Dear Journal:
I had a lot to tell Dr. Chen last night. I have several job interviews lined up next week, and I made an appointment to take my driver’s test. Dad seems to think I’m ready. I went out driving with him twice this week, and I only saw him wince once (when I got a little too close to the curb). I asked him about a car, which I would need if I got a job, and he said I was “putting the cart before the horse.”
Dad and his freaking idioms…
I told all this to Dr. Chen, but he didn’t say much. He just smiled and nodded. Occasionally, he would interject with a “Nice!” or a “Very cool!” but for the most part, he just let me ramble.
“How’s your sister doing?” he asked when I finally wound down.
That pissed me off. I didn’t want to talk about my sister. I know, I know…since when, right? I once wrote that the best thing about therapy was ranting about Michelle, but now we’re getting along. Besides, plenty is going on in my own life now.
Sissy’s old news.
“You would know better than me,” I said, not even trying to hide my irritation. “Didn’t you spend an hour with her last night?”
“No,” Dr. Chen said flatly. “Michelle didn’t show up for her session.”
“Oh,” I said.
I told him about the letter. About how sissy has been holed up in her room. I even mentioned my visit with the Blizzards.
“That was nice of you,” he said.
I nodded, but I didn’t feel very nice. I doubt he would’ve said that had I brought her a bottle of tequila or tranquilizers. But apparently, giving a depressed girl a calorie bomb was a kind gesture.
“I’m worried about her,” he continued.
“She’s just being dramatic,” I said, shaking my head. “She wants attention.”
“Hmm, sounds like someone I used to know.”
Oh, Dr. Chen, you clever scamp. I walked right into that one, didn’t I? It hadn’t taken much to deduce that my antics—the shoplifting, the violent outbursts, my expulsion from school—had been attention-seeking cries for help.
While my jaw was still dangling, he continued, “The difference is, you’re tougher than your sister. I don’t think she’s faced much adversity in her life.”
That was most definitely true. I nodded slowly.
“You’ve shown you can handle it. You’ve made it through the rain.” Dr. Chen smiled. “Just like Barry Manilow.”
I didn’t ask Dr. Chen who Barry Manilow was. I didn’t want to slow his roll.
“But your sister…” Dr. Chen leaned forward in his chair and began punctuating his points with his pen. He looked like a conductor directing an orchestra. “Until a few months ago, her life and her future were settled. Now, they’re uncertain. Some people rise to the challenge of doubt. Some people wilt. It would be nice if your sister had someone strong at the crossroads with her to help point her in the right direction.”
“Fine,” I said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Encourage her to get out of her room. Take walks with her. Socialize. Be supportive.”
“I can do that,” I said solemnly.
“I know you can,” Dr. Chen said with a wink. “And encourage her to come to therapy next week. Maybe we could have a family session? Take some of the pressure off her.”
I nodded. People are always making things easier for Michelle. Why stop now?
I was quiet on the drive home. I had a lot to think about. And not just when to use my turn signal or check my blind spot.
By the time I pulled into the driveway (getting a bit too close to Dad’s car for Mom’s comfort), I had reached an epiphany. My downward spiral coincided with sissy’s ascension. I had been reduced to a bit player in sissy’s movie, and I responded by making scenes of my own.
Now, I was the one getting attention. I’d lost weight and was about to get a job and my driver’s license. Meanwhile, sissy sulked in her room like a petulant brat.
Things were coming full circle.
Including sissy’s figure.
--Jessie