Letters to Nowhere(42)

“It’s possible,” I admitted. “Not probable, but possible.”

“You’d give up a whole season of NCAA competition and then not make the final cut for World Championships. And where does that leave you? Do you start college but not join the team yet? Or do you hang around for a year?” She was quiet for a very long moment. “There’s so much here that is beyond your control. I’m a little worried about what kind of damage that can do to you. Are you setting yourself up for failure by wanting something like this?”

She didn’t get it. I knew she wouldn’t. Neither did my mom. “Of course it’s hard. If it wasn’t hard, then success wouldn’t feel nearly as great.”

“True,” Jackie said. “But there’s only about twenty percent of this equation that you can actually work toward. The rest will be determined by other people. What I’m saying is, you don’t have control over the life that is represented in these goals.”

I can’t control a shoulder injury bad enough to need surgery. I can’t control getting the flu.

“What should I write, then?” I snapped, feeling more frustrated than ever. “It’s not like I hoped for an Olympic Gold medal. I do have some grasp on reality. I just haven’t been able to let go of competing in a big international meet like Worlds.”

“Why didn’t you include the Olympics in your goals?”

“But you just said—” I stopped and let out a breath to calm myself before I started shouting at my therapist. That didn’t seem like a good way to prove mental sanity. “You’re contradicting yourself. I’m aiming too high, risking my college career, by wanting to be picked for the World team, but I’m selling myself short by not writing down the Olympics as my goal?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Karen. There’re pros and cons to both heading to LA in June and giving your elite career a longer run. I think your maturity and dedication is just amazing. I want you to know that.” She slid the goal sheet across the desk, returning it to me. “But I also want you to rewrite these, and you aren’t allowed to include anything relating to making a certain team or a specific rank number, because when it comes down to it, you can’t control those things.”

I can’t control my parents getting into a car and dying…I can’t keep the same thing from happening to me or someone else I love.

“And you need at least three goals that have nothing to do with gymnastics.”

I stared at her blankly. “Like finishing my correspondence courses on time? Or getting all As?”

Jackie smiled. “What are the chances of you turning in anything late or getting less than an A?”

“Slim to none,” I muttered, dropping my eyes to my hands. “I know this makes me sound like a deprived child, but I can’t really come up with three real non–gymnastics goals. I could just make up something, but I’m guessing that’s not really what you want.”

“No. I’d rather have one real goal from you than three made–up ones.” She sighed and I could see her debating something, contemplating tackling a more difficult subject, so I did the first thing I could think of to lessen the sting. It was time to point at this elephant that had been stomping around her office for weeks.

“My parents are dead,” I blurted out.

Jackie’s eyebrows lifted but she didn’t look nearly as shocked as I’d expected. “I know. Does that make this more difficult? Thinking about your future?”

More honesty poured out of me. It was like once I started, I couldn’t stop. And what happened in Houston had me wondering if I really did need help from a therapist. “I don’t know if it’s more difficult. I didn’t even try. These are the same goals I’ve had since before…”

“I know that, too,” Jackie said, kindness seeping into her voice. “I was hoping you’d come to that conclusion yourself.”

So she did have some shrink strategy beyond the let’s–be–friends method. “I wasn’t lying, either. I still want those things. But I’ll rewrite them for you if that’s what you want.”

“Yes, thank you.” She turned her head to the side, like she was coming up with an idea. “Maybe your non–gymnastics goals should be something that seems almost too normal to write down, but for you it might be something you have to work at.”

“Like getting a boy to ask me on a date,” I groaned.

Jackie laughed. “You’re not going to have to work hard at that. Trust me, they’ll be lined up at your door soon enough. But you might have to work hard at feeling comfortable saying yes.”

“I can’t even imagine asking Coach Bentley if I can go on a date with some guy. He’d freak out, or schedule extra practices so I wouldn’t have any time.” I chewed on my thumbnail, looking anywhere but at Jackie’s face. I had to tell her one of my big issues, if only to exorcise it from taking up so much space in my mind. But which one? Panic attacks or Jordan? Panic attacks or Jordan? I repeated it once more in my head before finally letting my mouth decide. “Jordan kissed me.”

“Jordan? As in Jordan Bentley?”

I could only nod, and my face felt like the fever had returned.

Jackie’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “Did it make you uncomfortable? It’s okay to tell me. We can talk about ways to avoid these situations with him or we might even need to—”