I'd gotten the call on a dusky night in late summer; there was a cooling feeling in the air and the birdsong died away much quicker than it had two months afore. The atmosphere was almost unfriendly, even in my cozy three-room apartment, and it was for this reason that I bid the day goodbye while the last bits of light were still peeking in from the top corner of the window above the sink, with a cup of hot tea and a nice book.
After gently sweeping the curtains closed, I crawled into my bed, book in hand, with the intention of reading late into the night, as I liked to do on weekend days. While I read, my hand would occasionally fumble to the right, searching for my cup of tea blindly while I scanned through pages of a memoir to a long-lost friend.
It was only when the last bit of tea had been drunk, leaving only the soggy leaves at the bottom, and the cup clattered onto its saucer, that my cell phone suddenly buzzed from the side table. I dropped my book in surprise, instantly losing the climactic feel that the dashing protagonist had awakened in me, and snatched my phone from the table with a feeling of impatience. I tried not to let my frustration show in my voice, however; a possible client wouldn't appreciate my unkindness, even if it was ten PM.
"Hello?" I asked kindly, tuning my voice into what I hoped was a reassuring, gentle tone.
The voice on the other end of the line wasn't what I expected, it wasn't the desperate, confused monotony of questions that I had become so accustomed to deciphering. It was definitely a woman's voice, though, small and meek with the barely audible underlying message of sadness.
"Is this Dr. Anna Bayliss?" she asked in that mellowly sad voice of hers.
"Yes, may I ask who's calling?" I replied slowly, tilting my head to hold onto the phone while attempting to retrieve my fallen book.
"My name is Kayla Foster." she said. "I've been informed that you're talented in the area of listening."
I didn't hear much more of Kayla Foster's introduction, however, because it was at this precise moment that I dropped the phone by accident in my desperation to fetch the book from the ground, and it was then that I realized what a terrible listener I was being.
The book forgotten, I picked up the phone instead, and put it to my ear. Miss Foster was still talking. Regretfully, I interrupted, knowing this very well went against my principles.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Foster, I got distracted for a moment. Would you mind starting at the beginning?"
Kayla Foster didn't mind at all.
"I have a daughter, her name is Ivy. She's a lovely girl, fifteen years old and as smart as someone of her age can be. She's a real beauty on her cello, she's played since she was four years old and she practices for so long every day." she began. I could almost hear her taking a deep breath and blinking several times before continuing.
"But Ivy is... different. She's almost too analytical, and too smart... and sometimes I feel that she doesn't. Doesn't feel, I mean. It doesn't seem like she loves like a normal person."
I was quiet for a moment then, thinking of all the possible things this Ivy could be possibly inflicted with. I was fairly sure that I'd seen her type before, and I knew that I might be able to help her mother find a way to get her the correct help.
But Kayla Foster surprised me. "Do you think you could help her, Dr. Bayliss?"
I was nearly positive that the correct way to help Ivy was merely to take her to a proper pediatrician or elsewhere, get her nice medication and find a way to help her on her own, and I was about to tell Miss Foster so before I caught myself.
Helping Ivy myself could definitely be a challenge and an adventure - a way of exploring really how far my talents could take me. And at least then, if I was incorrect about what I thought she was, I could be certain of how others - including her mother - could help her.
"I - of course. What times can you bring her in?"
Little did I know then that Ivy Foster was most certainly not what I thought she would be. And if I could go back and tell myself what I was signing up for, I most certainly would. Because maybe if I knew, I would've been able to at least understand.
