Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
"You seem quiet. What's on your mind?" Dr. Cole asks from her desk.
She's right. Usually I'm fairly talkative at our therapy sessions. Today, however, every time I open my mouth to speak the words elude me.
"Is it Sabina? Do you miss her?"
By the tilted crease of Dr. Cole's lips, I can tell she's proud of Sabina's accomplishment. We all are. And we're determined too; determined to make it out of here just like her. Seeing someone you love and care about face their tallest adversities and come out alive is absolutely inspiring. It's motivated André to go the extra mile. He's scheduled additional therapy sessions with Dr. Cole and even arranged visits with his parents. It's also encouraged me to do something I've been putting off for a while now, no matter how difficult it may be.
"Of course I miss Sabina, but it's not about her. It's about...something else."
"Take your time," Dr. Cole assures me, sensing my hesitance in the distinguished falter of my voice.
"I want to call my father," I muster, finally revealing what's really been on my mind all this time. Though I hate to admit it, I can't fully heal until I attempt to make amends with him.
Dr. Cole nods, prompting me to expand on my request, "André's making an effort to repair the bond with his parents, and I want to do the same."
"That sounds like a wonderful idea; if you think you're ready."
"What do you mean?" I question, scoffing at Dr. Cole's remark. If I waited until I was completely ready to call my father, he'd never hear from me again.
"You need to be ready to tell him how you feel. Don't be afraid to hold any of it back."
"I'm not afraid."
"Then why haven't you told me anything about your father?"
"That's not true," I counter, slightly offended by Dr. Cole's accusation, "I've told you about his addiction and his years of negligence!"
"There's no need to get defensive. I'm not attacking you. I'm simply trying to help you."
"You're right," I sigh, taking in a deep breath to steady myself and my emotions.
"Paris, I knew about your father's addiction and negligence before our first therapy session. It was all part of your case file. What I'm asking is for you to tell me how those circumstances affected you. If you're able to share that with me, then you'll be able to share that with your father."
"Then will you let me call him?"
"Sure."
***
"Have you ever seen someone shoot up heroin?" I pose, glancing over at Dr. Cole. She says nothing, only moving her head slowly back and forth to indicate that she hasn't had the privilege to see the revolting process.
"The first time I witnessed it happen was shortly after my mom died. My father neglected to lock the bathroom door and I walked in on him sticking a needle in between his toes. It was a few months after my mom passed, and I had just turned fourteen. I was only fourteen and I was watching my father shoot up on the bathroom floor."
"When I was a kid, I practically worshipped my father. He was this big joyful teddy bear who promised to protect me whenever I was scared. That image shattered the second I caught a glimpse of his addiction. Suddenly, I was terrified of the person who promised to protect me."
"Paris, we can take a break if you want."
I reach for a tissue from Dr. Cole's desk and blow my sulking nose into the soft paper, tears pouring from my eyes faster than I can catch them. Except I don't want to take a break, fearful that, if I do, I'll never be able to finish. I'm determined to share my feelings until all the sorrow and exasperation escape me like a lemon drained to its very last drop.
"He didn't even try to explain himself. He just finished pushing the amber liquid into his body until there was nothing left."
"Just months prior, my mom died in a hospital bed and I witnessed her casket sink into the ground. After I witnessed that needle sink into his skin, my father died too. I had nobody to protect me. Nobody to love me. At first, it saddened me. But, after a while, it infuriated me."
"It's alright to feel angry at your father. But it's more than that, isn't it?" Dr. Cole inquires in her always soothing tone.
With her question, Dr. Cole uncovers a realization I've been avoiding for years. The haunting transparent silhouette of my mom's lifeless soul floating over her grave illuminates my vision. She seemed more alive as a ghost inside my mind than my father did living in the same house as me.
"Yes," my voice breaks, and I struggle to gain composure. I bunch my fingers and burrow my puffy hot face into shaky knuckles. Sobs erupt from deep within my abdomen and my throat catches on each one, unable to contain the endless rush of sorrow.
"I'm angry at my mom," I wail uncontrollably, "for leaving me with him!"
"Paris, your mom didn't leave you; she was taken from you by forces outside of her control. It wasn't her fault that she died. Or that your father fell into addiction. You know that. Don't you?"
I nod with one final whimper and take another tissue to blot my face, wiping away the abundance of tears.
"I think, these past few years, you've been projecting all your anger on your father instead of admitting that you're also angry at your mom. Is that right?"
"Yeah," I croak, reminded of all the times I visited my mom at the cemetery. Without realizing it, I imagined my mom's ghost hoping that, in some fantastical way, she would rescue me from my father. Except, she never did. And I grew to resent her for that.
"I'm not saying that your father is innocent or that you can't be mad at him. Nevertheless, your father doesn't deserve to carry the burden of your unwarranted frustrations with your mom."
I nod, unsure what to say. Dr. Cole is correct. It was easier for me to despise one person rather than confront all my bitterness. I blotted away my father's existence and wrote a false narrative. All because I couldn't admit that I'm furious at my mom for abandoning me. Yet she didn't choose to die and her ghost couldn't save me because her ghost wasn't real.
How could I ever condemn my mom for something completely out of her control? I must be a monster.
"If there's a heaven, and my mom's up there watching over me, do you think she hates me for resenting her?"
"Of course not," Dr. Cole exclaims, reaching out her hand for me to take. I grab hold of it, my sweaty palm almost slipping out from her grasp.
"Your mom will always love you no matter what. She understands that your anger is misplaced. I promise you."
Dr. Cole gives my hand a quick squeeze before pulling away and, although I'm still not sure if my mom is really swimming in the stars, Dr. Cole's words are comforting.
"Repairing you and your father's bond won't be easy. Honestly, it'll probably never be the same as it was before. But that doesn't mean you can't have a healthy and happy relationship with him."
"How can I do that?"
"Call him. Tell him how you feel. Learn to forgive him. And remember that, though your mom may be gone, your father is still alive."
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