Maybe... Just Not Now

Chapter 3

"It may take hours, days, weeks, months, years; I can only tell you that things get better." --Unknown

" BJ! Are you paying attention?"

It was the voice that brought me back to reality because to answer the question,

"No ma'am, I wasn't."

"I'd like to see you after class."

I think my response and lack of focus had finally gotten under her skin. I had been sitting in my health science class for about 35 minutes completely zoned out from our lecture. Ms. Jones had noticed my absences and behavior lately, but I was never the type to go venting about my problems. I think it was my sudden lack of interest in her class that had really begun to bother her. However it happened, I still had to stay after class and listen to her try to poke and prod at the reason behind the way I had been acting recently.

"It's not like I've been disrespectful or anything, I'd just rather not be here," I said in response to her question about my attitude. It had been 2 weeks since we had met with the lawyer and I was still in no position to talk about the way I felt. Numb was the only thing that I knew I felt for a fact. I was worn out and tired, I hadn't been sleeping very well since Vics had died. Every time I closed my eyes I dreamed about her still being alive and when I was awake I still waited for her to call my phone and tell me what to do next. It was hard, to say the least.

The only thing that had been taking my mind off of the whole ordeal was the boy that I saw at the funeral. He was a new boy at our school, and for some reason, I seemed to run into him quite frequently. We had two classes together, I saw him when I left school for the day, he worked at the grocery store down the street from my house, and he just seemed to be everywhere all the time. I really just wanted to know why he kept popping up. He was eye candy, no doubt, but every time I saw him I thought about the funeral.

Honestly, it sent me for a loop. He was a complete stranger, but an oddly familiar and almost comforting face. His eyes were soft and dark brown, he had long pretty eyelashes, waves, and a fashion sense like no one I had ever personally encountered. Even still, seeing him just brought back the one memory I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget Vics was in the accident, that she was dead, and more than anything, I wanted to forget that she left me anything at all. More than wanting to forget it, I wanted it to have been some bad dream that I would wake up from eventually; even if I knew I was never sleep in the first place.

******

Not long after the incident at the lawyer's office, my parents decided that my behavior had become snappy and unruly. They concluded that I wasn't coping well and decided to have me see a trauma counselor to help get over my grief before it turned to a serious issue of depression or unnecessary out lashes. However it went, I didn't want to be there, especially after the conversation I'd had earlier with Ms. Jones. My counselor was a tall man named Mark. He had dark hair and bushy eyebrows and reminded me a lot of what could've been a younger version of Einstein. His voice was deep and smooth, but it tended to echo in his poorly decorated office space.

My appointments were draining if you asked me. They seemed cliche, but my mom said it would only start like that until he got a chance to know me a little better. He was a nice man, but I was not a fan of his tactics. Every time I walked in he would ask me, "how ya' feeling today? Anything you want to talk about?" The difference in today's visit was apparently, he had already gotten a text from my mom about me not paying attention in class.

"Well, what seems to be the matter at school?" he asked after I refused to answer his introductory questions.

"I simply didn't want to be there. She asked me that and I told her."

"Is your sudden lack of interest in academics because of Vic not being here anymore?"

"No. I just wasn't feeling it today."

"Well I'm hearing that you haven't been feeling much of anything lately, why is that?"

"I'm on a new path to self discovery," I responded with a wince in my eyes and a bit of an annoyed tone. I think this just irritated Mark. It was nothing personal on his behalf, I just wasn't an open storybook kind of person. The only person I really ever vented to was Vics, so sitting in this cold office every week did nothing to bring me out of my shell.

Mark took a deep breath and finally replied, "I think you should find a hobby, a sort of outlet for your emotions. Maybe a sport or an organization at school will help you get out of this runt you're in. I'll make a list of activities from your school and not far from your house and send them to your mom. How does that sound?"

"It sounds super," I said sarcastically, "but can I go now? I'm going to miss my show."

Mark looked at me with sad eyes, almost as if he felt like he had failed me in this session. I noticed, but I didn't apologize for my disinterest. "I guess you're free to leave then, let me know about anything that comes up in our next session," he said as i slipped through the crack in the door.

I found my mom in the lobby; her face lit up when she saw me coming, but as I got closer her smile turned as she noticed the time. It had only been 20 minutes and as Mark walked down the hall not far behind me, the murmurs and glances in their conversation made it clear that he told her I "wasn't doing so well".

As much as I appreciated the effort, and I really did appreciate it, I didn't care for the gesture. I wanted to be able to grieve in my own way, but I was being forced to talk to a stranger about my issues and it made me rather uncomfortable.

When we got in the car my mom looked over a couple times as she drove away from the office. After a few minutes of awkward silence she finally spoke. "Well I understand that you may not want to talk, but you don't get to be disrespectful when people try to help you."

"I'm not being disrespectful, I just don't want their help. I don't understand why that's such a hard concept for people to grasp. I just want to be left alone," I tapped my leg as i spoke. More than anything, I hated feeling pressured to do anything, especially open up to people.

"Well as soon as I get the list from Dr. Mark, you'll be joining at least one group. I think it'll be good for you and get you in a new space."

I looked at her with menacing eyes. My mom knew better than anyone why I didn't like being social. She knew the fear I had about new groups and new people, yet here she was, trying to force me into a new group with new people.

After fixing my glare I eventually said, "I'll give it a try, I guess, but if I don't like it, I'm going home."

She looked at me and grinned. I was fully aware that I wasn't the only person grieving and I tried hard not to be a burden on top of my mom's own pain, but how could she be trying to push her agenda on me? Why couldn't we just all grieve in our own silence?

We made it home in about 30 minutes. Right as we were pulling up, I reached for my stuff with plans to dart to my room. I had definitely had enough of people interactions for this Thursday. Right as I went to grab the leather door handle my mom put her arm out in front of me as a barrier to my escape.

"I need you to get cleaned up and help set the table, we're having company for dinner," she said in her super mom voice that denoted my involvement was involuntary. As if I hadn't had a long enough day, now I had to spend my night entertaining guests, but who were we even hosting that required my appearance?!?!?