Carter's Smile

Part 1 Chapter 1

She seems to be doing a lot better” murmured my mom.

She's trying to be quiet so I cannot hear her but she's failing terribly. The truth is that her voice is just too high pitched for anything she says to be quiet, but the gesture is comforting.  At least she cares now and is here in the first place. Three years ago I’d be here all on my own. My mom has beautiful auburn hair and bright blue eyes. She’s relatively short. Although I might just be really tall.Well I am actually. I'm 5’11. I have dark brown hair that goes to my lower back. Bright blue eyes and porcelain skin. My name is Carter. My therapist, Mrs. Robinson, takes a few hesitant seconds to finally reply but when she does it’s very stern.

    “Yes, she’s definitely made progress. I'm glad to have finally met you Mrs. Anderson; I must admit I've heard lots about you.”  

My mom and I are at our first therapy session together, but it seems to me like it's more of a meeting for my mom to try and sell her “renewed self” which I don't buy.  She just feels bad for being such a terrible person and is just now trying to make up for it. Unfortunately, she needs the world's approval, like always. I feel really uncomfortable right now. The walls are painted this awful orange and the couches have plastic covering the fabric which makes a weird sound anytime you move around. The noise is not only unsettling, but disturbing as well.

    “I'm sure you have”

    “Carter, would you like to share some of the poems you wrote with your mom?”

    “I’d really rather not..” I murmured a little bit too softly, barely audible.

    “Oh I’d love to see them! Please do, darling!”

    “No.”

    “Okay you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with Carter. Mrs Anderson -”

“Okay, so can I leave? Because I’m definitely not comfortable sitting here and having this pointless discussion” I snapped, cutting her off. Standing up I start walking out the door and through the lobby outside to the cold street. I really don't see why we need to be here. I mean, I do but I don’t want to be here. I hate going to this place. All Mrs. Robinson does is judge me. At least that’s how I feel no matter what she says. My mom comes outside looking at me with her deep blue eyes. I absolutely hate when she does that. It’s like she’s staring into my soul.

“What?!” I shout

“Nothing” my mom says.

“Okay fine. Can we leave now? I breathe annoyed.

“Uh okay…” She murmurs quietly.

    Later that evening, I unpacked the rest of my room and began writing. Writing is all I’ve had the past few years; the only thing to keep me sane. I like the feeling of being able to pour all of my thoughts down on paper. It's soothing to me to let it all out. I can't keep it all bottled up, as it would drive me completely mad. As the hours go by, I’m getting more solicitous. Tomorrow is my first day going to school in San Diego. I've always gone to school in a small town with the same group of people since kindergarten, and I’m nervous to start over. Trying to make friends has never been a strong suit of mine. I'd much rather be alone. It's easier that way. I cannot push anyone away if there’s nobody there to begin with. I think I've always been this way; detached and distant. A lot of people make comments about it being “unhealthy” but personally, I'm content with it. I enjoy my own presence. However, tomorrow will be here soon and I will be placed in a class full of new faces. New opportunities and a new start await me, and my past will only be known to my mom and myself. This could be really good for me and I don't want to let this opportunity pass me by. However, I’m scared that even though this is a new city with new people who know nothing about me, my past will somehow find a way to ruin my life once again. I don't want to make the same mistakes I've made before. I’m going to make this time different. I’m vowing to step outside of my comfort zone and to try new things. The more I think about things getting better, the more my nervousness is turning into excitement. Suddenly, I have the urge to pick out my outfit. First impressions are the most important, right?