Gone, Gone, Gone(22)

I shake my head.

My dad came inside my therapist’s building with me, his arms around me like a coat. We ran. He’s not supposed to come inside here. This is meant to be my place. That was a rule my last therapist made, and Dad and I both agreed it worked well. I need a place.

And then he came in here and said, “Adelle, right?” and shook her hand. And damn it, I had to pee, so they had a whole minute and fifteen seconds alone together. Dad probably told her I wet the bed until I was eight (give me a break, I had other things on my mind), and Adelle probably told him about my snowman-molding fetish. Fuck everything.

“Okay,” Adelle says. “So what’s going on in your life this week?”

I think of better things. Things that aren’t honestly part of my life, and ways that I wish I were.

I shrug. “I’m in love.”

And I screwed up so badly, but I’m not going to mention that part right now.

Adelle’s writing something down. This must be the kind of moment therapists live for. I’m a success story. Isn’t it thanks to years of therapists that I can fall in love?

Adelle smiles. “With Craig?”

“Who else? Of course Craig.”

She laughs a little. “You’re talkative today.”

I frown.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t say that to shut you up.”

I shrug.

She sighs. “Damn.”

Small smile.

She closes her notebook. “Well? What’s he like?”

“Tall.”

“Yeah?”

“Like nearly six feet.”

“That’s not that tall.” Then she looks at me and bites her cheek. “All right, that’s tall for you, fair enough. Keep going.”

I look out the window. There’s a nice red car parked on the sidewalk. Are people worried their cars are going to get shot? If you have a car like that, you probably spend more time on it than you do on yourself. Why am I thinking about this?

I’m wondering what kind of car Cody’s dad drove. That’s not right.

Cody’s dad.

I didn’t know him. But Craig did. He actually knows someone who died on 9/11. And I don’t know why the fact that Craig knew someone who died in the Pentagon is making what happened here seem like a bigger deal. I already knew how many people died. This isn’t new information.

I’m not Craig; I always knew that everyone was equally vulnerable. That one person isn’t a more shocking loss than another.

That’s why you have to count them one by one. That’s what makes more people dying worse. It’s just math.

And it’s the reason little things—one person dying, six people dying—are things to get over. You go to therapy if you have to, and you learn how to tuck them away.

I’m still wondering about Cody’s father’s car.

Craig doesn’t have a car. I don’t have a car. I’m clinging to these thoughts like they mean something.

Adelle says, “Lio. You okay?”

This is ridiculous. Craig is fine. Almost every single person in this city is fine.

I swallow. “He has a thing with animals.”

She raises her eyebrows. “A thing?” She totally thinks I mean something kinky.

I breathe well enough to smile.

“He keeps them,” I say.

“He’s your first boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Are you his first?”

“No.” I pick at the couch. “He had a boyfriend who went crazy. Now he’s alone. And the animals are gone. Now he’s really alone.”

But safe.

“What about his family?” Adelle says.

I pick at the couch. “He has one of those fantasy nuclear families. They could be on a sitcom.”

“How does that make you feel about your family?”

I look at her. “We were talking about Craig.”

“Craig isn’t my patient. I was using him as a method to get you talking. How do you feel about your family, when you compare it to his?”

I’m not sure she’s supposed to reveal her secret therapist ways to me. Though I do know a lot about therapy, now. I’ve memorized whole sections of the Diagnostic Statistical Manual, after years of sitting in waiting rooms. I could start my own business. I’d be like Lucy in Peanuts.

I keep thinking about Charlie Brown, because I don’t want to babble about my family. That’s not going to help me. It’s just going to make me angry again. And if I’m angry again, I’m going to shut down and waste my time here. I want to talk about Craig. I squish my snowman.

“All right,” Adelle says. “So you hit a kid at school today.”

This is why my dad shouldn’t be allowed to come in. Two minutes and he gives things away.

“Yeah.” I’m biting the inside of my lower lip.

“I know you had aggression problems at your old school.”

I nod. It’s not like I ever really hurt anyone. I always messed with kids who were bigger than me. They never hit me back. Everyone thought I was brave. I don’t know anymore.

“Why did you do it today?” she says.

“I was . . . angry. I had this fight with Craig. It wasn’t a big deal.” I breathe out and say, “Why am I still so angry?”