Bathe in Color

77. Paris Wills, Age 16, October 15, 2019

Every Tuesday, Neo holds group therapy sessions where the residents collect in various circles to talk through their experiences. Dr. Cole says group therapy can help me make friends, which I certainly wouldn't mind. I remember the friends I had before my mom's death, the ones I so carelessly pushed away. I miss having people to turn to. Of course, I have Gray and the two of us ebb and flow like the tides. We have an unparalleled symmetry that soothes me and assures me that we're destined to be together. But I have nobody to talk to other than him. No friends to call on when Gray's at rehearsal or swamped with homework. No friends to gush about boyfriends with. No friends to spend a Saturday at the mall with. No friends at all.

Nevertheless, I'm not too keen on sharing my feelings with a collection of strangers. At least Dr. Cole will be there to run the session, which eases my nerves a little bit. Even so, I'm hesitant to go. To make matters worse, I seem to be lost in one of the many corridors of Neo, searching for the room we're supposed to meet in.

The group therapy session begins at 10 AM, and the clock mounted at the end of the hallway cautiously ticks, the hour hand closely encroaching on 10. I'm running out of time and there's nobody around to help me. Could I have accidentally gone down an abandoned wing of Neo? The hallway is desolate, except for the faint sound of a piano. Hoping to find someone, I follow the distant melody to an unmarked room with the door ajar. Quietly, I tiptoe inside and see a girl, maybe a year or two older than me, sitting at a grand piano. Her fingers glide against the keys with an exceptional concentration, and I'm mesmerized by her talent. She runs through a beautiful slow song that wipes my worries clean from my mind, replacing them with a deep tranquility.

"What'd you think?" The girl asks once she finishes playing. I jump, surprised that she knew I was here. She seemed too intently focused on the piano to notice.

"Are you mute?" She questions after I don't reply, turning away from the piano to face me.

I let out a hurried, "no," before apologizing for bothering her. Yet as I turn to leave, she stops me.

"Hey, don't worry about it! I'm Sabina!"

Sabina rushes up to me and I turn around to face her. Her bubblegum pink hair is pulled back into braided pigtails that match her fuzzy sweater and flowing skirt.

"I'm Paris," I finally reply, "You're so talented!"

"Thanks!" Sabina exclaims with a cheerful smile.

"What song were you playing?"

"'At Last' by Etta James. My uncle taught me how to play it."

I nod before remembering that I'm supposed to be at my first group therapy session right now. Panicked, I look to Sabina for some sense of guidance.

"Do you happen to know what room Dr. Cole hosts her group therapy sessions in?"

"Shit, I totally forgot!"

"What?"

Sabina rushes out of the piano room, her skirt twirling and pastel pigtails shifting as she dances across the hardwood floor.

"I'm late for group therapy!"

"My group therapy?"

"I suppose so. Come on!"

Without hesitation, I follow Sabina down the hallway, the two of us practically running. Even though I'm nervous that Dr. Cole will be mad at us, I can't help but laugh. Sabina turns around and laughs too, the both of us giggling uncontrollably. In the midst of our laughter, I wonder if Sabina and I could become friends. Sure, we can't go to the mall, but we can have our own fun while we're here.