Leaving Laurabelle Falls

Chapter 23

I sat in a large, comfortable chair. It was a woven green fabric, with large and ornate buttons on the face of the arms securing the fabric to the front of the piece. It looked, and smelled, fairly old. I wondered whether or not its original owner was still alive.

I had my money placed on no.

"Have you ever had something you needed to tell someone, but you didn't know where to start?" I asked.

Sharon sat across from me, her papers strewn across her desk. She had a pen in one hand, and her red-rimmed reading glasses sat low on her nose.

"I don't know where to start half the time." She admitted. "But here's the thing about that; you don't always have to start in the beginning. You can start with what's important, and circle back to fill in relevant details as you realize what's important to know."

"I mean, I think it's more complicated than that." I argued.

We had been together as doctor and patient for about a month now. I had decided that I really liked Sharon. Part of what I liked about her was that if she told anyone what I had to say, it would be a HIPPA violation.

I had decided that I needed to get it out. Somehow, to someone.

"How can it be more complicated than just starting?" She asked.

"Well, it's hard to describe." I said. "Some of my memories feel out of order, for one. Some of them are fragmented. Others, they're, uuuh. A little different."

"Trauma can do that to your brain." She pointed out, jotting something down in her book. "Can I ask why you're so afraid I won't understand? What's the problem with it if you start telling me, and I don't? You haven't lost anything."

I sat on that one, for a moment. I didn't really know how to answer it at first.

What would be the problem with telling the story, and somebody not understanding it? It's not like it could get me in trouble.

Then again...

"I think part of my problem is that I want someone to understand." I explained. "I want someone to know. And if I tell it the wrong way, in the wrong order, that's not going to happen."

"Part of your issue with this is likely in trusting others to tell you when they don't understand." Sharon pointed out, pointing at me with the tip of her pencil. Her eyebrows were arched. "You don't trust someone to care enough to ask questions."

I paused.

"Normally, I would agree with you." I said. "But I doubt that anyone could hear the story and not ask questions."

"Then your lack of faith lies with your own ability to tell it."

I took a deep breath, and the anxiety in my chest suddenly made a lot more sense. I shifted in the chair, uncomfortable with the realization.

"What do you think I should do about that?" I asked. She paused.

"What do you think is the most convenient way to convey information?"

My answer came without a moment of thought.

"A powerpoint." I responded, scoffing. "And any college professor in their right mind would tell you that."

"A powerpoint?" She questioned, eyebrows raising. She gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "Really? I expected you to say writing, Laura. You told me about how much you love English class."

"The question was vague," I said, embarrassed. "It's not that I think a powerpoint would be good for this, I just think that they're the best way to convey a lot of information quickly. They mix together pictures and words, you can keep it visually interesting. It's entertaining. It keeps people engaged."

"Now take a step back," She said, "The question wasn't that vague. You have to consider the context. I'm not criticizing you, it's just not what I was originally expecting."

I shook my head. Oh, God. The absurdity of the idea that was forming was a little bit overwhelming.

"So, you think it's a good idea?" I asked. "If I put together a trauma powerpoint?"

"If you think that's the best way for you to tell this story," She said, nodding along, "I think a trauma powerpoint sounds like a wonderful idea. I don't see how it could be any less informative than any other medium."

I sat there, pondering the idea.

"Alright." I said. "It might take me a few weeks to put together. I want to know that it's good enough, when I show it to you."

"Alright." She agreed. "I'm deeply looking forward to it."

~~~

"Laura," My mother called from downstairs. I was busy in front of the computer, watching a quick tutorial on powerpoint to brush up on my skills. I wanted it to be entertaining.

At this point, the fact that it was entertaining was what I was banking on. Even in the darkest moments of life, there is laughter. I think that laughter, sometimes, can be just as important as the grief in overcoming trauma.

"Yeah?" I called back. I could hear her coming up the stairs already, and I quickly shut my laptop. She knocked on my door gently. "Come in."

The door crept open, and she stood, leaning her hand against the doorway. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair was messy. "I don't want to bother you for too long, I know you're studying."

"You're not bothering me." I told her.

"I just wanted to make sure that you know that I love you." She said. I froze, blinking.

"Yeah, I know." I said, because I did, now. What I did not say was, 'I know that now, I was acting so cold to you the last few months because I thought you were a mindless prisoner to what was basically the devil'.

"I wanted to make sure that the therapy was helping." She said. "I know it's been a few weeks. And I know these problems don't fix overnight, but I need to know that you're doing okay."

I hesitated, holding my tongue for a moment.

"I'm doing fine." I responded, finally. "It's not helping like I need it to yet. But I can tell that it will be soon."

"Sometimes, medicine takes some time to work." She agreed. "This is like medicine. Medicine for your brain."

"Yeah," I agreed. I did not mention that I would need a psychiatrist and not a therapist for actual brain-medicine.

"You really scared your brother that day." She said. "I know he's been calling you more often, but he calls me every day. To make sure that there isn't something you aren't telling him."

"I've overheard you." I responded. "And please tell Noah that I'm doing a little better. I promise, if I'm not making progress in a few more weeks, I'll let you know."

"Thank you, Sweetheart." She said, nodding. "I'll make sure to check in, too. I know... I know I haven't always been there for you, but I'm trying to change that."

She dropped her eyes, and moved away. She turned, headed towards her bedroom. I watched her leave in stunned silence.

Eventually, I got up. I made my way to the door, and I shut it tightly. I took a few moments to breathe, and then, made my way back to my laptop.

I sat on my bed, and opened it.

I went back to my powerpoint, and continued writing.