Lethal Desire (Fatal Pursuit Sequel)

two

I sat in the rubbery faux leather chair of Dr. Kavon's office. It's not terribly uncomfortable but it makes noise whenever I shift my weight.

I was telling her about one of my earliest memories from my childhood: going to church in Trinidad. 

I wore this polka dotted dress that puffed out at the bottom, I loved it because the pattern reminded me of Minnie Mouse and I was very into her at the time, and even though the tulle petticoat was so heavy and scratchy, I would always want to wear it every Sunday. My mom would always want to pair it with these bows that had the same polka dot pattern.

But unlike the dress, I hated them because they snagged my hair and she clipped them in too tight. Despite my most vehement toddler protests, she'd clip them in my hair anyway and I would cry from the pain.

But since I didn't have the words at the time to explain why I was crying, my grandma would just smack me upside the head to shut me up, which would of course just make me cry more.

Dr. Kavon's eyebrows furrowed in benign indignation. I liked that Dr. Kavon would give me full eye contact as I talked, letting me finish my story before starting to jot down notes.

She was the perfect listener. Her eyes widening at the most intense plot points, empathetic nods at the sad or difficult parts, and through it all, she displayed no hints of judgment.

"I understand how and why that would have made you so upset as a child. How does it make you feel now?"

I shrug, "It happened so long ago, it doesn't really matter."

"It mattered enough for you to remember it in such vivid detail though."

"I mean it's just like a core memory that you remember for no real reason. Like, I also remember my first peanut butter and jelly sandwich but don't remember what I ate for breakfast last week. Doesn't really mean anything."

The way she looked at me made me realize that I was digging myself a hole.

"I see..." she erases something from her notebook and writes again, "Your brain holds onto certain thoughts and memories for a reason, Infinity. You don't remember what you ate last week for breakfast because it was of little significance, probably something that you eat often. But you remember your first peanut butter and jelly sandwich because it was your first time tasting those flavors."

"Yes, yes I know but I'm saying like it's just a random memory. We all laugh about it now. Mom doesn't even remember doing that."

Her brow furrowed at me, wrong answer. "I can understand why you might laugh at it now as a method to cope with the distress it once caused you, but, why do your mom and grandma laugh about it?"

I shrug defensively, as if my shoulders can explain for me, "It's a nostalgic story from Trinidad."

"What nostalgia does it bring to your mother when she doesn't even remember it?"

"No, I mean like it just reminds us about the old days in Trinidad, that's all. Most of the times were good times and we miss it. So now, we just laugh about all the silly stuff we used to complain about."

"Right, but I fail to comprehend why they find that particular story funny? Is there something comical about purposely ignoring a child's discomfort then coming to find out years later that their cries were completely valid? I would feel horrible if I had caused someone such distress especially when they had no way to express it. And the mere fact that your mother doesn't even remember makes it make even less sense, she doesn't even remember hurting you, yet she laughs."

I want to say that she's looking too deeply into it but then again, that's literally her job.

I reposition myself on the couch and it crinkles loudly under me, " I get what you're saying but, it's not like she was trying to hurt me. I was just too young to tell her to stop."

"Exactly, you were unable to communicate what you felt." I nodded my head, feeling like she had finally starting to understand that it was harmless overall. But, she continued, "So why then did she, being an adult with critical thinking skills, not stop putting these bows that clearly caused you discomfort in your hair?"

I was stunned by the question simply because I had never thought of it that way and couldn't explain, "I... uh–" I wanted to say, I don't know, because she thought they looked pretty but I knew that that would not help my case at all.

"Take your time." she reassured me softly, "I'm not here to debate with you or make you feel like you need to know all the answers. I just want to give you a different perspective of the situation."

"It's like an unspoken rule of authority in our culture so I don't really know how to explain it."

"Try." she insisted.

I take a moment to hash out my answer instead of just responding and inadvertently misrepresenting myself and my family, "Until you're old enough to speak for yourself, dress yourself, take care of yourself... you're kind of an attachment of your designated adult."

"Ahh, like your experiences are not acknowledged until you're a certain age." she added.

"Yeah."

"They expected you to forget those events just as they had forgotten." she nodded, scribbling something else down, "I'll ask again then. How does that story make you feel now?"

"I guess..." she looked at me with intrigued eyebrows, "I guess it makes me feel like...kind of sad. Sad for myself at that age because I couldn't speak up for myself. Things would've been different if I had had a voice."

"Do you still feel like that sometimes? That you don't have a voice?"

"Not exactly, but sometimes I feel like when it's time to speak up for myself I just don't know what to say or to do. Like I was just abandoned a long time ago and now I'm suddenly supposed to know how to fend for myself, but I can't because I'm so weak."

Dr. Kavon's face brimmed with empathy. She gets up and hugs me and she smells like salted caramel toffee and consolation, "You are not weak. You just need help." she asserts firmly.

I feel my eyes pinch with the sensation of tears so I shut them tight.

"But...you do need to stop defending those who invalidate your feelings. This isn't the first time you've defended someone that's hurt you. Healing isn't just seeking help. It requires work and extinguishing those habits that bring us down."

She releases me and sits back in her chair, "Our time is almost up here but I think we made some good strides this session and I hope that you are still interested in continuing seeing me."

"Yes, of course."

She smiles from one side of her mouth, "You know...there's a program that we implement here. Psychiatrists and clients meet in neutral outside locations instead of the office to have sessions. Usually this isn't something I mention until maybe six months to a year of in-office meetings but honestly I think we've made sufficient progress and also I can tell that you hate that chair."

I laugh and she smiles dreamily, "It's meant to boost client-physician bonding and trust. There are predetermined locations we can meet at like the park or the library for example. But you can also request a specific place where you'd feel comfortable and someone from the office will review it and if it's approved we would be able to meet there. Would that be something that'd interest you?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

"Alright. Next session we can meet at the place of your choosing. Just send me a text at least twenty-four hours ahead of time."

"Okay."

"Great work today, Infinity."

It doesn't feel like it.