We Shall Heal

Tuesday February 21st.

I went to therapy again and we did the exact same thing we have been doing the past year.

Hey.

Hey, have a seat. How are you today?

I'm good.

How's school?

It's good.

How are you feeling?

I'm good.

And your mother?

She's good.

It seems to me he's more interested in my mother than in me. We spend ten minutes in 'greetings' which consist mostly of my mother's whereabouts. I don't mind it though, anything to pass the day. When we're done he just talks about stuff, inspirational stories about other kids who have gone through what I went through, suggestions for support group, I just nod to get through the hour and when it's done I walk away as he smiles.

But I saw the homeless lady at the subway again and the pull I felt last week towards her was there again today. I sat down next to her and she didn't say anything. We were quiet for a while and when I asked her name she quickly changed the subject and asked me how my writing is going.

It's going great, thanks.

I asked her her story. She's a middle aged woman shivering in the subway, she's so tiny it's so easy to ignore her when you pass by. She mostly quiet and when someone occasionally drops her some coins she nods with a faint smile.

How long have you been here?

Five years.

But she doesn't tell me her story. And I realize she has been there all the while I was going to Doctor Chris and I had only noticed her when I tripped on her feet. Had she tripped me?