Good Things Fall Apart

Recidivism

A thick silence cushions the space between the two chairs.

The question that Doctor Freidman—or Desiree, as she said she prefers to be called by her clients—just asked has taken Victor by surprise, mostly because he genuinely doesn't know the answer.

Their first session is almost over, Desiree's clean office space seeming to shrink around them as the quiet grows. She sits across from Victor, a patient smile decorating her lips. She's fairly young, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. Dark skin, hair in locks pulled back with a black scrunchie, her nails painted a tasteful beige.

Victor bites the inside of his cheek. His hands fiddle in his lap. They'd been discussing his reason for requesting that his mother take him to a therapist, and though it made his throat hurt from holding back tears, he'd explained the other therapy session he endured. Somehow, it feels like a lifetime ago, but it's only been a couple months. Desiree asked him some questions about his home life, how his parents responded to his coming out, how things have been since. And while it was laborious, there was also a sort of relief that came with speaking so candidly about his experiences.

So they'd arrived on the crux of the thorns that have enclosed Victor's heart since that fateful moment after Spring Fling.

"I don't know how to feel about religion right now," Victor had said. "Can being gay and being religious coexist?"

Desiree had given him a little smile. "Well, what do you think?"

And now they're sitting in silence; the clock to Victor's left ticks away in the spaces between loud breaths in through his nose. He picks at the edge of the cushion below him and, after what feels like several eternities, he just shrugs. It doesn't seem possible to him given what he's been through.

"Maybe we should end here for now," Desiree suggests. "But I want you to think about that question, and try to separate it from whatever preconceived notions you may have, or any of the things that other people have told you. Really, Victor, what do you think about that? Maybe do some research. I'm sure there's plenty of material from other gay people about positive experiences with spirituality. Having a model for the other side of the coin might help you come to a conclusion yourself."

Victor nods. While he was naively hoping she would absolve him of his sin and tell him that he is still cosmically loved, there seems to be an optimism in her suggestion. He's still stumbling along, but it's possible he's at least stumbling down the right path. "Thanks," he says, chin tucked down almost to his sternum.

"You're welcome. I'll see you in a week, Victor."

He stands and forces a smile. It was foolish to think that one session would just lift everything right from his shoulders, so he's even more frustrated with himself for feeling disappointed.

Desiree rises from her own chair and sees Victor out of her office, guiding him down the hallway and back into the waiting room, where his mother sits. Her features are terse, taut, and she virtually launches herself from her seat when she looks up and sees Victor come through the door.

"How did it go?" she asks, voice a bit tight.

Desiree chuckles and lays a comforting hand on her upper arm. "Mrs. Salazar, it went just fine. Victor can tell you all about it, if he wants," she says with a glance in Victor's direction.

"Yeah, sure," he says. "We can talk on the car ride home."

"Okay," his mother says, taking in a breath. "Thank you so much Doctor—sorry, Desiree," she corrects herself with a nervous laugh. "Same time next week, right?"

"Right. I'll see y'all then," she says, then disappears back down the hallway with a smile.

Victor's mother turns to him and cups his face in her hands. He thinks she's going to ask a question, but all she says is, "Could you please stop getting so tall? I don't like having to look up to see your face."