were fine then I wouldn't hear you crying every time I lean against your door."
I shift uncomfortably, and I hate her for being that way. It's not her business when my late night crying sessions occur or how often they exist in my life.
"Why are you being nosy?"
"Excuse me for being a worried and concerned friend. Internalized homophobia isn't easy to deal with, much less alone."
"I don't have that. All I have is grief for my dad that died!"
That's all it is.
"So, your internalized homophobia stems from your dad? I suspected that."
She sounds like she knows everything, but she doesn't. She's just a stranger who deeply believes that she has a license to be a therapist and a right to know everything about me.
She doesn't though, and she never will.
"For the last time, I don't have that. Now, you're trying to disrespect my dad by saying he gave me something that I don't have?"
"Alana, I know how this goes. I did the same things, I denied it and suppressed my sexuality. Look at me now, I'm a raging lesbian. I want to help you get out of the phase that I was stuck in for so long."
The way she describes it makes it seems like it's something comedic, or unreal almost.
I point my finger to her chest, and say, "don't disrespect my dad again."
She knows she's pushed me to my limits, and she slowly nods her head.
"I'm sorry," she says, "I won't do it again."
For the first time, I think I can trust her words.
In less than a second, she rushes into her room. I'm left alone in the empty hallway, and I almost wonder if I was too mean.
I head back to my own room, and I loudly slam the door behind me. I sit on my bed, and I start crying like no one is listening.
My small space at the door isn't safe anymore, and it's all because of her.
I can't resist grabbing my shiny phone as tears slip past my face, and I'm absolutely losing my mind. I start looking through my camera roll, and somehow, I'm able to remember all of the memories that are marked with digital pictures.
At one point, I pause to look closely at an old photo with my dad.
It's crazy how the day that my dad broke my heart is documented on my phone.
I'm sitting with my dad on our favorite bench at our absolute favorite park and I decide that it's the perfect time to tell him something that I've been hiding for far too long.
"Dad?" I simply ask.
"Yes?"
"I want to tell you something but I don't want you to get angry."
"Nothing you say could ever get me angry," he says, giving me a comforting hug.
I feel the words get stuck in my throat because I know that once I pronounce these three words, I can't take them back.
So, I take a few moments to gain my composure before I finally say, "I am gay."
He seems like he wants to yell at me for minute before he quickly changes his attitude and says, "ok."
"Are you mad?"
"No, I'm just so, so disappointed. I expected better from you."
"What do you mean?" I innocently ask.
I had no idea what he was doing.
"You know, being gay, you're doomed to failure. I can't have my daughter ruin the family name by being something unspeakable."
I feel disappointed since I had expected acceptance, not hate.
"I care about you and I know a way that I can fix you. Somehow, along the journey in your life, you've strayed away from God and given into the Devil's way. I can lead you back to goodness and what's right. You wouldn't want to disappoint your dad, would you?"
13 year old naive me, quickly says, "no, dad, I love you. I would never do anything to disappoint you."
With those words, my mom comes over to us and grabs my phone to take a picture of both of us, smiling, as if our conversation hadn't just happened.
Those were the words that introduced me to his ways of trying to convert me back to how I should be: straight.
He was never able to see the end result though. A sudden heart attack claimed his life, and that was that.
I'm determined to continue trying not to disappoint him.
I threw a lot of information at you all in this chapter. I hope you keep reading!