One Detention Saved My Life

Chapter 22

  Mom and Dad have worry written all over their faces as I stand in the doorway of Mr. Vander's house.
   "I can't believe you would run off like that," Mom scolds.
  "Well, it looks like you had no trouble finding me," I reply pointing a finger at Dad.
"What's going on?" Mr. Vander asks from behind me.
  "Mike, did you know about this?"
  "No, Tim surprised me."
  "How do you know my son and ex-wife?"
  "Teresa and I dated in high school and I was your son's fifth grade teacher."
  The tension rises in the air and I can feel that any minute now a shouting match will occur. Dad grabs a hold of my hand like I'm going to escape again. "Tim, we're leaving."
   He pulls me towards his truck, opens the door to the front seat, and tosses me inside. Mom climbs into the back seat and Dad starts up the engine.
  "What about Hannah?" I ask as Dad pulls out of Mr. Vander's driveway.
  "I sent that girl on her merry way," Dad says.
   
   I'm confused when Dad pulls into a Rite Aid parking lot. The parking lot is semi-full and suddenly I'm self-conscious about going in. I don't want people to think that my parents abuse me. Dad might have abandoned me at birth, but he never physically abused me.
  "Get out," Dad barks.
   "Why?"
"Because I don't trust you in here alone with your mother."
  "I heard that," Mom shouts from the back seat."
  "Why do I have to go in?"
"Because your mother informs me that you don't have any sunglasses to hide the bruises on your face, and I'm not buying anything you won't wear."

  I get out of the car without arguing. I don't want to piss Dad off even more. Once inside, I speed walk to the sunglasses isle. I pick up a pair of sleek black ones and try them on. They feel perfect on my face. I look at myself through a tiny mirror in the isle. I look incredibly stunning in them. Amy would've been gushing all over me right now.
  "What do you think?"
"They'll do," Dad says plainly, but I swear I see him give a slight smile.
   We head up to the checkout counter. I place them on the counter, just as I hear a chorus of girls giggles go off behind me. I turn around and a girl with short blue hair and glasses snaps my picture.
  "Can I just say that it was awesome to see you beat up Brett Miller."
"Do I know you?"
  "I'm a freshman at Waterways high school."
  Her entourage squels behind her. "Can we have your autograph?" They ask in unison. Dad gives me a disapproving look. "Sorry, girls, I don't have a pen."
   "That will be ten-seventy-five," the cashier says.
  Dad pulls out his wallet and gives her eleven dollars. "Keep the change."
 
  As I get back into Dad's truck I realize something. I'm not the only person that hates Brett Miller. Those girls were practically praising me for beating Brett up. I also realize that I'm quite famous now and I'm probably on practically every social media site.
     The car ride back from Rite Aid is incredibly awkward. We all basically just sit in silence. I'm relieved when Dad pulls up to Mom's house. I start to get out of the truck, but Dad grips my hand.
   "Your mother and I have something to tell you."
  I look back at Mom and then at Dad.
   "Your father and I have signed you up for counseling."
   "I don't need---"
   "We read your journal. Your poem... so sad. And your thoughts on your dad and myself and not being accepted broke my heart."
  I'm furious. They invaded my privacy. They invaded my thoughts and feelings. That diary was for my eyes only. They ruined my only coping mekanism. I'm not going to write in it anymore. I guess I'm just going to have to keep my thoughts inside my brain. I feel like my rights of being a United States citizen have been stripped away from me.
    "I'm not going!" I shout in Dad's face.
  "Yes, you are. I've already set up an appointment and Patrick has agreed to drive you and your mother there."
"I thought you hated Jimmy!"
  "I do, but I have to work tomorrow and he's the only person that can drive you there."
     I suddenly wish that Mom's car hadn't gotten destroyed in her accident. Mom can't afford to buy another vehicle.
  "What about Kelly?"
  "She has to work all day tomorrow too."
  I'm so angry right now that I'm shaking, my teeth are grinding together, and my hands are forming into fists. Dad starts rubbing my back, thinking that it will calm me down.
  "Get your hands off me!"
Dad takes his hands off my back. "Timothy, don't talk to your father like that."
  "Since when did you start sticking up for Dad?! I thought you hated his guts for abandoning you right before I was born?!"
   "Tim, I don't hate your Dad. I just hate what he did."
   "That's bullshit!"
I forcefully slam open the door of the truck. I start to get out, but can't due to the fact that I'm still strapped in.
  "You forget---"
  "Go to hell!" I shout unbuckling my seat belt.
   "If I go to hell then you're going down with me."
  "What are you talking about?"
  "On the days you don't have counseling you're going to be working at the bakery."
  "I quit!"
"I'm not letting you."
   I storm out of the truck and into the house, heading right for my room. I slam open the door and see Chelsea sitting on my bed.
   "I didn't summon you."
   "I know, but I felt your anger."
    "Mom and Dad are making me go to counseling."
    "And that's a bad thing?"
   "I don't need help."
   "Yes, you do. I've been dead for five years and you still have feelings for me."
"I don't have feelings for you!"
"I'm an angel. I can detect lies."
"Fine, I still have feelings for you. You will always be a part of me. I'm sorry for treating you like shit."
"I forgave you the moment I died."
    I hear a knock on my door. Probably Mom trying to invade my privacy. Chelsea puts a hand on my shoulder. I feel my anger fade away.
   "Did you just---"
"I like your sunglasses," Chelsea says avoiding my question. I blink my eyes and she's gone.
   "May I come in?" I jump, totally forgetting Mom was outside of my door.
"Yeah," I say calmly.
Mom comes in and sits where Chelsea sat just seconds ago. She pats the bed for me to sit down next to her. For some reason I do what she wants.
  "I'm sorry for reading your diary. I was just. . . so worried about you."
  "It's fine."
     What the hell is going on with me? My anger's completely gone. What did you do to me, Chelsea?
   "Were you talking to someone?"
   There's no way in hell I'm telling Mom about Chelsea.
   "Myself," I lie.
  "It sounded like you were having a full out conversation."
   "I talk to myself every once in a while."
"Well, okay. If you need to talk to me about anything I'll be out in the living room."
  She gets up and leaves. I'm glad I'm alone in my room once again.

   The next morning, Jimmy pulls up to a newer built brick building. My anger has returned. The spell, or whatever Chelsea placed on me last night didn't last long.
   "Tim, do you have anything to say to Patrick?" Mom asks as we get out of the car.
  "Thank you," I force out.
   I'm glad I put on my sunglasses because they hide the disgust in my face.
"Welcome," Jimmy says, kissing Mom on the lips. I feel myself throw up in my mouth. This is so disgusting. "I'll pick you up in an hour," Jimmy says driving away.
   Mom and I head into the brick building. The smell of fresh paint hangs in the air. Mom heads up to the recipient's desk.
  "My son has an appointment with Dr. Roberts."
   The recipient, a black woman with curly brown hair, hands Mom a clip board with paperwork to fill out. Mom quickly fills it out and hands it back to her.
  "Dr. Roberts will be with you shortly."
   Five minutes later, a woman with dark brown hair, high heels, and formal clothing appears. Mom and I both stand up. "Ms. Hemlock, I think it would be better if I talk to Tim alone."
Mom sits back down as I follow Dr. Roberts through a set of heavy double doors. She leads me into a room with bright pink and green walls, a leather brown sofa, and a red punching bag in the corner. She motions for me to lay down on the sofa. I do as I'm told.
   "Let's talk."
  "I have nothing to say to you."
  "Your mom mentioned that you could be quite stubborn."
   "I don't have problems! You know nothing about me!"
  "I know everything about you. Your dad left before you were born, your mom committed a murder at seventeen, you got in a fight yesterday."
   My fists clench at my side. "How do you know all that?"
   "It's in your file. Now let's talk about the fight."
  It's not a question. "I was walking into school yesterday when I saw Brett Miller push my girlfriend over. Rage consumed me and I beat him up."
   She nods sympathetically and jotts some notes down in her notebook.
   "You didn't have to beat him up. You could have gotten a teacher."
    "That would have made me a coward."
   "This Brett Miller, what else has he done?"
   "He calls me a monster and says that I'm nothing."
    "Do you believe him?"
   "Yes, without Amy I am nothing. She made me feel normal, accepted."
    "Amy was your girlfriend?"
    "Yes."
    "You need to move on."
    "I don't want to more on!" I say raising my voice. "I need to punch something."
   I get up and punch the punching bag hard.
   "You feel better?" She asks when I'm done.
  "Yes."
  "Take off your shades."
  "No."
"Then I guess you can't leave here until you do."
  I reluctantly take off my shades. To my surprise she doesn't wince at the sight of my face. She hands me a mirror.
  "What do you see when you look into the mirror?"
  "A monster. I also see the nothing I truly am."
   She nods. "I see a good kid, named Tim Hemlock, who is lost."
   I laugh. "Lady you're crazy."
    "Tim, what is your main goal you want to achieve seeing me."
   "I want to be able to control my temper. And I don't need any medication to do that."
    She nods. "Good goal. In the meantime I'm going to order you a punching bag for home."
   I put my shades back on while Dr. Roberts rifles through a drawer. She pulls out a stress ball and tosses it to me.
"When you feel angry just squeeze this ball."
  I squeeze the ball in my hand. "Am I free to go now?"
  "Yes."
I jump to my feet. "Tim, I would like to see you Friday at eleven a.m.
  "Okay," I reply exiting the room. For the first time today I feel myself smile.  If I can control my temper then maybe Amy will take me back. I walk back into the waiting room where Mom is reading a magazine. She looks up at me, expecting me to be upset, but all I can do is smile.
  "Do I have my son back?"
  "Getting there. Thank you. I can feel that talking to Dr. Roberts is going to help me."
Relief washes over her face. "I'm glad."