A Room of Their Own

by Rakefet Yarden

  I unlocked my phone and messaged Rotem Golan, the therapist: “Sorry. Decided not to come.”

  I felt uncomfortable. My appeasing side felt guilty. It’s not customary to cancel an appointment on the same day, but on the other hand we had scheduled in a rush because she had found free time in her diary, so it’s not like she’d canceled other things for my sake.

  While trying to console myself with thoughts and explanations, the phone rang. An unknown number flickered on the screen. I deliberated whether or not to answer it, but I did.

  “Dani?” I heard a woman’s voice. “Good morning. I just got your message. How are you?”

  I was shocked. It was her. How annoying! How am I? You don’t even know me. “Fine,” I answered.

  “I got your message and I thought it best if we spoke for a bit. Tell me why you don’t want to come.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I was embarrassed and confused. I hadn’t expected that phone call. “Fine. Never mind. I’ll come,” I heard myself saying.

  “Okay. Still, is there anything worrying you that you’d like to tell me before you come?” she asked cautiously.

  “No. Doesn’t matter. See you soon. Bye.” I hung up.

  I got scared. She had made an effort for me. Without even knowing me.

  It was clear to me that I had to go, but on the other hand I was even more worried and more agitated. What is she doing calling me at seven in the morning! And anyway, why is she calling me at all? How annoying.

  I’m familiar with the breed of therapists who make an effort. They’re the most stressing. I had that kind of therapist once, and every time I met with her I’d feel as though I had to provide the goods for her. Something supposedly meaningful, to justify the great efforts she had seemed to invest in me. I eventually left her.

  That’s what’ll happen this time, too, I thought to myself, and felt even more stupid for walking into something that’s predestined to fail. I thought about all the bus rides and all the hours Miko would be on his own − all for the sake of something pointless.

  I dressed quickly without putting too much thought into it. I put on my dark Australian shoes, just in case. Comfortable shoes, suitable for any season and any circumstances that might arise.

  Miko was already standing by the door wagging his tail. “We’ll just go for a short walk, buddy. You can’t go to the meeting with me, but I’ll come back home quickly. I promise.”

  We walked on the narrow sidewalk along our street’s row of attached buildings. Miko sniffed for clues of canine existence, and I leafed through my thoughts. Troubling thoughts about therapy, about life, about me. Any thought that bothered me too much was put aside for the next page. It felt like a challenging mission, and it was depressing to have to cope with it so early in the morning. I knew that I didn’t want to go see that therapist. That knowledge permeated all the pages of my thoughts.

  Suddenly I had an idea, one that began as a whim and then slowly became a reality that I could grab on to. I turned back and pulled Miko, who didn’t understand why we were suddenly revisiting all of the scents he had already picked up. “Change of plans, buddy.”

  I quickly went up to my apartment, grabbed my backpack, and we went back out together, heading towards the new therapist’s clinic.

  First Meeting

  “Rotem Golan”

  That’s the name written on the sign at the entrance to the clinic. I’d arrived four minutes before nine o’clock, our appointment time. I went back out to the sidewalk with Miko and sat down on the curb. Miko sat next to me and inhaled millions of filthy, yet insightful molecules. In this kind of situation, you’re better off being a bit late than arriving when the person you’re coming to meet isn’t ready for you yet. So we waited for six more minutes before I got back up and knocked on the front door. Miko sniffed the doorway, as though asking to pre-familiarize himself with the scents inside. A glint of teasing shifted within me. I waited to see the look on the acclaimed therapist’s face at the sight of the big weird-looking

  dog with the blue eye. And, in general, a dog at the entrance to her clinic.

  “Hi, Dani.” A tall woman opened the door and indicated with her eyes for me to come in while shifting her gaze to Miko and smiling. I didn’t know whether to pause on that look and ask for permission, or perhaps apologize. I’d already prepared myself for the explanation I’d have to give, or at least for the victorious feeling at the sight of the new therapist’s puzzled look when faced with Miko.

  So it turns out that the new therapist likes dogs, even strange dogs like Miko. Or perhaps she herself isn’t quite sure of what to do so she’s choosing to ignore it. This whole thing of hers with Miko wasn’t clear to me, and I felt like I’d missed something. As though I hadn’t at all aimed in the right direction to irritate her.

  She’s not young at all. Smooth chestnut hair flowing a little past the shoulders, big green eyes with a piercing stare. She’s probably in her forties − not exactly an old granny.

  Rotem indicated with her eyes for me to take a seat, but I remained standing. I know this “thing” of therapists, when they have to determine precisely where the client’s place is and where theirs is, and from that moment on the places are clearly set. How patronizing. I didn’t want to sit. I preferred to keep standing. I hadn’t even decided whether or not I’d stay. Miko, however, had already found himself a spot on the round rug in the center of the room - as though it were his usual rug. And I thought to myself, “Traitor! Stay close to me. Or at least don’t be so cheerful “

  “Don’t you want to sit down?” Rotem asked.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine like this,” I answered and lowered my eyes. That was a lie. I was exhausted from the walk there and already fantasizing about the coffee I’d get on my way back.

  Rotem, finally uneasy turned to speak to Miko. “I see that at least you feel comfortable here.” She then went over to the sink, smiling, filled a big bowl with water and placed it on the floor. That upset me. Now she’s really taking it too far. Why is she so nice?

  “All right then, we’ll remain standing. How are you? Would you like something to drink?” She smiled again.

  I politely declined.

  “So, what’s your cute friend’s name?”

  “Miko,” I answered. She leaned down to him and asked me with her eyes if she could pet him, and I nodded. They indulged in the petting for a minute, and I could tell that Rotem Golan is the kind of person who really loves dogs.

  “Well, we’re very happy that you’ve joined us here, Miko,” she said, smiling at him and then at me.

  “So what would you like to tell me? What brought you here, except for your father, who has spoken to me, and whom you’d mentioned over the phone?” She remained leaning over Miko, thus skipping the need to find her standing spot.

  “Nothing. My Dad,” I answered.

  “Maybe we can sit down after all? My knees are killing me.”

  “You can sit. I don’t want to.”

  “Maybe you can sit on the rug with me, next to Miko. It’s difficult to have a conversation while standing up.”

  I agreed and sat down on Miko’s other side. He wouldn’t stop ingratiating himself to Rotem. I’ll end up leaving you here, I told him in my mind.

  We kept quiet for a long while. Rotem just stroked Miko, and I felt like a fifth wheel in their get-together.

  “So, Dani,” she suddenly said with her hand still on Miko. “I get that you don’t really want to be here. But maybe there’s still something that you’d like to tell me about yourself?”

  “Like what?” I asked, knowing that it was a silly question.

  “Like your age, what you do. You know, the seemingly technical details, in order for me to get to know you a little.”

  “But I don’t want you to get to know me, because I’m not planning on wasting my time by coming her
e.”

  She remained silent for a minute, and I could tell that she was thinking. I could also tell that I was annoying her, and that she had a lot to say but was searching for the right words and for the right thing to say, while maintaining a calm exterior. I felt that I wasn’t scaring her off. I could have potentially liked that about her, but at the moment I didn’t like anything.

  “All right. I understand that your father’s pressured you to come here, and that you don’t want to be in therapy, but you still chose to call me and then show up here, and I’m very glad about that. I think it attests to your strength,” is the way she began her attempt. “I’d actually be very glad if you continue coming here.”

  Of course, Dad pays you like 400 shekels per session!

  “I want to get to know you and try to see what you’re going through, to understand who Dani really is.”

  An impatient sigh slipped out of me.

  “I know, it seems like a huge mission right now, and I don’t expect it to happen in one session or even in ten. It’s a process. Each person needs their own time for this. I have all the time and patience that you need.”

  What do you even know about what I need? I hate this therapeutic arrogance!

  I stayed quiet and so did she. But she radiated true silence. I felt that I was screaming inside. That everything was overflowing and that I was about to explode and break into thousands of pieces that would fly all over the room and make a huge mess. I wanted her to see the filth within me, to be disgusted by me.

  “Well, I guess coming here was a mistake,” I finally said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it doesn’t work on me, these therapies. I’ve been to a million therapists. I’m just not good at talking.”

  “Okay. We don’t have to talk.”

  “Then how will it work if we don’t talk?”

  “Can you write?”

  I looked at her suspiciously. Inside, my emotions rapidly flickered between bewilderment and mockery.

  “We’re still at an early stage, but yes, it’s called bibliotherapy. It’s a tool I work with, and I believe in it very strongly. It could be that in your case it can really help us.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I thought about my Dad’s reaction when he hears she treats through writing, and what a chuckle it’ll give him. “My Dad will definitely love it,” I said cynically.

  “Well, then it’s a good thing your Dad isn’t here,” she replied with a self-assured smile.

  We went silent for a minute. I kept my eyes to the ground. I looked at my shoe, but I could feel her looking at me, a stare that felt to be penetrating, as though she could see right through me. It made me want to smooth out my shirt and my hair.

  “So, can we schedule for the same time next week?” she asked.

  I lifted my gaze for a moment, shrugged my shoulders, and managed to get up from the rug with difficulty.

  “Have a good week, Dani. I’ll see you soon. Bye, Miko, come back anytime.”

  She’d parted from Miko, too, and even invited him to come back, I thought to myself. Why doesn’t she just work with dogs and call it a day?

  Rotem

  At night, I dreamed that I was flying. After a few clockwise circles around a Victorian building covered in ivy, I reach the pointy top of the spire, touch its tip, and the sound of an alarm immediately goes off. Two rotund security guards come out of the tower; one is old and the other young. Pointy red hats on their heads, sporting dark fabric shoes with little bells, creating a soft melody. They come out of the tower and pull a metal triangle that is attached to a rope that’s tied around my waist. The younger one pulls the triangle and the older one pulls him. The rope winds around my head, turn after turn after turn. When I reach the ground, the older guard sits on me and shouts into my ear, “I’m on a tea break right now, do you hear me?” And I shout back that he should end his break and get off me already, and I wake up from my own shouting.

  The clock showed 7:30 a.m. Damn it! I had turned the alarm clock’s sound into the alarm in the dream, and had even orchestrated it to suit the bells on the guards’ shoes. What a clever way to not wake up − really creative! Again everything has to be done under pressure: wake up Yotam, get him ready, drive him to preschool, rush to the clinic, get to the 9:00 session on time. Who’s coming at nine? Actually, I had swapped sessions as Yoni’s away for the week and I’d scheduled a new client instead. A very first meeting then, double damn it. Breathe, Rotem, breathe. I had to remind myself that everything was going to be fine because it always is − eventually.

  I arrived at the clinic at 8:50. I don’t like not having enough time to get the place back together the way I like it. On the round table between the two armchairs, behind the box of tissues is a little hidden clock so I don’t have to look up at the big clock on the wall to check how much time is left during sessions. It was on the wrong end of the table, since my clinic partner sits on the other side. So annoying!

  Amazing how little things can drive me out of my mind and make me angry over nonsense. What’s even more incredible is that no one ever notices it. I put on a smile, and that’s what the world sees. Almost everyone. I can’t fool Snoopy, though, and Yotam reads my mind too, an overly-attentive child of a single parent. So with him, I really try to say what I feel, in order not to leave him in the dark to try and read my signs.

  At 9:03 there was a timid knock on the door. Dani walked in with a big dog, assessing my reactions. She couldn’t read the relief on my face. I hadn’t brought Snoopy to work with me that day. He loves people, but I’m not sure he’d appreciate another dog in his territory. In his mind, there’s only room for one therapist here, and I’m not it.

  Dani didn’t want to sit and didn’t want to be here. Did everything in order to make that clear to me. After a few minutes, I gave in to my aching knees and sat down on the rug with her dog, Miko, and she eventually agreed to join us. I think I’ll have to wait with the intake report until at least the third session. Never mind, I’ll just jot down a few words and note to myself, “under observation.”

  I meet Eyal once a week for mentoring. He approves my referrals for health services coverage. He always understands the situation, and he’ll allow me to begin. There was no point in rushing her; she was just waiting for an excuse to get away from the clinic.

  Another day reached its end. Yotam and I had a pleasant afternoon together, dinner, a walk with Snoopy, shower-time, bedtime story, and tucking in for the night − the usual ritual, and the remainder of the evening was all mine but my mind was still processing the day. Eight sessions, eight worlds, images running through my head, slipping into drawers and making room for new ones. Dani’s embarrassed smile, Jasmine’s rolling laughter as she talked about the last argument she had with her lecturer. Strange that she calls it an argument, I think to myself. It’s not that they’re equal, but with Jasmine everybody’s equal and that’s what drives her, after all. “Some tides are higher than others” doesn’t fly with her.

  That reminded me of something, but I shifted it aside. You’re not thinking about her now, I commanded myself. I got off the couch and went over to the fridge to see if anything new had happened within it, despite my not having managed to go shopping. In the corner of my eye, I saw photo magnets from the last family get-together stuck to the fridge. Omer’s wedding − my older sister Emily’s son. And the thing I’d managed to shift aside immediately returned to center stage.

  Emily’s only five years older than me, but it feels as though there is a full generation between us. She’d galloped ahead to the grown-up world while I was daydreaming. That’s still what I do, staring, processing data. I returned to the fridge, and Emily was still there, smiling with Omer. I remembered that Omer had sent me a message that morning and I hadn’t yet answered him.

  I have Yotam. He’s five years old and all mine. With no man, nor God-man, involved. Just m
e, a doctor, and a test tube. Three partners to one human being. I arrived at the sperm bank without any special requests. Appearance-wise, I wanted someone of average height, so that if I have a girl, she wouldn’t inherit tall genes from both sides, because unless she then chooses a modeling or basketball career, it could potentially complicate matters for her. I marked a preference for green eyes in order to preserve my own without any other dominant genes.

  There was just one thing I refused to compromise about: his IQ. The lab technician looked at me. “Yes, we have a lot of cards with high IQ levels, a lot of medical student donors.”

  “No, he can be a little dim,” I said. She shifted her gaze to the forms, trying to conceal her bewilderment. “Dim in a good way.” I tried to justify myself before letting go of the whole thing. Just because everyone else is chasing the array of intelligence forms, doesn’t mean that I have to be in on it, too. It’s my child, and if I want a dim donor, I’ll get a dim donor, and I don’t owe her any explanations. I saw it as a sort of guarantee for a healthy mind, a kind of inoculation from depression and other unnecessary mental health issues or, at the very least, a bit of simplicity. As it says in Ecclesiastes, “Increased wisdom, increased pain.” And in plain language, “No brain, no concerns.”

  I had wanted to find a donor on my own, but I didn’t have any patience for people, or for anyone intervening in our future lives. In short, I didn’t want any partners. So I had to let go of one thing in order to control something else. It’s all a system of checks and balances, I’d reminded myself.

  Emily didn’t like the idea of my having a child on my own. I’d started to play with the idea in my mind at the age 30, following my relationship with Yochai, who’d been with me since our army service. After we ended things, I decided that I was going for it. I didn’t want to start all over again and wait to see where it would lead to, and if I could count on us loving each other forever, or at least until the unborn baby’s bar mitzva. I didn’t want to raise a child whose life would be split between two homes.