Green Line

Prologue

PROLOGUE 

Then

Depression. 

That's always their diagnosis.  

"How can we help her, Dr. Morris?" Mother questions, always the advocate for my health and overall wellbeing. "The meds the last doctor tried made her..."  

Psychotic.  

I ignore the thick, unexplainable ache in my chest and tug at strand of my dark hair, twirling it around my finger. Anything to avoid the concerned eyes of both my mother and the doctor. 

"Well," he sighs, "I'd like to try her on a new antidepressant. This one seems to have less side effects on patients in my opinion. I also want to talk to her. We should schedule weekly sessions." 

The desire to roll my eyes is overwhelming. Just like the last doctor, they want to dope me up with pills and 'talk' about what's making me sad. But what they really mean, is they want to listen to themselves drone on-what they really want is more of my mother's money. The pain in my chest threatens to rip me in two as I wonder how expensive this amazing breakthrough is going to cost her. She'll just pick up more shifts at the diner-shifts that already leave bags under her eyes and callouses on her feet.  

I want to tell him I don't need to talk. What I really need is my bed. And darkness. Maybe some Mazzy Star on my iPod. However, when I sneak a glance up at my mother, I cave. Her once dark, mahogany hair that mirrors mine has become streaked with grey. It shows that in the last four years, I've been instrumental in sucking the life out of her. 

It wasn't always this way. 

I wasn't always the cause of her heartache and pain. 

"I'll talk to him, Mom." My voice is but a whisper and my eyes dart past her to the window of Dr. Morris's office. A black crow sits on a branch and stares right at me. 

Through me. 

As they sort out times for the sessions and my medication, I focus on the bird. He cocks his head to the right as if to ask me how I am. 

I'm here, Crow. And you? 

Caw! 

I think that's bird speak for pretty fucking okay. 

I wish I could say the same, Crow. Life is pretty shitty. 

He flaps his wings and bounces on the branch as if my words have offended him. 

What, Crow? You asked. 

Caw! 

This bird has an attitude problem. 

"Tuesday is fine. Right, Natalie?" Mom asks, drawing my attention from the tetchy bag of feathers.  

I find her brown eyes and nod once before flicking them back over to the window. The branch quivers with movement but the bird has left me.  

Just like Dad did. 

The thought is a bitter one and had I said it aloud, Dr. Morris would have had a fucking hay day picking at that wound. Dad stuck around for thirteen years and then selfishly left our family. Now, four years later, I'm still drowning in questions. 

Why did he choose to leave us? 

Why were we not good enough for him? 

Caw! 

I blink away my thoughts and stare back at the bird. He came back. 

This bird, I think I like him. 

See you next Tuesday, Crow. 

Caw! 

That's bird speak for, it's a date.