Together
Again
by Katie
PART 17
…Here we go…
"Madison Walker, right?" She asks as she motions me to go inside her office.
"Yeah, that's me alright." I don't mean to be sarcastic or anything, I just
can't help it. I'm very skeptical towards therapists, but for some reason, this lady
doesn't cross me as the type who'll completely waste my time. We'll soon see…
Her office is pretty nice, compared to the other offices I've had the "pleasure"
of sitting in. Not too stuffy, but not too welcoming either. I keep wondering how long
she's been doing this and how long before she realizes all of the problems that she has
that she's learned about herself while "helping" others and decides to quit.
Damn, why am I so negative right now???
For the first maybe five minutes, she just sits in her nice recliner computer chair with
her legs crossed and pen and clipboard in hand, scribbling stuff down every so often. I
feel like this is a test that I was uninformed about. I act as calm as I can, although
she's really starting to freak me out a little. She's supposed to ask me a bunch of crap
about my life, right? Well, I decide to take advantage of this awkward silence and my eyes
start to wander around the room.
Gray carpet surrounds the floor, all nice and neat. My guess is that underneath the gray
mass is a wooden floor with a history of its own, but of course, no one cares about
history anymore, just money and corruption. Ok, I'm ending my negativity right now, I
promise. Anyways, now here's something that I found rather odd for a therapist with such
great recommendations. She's only been a working therapist for five years. But hey, she
graduated from Oxford in England, so that's pretty cool. I think Dr. Dumont has caught on
to my
fascination with her diploma and tries to start what could probably feel like the longest
conversation of my life…
"So, Madison," she began as I felt her eyes glance towards me then to the piece
of framed paper on the wall.
"It's Maddy really," I respond, in a slightly cold tone. I like the name Madison
and everything, I really do, but Maddy is just more, me.
"Oh, sorry," she almost looks like she's going to cry or something. Wow, I
really didn't mean to give her THAT hard of a time. I better loosen up a bit. "So,
Maddy, do you have any plans for after high school?"
Oh wow, what an interesting question that I haven't been asked a MILLION times since I was
like 2. I pretend to ponder a moment and then answer. "Well," I started to say,
"I'll most likely go to college I suppose." I almost start to laugh out loud
after I said that just because that's one of the main goals I've had since before I was
born.
"That's good. Do you know any schools or majors you're interested in?" Oh Jesus.
Here come the questions. Dr. Dumont reminds me of a racecar driver ready for green light,
just ready to start writing down my inner thoughts. Grreat! (MASS amounts of sarcasm
there)
"I'll either major in history or math and attend either Duke, Columbia, NYU, or
Harvard," I reply without breaking a sweat. I've had that compound sentence memorized
since I was old enough to crawl. With my senior year slowly approaching, more and more
people have been asking me about my future, like I really have any indication as to what
I'll really end up doing with my life.
"Wow, those are some pretty high expectations. Now are those YOUR goals, or your
parents?" She asks politely yet a little invasive. Wow, she's really got balls
to ask that. Maybe this'll turn out to be fun after all.
"First off, I don't think my dad would have ever wanted me to major in ordinary
school subjects and I really don't think my mom cares what I end up doing." Wow, am I
P.M.S.-ing or what? I usually never give ANYONE this hard of a time. Let's see if she can
handle the rebel/dysfunctional child in me.
She reached over towards her desk and got out a manila file. My guess was that it was my
file, and boy was I right. After flipping through a few pages, she looked up and continued
talking.
"So your father died when you were pretty young. How do you think that affected your
childhood?" If she weren't acting so nice and sincere, I would almost have to believe
she was trying to interrogate me and make me feel like I really am worthless.
"Yeah, I barely even remember him. I managed." It was as simple as that.
Dr. Dumont was a smart gal because she noticed that I was always looking down towards my
shoes, trying to avoid eye contact at every given chance. So of course, as any good
therapist would do, we started to talk about that too.
"Let me take a guess Maddy…you don't want to be here, do you?" She took the
clipboard and file off of her lap and scooted her chair more towards the couch, on which I
was sitting, as to get more "personal." Wow, she was actually trying. That was
something refreshing; maybe I should open up more.
"Not too much. My friend died. My dad's been dead for almost fifteen years now. I
know you're just trying to find out what makes this "perfect" girl tick; to try
to figure out why I'm so screwed up and how to "fix" everything." I pause
for a quick breath and continue my little speech. "I know what's wrong. I'm not an
idiot. I may just be a teenager, but that should have no precedence over the matter
of knowing whom I am and what's going on with my life. I am Madison Marie Walker. I am
seventeen years old and when I was three my dad died. I spent most of my childhood trying
to live up to everyone's expectations and I still do to this day. My relationship with my
mom is anything but normal. We barely talk sometimes, she's always busy with work or her
fiancée, which leaves me to focus on my GPA, my sports that have been taken away from me
because one of my closest friends died, and trying to find a reason to get up in the
morning besides my girlfriend. Oh yeah, I'm gay." Holy sh--! Did I just say ALL of
that to a perfect stranger??? These appointments are confidential, right?
I really must have pulled a fast one on Dr. Dumont because for almost the entire second
half of the session, we were in complete silence. Then she must have finally come up
with a come back to my ramble.