by A.R. Rivera
25
-Avery
What is it like to be me?
Imagine waking up to your alarm clock, but it's still dark outside. There is no difference in light between the morning and the night.
No sun.
No electricity.
Try getting ready in the dark. Taking a shower without using the light: how would you even find the soap to wash your face? You'd probably fumble, break some shit, and hurt yourself.
That's what it was like for me.
The days were blending; there was no light, no break to separate one moment from the next. I could not hold myself together. I was fumbling, trying to find my way in the dark and I did something way more stupid: I went back to that shrink again.
"Do it for Angel," I'd told my reflection in the mirror that morning. "Show that bitch you're not who she thinks." I scoffed at my own stupidity, and then went anyways; while Angel was out living her rose-colored life.
And the session was weird.
Doctor Williams had the controlled air set too low, which chilled me to the core. And I didn't like the way the shrink watched me-like I was some germ under a microscope or a snake about to strike.
"Avery."
"Shrink Lady." I mocked her monotone.
"I think it's important to establish mutual trust. For that to happen, we need to be honest with each other. When I ask you questions, it's to help you and Angel. Alright?"
I tried not to fidget in the chair in front of her desk. The soft sounds of sea birds echoed from a boom box placed somewhere in the room. Did she know I liked birds? Had I told her that? Did Angel?
Doctor Williams pressed her glasses up the slope of her nose with one finger. "I would like to talk to you about family."
"My mom is around, but she's an absent parent. I don't know my dad."
She sighed and waited. When I said nothing more, she started again. "When is your birthday?"
That question was too stupid to consider. I crossed my legs, feeling overexposed.
Doctor Williams sighed.
Then it was me who sighed.
"Okay." Doctor Williams nodded at her notes then looked up. "Avery, I would like you to draw a picture for me." She pushed a blank sheet of paper and a pencil across the desk. "A self-portrait."
I felt the tug of a frown pulling at the corners of my mouth. I couldn't remember why I thought this was a good idea. I didn't want to give her anything. It would end badly, I could feel it. But I made the little drawing like she asked. I penciled my oval face, my black dash eyebrows, my thin lips and nose. I even asked for a green crayon for my eyes-which she didn't have.
As I passed the drawing, a surge of indignation drew me to my feet. I locked my gaze on her. "I won't be coming back."
26
-Avery