to the rescue?
“Seems to me like she got lost on her way to the country club or somethin’.” Doug slapped his hands on his knees and leaned forward. I wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up or stand up.
“Leah?” Once again, Mr. Doctor's voice. “Why are you smiling?”
“Why am I smiling?” I echoed, rotated my wedding band, and stared at the floor. This wasn’t a question I was prepared to answer. I didn’t read about a smiling probation period in the papers Ms. Wattingly had given me. Why did it matter? A test? Lady or the tiger? Sobriety behind one door. Insanity behind the other. Still the band spun around my finger. So much friction, my fingers would explode into flames. My hand on fire would put a stop to that smiling.
“I … I just smile. I don’t think about it, really. I always smile. I mean not always, but mostly.” I was a stammering adult, apologizing for a smile. This was why people drank. This and the fact that I now held a conversation with the floor.
“Uh-huh.” Mr. Doctor's pen tap-danced on his clipboard.
I knew that response. I practiced it often in teaching, mostly at parent conferences or in discussions with school board personnel. Loosely translated, it meant, “I don’t believe one syllable of what you’re telling me, and I don’t think you do, either, but we’re just not going to go there now.”
Finally, I suspended my psychic transference with the floor. When I lifted my head, the first face I saw was Annie's. Her eyes were dull, like unpolished silver. An invisible screen separated us. She focused on a movie playing itself out, one only she could see. I stopped smiling.
The pause allowed time for random body shifting. Even my well-padded posterior felt numb. It didn’t help that the room could have doubled as a meat locker. The near-freezing temperature must have some effect on addictions. In that space of quiet, I allowed myself my first deep breath since the mini-interrogation.
Everyone else seemed comfortable with the stillness. Me? I waited for the other shoe to fall. Why?
Exactly.
Why did I have to gird myself for impending doom? If the bad thing hadn’t already happened, it's sure enough going to happen, and it's just a matter of time, probably even closer than you think if something good's happened, so buck up, baby. Hold on. The breath out of everyone's mouth was a gale force wind.
A few coughs broke the stillness. Theresa sneezed and wiped her hands on her jeans. One of the U2 kids belched. They both laughed. Annie surfaced from her meditative state. Doug snored. Amazing. Minus the gravel he seemed to be processing through his nostrils, he could be mistaken for someone deeply prayerful.
“We’ll shut down introductions for now. Let's review some ground rules for these group sessions. First,” and this time Mr. Doctor smiled, “would someone mind elbowing Doug over there?”
Journal 6
“You need help.”
Oh, yes, I thought, more than you could possibly imagine. But the words that danced from my mouth wore different clothes. “You’re probably right.”
He stopped counting the pairs of folded socks stacked in the corner of the suitcase to turn to me. I stood behind him. Out of arm's reach. “Probably? No, that's where you’re mistaken. There's no probably.”
The suitcase yawned on top of the tightly made bed covered with a cranberry silk quilt and a floral embroidered duvet. Carl's lips made an almost perfectly straight line between his nose and his chin.
“I’m going out of town for over a week. I told you last night I needed you. In fact, I told you even before I left for work yesterday I couldn’t wait to get home. And you? You won’t come to bed with me.”
She flinched as the raw disgust in his voice crawled down her back.
“You watch some stupid shows on television, read. I never know what you’re up to out there while I’m in here
“Seems to me like she got lost on her way to the country club or somethin’.” Doug slapped his hands on his knees and leaned forward. I wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up or stand up.
“Leah?” Once again, Mr. Doctor's voice. “Why are you smiling?”
“Why am I smiling?” I echoed, rotated my wedding band, and stared at the floor. This wasn’t a question I was prepared to answer. I didn’t read about a smiling probation period in the papers Ms. Wattingly had given me. Why did it matter? A test? Lady or the tiger? Sobriety behind one door. Insanity behind the other. Still the band spun around my finger. So much friction, my fingers would explode into flames. My hand on fire would put a stop to that smiling.
“I … I just smile. I don’t think about it, really. I always smile. I mean not always, but mostly.” I was a stammering adult, apologizing for a smile. This was why people drank. This and the fact that I now held a conversation with the floor.
“Uh-huh.” Mr. Doctor's pen tap-danced on his clipboard.
I knew that response. I practiced it often in teaching, mostly at parent conferences or in discussions with school board personnel. Loosely translated, it meant, “I don’t believe one syllable of what you’re telling me, and I don’t think you do, either, but we’re just not going to go there now.”
Finally, I suspended my psychic transference with the floor. When I lifted my head, the first face I saw was Annie's. Her eyes were dull, like unpolished silver. An invisible screen separated us. She focused on a movie playing itself out, one only she could see. I stopped smiling.
The pause allowed time for random body shifting. Even my well-padded posterior felt numb. It didn’t help that the room could have doubled as a meat locker. The near-freezing temperature must have some effect on addictions. In that space of quiet, I allowed myself my first deep breath since the mini-interrogation.
Everyone else seemed comfortable with the stillness. Me? I waited for the other shoe to fall. Why?
Exactly.
Why did I have to gird myself for impending doom? If the bad thing hadn’t already happened, it's sure enough going to happen, and it's just a matter of time, probably even closer than you think if something good's happened, so buck up, baby. Hold on. The breath out of everyone's mouth was a gale force wind.
A few coughs broke the stillness. Theresa sneezed and wiped her hands on her jeans. One of the U2 kids belched. They both laughed. Annie surfaced from her meditative state. Doug snored. Amazing. Minus the gravel he seemed to be processing through his nostrils, he could be mistaken for someone deeply prayerful.
“We’ll shut down introductions for now. Let's review some ground rules for these group sessions. First,” and this time Mr. Doctor smiled, “would someone mind elbowing Doug over there?”
Journal 6
“You need help.”
Oh, yes, I thought, more than you could possibly imagine. But the words that danced from my mouth wore different clothes. “You’re probably right.”
He stopped counting the pairs of folded socks stacked in the corner of the suitcase to turn to me. I stood behind him. Out of arm's reach. “Probably? No, that's where you’re mistaken. There's no probably.”
The suitcase yawned on top of the tightly made bed covered with a cranberry silk quilt and a floral embroidered duvet. Carl's lips made an almost perfectly straight line between his nose and his chin.
“I’m going out of town for over a week. I told you last night I needed you. In fact, I told you even before I left for work yesterday I couldn’t wait to get home. And you? You won’t come to bed with me.”
She flinched as the raw disgust in his voice crawled down her back.
“You watch some stupid shows on television, read. I never know what you’re up to out there while I’m in here
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