Silence Her

by Douglas Fetterly

  “I remember. The commissioner at the time, David Kessler, was not a Republican puppet, and he retaliated. But the FDA Modernization Act was still passed. That was 1997, under Clinton’s watch, I believe. The review process was shortened, be that good or bad. Bad, I think.”

  They stopped to fuel their contemplation. A moment later, JoJo continued. “Dear, I should go in about ten. No offense, lovely as you are.”

  He took a moment to look out from the rooftop patio where they sat at a picnic table. “I just love it up here. No enclosures—just open air. Somewhat rustic. I find it soothing compared to the sterile office environment.”

  Lishan nodded her agreement.

  JoJo leaned in a little, briefly gazing into Lishan’s eyes before he caught himself.

  Lishan sat back, toying with her glass of water. “But isn’t the public always ready and willing to do anything it can, take any risk, to mitigate one’s own disease, one’s own pain? JoJo, I agree with you, but I know that when people are in pain they’ll consider any avenue.”

  “Ah, but if you try a drug purchased from a pharmacy or administered by your physician, aren’t you placing at least a modicum of trust in the safety of that drug? And that potato chip package that advertises zero trans fats—aren’t you trusting that our government wouldn’t allow dangerous oils that have been scientifically and medically proven to clog our arteries, and worse?”

  “Okay, but here’s the difference. If I were given the absolute truth, then I could make an informed decision. If a physician or pharmacist were to say, ‘Listen, your baby stands a fifty percent chance of losing a limb if you take this,’ or your doctor had the training—another story—and told you that hydrogenated oils can ultimately cause a very early death…”

  JoJo’s attention abruptly shifted.

  “JoJo?” The tall, slender-hipped male approaching their booth had turned a few heads, including Lishan’s.

  “Michael!” JoJo slid from the booth, standing tall, fully embracing the newcomer.

  Introductions were made. Then JoJo turned to Lishan. “I’m going to be bold and perhaps discourteous, but I have no doubt you will understand. I haven’t seen this handsome boy in over three months. Can we continue our meeting on another day? I’ll send you that FDA letter.” JoJo stopped, his demeanor more serious. “Lishan, remember what we talked about. Your safety. You cannot make one slip. Not one. You have my number. Call it anytime, day or night. Anytime. Okay?”

  Lishan forced a slim, understanding smile. “Of course.” She turned to JoJo’s friend. “So nice to meet you, Michael.” Lishan stood to leave, but JoJo intercepted her exit, wrapping his every curve up against her in a hug that announced his body to hers.

  More than a few seconds later, Lishan began her exit again, a scant blush to her cheeks. She turned her gaze toward Michael. “Have fun!”

  13

  As the sun arced toward its early wintertime setting, Lishan knew it was nearing her therapy appointment time—3:00 p.m. In her early childhood, she knew nothing of therapy, other than sitting and asking questions of aunties and uncles. Stateside it was different. One’s issues were often entrusted to someone not of the family, someone unknown. She had her Auntie Niesha, but a few of Lishan’s friends had spoken highly of the benefits of therapy, so she decided to give it a try.

  Before heading up the stairs, Lishan called the hospital, hoping to get an update—positive news, really—about Jennifer. The nurse was cordial but stood her ground, telling Lishan that HIPAA regulations prevented her from compromising a patient’s right to privacy. Lishan knew that going to the hospital was her only option. After therapy, she told herself.

  Stella Fendwell, PhD, MFT—a medium height, forty-something, ten pounds overweight, edgy woman of British descent—carved out a portion of her weekly schedule to see clients through The Mirror’s employee assistance program. Each could qualify for up to twenty visits. Stella’s schedule seemed fairly open, while the alternate therapist—a kindly-looking African-American gentleman—was booked beyond the next two quarters. This did not bode well in Lishan’s mind, but she had little choice if the free therapy was to be utilized.

  Stella’s office was on the third floor in a building next door to the newspaper. A view of the parking lot was all she could afford. In Stella’s mind, if she were a writer like Thoreau, she might have found solace in the simplicity, but it was a far cry from the beauty of the woods, and she liked to think of herself as an upper crust Londoner. Being relegated to kitsch seemed to grate on her as she passed judgment on her clients.

  Lishan had only her initial visit behind her, and those fifty minutes largely wrapped themselves around Lishan’s childhood and the death of her parents. She had just started discussing Erik when the timer declared itself. Lishan sensed that Stella’s attitude bordered on unfriendliness. Hopefully, it would pass.

  Today, it was time to delve into her relationship with Erik, along with the seeming multitude of men she was involved with when she was nineteen and twenty and what some would call promiscuity. Commitment evaded Lishan, but she saw nothing wrong with her status. And promiscuous? Was that the label Erik assigned her?

  Stella hadn’t arrived yet. She was on the phone with Jerry. She knew Jerry had it out for Lishan. They were discussing a conversation they had several days earlier, when Stella told Jerry that Lishan already had one appointment with her and had made another. Jerry immediately saw an opportunity to make himself look good in Conner’s eyes and had called Conner to discuss the opportunity, somewhat like the tattletale he was as a child.

  “What did he say?” She could hear in Jerry’s voice that he was pleased with himself.

  “Conner agreed.” Jerry didn’t tell Stella that Conner hadn’t treated him with any of the respect he had hoped for. “He said if we could use anything she divulges to you to help get her fired, it was worth…” Jerry paused for a mere second “…$5,000 to him.” Jerry decided not to tell Stella that Conner had offered ten. I deserve some of this, Jerry had told himself.

  “Five thousand!” Stella’s eyes shifted to see if anyone had heard her exclaim. She was standing in the uncovered parking lot. She had also heard the pause in Jerry’s voice, fairly certain he had taken the cream off the top of Conner’s offer. “You know, Jerry, as a therapist I do have a creed that governs my work. I don’t know.”

  Jerry laughed. “Oh, bullshit, Stella. I know you too well. Listen, if you want the five thousand—half of it—it’s here already. Conner doesn’t waste any time.”

  Stella already knew what tack she would take. “I’ll see what I can do, within the limits of the law, of course.”

  Of course. Jerry just rolled his eyes.

  “Besides, she did do Conner an injustice with that exposé of hers. It’s only right. Listen, I’ve got to run. Lishan is probably wondering where I am. Catch up with you later in the week.”

  Stella arrived ten minutes late. Without apology, she simply motioned Lishan to follow her in.

  Lishan sat down while Stella finished primping her short, bright red hair. “Let’s see, where were we? You want to discover the reason behind your propensity for sleeping around, and why you don’t want to marry Erik.”

  Lishan blinked. “Well, not exactly.” Who is this person? Lishan asked herself. No tact! How did she become a therapist? Lishan gathered her wits and proceeded. “First of all, I don’t feel I have a propensity for sleeping around. Back then, I was finding my way as I became an adult, so, yeah, I slept with a few guys…then. And I don’t feel it’s wrong for me to not want marriage, with Erik or anyone else, at this stage in my life. More to the point, I want to know if there are any defects in my views of relationships that I would benefit from by uncovering sooner rather than later. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh, I see.” Stella shifted slightly in her chair, nervously sifting through her previous notes, wasting time by recapping some of what Lishan had talked about during their first visit. Leaning forward, Stella continued, �
��Would you like a relationship with Erik?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Stella smiled, motherly. “Are you sure? Often we know the answer, though we may declare otherwise. It lets us off the hook.”

  Lishan retained her poise, unsure of the supposed confidante before her. “Losing my parents in my early twenties left me questioning what I could count on. The pain was too great. And my boyfriends were too shallow for me.”

  “Fear, then, is a likely denominator. It’s all right, Lishan. It often is…fear. About your boyfriends, were they in fact too shallow, or did you sabotage the potential depths?”

  Lishan thought back over the past ten years. Rafael and James didn’t quite constitute boyfriends. “I didn’t have any real...” Lishan stopped.

  “Yes?”

  “I had a boyfriend when I was in juvie.” Lishan stopped, wishing she had said nothing about her experience at the hall. “Perhaps it’s nothing.”

  “Lishan.”

  Lishan looked up. Stella was looking straight at her.

  “You, of course, know it’s not nothing. Juvenile hall kept you off the streets for a reason.”

  Lishan felt uncomfortable in her chair, shifting noticeably. She didn’t answer.

  “Lishan?”

  “Ms. Fendwell, what do you know of my reasons for being in juvie? Kids end up there for so many reasons, often just a minor infraction, or nothing to do with breaking the law at all. Sometimes it’s about their parents and illegal immigration. Sometimes a kid is just surviving on the streets.”

  “Sometimes it’s for murder, or…” Stella’s voice trailed off, surprising herself as she heard what she insinuated.

  Where did that come from? “I didn’t kill anyone, Ms. Fendwell. A felony was…” Lishan stopped. She couldn’t trust Stella Fendwell with anything further. She could feel annoyance building. Lishan looked at the door and then at her watch.

  Stella took the opportunity to call the session quits. It wasn’t clear if she saw her own blunder in her last comment to Lishan. “Okay. Let’s close early today. Lishan, think about whether there are problems you have buried, past and present. I’m here to help. See you next week.” The latter was not a question.

  Lishan walked for the next half an hour, feeling caged. Finally, she saw a chain family restaurant, one she had never entered. Conceivably, she could find anonymity there. Choosing a booth in the back, she contemplated coffee and a breakfast special—sausage and eggs, hash browns, and a short stack. Breakfast late in the day always provided comfort. When she was growing up, her father would surprise the family with just such a breakfast, for dinner, if he sensed unhappiness in his brood.

  “Hi. You can’t sit back here. I’m short-staffed this evening and need you to sit up with the other customers.” The fifty-something waitress turned her back to head toward the front of the restaurant, long and narrow as it was.

  “Listen, I need some distance from people right now. I need to sit…”

  “Look, honey. I don’t have time for this. If you want service, you’ll have to sit up front with the rest of the low…the rest of the customers.”

  Lishan stood. “Low life? Where is your manager?”

  “Go for it. I am the manager. Do you see that sign, where we reserve the right? Maybe you should leave. You have just exceeded my quota of spoiled customers today. Look…”

  Lishan put up both her hands. “No, you look. I…” Lishan heaved a sigh and felt her eyes moisten. Her breathing hardened, then began to quiet. “I’m sorry. I have just had one hell of a week, and my assigned therapist—who needs therapy—topped it all off. Can I buy you a coffee? You didn’t deserve how I acted.”

  The waitress softened. “You neither, honey. My boyfriend was mean this morning, and I’ve been mistreating customers all day long. Rain check on the coffee, but I appreciate it. Here, will halfway back work for you?”

  The two women shared a meaningful smile as Lishan proceeded to a midway booth. Sitting, she reached up and gently took the older woman’s right hand in hers, smiled again, then ordered.

  Warmed by a whiff from the cup of decaf in front of her, Lishan pulled out her notebook and began writing about the feelings that surfaced during the therapy session.

  Lishan’s breakfast special arrived, along with a side of fruit not on the menu. The waitress smiled, then whisked off. Lishan felt for the woman who was clearly burdened by the lack of help today.

  Turning to her notes, she began to reflect and write about what troubled her. At the age of seventeen, she’d fallen in with a troublesome crowd through her boyfriend, Lucas. Her mother and father were leery of Lucas due to his disrespectful manner and lack of any thought regarding his future. It wasn’t that he had to have his future plans nailed down, but rather that he was boastful about his street life and how it was going to carry him along. He had no expectations of living to middle age. This worried them.

  Lishan was in a rebellious stage and was attracted to the renegade in Lucas, and her parents’ aversion fueled it. Before this period, Lishan was a fairly easy child to rear, but this particular year brought fear into the family. Not only did she end up in juvenile hall for aiding her boyfriend in a small drug sale, but she was also pregnant. A significant concern was that she might be tried as an adult and sent to prison, as well as what she would do with a child at her age in prison. If Lishan pressed to have the baby, she would likely be in shackles during the delivery, a barbaric practice that many correctional facilities still employed.

  Jemal and Anne knew their daughter was not a criminal. This phase was simply that: a temporary phase. But would the social workers and juvenile system listen?

  Lishan had mixed emotions regarding keeping the child, but Lucas made it an easier question to answer by turning on her and treating Lishan as if she no longer existed. Fine, thought Lishan. Just fine.

  Jemal made tentative arrangements for Lishan to have an abortion, if that was the ultimate decision—but it was not an easy one. Finally, Auntie Niesha and Lishan arrived at the choice.

  Niesha came to the hall early that day. She had made arrangements with the administrators to spend additional time with her niece. The visiting room was spartan, sterile, and quite secure—three layers of security chambers, each awaiting the buzz that unlocked the door, made sure of it.

  “How are you, Lishan?” Niesha asked with all the sincerity a caring auntie could muster.

  Lishan had been holding it together, stoic at best, but feeling her auntie’s love and concern melted the shield. Lishan broke down crying.

  After consoling her niece, Niesha let Lishan know it was time to move forward, to make a decision. Lishan sat up straight, the adult in her overriding the child.

  “There are several questions we can address that will help us to understand what to do, unless you already know what you want.”

  Lishan shook her head.

  “None of these questions are asked without love for the child you carry. Yet, the world is quite unlike what it was a few decades ago. We must consider your life ahead, the child’s outlook, and the community. Also, the father has left you as a single parent, one with virtually no adult skills.”

  Lishan could do no more than nod and grasp her auntie’s hand, her lifeboat.

  “One other compelling concern is that you were taking methamphetamines during your child’s development. The risks to the child’s normal physical and mental development are real.” Niesha paused to stroke her niece’s hand. Tenderly, she added, “You stop me if anything is unclear, okay?”

  Lishan, again, could only nod. She wiped a stray tear with her sleeve.

  “It’s probably too early in your life to truly decide if you want children, but, if you do, do you believe you’ll be able to raise this child well enough? Darling, it’s time—you are going to have to answer this. I know it’s tough.”

  Lishan looked up, straightening from her defeated posture. “No, Auntie. I know enough of life to understand that I’m not ready to br
ing a child into the world. Yes, I could give the child up for adoption, but I don’t think that would be a fair beginning.”

  Niesha took a deep breath, as though she had been waiting to inhale. She chose her tone to ensure her question was not manipulative. “Are you thinking that you should have an abortion?”

  Lishan’s eyes began to moisten. Seconds passed before she could answer. “Yes. Yes, I should. It is what I believe is best. And you, Auntie?”

  “I agree with you, but it had to come from you first. Your father has begun making arrangements, in case you decided. Lishan, how many weeks since your last period?”

  “Eleven weeks.” It was an immediate answer. Lishan knew the score—exactly.

  “Okay. If it’s all right with you, I’ll see if we can make the arrangements to do this within the next week.”

  Four days later, Lishan experienced the pain that would postpone her motherhood.

  Three weeks later, she was moved to a group home and then released to her parents four weeks afterward. She was absolved of any significant crime, given that it was a single offense and her adjunct role in the drug sale was a small one. Six weeks of community service would close the case. That time in her life was permanently etched in Lishan’s memory, never to be forgotten. It was a time she used as a gauge for many of the questionable decisions she had to make, and it largely kept her out of trouble. That was ten years ago, but the pain from Lucas’ abandonment, the pregnancy she was ill prepared for, and the loss of the new life she had created, lingered ever since.

  14

  Lishan was well aware of the walls she erected to protect her emotional self as a consequence of her past. Did this include an arm’s-length approach to Erik? Perhaps it was time to dismantle the walls. But could she be sure?