Oblivion

21| Calls to make

JOSEPHINE

"I'm sorry, but unfortunately we can't accept any new patients at the moment. But I can put you on the waiting list and we'll get back to you in about nine months," said the receptionist and I crossed the name off my list.

This was the twenty-fourth practice I had called for therapy, and, except for the length of the waiting time, every conversation was the same. "That can't be right," I thought dejectedly, but I thanked the woman, asked her to write me down, and hung up. I had been trying to find a therapist for a week now, but I was starting to think I wouldn't find one. It slowly became more urgent to find someone. A social worker had come to interview me four days ago and was very reassuring about the prospect of therapy. I hadn't told the truth about many things, and Vito, who had stayed with me the whole time, had raised his eyebrows in surprise a few times. Luckily, he didn't say anything about it.

I later learned that the gray-haired social worker was also responsible for the custody matters concerning Domenico, Valentino, Riccardo, and Matteo at the time, so he already knew Vito, which was helpful for our cause. Vito's lawyer, also present at the meeting, later decided that my case had good prospects and that I had done well. Unsure what to say, I smiled at the older man and let Vito continue the conversation. Did that mean I could stay, or just that I didn't have to go back immediately? This question kept my mind in a fuzz.

"How are you getting on?" Domenico leaned over my shoulder to look at the list while I jumped in shock. His grin showed that this was exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

"Not so good, but I'm on a few waiting lists. Maybe I'll be lucky," I replied, trying not to let my rapid pulse show. Inhale, exhale.

He picked up the list to examine it more closely. "They can't be serious. Wait six months? What if you try to shoot yourself again?"

"Then I should contact a hospital or the emergency hotline. And there aren't many therapists who look after young people," I tried to explain, tactically ignoring his blunt statement. Nevertheless, I had to admit that another six months with these fears seemed very long to me. What would happen if they got worse?

"That's ridiculous." Domenico pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and typed in a number, seemingly off the top of his head, before holding it to his ear. It was perhaps three seconds before he spoke again. "J, we need an adolescent therapist."

Whoever J was, the person answered curtly, probably not surprised by Domenico's lack of common small talk. While Domenico held his phone with his left hand, I used the opportunity to get a closer look at his tattoo. It was a snake that seemed to bite when he pressed his thumb and forefinger together. I couldn't help but imagine him grabbing people's necks with his hand and how appropriate this motif was for him. I didn't like the tattoo or snakes in general.

"Funny. For little sandpiper." I looked at him, irritated, and Domenico ignored me. He ended the conversation without saying thank you or goodbye. "That would be settled. I'll let you know if there's anything new."

"May I ask what is meant by 'little sandpiper'?" I asked carefully and received only a meaningful look in response. "Oh! But why?"

"You all got codenames in case someone is listening to conversations they shouldn't. Besides, you're small, the bird is small, so it's a match. What are you up to today?" Domenico folded the piece of paper and then carelessly stuffed it into his pants. He looked casual today in jeans and a black sweater. Did he notice that I was wearing exactly the same thing? I would have liked to ask him more about my code name, especially to find out what the others were called, but on the other hand, it was wiser to know as little as possible. Still, I didn't think I was that small. After all, it wasn't my fault that he was so big.