Love Will Free You

Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

The cold white linoleum stares back up at me as I try to formulate an answer.

   "Finley? Let me re-state my question: what exactly about getting sick frightens you so much? I need you to cooperate if you want to get better...you do want to get better, don't you?" Mr. Palmer, my therapist, taps his pen on the heavy wood desk between us and waits impatiently for my answer. I swallow hard, my head pounding and my stomach queasy.

   "I - I do want to get better...I think. I mean, I know. And I don't know. I don't really know much of anything right now...I just don't know," I repeat stupidly. With a sigh he rises from his chair and opens his office door to usher my parents in. It was their idea to come see a counselor. They were "concerned about my behavior" and desperate to find an answer. My older brother, who was practically my best friend, died three months ago, for heaven's sake. Do they really expect me to be fine after a huge piece of my heart has been ripped out? Ronan and I had always been close, even when we were younger; he helped me through so much. When our parents fought, we always hid out together until all the yelling was over. When I got bullied in junior high, he was the one to hold me when I cried. When I felt insecure about my body and tried to starve myself, he was the one who told me I was beautiful and begged me to stop. I would do anything for Ronan, but unfortunately, taking the fatal blow in a car accident isn't always a choice you can make.

    Three months ago, Ronan was driving home from basket-ball practice. It was winter, and the coach had kept the team late for their big game that next day. Darkness had already begun to fall, and the constant cold had kept roads icy and slippery. He was only ten minutes away, and we made the drive so often, none of us worried about him. He had always been a safe driver, but it turns out that car wrecks aren't always your fault. He was hit by a drunk driver and died immediately on impact. I was shocked and devastated. Part of me was happy he died so quickly, but a selfish part of me wished his life could have been preserved long enough for me to say goodbye. The drunk man made it out alive. I sometimes wonder if he lives his life differently. Does he go home and greet his family differently? Does he place more value in the human life? I know Ronan would have. He always saw the best in people and could find the good in every situation.

    "Would you like Finley to be present, or would you prefer for her to step outside?" Mr. Palmer's voice brings me back to the present. My mother looks to me for the answer.

    "Um...stay," I reply. If they're going to talk about be, I might as well be here to hear it.

     "Very well then," Mr. Palmer says while crossing the room and sitting back down. After a long drawn out process of clearing his throat and folding his hands, he finally speaks.

      "From my short, and may I add unsuccessful, conversation with Finley, I have come to the conclusion that she has anglophobia and necrophobia, accompanied by germophobia, and induced by her brother's death. It seems that Finley, during bereavement for your familial loss, has developed an unusually extreme fear of getting hurt, sickness, and death," he translates. "Have you seen such a pattern in her behavior?" He talks about me like I'm not even here.

    "Well," my mother begins, "she doesn't want to go outside or play sports because she doesn't want to break anything. She doesn't swim because she might drown. We can't eat out at restaurants because she's afraid she might get salmonella." And on and on my mother goes, listing all my many hang-ups to a total stranger I've already decided I don't like. I'm not Anglophobic. Or necrophobic. Or germophobic. I'm not sick. Really. They just don't understand...that's all.