The Nearly Girl

by Lisa de Nikolits

  She finished and looked up and saw Mike staring at her with desperation and she wanted to rush across the room and kiss him, regardless of the situation or timing. She dropped her gaze and gnawed on her pen instead.

  “Joanne? What did you write down?”

  “I can’t choose clothes when I go shopping. I’ll stare at a thing for hours and then I will leave without buying anything.”

  “Hmm.” Dr. Carroll didn’t seem to find that one particularly appealing. “David?”

  “I procrastinate when it comes to doing chores around the house, like taking out the garbage or changing batteries in the fire alarm.”

  “I see.” Dr. Carroll wasn’t keen on that one either.

  “I hoard things,” Angelina piped up suddenly in a breathy voice and Dr. Carroll perked up. Amelia could almost see his nose twitching with excitement.

  “You do? Really? Tell us more. Be specific and detailed.”

  “I have a lot of newspapers. A lot.” Angelina paused to think for a moment. “The newspapers line the hallway, floor to ceiling. And I have boxes filled with things, boxes piled on top of each other.”

  “Filled with what kind of things?”

  “Old telephones, alarm clocks, broken dolls, children’s toys, and clothes from when the children were babies.”

  “How old are your children now?”

  “Oh, in their forties. They’ve got kids of their own but they don’t want my broken old stuff and they keep trying to get me to get rid of it but I can’t.”

  “I thought you were married?” Dr. Carroll shuffled through some notes.

  “I was, but my husband died a year ago. Stomach cancer.”

  “Was this when your phobia about medical appointments began?”

  “No, I had that long before but him dying of cancer didn’t help.”

  “Back to your hoarding, would you categorize yourself as being as bad as those people on TV?”

  “Well. Bad? That sounds so judgmental. Would I say I have as much stuff as they do? Yes. I guess. My living room, spare bedroom, my bedroom, and even the bathroom are filled pretty much to the ceiling and it’s hard to get inside. For a while, I had so much stuff that I had to put it into the bathtub and I showered at the YWCA. But then my daughter threatened to get rid of my stuff herself, and I couldn’t bear to let her touch it, so I cleaned out the bathtub. I’ve got lots of books and magazines too, oh, and bottles. Empty bottles.”

  “You mean alcohol bottles?”

  “No, I don’t drink! I mean shampoo bottles and dish detergent bottles and I’ve got no idea why I keep them.”

  “Wow. Excellent. I mean not excellent per se, but an excellent problem for us to try to help you to solve.”

  “Oh, and I’ve got rabbits too.”

  “What?”

  “Rabbits. They’ve got the run of the house and there’s rabbit poo everywhere although I do try to clean it up. And they chew things, so there’s a lot of chewed up stuff. And there’s their food, of course, and their water dishes.”

  “I see.” Dr. Carroll was momentarily at a loss for words. “Why has this not come up before?” he asked. “Surely this would have been acknowledged as a problem before now? It sounds fairly large scale?”

  “Yes, it is. But I’m here for anxiety and not being able to make appointments and keep them. I thought that if I could get rid of my anxiety, then I would be able to tackle my issues with hoarding.”

  “How many years has this been going on? It must have been while your husband was still alive?”

  “Oh, yes, but he never minded. As long as I left an area clear around his lounge chair and the TV, it was fine.”

  “And your children? They grew up among all this stuff?”

  “Yes, and it always annoyed them. They were always trying to throw my stuff away and I wouldn’t let them. When they were in their teens, we got them a trailer and we put it in the garden and they lived in that.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Dr. Carroll wasn’t the only one mesmerized by Angelina’s story. The entire group was leaning forward in their seats, eager to hear what she would say next but Angelina just shrugged. “That’s it,” she said.

  “Well.” Dr. Carroll leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I propose we take a short break for a meditation and we think about this. We’re not supposed to actually think about specific things when we meditate but in this instance, we need to take a moment.”

  “I hope you can help me,” Angelina said, looking around, her chins wobbling and her face earnest.

  Amelia thought about her father’s house and how empty it was. She imagined his horror at being confronted by Angelina’s abode.

  Dr. Carroll set his alarm clock and rang the bell. The room was eerily silent during the meditation. Amelia wanted to open her eyes and look at Mike but she didn’t want him to see her doing it, so she kept her eyelids pressed firmly shut, and she clenched her hands in her lap. She felt sorry for Angelina but all she could think about was Mike and she relived the memory of his kiss instead.

  Ding! The bell sounded and everyone opened their eyes and sat there, blinking in the silence.

  “Well.” Dr. Carroll rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “Does anyone have any ideas to help Angelina? Don’t be shy, people. This is how it works. We brainstorm together, so you say whatever you think and the ball gets rolling that way.”

  “She could start at one end of the house and fill a bag of junk every day,” Shannon suggested.

  “If I did that, it would take me the rest of my life to clear out one room,” Angelina said.

  “Then get one of those massive containers that you can get delivered to you,” David suggested. “You can fill up to the top with crap and then, when you’re ready, you phone them and they’ll take it away.”

  “I tried that,” Angelina said despondently. “But in the middle of the night, I climbed in to get some of my stuff back and I fell in and broke my arm. So they had to take the box away and I never dared get one again.”

  There was silence.

  “More ideas, people, more ideas, come on!” Dr. Carroll said.

  “You could have an open house,” Amelia suggested. “Invite people to come in and take what they want?”

  “I tried giving things away,” Angelina said, “but then at the last minute, I took everything back. And most of the stuff is rubbish, I admit that.”

  “And the newspapers?” Mike asked. “I don’t get the newspapers.”

  “There might be something I want to read in them,” Angelina said, earnestly. “I might have missed something, and I like knowing they are there for me to refer to.”

  “There are archives and online resources for that,” Joanne said but Angelina shook her head.

  “They don’t keep everything, like I do. I am much more organized than them, and I don’t make arbitrary decisions like they do about what to keep and what to take out.”

  “Why don’t you contact that TV show that helps hoarders?” Whitney asked. “I bet they’d love to have you on it.”

  “My daughter tried that and there was a long waiting list, so long, I’d probably never even get on the show. There are more of us in the world than you think.”

  “God help us,” David said. “My wife collects dolls and those tiny spoons and even that drives me mad.”

  “At least those have value,” Joanne commented.

  “Some of my stuff has value,” Angelina objected.

  “Circles, we’re going in circles, people,” Dr. Carroll said. “Come on, we have to come up with something new. Ideas?”

  The group sat studying their fingernails.

  “What do you think, Dr. Carroll?” Persephone asked.

  “I think that apart from Angelina burning down her entire house and starting from scratc
h, I don’t have any suggestions,” Dr. Carroll admitted.

  “That’s stupid!” Gino burst out and Dr. Carroll looked at him.

  “Is it really? She seems to have tried everything else.”

  “But the rabbits!” Angelina said. “What about the rabbits? I can’t burn them too!”

  “How many are there?”

  “I have no idea. They are rabbits and so there are a lot, and more keep coming.”

  “You’d have to get wildlife services in first, I guess,” Dr. Carroll said and he sounded tired. “Anyway, we need to move on.”

  “But you haven’t helped her,” Gino said. “And look at Ainsley sitting there, still crying. What good are you, doctor? And look at that little Asian guy who didn’t come back and you never listen to me either.”

  “Tell me, Gino,” Dr. Carroll said patiently, “what are you trying to tell me that I’m not hearing?”

  “That I need your help! Like Angelina needs your help! We came here so you would help us, but you don’t do anything but cause more damage and pain.”

  “I’m not a magician,” Dr. Carroll said in a mild tone. “And besides, this is only the third session. Why don’t we continue and then see if you still feel the same about me at the end?”

  “I can’t wait that long, I can’t.” Gino started crying. “Yesterday I was humiliated in a meeting. Someone asked me a question, a very simple question, and I couldn’t get my voice to say anything. I sat there, turning more and more red in the face and finally someone else answered for me. I got up and rushed from the room. I couldn’t face anyone so I left the building and then today I phoned in sick. I waited the whole day to come here and you have to help me now, so I can go back to my job tomorrow.”

  “Oh my God!” Dr. Carroll shouted and the whole group looked at him. “Who and what exactly do you people think I am? You all come here with problems you’ve been carefully creating for decades and then you expect me to fix you in a day or two? It’s always the same thing: you have the same ridiculous expectations, time in, and time out. Think about it, people, how long have you been this way? Let’s go around the room. Each of you ask yourselves, how long have you had your problem and what have you done up until now to fix it? Angelina, how long would you say you’ve been hoarding and anxiety-ridden?”

  “About fifty-five years,” Angelina whispered.

  “You see!” Dr. Carroll said. “And yet, I am expected to fix that in one day. I’m expected to go up to this white board and write down one sentence that will not only cure Angelina but all of you. Well, there is no magic secret. It doesn’t work like that. It’s a long hard road, and you need to commit to it and take responsibility for yourselves. I can show you the way but I can’t make you walk the path. That’s up to you.”

  “So,” Gino said in a small voice. “What should I do about work?”

  “Go back. Just go back,” Dr. Carroll said and he sounded exhausted. “It’s the opposite of staying at home, so it’s good enough. Just go back.”

  “I can’t go back,” Gino said and he was still crying, dribbling sad tears, and he must have been wearing makeup because his tears left watery black trails down his face. “I can’t. I feel so stupid. They laughed at me.”

  “Who cares about them? Gino, you need to care less. ‘They,’ and that goes for all the ‘theys’ out there, only matter as much as you let them. You can take control by thinking, ‘I don’t care what you think. I do a good job. So what if I’m not great at public speaking and so what if meetings make me nervous, that doesn’t make me any less of a success in my job.’ You can say that and mean it. Write it down and say it to yourself a hundred times a day and make it your truth. You can choose, Gino, whether to care of not.”

  “No,” Gino whispered, “I can’t. Because I do care. And I will always care. And they will always laugh at me. I’m a stupid failure and I always have been.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gun. Angelina and Joanne, who were sitting next to him, sprang in opposite directions. The rest of the group pushed themselves back in their chairs as if trying to teleport into the next room through the walls.

  Dr. Carroll seemed unperturbed. “I see,” he said and his little eyes glittered. “And how long have you had the gun?”

  “It was one my cousin’s. I stole it from him years ago. He’s so stupid. He thought he lost it.”

  “And what are you planning to do? Kill me or kill yourself?”

  “Me, but maybe you first, and maybe Shannon too because she said I was a pervert and I’m not.”

  “I’m sorry,” Shannon sputtered.

  “No, you’re not,” Gino said and he waved the gun at her. “You’re just saying that. Maybe I should take you into the elevator and have sex with you right now, that would serve you right.”

  “Yeah, as if you could get it up,” Joanne said, sarcastically and he swung the gun towards her.

  “Now, now,” Dr. Carroll said. “Let’s stay calm. Trading insults isn’t going to help anyone.”

  Gino stood up and he sidled around the room, so that his back was against the door. “All of you,” he shouted, “get up and move to the corner. Stand there. Now, David, move the chairs to that wall and stack them. Do it now, do it!”

  “Sure, no problem, buddy,” David said and he edged towards the chairs, lifting the one nearest to him.

  “I’m not your buddy! You didn’t even know who I was till now. All you do is whine about yourself and your stupid stuff, so don’t think you can fool me, ‘buddy’.”

  While David stacked the chairs, Gino waved the gun at the others. “Sit down on the floor, with your backs against the wall.”

  Amelia ended up sitting next to Mike and, despite the circumstances, she was thrilled. Their shoulders and the whole length of their arms were touching and Mike rested his hand on top of hers, which was palm down against the floor. She could feel the linen of his shirt sleeve brushing her bare skin, and he smelled wonderful: spicy, clean, soapy, and masculine.

  Amelia did not want to move, ever again. She would have been happy to stay like that for days, at least she was until Gino started shouting again.

  “Doc! Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Carroll said and Amelia could have sworn he sounded bored. “Yes, Gina, I mean Gino, what is it?”

  “Gina! You called me Gina!” Gino was practically foaming at the mouth.

  “A slip of the tongue,” Dr. Carroll said. “What did you want to tell me?”

  “How did you know?” Gino nearly shrieked.

  “Know what?” Dr. Carroll looked perplexed. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Gina! How did you know about Gina?”

  “There are some things a doctor just knows,” Dr. Carroll said wisely, while the rest of the group knew as well as he did that he had no idea what was going on with Gino.

  “So, then, can I?”

  “Can you what? I am sorry, Gino. I am not following you here.”

  “Can I have a sex change?”

  “Ah. Well, that’s not a simple procedure to get formal approval for, by any means. But let’s not rule it out,” he said, hastily when Gino frowned and was clearly unimpressed by Dr. Carroll’s reply.

  “Tell me more about Gina,” Dr. Carroll said. “That would be very useful in helping us move the whole process forward, okay? Work with me here. Gina, if I may call you that. When did you first become aware that you were a female and not a male?”

  “My mother knew,” Gino said. He waved David down into a seated position and then he too slid down with his back against the frosted glass door.

  “My mother knew,” he continued. “But it was our secret, hers and mine. La mia bellissima Gina, she would call me. I had no father, you see. He left my mother when she got pregnant. The pig! But we didn’t need him, my Mammi had me, her litt
le principessa.”

  Mike squeezed Amelia’s hand and a shiver ran through her belly. She nudged her body weight ever so slightly in his direction. Mike wrapped his fingers around hers and she cupped her palm towards his.

  “How old were you when she started dressing you in girl’s clothes?” Dr. Carroll asked conversationally.

  “She did it ever since I can remember. She put makeup on me too. But only when we were alone. One time, zia Paola, my mother’s sister, came to visit and I was in my little ballerina outfit and zia Paola, she shouted at my Mammi.” Gino smoothed his bangs carefully, keeping the gun balanced on his upraised knees and steadying it with one hand.

  “How old were you when your mother died?” Dr. Carroll asked.

  “I was nine. And zia Paola and her husband took me to live with them and their four horrible sons. They laughed at me all the time, and zia Paola, she took me to one side and she said, ‘Gino, that ballet dress nonsense, none of that here, you hear me?’ And I nodded and we never spoke of it again.”

  “But you would dress up in her clothes whenever you knew you were home alone?” Dr. Carroll said and Gino nodded sadly.

  “And then, when I earned my own money, I bought my own clothes and makeup and I moved to my own apartment where I could be me.”

  “There’s something I don’t understand,” Dr. Carroll said. “Why do you keep hitting on Shannon if you really feel like you are a woman?”

  Gino looked shamefaced. “My cousins did that to women. They would grab them and shout things, sexual things. I tried to copy them from when I was a teenager because I thought that if I could just be a normal man, then all my problems would go away. And now, when I get stressed, it’s like a reaction that I can’t stop. I am sorry,” he said to Shannon. “I didn’t mean it.”

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  “I’m not a pervert,” he insisted and Shannon nodded.

  “It’s okay, Gino,” she said.

  “Gina,” he corrected her.

  The others in the group sat silent as mice, unmoving and hardly breathing.