It's been 3 weeks. Nobody came to the funeral except for 6 distant family members who gave us money when grandma wouldn't. My dad didn't even do so much as send us a card. Probably out getting drunk with his girlfriend in Manhattan.
The funeral was quick. Nobody had anything to say. Brad couldn't even hold himself together. I remember the last thing my mother said to me was "Bye Honey. I'll see you when I see you ok? Things may be different when you come home today. I want you to have a good day at school. You will be okay." which she always said in an attempt to show that she would change (aka: "The guy I get dope from is running from his dealers again so I have to go to where he is to buy some which might take a few days. Be good.")
My grandma had been pretty crushed. She didn't think my mother was actually going to do it. She just thought the suicidal talk was a part of the bipolar disorder and depression. She put us all into counseling which Brad refused to go to, but I went just so that she would be satisfied.
"Hello, September. My name is Dr. Goodmen but you can call me Charlotte. I love your hair!" says the overly bubbly blonde haired woman. I look down at my black wavy hair sitting lifelessly on my brown sweater. Nothing really to it. Just greasy from the day before.
"Thanks. I like your brooch." I say staring at her sequined Micky Mouse brooch on her blouse.
"Thank you! Let's get started with a few questions. How old are you?"
"Sixteen." I answer blandly.
"Oh that's always a difficult age. So you're in tenth grade, correct?"
"Yup."
"Do you have a boyfriend?" She says smirking.
"Nah."
The basic questioning goes on for about 5 minutes. I'm bored with this already. But for the sake of grandma feeling better I'll do it.
"How are you feeling?"
"Well, my mother did commit suicide 3 weeks ago so how do you think I'm feeling?"
She pulls out her notepad with about a million smiley face stickers on it and starts to take notes.
"September, I know how hard a death can be. You can open up to me about anything you know that, right?"
"I just hate talking about my problems with people. I'm more of the suffer in silence type."
More jotting down in her notepad. This is ridiculous.
"One thing I've learned through all my years of being a counselor I know the best way to cope with problems is to talk about them."
I consider what she said. Anything to make grandma happy right?
"I guess you're right."
"Good. So tell me how you're really feeling."
I take a breath before continuing.
"Well I have been depressed for a while."
"Would you like to tell me what is making you depressed?"
"All the stuff me and Brad have had to go through really. Seeing our mother being thrown into jail and rehab and having to stay with grandma or home by myself for sunrise to sunset. Not having my dad around."
My words sound like nails on a chalkboard. I never talk about this stuff ever and I really would rather not talk about it now. Brad always used to tell me that I'm hard headed, just like a Taurus. He's a Libra because he hides his feelings a lot and doesn't really put them out for show.
Dr. Goodmen keeps jotting stuff down in her notepad. It's pretty annoying.
"That's really upsetting to hear, September."
"Quite."
"Would you like to tell me what actually went on with your mother?"
"Sure, I mean there's not really much to tell. My dad left her when I was eleven, she drank away her sorrows one liquor bottle after another, she met a guy who somehow got her into meth and crack, she went crazy and had a mental breakdown and started getting herself into all sorts of trouble."
I shift around in my seat out of discomfort. I don't know why these seats were so hard.
"How did your grandma take all of this?"
"She tried helping her out at first. Put her into a bunch of rehabilitation centers and sent her to therapy. But when my mom kept relapsing my grandma sort of gave up. We all sort of did."
I could see the sadness growing in her eyes from my sob story. If only this sob story wasn't reality.
"Have any of your family members had a past with any mental disorders?"
Is she dumb?
"Well my mom had bipolar disorder and depression according to what my grandma told me. She had to go through a bunch of therapy for it."
All of sudden a tall, thin Asian man knocks on the door which was already halfway open.
"Uh Miss, you have a patient who is here to see you."
She gets up from her chair, "Why I didn't know we ran out of time! It was nice talking to you, we'll definitely cover more in our next session." She says guiding me out of her office.
As I was walking down the hallway leading to the main lobby, I saw him.
Dark hair, pale skin, beautiful green eyes. He wore a flannel and dirty jeans. God how he was beautiful, and without realizing I had accidentally bumped into him.
"Oh sorry." I managed to mutter nervously.
"You're fine." he says giving me a little half smile.
I walked past him looking back at him just to find him looking back at me too.
Who is he?
