Categories > Original > Drama > Awake(working title)
1. Therapy
Who knew bottled water could be so fascinating? Okay, it’s not, but I’m pretending that it is as I’m sitting on the green couch again. Hasn’t anyone told this psycho-babble woman that puke green is not an inviting color for anyone?
My parents stuck me here because of my “acting out”. Honestly, I think they just have no idea how to deal with me. I use the term “parents” loosely, as Jane and Phil are good people, just not “parent” material. I’ve always been well aware that I was an accident not meant to happen. They were never all that eager to hide it from me.
So here I am. I’m reading the label of my bottle of spring water (which, in reality, is just bottled tap water) as if I’m about to discover some fantastic truth about life. I’ve learned better than to make eye contact with my shrink. If I even glance up from this bottle, she’s going to pounce on me like a carnivorous beast would lunge at its prey. As usual, I sit silently playing with the corners of the label while we play the waiting game. I’m only waiting for the sound that saves my life. That damn egg timer.
“Well, our time is up for this week.” She looks frustrated. Dr. What’s Her Face always looks pissed at me in one way or another after our sessions. In the beginning, she would at least bait me to say something. The guilt trip of “It’s your parent’s money” only lasted for maybe five solid minutes.
I don’t enjoy being manipulated. How ironic that Jane and Phil put me in some mandatory charade where I am very seldom anything else.
As excited as I am to leave this creepy trapezoid of a room, I’m dreading seeing my
mother sitting in the waiting room with her arms folded across her chest. It seems to be the natural resting position for her body these days. Next, she’s going to brood in silence as we walk to the car.
Jane has never been difficult to predict in my lifetime. I once predicted her emotional breakdown with the gardener over tending the geraniums properly. True story.
So sitting next to my brooding mother as we drove home wasn’t much of a challenge. To be honest, I really enjoyed it. I’ve never been much of a talker, something I could never look to Phil or Jane to identify with.
I can feel the disapproval as we pull into our driveway and my best friend JT is
sitting on our front porch. Jane doesn’t like JT very much. In fact, I’m almost certain she hates the very idea of his existence. I have always been expected to be something more than what I turned out to be.
Jane, the leader of her social super clique, looks at me most days as if I’m someone else’s child. Like she can’t believe I came from her. I find it hilarious.
“Hey, JT.” I stroll towards him as Jane stomps into the house. She was always one for dramatics.
“Sup Kat?” JT had never called me by my given name, thank God. I couldn’t stomach the idea of it being on my birth certificate, let alone on the lips of someone who knew me.
“Not much. You want to hit the Triangle later or something?”
“Yeah. Ok.” He follows me as I walk through the front door, left ajar by Jane’s dramatic exit.
As always, the ever reliable Nadine was there dusting one of the many useless end tables filled with expensive junk. I smiled at her with ease. I loved Nadine. She was real, unlike so much of my life these days.
I left JT waiting downstairs while I took the staircase two steps at a time to get to my room. Even when I was younger, I didn’t understand the need for so much room when there were only three people living in a house. My bedroom was on the third floor, away from Jane and Phil’s interesting sleeping arrangements.
I passed Phil’s room, and noted that the door was shut. He must be in one of his painting moods again.
Finally, a jogged into my room. The sunlight was slanting in through the windows as the sun lowered in the sky. I preferred the western view of the sky. Sunsets were never something I could take for granted.
I rifled through my laundry basket, trying to find my favorite sweatshirt. If we were going to head out to the Triangle tonight, I was going to need it.
Finally fed up, I settled for the gray hoodie draped over my bed post. Unlike Jane, my
fashion sent was set on comfortable. Little else registered inside my brain.
JT was still waiting for me when I made the long journey down the staircase. When I was ten, JT and I got in serious trouble when we slid down the banister from the third floor. JT gained so much momentum that he flew off the end of the banister, landing on top of Jane’s very expensive art collection she stored conveniently next to the front door.
I still feel that Jane was asking for something to happen to that hideous assortment of figurines, placing it in such a high traffic area.
“I’m staying at the Thornburg’s tonight. Bye, Nadine.” I gave her a quick hug and turned to leave. I knew Nadine would tell Jane and Phil where I was going and when I would be back. At times, Nadine was more my parent then those I was born to.
JT and I made out way out of the pristine community. Once we were passed the gates, JT turned to eye the place of my habitation.
“What?” I could tell he was thinking up some smart ass remark about coming from money.
“Nothing, really. It‘s just so weird thinking that you’re a part of all that pomp and circumstance, you know?”
“Pomp and circumstance?” I laughed. “Awful big words for a mechanic.”
“Head mechanic, thank you very much.” His toothy grin made me smile. The gap between his front teeth was small and barely visible unless you were face to face with him.
Jack Thornburg wasn’t a bad looking boy by any means. My best friend since I was three held no special attraction other then his love of motorized things and classical music. I loved how each of his interests directly contrasted the others, as if he didn’t live by anyone’s rules of boys who like cars can’t like Opera, nor can they be straight.
I had always been relieved, and a little bit amazed, at how easy it was to be around him. Somehow we had never been anything but friends. I think it never crossed either of our minds. His birthday was two months before mine, and he never let me forget it. The only justice in that was he would be thirty before me.
We arrived at the Thornburg house just before six, with plenty of daylight left at our disposal. Mrs. T. was making something amazing in the kitchen. This was one of my favorite parts of staying at JT’s: the food.
Jane was always serving whatever diet fad she was following at the time. I had consumed enough salad and raw vegetation to make me a rabbit by definition. This was never the case at JT’s house.
“Hey, Mrs. T!” I called, sniffing my way into the kitchen with JT on my heels.
“Hey there, Kitty Kat. How was the shrink?” I smiled when she said her nickname for me.
“Oh, the usual. I’m hoping to prove a menace to society any day now.” She grinned back at me, and handed me a soda. One more reason to adore this household: all the caffeine you could dream of and no mineral water in sight.
“What’s for dinner?” JT inquired thoughtfully, peeking over his mom’s shoulder at the counter. It was covered in flour and dough.
“Homemade pizza. I’m making a plain cheese for Sophie, a meat combo for your dad and I, and that awful onion and bacon you two love so much.”
“Sweet!” JT swiped a piece of bacon and stuffed it in his mouth before she could protest.
“Can I help?” I offered. This was the one place I wasn’t obligated to be polite and offer, but it was the only place that I ever wanted to.
“I think I’ve pretty much got it covered so far. But, if you want to start on the garlic bread, that would be helpful.” I caught JT rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and elbowed him in his ribs.
“I’d like that.”
Who knew bottled water could be so fascinating? Okay, it’s not, but I’m pretending that it is as I’m sitting on the green couch again. Hasn’t anyone told this psycho-babble woman that puke green is not an inviting color for anyone?
My parents stuck me here because of my “acting out”. Honestly, I think they just have no idea how to deal with me. I use the term “parents” loosely, as Jane and Phil are good people, just not “parent” material. I’ve always been well aware that I was an accident not meant to happen. They were never all that eager to hide it from me.
So here I am. I’m reading the label of my bottle of spring water (which, in reality, is just bottled tap water) as if I’m about to discover some fantastic truth about life. I’ve learned better than to make eye contact with my shrink. If I even glance up from this bottle, she’s going to pounce on me like a carnivorous beast would lunge at its prey. As usual, I sit silently playing with the corners of the label while we play the waiting game. I’m only waiting for the sound that saves my life. That damn egg timer.
“Well, our time is up for this week.” She looks frustrated. Dr. What’s Her Face always looks pissed at me in one way or another after our sessions. In the beginning, she would at least bait me to say something. The guilt trip of “It’s your parent’s money” only lasted for maybe five solid minutes.
I don’t enjoy being manipulated. How ironic that Jane and Phil put me in some mandatory charade where I am very seldom anything else.
As excited as I am to leave this creepy trapezoid of a room, I’m dreading seeing my
mother sitting in the waiting room with her arms folded across her chest. It seems to be the natural resting position for her body these days. Next, she’s going to brood in silence as we walk to the car.
Jane has never been difficult to predict in my lifetime. I once predicted her emotional breakdown with the gardener over tending the geraniums properly. True story.
So sitting next to my brooding mother as we drove home wasn’t much of a challenge. To be honest, I really enjoyed it. I’ve never been much of a talker, something I could never look to Phil or Jane to identify with.
I can feel the disapproval as we pull into our driveway and my best friend JT is
sitting on our front porch. Jane doesn’t like JT very much. In fact, I’m almost certain she hates the very idea of his existence. I have always been expected to be something more than what I turned out to be.
Jane, the leader of her social super clique, looks at me most days as if I’m someone else’s child. Like she can’t believe I came from her. I find it hilarious.
“Hey, JT.” I stroll towards him as Jane stomps into the house. She was always one for dramatics.
“Sup Kat?” JT had never called me by my given name, thank God. I couldn’t stomach the idea of it being on my birth certificate, let alone on the lips of someone who knew me.
“Not much. You want to hit the Triangle later or something?”
“Yeah. Ok.” He follows me as I walk through the front door, left ajar by Jane’s dramatic exit.
As always, the ever reliable Nadine was there dusting one of the many useless end tables filled with expensive junk. I smiled at her with ease. I loved Nadine. She was real, unlike so much of my life these days.
I left JT waiting downstairs while I took the staircase two steps at a time to get to my room. Even when I was younger, I didn’t understand the need for so much room when there were only three people living in a house. My bedroom was on the third floor, away from Jane and Phil’s interesting sleeping arrangements.
I passed Phil’s room, and noted that the door was shut. He must be in one of his painting moods again.
Finally, a jogged into my room. The sunlight was slanting in through the windows as the sun lowered in the sky. I preferred the western view of the sky. Sunsets were never something I could take for granted.
I rifled through my laundry basket, trying to find my favorite sweatshirt. If we were going to head out to the Triangle tonight, I was going to need it.
Finally fed up, I settled for the gray hoodie draped over my bed post. Unlike Jane, my
fashion sent was set on comfortable. Little else registered inside my brain.
JT was still waiting for me when I made the long journey down the staircase. When I was ten, JT and I got in serious trouble when we slid down the banister from the third floor. JT gained so much momentum that he flew off the end of the banister, landing on top of Jane’s very expensive art collection she stored conveniently next to the front door.
I still feel that Jane was asking for something to happen to that hideous assortment of figurines, placing it in such a high traffic area.
“I’m staying at the Thornburg’s tonight. Bye, Nadine.” I gave her a quick hug and turned to leave. I knew Nadine would tell Jane and Phil where I was going and when I would be back. At times, Nadine was more my parent then those I was born to.
JT and I made out way out of the pristine community. Once we were passed the gates, JT turned to eye the place of my habitation.
“What?” I could tell he was thinking up some smart ass remark about coming from money.
“Nothing, really. It‘s just so weird thinking that you’re a part of all that pomp and circumstance, you know?”
“Pomp and circumstance?” I laughed. “Awful big words for a mechanic.”
“Head mechanic, thank you very much.” His toothy grin made me smile. The gap between his front teeth was small and barely visible unless you were face to face with him.
Jack Thornburg wasn’t a bad looking boy by any means. My best friend since I was three held no special attraction other then his love of motorized things and classical music. I loved how each of his interests directly contrasted the others, as if he didn’t live by anyone’s rules of boys who like cars can’t like Opera, nor can they be straight.
I had always been relieved, and a little bit amazed, at how easy it was to be around him. Somehow we had never been anything but friends. I think it never crossed either of our minds. His birthday was two months before mine, and he never let me forget it. The only justice in that was he would be thirty before me.
We arrived at the Thornburg house just before six, with plenty of daylight left at our disposal. Mrs. T. was making something amazing in the kitchen. This was one of my favorite parts of staying at JT’s: the food.
Jane was always serving whatever diet fad she was following at the time. I had consumed enough salad and raw vegetation to make me a rabbit by definition. This was never the case at JT’s house.
“Hey, Mrs. T!” I called, sniffing my way into the kitchen with JT on my heels.
“Hey there, Kitty Kat. How was the shrink?” I smiled when she said her nickname for me.
“Oh, the usual. I’m hoping to prove a menace to society any day now.” She grinned back at me, and handed me a soda. One more reason to adore this household: all the caffeine you could dream of and no mineral water in sight.
“What’s for dinner?” JT inquired thoughtfully, peeking over his mom’s shoulder at the counter. It was covered in flour and dough.
“Homemade pizza. I’m making a plain cheese for Sophie, a meat combo for your dad and I, and that awful onion and bacon you two love so much.”
“Sweet!” JT swiped a piece of bacon and stuffed it in his mouth before she could protest.
“Can I help?” I offered. This was the one place I wasn’t obligated to be polite and offer, but it was the only place that I ever wanted to.
“I think I’ve pretty much got it covered so far. But, if you want to start on the garlic bread, that would be helpful.” I caught JT rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and elbowed him in his ribs.
“I’d like that.”
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