Medium

Chapter 1

           

"Do you want to talk about Todd?" she asks me while passing me a box of tissues. Ah, there it is. The million-dollar question is here, folks, I think to myself. I haven't uttered a word about Todd to her—or anybody, for that matter—in about four years, and today will be no different. That part of my life is over, and I am eager to forget everything about him and the trouble his 'existence' has caused. I look around the room where I have spent every other Saturday for the past nine years; furniture has come and gone, a new painting hangs next to the door frame, and the same maroon curtains drape the windows. "Hallie?" she calls to me. I shake my head and pass the box back to her. My therapist continues to write on her yellow notebook, and the room is filled with the sound of her pen scraping against the parchment.

"So, no new friends?" she insinuates something deeper than just a new relationship with a classmate or neighbor. At this point, I become annoyed; her poking and prodding into my life is something I have never gotten used to. I haven't had any type of episode since I was ten, and that's not going to change just because she wants to conduct an interesting case study to publish in a journal somewhere.

"I haven't had any new psychotic breaks if that's what you're asking," I respond. She begins a new sheet in her notebook and scribbles down more notes. After she feels like she's gotten enough information from me, she reaches to the tape recorder on the table between us and clicks the off button. This is my cue to leave, and we say our goodbyes and before I rush out the door. I know this building like the back of my hand, and I pass the familiar photos of past patients and employee retreats hanging on the pristine white walls. I return to the lobby and look to my left to see my best friend Reeve nose-deep in this month's issue of Women's Health magazine. I stand and wait for him to finish his article.

"You would not believe what Meryl Streep says is her secret to staying young," he mocks and slams the magazine onto the side table. "You ready to go?" he asks, standing up next to me; his lanky frame towers over mine.

"You see, that's what I came out here for. Looks like it's going to be another 4 hours," I joke to him, and Reeve plops back down into the leather chair.

"No worries," he responds, "Me and Meryl got all day."

I grab his hand and drag him out of the glass double-doors. "Where do you want to eat?" he asks. Reeve and I have this don't ask, don't tell policy when it comes to my visits; he never brings anything up without my go-ahead.

"Whatever you want. I really don't care," I respond while opening the door to his dad's old Jeep. I move the rusty toolbox to the back and hop into the scratchy front seat; I smell the familiar Marlboro cigarette scent that lingers and remember growing up with Reeve. His dad would buckle us up together in the front seat with us still fighting over who get the window spot and drive us to Dairy Queen to grab blizzards, take us fishing, or drag us along to the bait shop where Reeve would steal worms and crickets to set them free. I look over to Reeve; his small body stretched out to a six-foot frame, his snaggletooth smile fell into a straight set (post-braces), and his bowl cut now parted and styled.

"Do you remember that time when we were, like, five and I hit you in the face with the belt buckle?" he laughs before turning into Deli 802's parking lot. It's right across the street from the hospital where Reeve's mom works, and it's a common lunch spot for the nurses and lab techs.

"Yeah, you ended up breaking my nose, Reeve," I respond with a smile, remembering the weeks after of kids in my class calling me Robo-Nose and the crookedness of my schnoz that never really went away. Our laughs fill the car.

"The splint you had was pretty cool." Reeve holds the door open for me, and we choose a table near the corner.

"You guys want the usual?" our classmate Taylor calls from behind the counter, his apron covered in salad dressing and grease. Reeve responds with a "yeah" and Taylor disappears into the back room to start our order. 

"So, who's going to be your escort at Charity Ball?" he asks me, ripping up a Sweet-n-Low packet and pouring it into his sweet tea.

"I'm not going," I respond.

"What do you mean you're not going?" Taylor returns to our table and places our food in front of us; a bacon cheeseburger for Reeve and a philly cheesesteak for me. Reeve salts his fries and looks at me with a confused look.

"It's just not my thing," I muffle with a mouthful of sandwich. "Pass the mayonnaise." Reeve shakes his head and laughs.

"You have to go. Your mom has been planning this since you could walk." My mother is a member of the Ladies Auxiliary, the Daughters of the American Revolution, the Parent-Teacher Association, Main Street Committee, and the Lockhart High School Tennis Booster Club. Her social life basically revolves around Lockhart, and the idea that I won't participate in the biggest show-off-your-daughter event of the year is probably going to send her over the edge. It's an event where all the "distinguished young ladies" of Lockhart go out and buy over expensive formal gowns, pick a male classmate to strut with around a stage (because, apparently, we can't be alone to embarrass ourselves), and the winner gets a crown, sash, and scholarship. The mother, on the other hand, gets to use her daughter as ammo to prove she is the best mom/female citizen/person in Lockhart.

"We can't all be golden boys, Reeve," I say, taking another sip of my drink.

He gives me a deadpan look. "You know that's not what I meant," he huffs, and his hand slaps a twenty-dollar bill on the table. We are leaving the deli when Reeve spots a penny on the ground, heads up.

"Today's your lucky day, Hallie Miller," he says and flicks the coin to me. I catch it and stare and the copper piece in my hand. Mr. Lincoln's profile shines back at me.

"Maybe you're right, Reeve Holly."