Chasing Stars ✔️

32.

"Permita que eu volte o meu rosto para um céu maior que este mundo,
e aprenda a ser dócil no sonho como as estrelas no seu rumo." – Cecília Meireles

She

The flowers were pretty, almost too perfect with the combination of dust rose petals and dark green leaves framing them around the glass vase. The colors popped against the cream walls in Dr. B's office. I bet they would smell good too, but they were an abnormality in that room. For four years I had known that space, and it was always the same. The doctor even had the same decor in both her offices. Perhaps it was about making the space look familiar to patients that, like myself, had sessions in both cities. I didn't think it would make a difference. We could be anywhere. The familiarity came from the woman sitting across the table. She also looked the same from the past four years, after all.

My eyes shifted to her hands. As usual, she was holding a pen in between her fingers; olive green was the color of choice for this week's nail polish.

"I didn't think we would be back at being silent," she said finally.

I was distracted again, obsessing, overanalyzing some object or detail around us. Why do I always do that?

"No." I agreed, "I'm here to talk." 

Where should I begin, then? I started seeing Dr. B after moving out of my mother's house, and I never completely stopped therapy, although on some periods I needed to visit Dr. B with more frequency, especially after a few more confrontational meetings with mom. And last time... it didn't matter, she was dead. Dead. Maybe that's what I should begin with. It was always at the end of something when I most felt the need to see Dr. B and there was no end like death.

"My mother is dead...and I broke up with Jake", I added the last part unintentionally, but it made sense, it was, after all, another end.

"Where do you want to start?" she said it so calmly, such peace in her eyes.

"Ask me about my mother's funeral," I demanded when it was the first thing that popped into my mind.

"What happened at your mother's funeral?"

"There were people there. "

"Who?"

"Apart from me, Sabrina, John, and Sienna, there was Brian. And there were neighbors. Like two couples." I laughed. The sound was so dry I couldn't identify it as my own. "Can you believe it? Like there was nothing good on tv?"

She ignored my poor attempt at humor, "Who else was there?"

"Detective Matt, well kind of. He waited outside the cemetery. Jake couldn't make it. He had just been released from prison. I didn't want to see him there."

"Why not?"

I rearranged my position on the chair, irritated that his name kept coming out of my mouth. "I just didn't. It's like, he didn't belong there with those people, chattering their condolences... Condolences? That's such a stupid word. That's just... what does that even mean?"

"Were you mad at him? Or at those people?" She insisted, but there were other things I wanted to say, so many things...

"I wasn't mad at him, I mean a little, but... I didn't want to be. I was afraid of seeing him, I'm still, I can't... I should be talking about my mother. "

"What about her?"

I looked at my intertwined hands, the tips of my thumbs pressed against my skin until it became painful. "I hated her. I hated my mom." I thought I whispered it, but the sound of my own voice bounced against the walls and found its way back to me. There was no hiding anymore.