Maybe I Will (15 page)

I shook my head, trying to figure out the game she seemed to be playing. Suddenly I wanted to talk to Mom. “Dad can go first,” I said.

Erin TheRapist nodded. “Dr. Peareson, if you'll follow me, please.”

“Certainly,” Dad said, “And you can call me Bill.”

Mom sat down in the chair beside me. I picked up a
People
magazine and started leafing through it. Mom pulled her reading glasses and an advance sheet of recent court decisions from her bag. I watched her as she started reading.

“So how much have you already told her?” I asked.

Mom removed the reading glasses from her nose before turning to look me in the eyes. “Pretty much everything I know about what's been going on.”

I rolled up the magazine and used it to tap on the table like a drumstick. “Has she seen the notebook?”

Mom nodded. “I faxed her the pages last night after you went to bed.”

I swallowed hard and tried to look like it didn't matter. “Did you know she was going to meet with us individually at first?”

“No.” Mom shook her head. “This was scheduled as a family session, so I just assumed we'd all go in together.” She pulled a pint-size water bottle from her bag and held it out towards me. “Want a drink of water?”

I shook my head and unrolled the magazine like I was going to read again.

Mom opened the bottle and took a drink. “Let me know if you want some. I've got another one.”

I stared at the bag and wondered what all it contained. Mom stuff. Lawyer stuff. Woman stuff. All the stuff we might need. I rolled the magazine up in the opposite direction to straighten it back out again. “So why do you think she's doing it?” I asked. “To divide and conquer?”

Mom looked at me and smiled. “Maybe,” she answered, raising her eyebrows. “Or maybe she just wants the chance to establish rapport with us individually or to see if there's anything we have on our minds that we might be reluctant to say in a family session.”

“Do you think Dad has something to say that he doesn't want you to hear?” I asked.

Mom sighed. “I really don't know, Sandy. I don't know much of anything anymore.”

“Do you want to go next?” I asked.

“Up to you.”

We sat in silence. I wanted to go sit on her lap, like I used to when I was a kid, and have her wrap her arms around me and hold me tight until I felt nothing but safe and loved. She used to kiss me on my forehead and call me her beautiful child.
When was the last time? Third grade? Fourth grade?
By sixth grade I was as tall as she was. She'd still sneak up behind me sometimes, though, when I was sitting at the table and plant a big kiss on top of my head.
Nobody but my mom ever kisses me anymore.

I opened the magazine back up and pretended to read.

“Who's next?” Erin TheRapist asked when she and Dad returned.

“Mom,” I said without looking up. Mom packed up her reading and followed Erin TheRapist back into whatever waited behind that door. Dad took her seat next to me, but didn't say anything.

“So where did she take you?” I asked, wanting to hear every detail.

“Back to her office,” Dad replied. He picked up a
Reader's Digest,
but didn't open it.

“What's it like back there?”

“Cozy. There's an overstuffed chair and a loveseat. No couch big enough for me to lie down on.” Dad forced a phony smile.

“So what did you talk about?” I asked. I noticed that I was bouncing my right leg nervously, but I didn't feel like trying to stop it.

“We talked about me. What I want to happen in our family.” I watched him closely as he spoke, trying to gauge whether he was holding back, whether they'd really just been talking about me. I waited to see if he would volunteer more, but he turned back to the
Reader's Digest.
We waited in silence for Mom and Erin TheRapist to return.

When my turn came, Mom gave me a big hug before sending me back with Erin TheRapist. Her office was bigger than I had pictured. A built-in bookshelf covered the wall by the doorway. There was a desk in front of that with different colored files neatly stacked on one corner and journals stacked on another. Over by the window was the loveseat and chair Dad had described. There was also a table and two chairs off to the left of that.

“Have a seat wherever you'd like,” offered Erin TheRapist. So I sat down in the chair behind her desk.

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

—Sonnet 144
, Lines 13-14

I
F
E
RIN
T
HE
Rapist was surprised or upset that I was sitting behind her desk, she didn't show it. She went over and sat down on the love seat. “Thank you for agreeing to talk with me privately before we do a family session,” she said.

I felt myself swiveling back and forth in her chair. I looked up and met her gaze, but I didn't say anything. In my mind I could hear the monster chanting
Aaron the Rapist, Erin TheRapist.
First the shout,
Aaron the Rapist!
Followed by an echo,
Erin TheRapist.
I looked away.

“Maybe we should start with your just telling me a little bit about yourself.” She looked so relaxed, like this was some sort of college interview or something.

Psycho Therapy. Psycho Therapist. Tell her what she wants to hear.

“I was sexually assaulted.” I blurted it out like I didn't even care, but I was swiveling faster now.

She nodded. “One time or more than one time?”

I stopped swiveling. “One time.”

She nodded again. “How long ago was that?”

I stared at her. “March 15,” I said. The words sounded cold and sent a shiver down my spine.

“Of this year?” she asked, oblivious to the coolness that suddenly permeated the room.

I nodded.

She leaned forward. Resting her elbows on her thighs, she clasped her hands together as if she were going to pray, but her eyes stayed focused right on me. “Sandy, we can talk about the sexual assault as much as you like, but that single event doesn't have to define you. I'd like you to tell me what you would have told me about yourself if I'd asked you on March 14th.”

My monster fled. Tears filled my eyes and began spilling out, rolling down my cheeks. She reached for a box of Kleenex from the table and held it out toward me.

“It's okay, Sandy,” she said.

I stood and slowly walked over to accept the box of Kleenex. Instead of taking it back behind the desk, I collapsed in the over-stuffed chair beside her.

“On March 14th I would have told you that my life was perfect.” I pulled a Kleenex from the box and blotted my eyes and nose. “I had the lead in the spring musical, plans to go to Juilliard, dreams of becoming a rising star on Broadway, maybe even in Hollywood.”

“Do you still have the lead in the spring musical?” she asked quietly.

I nodded.

“Do you still want to go to Juilliard and become a big star?”

I shrugged, took a deep breath and blew my nose. “I don't know what I want anymore,” I confessed.

She nodded. “That's okay, too.” She sat up straight again. “Sandy, is there anything that you'd rather not talk about with your parents in the family session?”

I wadded up my used Kleenex and pulled a second one from the box. “I don't know.”

“Normally, I would ask you to call me Erin,” she began. I bristled at the name spoken aloud. “Under the circumstances, that doesn't seem like a good idea, but Dr. McMann sounds so formal. What would be most comfortable for you, Sandy?”

I wrapped the clean Kleenex around the dirty one and thought about this for a moment. She didn't try to push me or rush me. She just waited and gave me time to think. Finally, it came to me. “Can I just call you ‘Doc?'” I asked.

She smiled warmly. “Sounds good to me.”

“You don't think it sounds too much like a dwarf or Bugs Bunny or anything?” I could feel myself breathing more deeply.

She laughed. “I don't. And I much prefer ‘Doc' over ‘Grumpy' or ‘Sneezy.'”

“Or I could call you Snow White,” I offered.

“No, thank you!” She leaned back into the seat and shook her head. “The idea of waiting for a prince to come along and save me has never really appealed to me.”

I gave her a soft chuckle without meaning to. “Then ‘Doc' it is.” I looked at the clock. Nearly 20 minutes had passed. “Anything else we need to talk about before we bring in Mom and Dad?”

Doc hesitated. “Maybe,” she said. “Your parents want to talk about your meeting with a detective. Are you ready to talk about that?”

“I don't know, Doc,” I replied. “Do I have to do the talking or can I just listen to what my parents want to say?”

“Tonight you can just listen, but that detective is going to want you to do the talking, in detail about what happened.”

I nodded. “Do you think we could put that off until after the musical next week?”

“Maybe. We can talk about the best timing with your mom. If there's anyone who knows how to make the system work for you, it's your mom.” She waited several moments. “Shall I go get your parents?”

I nodded. While she was gone I stood up, walked over to the wastebasket, and threw away my wadded up Kleenex. I scoped out the room again and decided to sit in the chair behind the table. I picked up one of Doc's journals and buried my nose in it.

I could feel my parents watching me when they came in the room, but I didn't look up. In my peripheral vision, I saw them sit down on the love seat—first Mom, then Dad. Doc sat in the over-stuffed chair. Dad cleared his throat, but didn't say anything. We all waited. I sneaked a peak at Doc. She seemed to be watching us patiently to see who was most uncomfortable with the silence.

That would be Dad. He broke the silence. “So are we ready to begin?”

Doc smiled at him and nodded. “You can start with whatever's on your mind, Bill.”

Dad looked at me, then Mom and finally turned to Doc. “This is all so overwhelming to me. But I think what's been bothering me more than anything is the lying and the stealing. I just don't understand where that came from, and I want it to stop immediately.”

Doc waited to be certain Dad was finished. “I think we're learning where Sandy's lying and stealing have come from, and as we
address the underlying issues, the symptoms will disappear. She turned to me. “Do you want to say anything about how you were getting the alcohol and the deception that's gone with it?”

I felt my eyes watering and just shrugged my shoulders. I tried to look at Dad directly, but I couldn't. I wasn't really ready to face him or Mom. I turned to Doc. “I'm sorry.” Long pause. “I don't know what else I can say.”

Doc nodded.

“It's like we've always said,” Dad interjected. “Part of being truly sorry is not doing it anymore.”

There was another long moment of silence. “How do you feel about that, Sandy?” Doc asked me.

I never really meant to lie to my parents and I hated the stealing.
At least he didn't say, “No more drinking.”
I thought about the vodka in my closet. No more stealing was much easier than no more drinking. “No more stealing,” I agreed. I felt like I was crossing my fingers behind my back, but I added, “And no more lying.”
Maybe just not saying anything is close enough for now.

Doc talked for most of the rest of the session. Mom and Dad agreed to put the detective off until after the musical. Mom would call and schedule the appointment tomorrow, though, just so they knew we were cooperating in the investigation.

Then Doc started defending me to my parents. “I don't condone breaking the law,” she began, “but all things considered, Sandy has made some very positive choices in dealing with an incredibly stressful and difficult situation. The writing . . . the martial arts . . . Most kids would not have the resilience to distance themselves from friends who were not supportive and find new friends who were. Some kids never, ever find the courage to tell.”

She paused, taking a good look at each one of us. “There's a lot for us to work on, but there's a lot for us to work with, too. Your family is strong. You're going to get through this.”

She said it with such assurance, I almost believed her.

O Time thou must untangle this, not I!
It is too hard a knot for me to untie!

—Twelfth Night
, Act II, Scene ii, Lines 38-39

S
HANIKA TEXTED ME
that night asking if everything was okay and wondering why I wasn't at school or rehearsal that day. I texted her back saying I was fine and that I'd catch up with her tomorrow. The next day she seemed surprised that the police were investigating the sexual assault rather than the shoplifting. But we were both happy to focus on the musical and leave everything else for after-wards.

As show time drew nearer, Shanika picked me up each morning and drove me home after rehearsals every evening. We were really clicking together on stage. The timing, the energy, everything just seemed to flow whenever we both took the stage. Hamilton even commented on it.

Friday night was opening night, and Saturday night was closing night with no performances to worry about in between. “Make 'em both count!” Hamilton advised. My parents and grandparents came
to both. Shanika's dad came to both. I even saw Hector in the front row both nights. I didn't see Troy or Cassie either night.

Just as well. Cassie doesn't go anywhere without Aaron anymore.
I'd had another session with Doc, and we talked about what I might do in case I ran into Aaron or he came to the musical. But he wasn't there, and I'd managed to avoid him entirely all week.