Amy's Purpose (Final Draft)

Chapter Six

It was a brisk Tuesday morning when Jay sat on his windowsill, staring down at the road. He had been sitting there for a while now. A few cars would pass by here and there and he would watch them as they lazily went by. He found it hard to believe that they were living lives as complex as his, though he wouldn't describe his life as complex if anyone asked him. He wondered if they were going to work, or a funeral, or to see their children, or to even watch the sun rise. They all had something to do, some purpose to uphold.

He hadn't slept. Maybe they hadn't either. Maybe they were just as worried as he was about the next stages of their life. Maybe they felt like he did, they felt like they couldn't get up in the morning, or that life was pointless. Or maybe they were normal, and they were leading happy lives; he didn't know. He was just here, sitting on his windowsill, watching the cars drive by.

But he had stared up at Amy, he had talked to her. And he hadn't slept. His eyes burned, he felt groggy, but most of all he felt sick. Tuesday's were therapy days, and Jay had finally let his mom sign him up for therapy.

He stole a glance to the clock sitting beside his bed. 9:30. He had thirty minutes to get to his session.

He slid from his spot by the window before his eyes landed on his skateboard. It wouldn't take long to skate there, and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to do it. He didn't waste his time, and only a few moments later was he outside, breathing in the cold air. He dropped his skateboard to the ground, stuck an earbud in his ear, and he set off.

He tried not to think about what a terrible idea this had been on his way there. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He tried to keep his fingers from shaking, and it wasn't from the cold. But it seemed that all too soon he was stopping in front of the brick building that looked too much like a funeral home, and all of his misgivings were back.

The building used to be a skating rink, or at least that's what he thought it had been. He couldn't really remember, he just knew that he had seen it in passing, but never been there. It had shutdown sometime in his childhood and been turned into 'You Matter Therapy.' He rolled his eyes at the sign and had to fight the urge to roll them a second time at the sign beside it that said, 'Friends are Fun.'

He already knew that he shouldn't have come, but it wasn't like he could back out now. His mom had already paid for the session.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he stepped inside. The front desk was empty, and for a moment he thought about walking out, but he decided against it and sat on the bench beside the door, next to one of those big, fake plants, incase he needed to make a quick getaway. There was a hallway to his right, which he knew held six or seven smaller rooms for individual therapy, and there were two rooms to his left, bigger, for the group sessions.

He nervously nibbled on his nail, his knee bouncing as he did. He had already bitten it down to the quick, it was a bad habit he had picked up, but it gave him something to do; something to distract him.

So many things could go wrong, he thought. He could move too much, talk too much, not talk enough. And his skateboard, he hadn't even though of that. It was bound to draw attention; attention he didn't want. He couldn't be here.

He bit down on his finger, and the metallic taste of blood entered his mouth. He almost gagged and withdrew his finger. Blood beaded on the tip of his finger and he quickly wiped it on his hoodie, resorting to bouncing his leg.

He could leave, he knew that he could. He could deal with the sadness on his mom's face, he could deal with his own sadness. She could get a refund and then he could go back to his room and he wouldn't have to deal with this. Yeah, he thought. That was for the best.