Icarus

3

Felix's red hair catches the light through his car window, revealing the forest of blondes and auburns tangled through the copper. He turns too quickly into the parking lot of a bookstore with a coffee shop that we frequent inside it. The place sells more coffee than they do books, but there are hardly ever teenagers in here, and the owner, a sixty-ish lady with perpetually braided gray hair, lets us sit in our table in the corner as long as we want, constantly refilling our mugs.

He pulls the door open and gives a mock bow as I roll my eyes and walk in, escaping the wintry afternoon. A stack of neon sticky notes and multi-colored pens sits against the window. I pick one up and write our usual order on it, sticking it to the edge of the table. A waitress slides by and sticks it to a rack at the bar. He takes my hand and starts chipping the black polish off my fingernails while I watch him.

"You remember Violet?" I ask suddenly.

Felix looks up, still holding my hand. "From soccer? Don't you guys get breakfast every now and then?"

"Yeah." The conversation falls while we sip the coffee that's been set down in front of us. "She joined a band. She invited me to go see her play."

"I didn't know she played any instruments." He shoots a straw wrapper through the goal I make with my fingers.

"I think she's actually the singer." I look down, tracing the lines in the table with my eyes. "I've been thinking I owe it to her to try at least one show."

"Want me to come?" he asks with no hesitation.

"I think so. This will be the first time I've had any contact with anyone since. . . you know." Just the thought of talking to people again makes my palms sweat.

"Then I'll be there." He thinks for a second, looking out the window and sipping his black coffee. He chooses his next words with the air of someone defusing a bomb. "Did your mother suggest this outing?"

I take a deep breath. "My therapist, actually," I blurt quietly before I lose my nerve. I had been meaning to tell him for a while, but I could never find the words, even after all that he's done for me. It's hard to tell someone that even after all the building they've done, I still needed someone else to help me. 

He takes this the way he takes everything: not swallowing the wave but surfing it. "Therapist," he affirms.

"Therapist." I nod like a bobblehead that's been slapped. I can feel the burn that rises to my cheeks and my throat.

"And how long has this been happening?" It sounds like I'm cheating on him when he asks his questions like that.

I glance down at my watch. "My third session is in thirty minutes."

"And has it been helping?"

"In a backwards sort of way, yes." He holds my hand tighter like he's afraid to show the hope on his face but cannot resist conveying it in some way. "It's rough to dredge it back up, though." I lower my voice and almost whisper. "The nightmares are coming back. Dr. Jaeger suggests I write them down, but I fall back asleep before I can."

"Do you need me to stay for a while?" For a few weeks after the incident, I would have nightmares that would leave me screaming and shaking in my bed. They woke my entire family up the first few times it happened. Joshua came into my room with a baseball bat one time because he was certain I was being attacked by a robber. After that, Felix would sneak into my room on the second floor and hold me until I fell asleep again. I guess reliving everything that happened triggers the anxious, heavy dreams to take over my sleep again.