“Are you ready to get started?” she sat down in the faded paisley chair that always groaned when she shifted. I sat opposite her on the far end of the leather couch.
“I suppose,” I fiddled with the loose brass button thing that held the leather in place on the couch.
“Did you bring the letter I asked you to write?”
I didn’t respond, I just waved the paper around a bit. I let it come to rest on my knees as I let my eyes wander over every inch of the tiny office. Across from the couch there was a set of book shelves with all sorts of large books with strange sciency names. Things like, The Body: A Phenomenological and Psychological Perspective, and Schizophrenia, there was also a couple Chicken Soup for the Soul books.
“Are you ready to read it out loud?” She raised her scraggly eyebrows so high she cut her for head in half, and she had lipstick on her teeth.
“I suppose,” I slowly started to unfold the paper.
“Begin whenever you are ready.”
I smoothed the paper on my knee and began:
This week sucked. I woke up late on Monday and missed the bus, so I had to walk up Mt. Doom and get a ride with Mikey in the barf-mobile. I had gross boob sweat all day and had that stupid Passenger song stuck in my head. School sucked as usual. I actually finished all my homework this week, but it didn’t really matter, ‘cause Mr. Jones was being an asshole and wouldn’t accept my work. He said I didn’t need to do my work. I got credit for it because of the “incident.” I wasted my time on that stupid book report for nothing. If I had wanted to get out of doing my work, I would have stayed home. Everyone is tiptoeing around me, they act like I am a bomb that could go off at any minute; it is starting to get old.
I saw Lucy crying in the bathroom on Tuesday, she had her whole posse around her, cooing and wiping her tears away, it was disgusting. As if she has anything to be really upset about. She came up to me when I walked in and she tried to hug me. It was weird and uncomfortable.
On Thursday we got new lab partners, I got stuck with Mikey again. I know he is our friend, but he is the worst at chemistry. I hate working with him.
Everyone is acting so weird. Not only did Grady not flip my tray at lunch, he even offered to buy me lunch. It’s like everyone has been possessed by really polite aliens. I don’t-
“I’m a little confused.” She uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them the other way. I sat there looking down and fidgeting with the crinkled piece of lined paper.
“Is this really what you want to tell your friend?” she had a concerned look on her face and her neck was all stretched out.
“I suppose.”
“I don’t think you really understood this activity…” I stared at her as she nervously fiddled with her pad of paper.
“You told me to write a letter,” I said, “so I did.”
“Yes, well this exercise was aimed more at the idea of you exploring your feelings, and telling your friend exactly how you feel about what happened.”
I stared at her blankly.
“It is ok to express your feelings in this letter, you can tell her if you are sad, or mad, or hurt. Whatever feeling you need to get out in the open, that is what needs to go in the letter.”
“I don’t really have that many feelings to get out.”
“Then why don’t you just tell her what you want to tell her.”
“That is what I wanted to tell her.”
“You just wanted to tell her about your week at school? There is nothing else you would like to say to her?”
“No.”
“Alright… well… why don’t you finish reading your letter?”
I don’t know why people all up a sudden are acting like they are friends with us. They never cared about us before and now everyone is acting all upset, people who have never paid any attention to me are coming up to me and trying to sympathize with me. It is weird and annoying. I just don’t like all the attention. It would be nice to go back to being invisible. They never needed us and we never needed them. I think it is about time we all went back to normal.
-P.
We sat in silence.
I didn’t move and neither did she.
“I think it is time to express your feelings a little bit.”
“I thought I just did.”
“Paige, your friend jumped right in front of you and there was nothing you could do about it. How did that make you feel?” she was starting to sound worried.
“I don’t know. I didn’t really feel anything.”
“You had to have felt something.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Paige, you suffered a trauma. It is normal to want to shut out everyone and hide from your feelings, but the only way we can work on moving past this is if you talk to me. You need to talk about it.”
“There isn’t much to say.”
“Your best friend is in the hospital on life support right now and you have no feelings about that.”
“I suppose I am glad she isn’t dead.”
“Is that all?”
We sat in silence.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You don’t feel hurt, or angry, or confused. Scared maybe?”
“Not really. She jumped, she didn’t die. There isn’t that much to it.”
“You witnessed your best friend trying to take her own life.”
“She wasn’t scared.”
“What?”
“I said she wasn’t scared.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she wasn’t scared when she jumped.”
“She wasn’t scared when she jumped?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Why does this matter to you?”
“You asked if I was feeling hurt, or angry, or scared. And my answer is no. I didn’t feel any of those things.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I know it was because she didn’t feel any of those things.”
“So you are saying you didn’t feel anything because she didn’t feel anything?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you always base your emotions on what your friend felt?”
“No. What I mean is she was ok with it. She wanted to do to what she was doing. I was ok with it because that is what she really wanted. Who am I to deny my best friend the one thing she really wants?”
“She wanted to take herself out of this world. She was going to leave you. You are ok with that?”
“I don’t know…”
“You seem to be holding back and I am just trying to get you to let your emotions out. This is a safe place.”
“I really don’t have any feelings to get out.”
“You said that earlier.”
“I know…I guess…”
“You guess what?”
We sat in silence.
“I guess I am a little concerned.”
“Concerned for your friend?”
“Concerned that I don’t feel anything about what happened.”
She looked up at me.
“I think about what happened and I feel nothing. I’m, empty.”
She stared at me for an eternity,
“Is there something wrong with me?”