𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 ━ transformers

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱

The thing about Dr. Henderson is that he didn't want to be a therapist. He claims, whenever I veer the subject off of myself and onto something related to him, that he's always wanted to be an astronaut, to explore the great depths of space in a giant rocket--like the ones in the movies. He says he was close to doing it too, had almost graduated with a scholarship to the best college for astronomy (something he'd like to know more about before he applied himself to NASA), when his mother killed herself.

It had been sudden, he explained once, with a bitter smile--that he came home one day to her laying in the bathtub, water falling over the sides as she lay in there, limp. That's all he gave me, wouldn't go into anymore detail about what happened or how she died (which he shouldn't have to, I suppose, since it's his job to make me vent, not the other way around).

But the thing about that day was an eye opener, he told me. Says that he never wanted anyone to go through the same pain he went through. So, he changed his degree and became a therapist. It was as simple as that.

Today, I stare at him and I say, "I want to major in astronomy, too."

I don't know why I say it. The conversation from so long ago is just sitting in my head and for some reason, I feel like sharing. Dr. Henderson remains quiet, waiting for me to continue.

"When I was little," I tell him, "I wished on a shooting star. Asked it to bring my dad home safely from war. He arrived the next day." My lips curl up in a rueful smile. "I was hooked from that moment on. Every night, I went out and stared at the stars, wondered what it would be like to grab one and pull it down with me. I thought that if nothing on Earth could make me happier, than maybe I could find happiness amongst the stars."

"You speak about this as though you've given up on your dream, Eleanor. Why?" he asks.

I shrug with a sour laugh. "I don't know. I guess--maybe it was just a child's tale. Reality is much more brutal and not even the stars can bring me the happiness I once sought out."

"Does this have anything to do with the accident?" Dr. Henderson is always careful when he speaks to me about what happened. He never really uses his name or says anything that could trigger any kind of panic. For that, I am grateful.

"Everyone thought I was reaching too far, reaching for something that was never going to be in my grasp," I reply, gazing at the fern behind him. "He was the only one who didn't think I was crazy for wanting to touch the stars. He supported me and every birthday, he got me a new star charm for my necklace. Told me that since I couldn't quite reach the stars yet, the little charms--they would have to do."

"Is it the one you're wearing right now?"

I nod.

"It's beautiful, Eleanor. Truly."

"But the thing is--I won't get a charm this year. I won't get anymore charms. Ever."

I'm frowning, eyes prickling as I grip the necklace in my hand. It's warm from my heated skin and the charms gleam at me, some silver and some an assortment of colors that swirl in my vision. Make me feel hazy with nostalgia.

The necklace itself looks like something a child would wear, but I haven't take it off since he gave it to me when I was nine years old. I won't ever take it off. Not even when I die.

"Your mother tells me," Dr. Henderson suddenly says, "that your neighbor and father have made a close friend during their time away. Ron, isn't it?"

"Yep," I mutter, wondering why Mom has to tell him everything that happens at home just so Dr. Henderson can interrogate me about. "That's him."

"And?"

"And what?" I ask. "There's nothing else to it. Will and Dad brought back a stray with too much PTSD. That's it."