I don’t know how it happened, but I found myself sitting across from Dr Wilson. His magical grey eyes smiled at me. This wasn’t part of my plan. I had agreed to two sessions. Yet there I was, in his office, for my third. Maybe Mum was better at convincing me to do things than I thought.
“Hi Peyton, how are you today?”
“I’m OK … You?”
“I’m very well thank you.”
I bit my lip. Thoughts crashed through my brain. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think this is a waste of time? I still don’t remember the day of the accident, or the crash itself for that matter … Shouldn’t we wait until I remember something?”
“Not necessarily, Peyton. Speaking about your past, your present and future events might help you remember. It might spark memories. It might clear your thoughts and allow you to see.”
But I didn’t want to see.
“During our last session we spoke about your passion for painting and art. Have you created anything since we last saw one another?”
“No. Art’s not really an interest at the moment.” When I painted, I used to paint honestly. What I could see. What I wanted to see. I would intertwine my secrets within a piece and wondered if anyone would uncover them or understand the hidden meaning. They never did, and I felt relieved knowing I was still their secret keeper.
“At home, the garage is my art space … I call it my Art Cave. My mum bought me all the materials I wanted and needed and I would go in there to clear my mind. Escape things. Create things. But I haven’t been in there since I’ve been home.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Um …” Because my deepest secret’s in there and once I see it I’ll have to remember everything else. I’d have to remember. Refeel the pain. “I haven’t had the energy to think about painting … My creative juices haven’t been flowing.”
What I said was the truth. But I was never going to speak about my deepest secrets. I didn’t know if I ever could. I didn’t know if I ever would.
The flashes crept. I folded one leg over the other and twisted my calves until my ankles locked – the lower half of my body felt like a decorative pastry. I squeezed my legs together, hoping to cut the circulation. Make my mind focus on something else.
My short-lived attempt was unsuccessful. I untied my legs and readjusted in the seat. My heart raced. The room felt cold. I shook my head. Hoped the flashes would detach. Darkness. I wanted my darkness. I thought to the pitch black – my almost-serenity place.
The flashes dissipated. Vanished. As if they had never been mine. The beat of my heart slowed. The room warmed. My brain registered my body as mine. My eyes searched the plain room and recognised where I was – still in therapy. I peered at the clock. Thirty-five minutes remaining. I breathed deeply then faced Dr Wilson – ready for the next question.
Please help keep my mind from those unfinished thoughts.
Dr Wilson cleared his throat, even though I didn’t think he needed to.
“During our last session you mentioned you dropped out of school …” His rich voice remained warm and neutral – like he hadn’t witnessed the past few seconds. As if they never happened. Part of me was thankful. Relieved even. “Would you like to discuss that further?”
“Not really … I dropped out because I didn’t want to be there. I couldn’t handle it there.” Without consent, every muscle in my body tightened. My heart skipped a beat. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“OK.”
Before he could come up with another question that might spark the flashes, I decided to blurt out words. We still had half an hour left of our session and I didn’t want him to dig around any further. “I met this guy.”
“Oh, that’s nice. What’s he like? Tell me about him.”
Really? I softly shook my head and played along. I knew I could stretch the subject out for at least twenty minutes. And I would be speaking about someone else. That made me feel a little better.
“I met him the other day … We sat, we chatted. Somehow he made me laugh. Something I haven’t done in a while. We bumped into one another again and went on our supposed first date … He’s different to other boys I’ve met. Well, he seems different. He’s intriguing and he’s honest. But I can feel that I have my guard up around him. Around everyone.”
Dr Wilson was good. Somehow – without a single word – he made me shift the boy talk and turn it back to me. Maybe it was because I was in a therapy room and there was something they put in the air to make you confess your deepest thoughts and feelings.
“Why do you think that is?” Dr Wilson asked.
“What?”
“Why do you feel like you have to have your guard up around everyone?”
I pressed on one of my scabs. I wanted to feel a little pain. Was it worth sharing a little with him? It couldn’t change anything. I took a breath. My words were whispers.
“Sometimes it makes things easier.” I didn’t want our conversation to follow this path. I licked my lips as I silently listed things I knew about Kai. “But that boy I met, um, he’s eighteen and acts like he can get whatever he wants. He’s interesting and curious and I can’t help but want to know more about him.”
“That’s great, Peyton. Meeting new people can be a wondrous thing.”
Our session ended.
Dr Wilson told me he’d see me next week, and I hated to admit it, but I knew I would be back.