If Only Tears Could Move Mountains

Chapter Three

Ever since "the incident" I've been required to go to these stupid ass meetings with this stupid ass counselor. She's so irking. Always asking all these questions about my childhood as if anything that happened is connected to "the incident". I hate when people ask me about what happened when I was a child! I hate that they can pull up some stupid file that has my goddamn person business in it. I don't even understand the purpose of these "meetings". I don't ever feel any better afterwards. I feel even more of a mess. She makes me dig into other stuff. Stuff that happened years ago. Sometimes I just want to smack her face. I don't even know her name. All I know is, she died her hair red and it looks a whole hot fucking mess. So I just refer to her as the "lady with the red hair"...
Lady with the red hair: Good morning Maori, come on in. It's good to see you!
Chile, I wanted to smack her mouth already. But my mom raised me with respect so I greeted her.
Me: Good morning.
Lady with the red hair: How are you?
I was in the mood to play. So I played with her.
Me: I'm doing fantastic! I've never felt better!!!
I said this in a dramatic and overly excited tone.
Lady with the red hair: How's school?
Me: How's the job?
She made the "not today face" at me and wrote something stupid in that notebook she always wrote in whenever I came. It was a weird looking notebook. The paper looked brownish like it was recycled paper. She was big on recycling. There were sketches of the recycling symbol all over the place.
Lady with the red hair: I'm going to repeat my question. Ho-
I cut her off.
Me: No need to, school is good.
Lady with the red hair: What is good about it?
I started to feel bad for being rude and stubborn. I started thinking about my mom and somebody treating my mom the way I was treating the lady with the red hair. The thought of it enraged me. I got so emotional and tears started to well in my eyes. Ever since "the situation" I've been "emotionally unstable". I don't know why. Anyway, I felt bad for my actions. I don't like feeling bad on the inside. So I decided to just talk.
Me: School isn't good, I lied.
Lady with the red hair: Why'd you lie?
Me: Because I am tired of coming here. I want my life to go back to what it was before all of this happened.
Lady with the red hair: What do you mean?
Me: What do you mean, "what do I mean"?
She started to annoy me again.
Lady with the red hair: I'm asking you a simple question, Maori.
I just put my head down. Her tone. The energy behind her voice mad me feel bad. I was giving her attitude again. She only asked me a question. I just hate that question. "What do you mean?", I MEAN EXACTLY WHAT I JUST SAID, TF!
Me: I'm tired of coming here. I'm tired of people asking me if I'm okay. I'm tired of the stares and whispers. All the lies. I'm tired of all my coaches.
Lady with the red hair: What coaches?
Me: My volley ball coaches. They all know what happened. The whole school does. My whole hometown knows.
Lady with the red hair: How does that make you feel?
Me: What?!!! Is that like a question they taught you to ask while you were in college?
Smh, here I go again. She looked down. Then up at this clock shaped like a recycling symbol. I guess she was over my shit. I didn't blame her. I was over my own shit.
Lady with the red hair: Look, you have to learn to relax. I am not against you. I want you to feel like you can say whatever you want to say when you're here. There are no boundaries. This is a safe zone.
I rearranged my jacket. Brand new. Michael Kors, btw. I was starting to feel a little at ease. She really wasn't a bad person. I was starting to feel bad again.
Me: Can you ask me the question again?
She grinned a warm grin and nodded her head.
Lady with the red hair: How does it make you feel that you're coaches know what happened to you?
Me: Annoyed.
I started to get emotional. All choked up. Like I had some thing huge lodged in my throat. My uncle always told me never to cry, that there was never a reason to waste my time on crying. So I didn't cry. I never cried.
Me: I don't know, like there's no where to go. Like people will never look at me the same.
Lady with the red hair: Do you feel that what happened is your fault?
I paused. I didn't know what I felt in regard to that particular question. I'd never thought about it. I constantly avoided thinking about "the situation" but I couldn't avoid it here.
Me: I feel like everybody is in control of their lives. People put them selves in situations where they loose that control, whatever happens in those moments of no self control whether good or bad, is completely on them.
Lady with the red hair: Could you explain further?
I knew what she was looking for. So I just gave it to her.
Me: I took the shots. Nobody forced them down my throat. I walked to his room. Nobody dragged me there.
Lady with the red hair: Yes, this is factual. But your first statement revealed that each individual person is responsible for their own actions.
Me: This is factual.
I said this mockingly. She ignored me.
Lady with the red hair: Therefore, yes you took the shots and walked to his room but your actions are disassociated with what he did to you.
Me: Okay.
I just agreed with her. She wasn't listening to me with her heart. She was being strategic. I didn't appreciate it. I was staring right at her in her eyes. I was nodding my head and all but I wasn't listening to a goddamn word she was saying. People piss me off when they do that! How can a person expect you to have a honest conversation with them and they're keeping track of everything you say, waiting to use it against you?
Lady with the red hair: Maori??? Are you listening to me?
I must've completely drifted off.
Me: Yes.
Lady with the red hair: Okay. So what was I saying?
Did she loose her mind? Who was she talking to? I'm confused. I just stared at her.
Lady with the red hair: If you were listening you should be able to tell me what I was saying.
I had enough of her! My mouth just started talking without my minds opinion.
Me: If we both know I wasn't listening then what is your point right now?
Lady with the red hair: That's completely un-called for.
Me: How so?
Lady with the red hair: We were having a conversation.
Me: No. You were waiting for an opportunity to be able to scrutinize my feelings with all of your theories. I'm not dumb.
Lady with the red hair: Is that really what you think?
Me: Isn't that what I just said?
She looked at me and grinned. She'd had enough of me.
Lady with the red hair: I think we've gotten farther then we have ever gotten. Let's call it quits for today and reconvene next Tuesday.
I smiled one of those "fake white people smiles". You know how they give you this dumb ass, fake grin? Then they go right back to doing whatever they were doing. She got up from her desk and began to approach a closet that was beside the only window in the room.
Lady with the red hair: I have something I want to give to you.
I felt warm when she said that for some odd reason. I wanted to know what she wanted to give me. She turned around with a smile on her face like she had just won the lottery. Irking!
Lady with the red hair: Here's a journal.
Me: For what?
Lady with the red hair: I believe you have a lot to say. I feel that you do not know who you can say certain things to. Then they become ignored feelings which turns into aggression, anger, or sadness. To avoid that I think writing in this journal will help you express those feelings. You're safe inside of these pages. You can say what ever you want to say....What do you think?
Me: Well, I don't think I have a choice.
I took the journal out of her hand. She smiled at me.
Me: Thank you.
Lady with the red hair: You're welcome. One journal entry a day, Maori. Can we agree to that?
Me: Sure.
Lady with the red hair: That's great!
I didn't get or care what was so great about it. But I just agreed because I knew it'd get her off my back.
Lady with the red hair: So like I said we will end early today and reconvene next Tuesday. See you then and enjoy the rest of your day Maori. If you don't know this, it wasn't your fault.
All of a sudden the room was filled with this awkward air. I was glad to be leaving. I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.
Me: See you next Tuesday.