ShameLess (3 page)

“Tell me, S’renaty, how does that make you feel?” He asks in his usual monotone voice. I turn my head to the side so he can’t see my eyes rolling at his skillful questioning. The question never changes. His voice never alters.

Dr. Bradford, like his intonation, does not vary. He wears the same heavily starched white button down, the same navy blue tie, the same black dress pants with a crease down the front of each leg, and the same pair of matching monogrammed silver cuff links in the buttonholes of his stiff French cuffed sleeves that also match the silver tie tack that secures his tie into position. Every single visit. Never changes.

I am as bored of his interrogations as I am of his absence of altered attire.

Bored stiff.

“S’renaty?”

I clear my throat, snapping back into the present, “Oh! Yes. I’m sorry. I was just thinking about ‘
how that makes me feel
’.”

I stare up at the pewter punch-tin tile embellishing his office ceiling. I gaze at this identical piece during each of my visits, and every single time he asks me this clear-cut question. Only, it is not. How do I feel? How am I supposed to feel? If I tell him the whole truth, he may push to put me in an institution. If I lie, he will be able to tell, right? For a few minutes, I remain silent. Right. Wrong. Regardless, any answer I give will not actually suffice. There is just no possible way of revealing the extent of how I feel.
How
this makes me feel. I have been seeing him for the past couple of years, and nothing has mended my heart, my loss. Like him, nothing about me actually seems changed, except sometimes because of the extent of my pain, my tongue likes to lash out in retaliation. Is this wrong? Somehow, I think I feel justified. I feel like maybe I might be growing a backbone.

Heavily and deeply, I sigh. Upon a slow release of exhale, I state, “Well, Dr. Bradford, I think I am better. I
think
I feel as if you have helped me. As a result, I actually feel as if I am ready to move forward with living my life again.”

Now, I wait because his expression suddenly transitions from offering surprise to open confusion. After a few brief moments, I go on, “What I am saying is that I actually believe it is in my best interest to try to move forward. I think I need to start anew. I have been thinking about proposing the idea to my parents about transferring schools so I can start over, make new friends, and try to recover the pieces of
me
I have lost.”

Instantly, his expression softens. He rubs his left forefinger across the arc of his eyebrow while contemplating
my feelings
and tapping his pen upon the pad
. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Almost drives me crazy. I stare at him, forcing him to become aware of my chagrin as I ask, “So, how do you feel about this, Dr. Bradford?”

“Well…” He clears his throat, and briefly pauses before continuing, “Well, I see. Actually, to be honest, I can see you have spent a lot of time considering this option. Professionally, I support your decision and agree this will help empower you to overcome your grief…your loss. S’renaty, with your permission, I would like to make a formal declaration on your behalf to your parents. Will this be okay with you?” He rests his hands in his lap, and I sit upright on the chaise lounge, facing him more formally.

“Perfect! Yep, I mean, that’s awesome. I appreciate it. Thank you.” I give him a genuine smile since part of me being thrilled at his offer to talk to my parents will surely satisfy the ‘Agent’ in my dad. The other part of me is just downright frightened. I can barely comprehend just how much. Yes, I have mixed feelings. Inside, I am not sure whether the brilliant doc is onto me or whether I have succeeded at convincing him more than myself that this decision is what is best for me. At any rate, there is no turning around now. I know what is at stake, and I want this opportunity. I need this, whatever it takes.

As the doctor excuses himself, it gives me a reason and ample time to key a short text to my dad, letting him know the appointment ran a little later than expected, but I would be on my way soon. I turn off my phone’s ringer and change the vibration setting before throwing it into my bag. Still uncertain as to how I actually do feel, I meander toward the door. Doctor Bradford stops me briefly just as my hand reaches the doorknob.

“S’renaty, please ask your mother to call the office to schedule an appointment for her and your dad to come see me. I am proud of the progress you have made. Remember one thing for me as you embark on your new journey of regaining your sense of self; as you work through each day, and embrace rebuilding your new life for yourself, will you?”

“What’s that?”

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” He smiles at me. It is the first time I have ever seen this man smile in two freaking years. He catches me completely off guard, and I am truly baffled as to why he is saying this. I respond with the one thing my body immediately prompts; I nod.

“Mae West.” He must observe my state of uncertainty because he now says, “Words of wisdom from a controversial movie star of her day.” He abruptly chuckles with the full exposé of his words. Once again, I nod, not knowing quite how to respond.

Sensing my unease, he states, “She was a movie star but raised a lot of havoc regarding her morality during her time. Many opposed her. Some appreciated her. She did not conform. Ms. West lived a life she felt proud of, one without regret. In the end, for her, once was enough. All I am saying is live, S’renaty. Do not hang your head in shame and allow what you have been through to continue to haunt you. Hold your head high, square your shoulders, and walk through life with poise. Smile, laugh, and enjoy living – truly living. In the end, be proud of
who
you are, and the decisions you make.”

There are parts of his speech that I happen to agree with. If he actually knew how much I just snowballed him into believing he helped me, and that I hold faith in being prepared to live my life, or any of the other cockamamie bull I fed him earlier, I feel confident he would definitely commit me. He would sign those papers within a mere second. Thankfully, he will never know.

“Thanks Dr. Bradford. I appreciate it. I’ll try. I honestly will. Well, I had better go. My dad’s…” I let my words trail off in shame of deceiving him, and pivot away from him heading toward the door. I turn the doorknob, and begin to leave his office. The loud zing from my phone vibrating alerts me, making me jump.

“No worries; go ahead. Answer your phone. I’ll see you at our next session.” I add a quick smile and wave but continue walking out into the hallway.

I fish through my purse, digging inside looking for my cellphone as I continue to walk as fast as I can down the hallway, further away from the philosophical psychiatrist. Yep! There is a good one for ya! A psychiatric examiner giving your mind more reason to need examined. Finally, I locate my phone and take it out. I see a text from my dad asking me to join him at the beach house.
Great! I don’t have time for this. I love the beach, but…
I send him a quick text letting him know I will call him later, instead.

Upon sending, I am brought to an abrupt halt. No warning signs. No waving red flags. No sirens blare in the distance. The earth does not move. The glass on the Professional Medical Arts building does not rattle, shake or break. I am at a complete standstill – motionless – in my tracks by his body and his voice.

“Hey! Watch where you are going,” etches off his tongue like carving a block of ice. His attitude is just as icy.

I freeze, squeezing my fingers tightly around my iPhone. I am given no opportunity to respond. “Ah, Stefan. I see you have met S’renaty.” The drone from Dr. Bradford’s speech interrupts our brief encounter.

This time, I coolly state, “It’s Ren, Dr. Bradford, and actually, we haven’t met. I’m on my way out, and not a moment too soon, I might add. See you next visit.”

I curtly smile at the doc before slinging an icy glare in the direction of the cocky and arrogant stranger whose body language demands attention. I shove my phone in my purse, and stomp off, never once looking over my shoulder.

I turn into the Park Lawns Cemetery and continue up the slight hill, nearing the final resting place of my best friend. I park along the grassy edge, under the canopy of a massive old oak tree.

I pop in Bette Midler’s
Beaches Soundtrack
CD, put it on repeat, and wait patiently for it to start. Once it does, I crank it up. This is the CD Elle and I used to love. It reminds me of her and is perfect for today. I put my head back against the headrest taking in every single word.

This is my first time here. Before now, I could not bring myself to visit. I think because doing so would require a sense of detachment and finality that I was neither able to accept, nor willing to admit.
God, I miss you!

“Did you ever know that you're my hero, and everything I would like to be?”

I close my eyes and belt out the words along with the moving cadence of the music, letting its tempo fully sink in. After a few moments, I draw in and release a warm, soulful breath. This is it. I open my car door and step out of the car. As I slowly make my way over to where she lay for the past two years, I know the truth. Elle is my hero. Truly, since she has been gone, her strength still inspires me just as it always has.

Today marks the anniversary of her death. One tragic night ripped her from my life. One fateful event forever changed me. In my mind, I know I would be nothing today without her. I never even had the opportunity to tell her. As I listen to the lyrics of the song blaring from my car surround system, I truly realize she was, and still is, everything I ever wanted to be. She was strong, confident, assured, and…

I reach her gravesite, and immediately fall to my knees.

“‘The wind beneath my wings’. Thank you, thank you, Elle. You always let me shine. You always had my back. I’m so truly sorry…” I hang my head in shame and bury my face in the palms of both of my hands. The pain of being here, of seeing her name scrolled across this tombstone – cold, hard – is real. It is so frightfully, very real. The truth stings my heart as deeply as the tears sting my eyes.

“I am going away, Elle. I will not say, ‘good-bye’. I will only say farewell, for now; my dear, sweet friend. I’ve been so broken without you. I can’t sleep at nights. Your face and the pain in your eyes that night when you thought I hurt you, haunts my dreams. The taunts I got from everyone who blames me have pushed me to the edge. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but I didn’t have the chance to explain it to you. I’m falling apart, Elle, barely breathing and the pain is so intense…”

A loud crackle releases from deep in my lungs, making its way up my throat, and escapes my lips, “Oh, God! Elle, I miss you. I hear your voice inside my head. I see our memories replay in my heart. I’ve lost my way. I don’t know who I am without you. You always thought I was the one to look up to. You are the one I looked up to. I wish I had told you. You are my rock. Even now.”

As the whispered words leave my mouth, I purge every twisted emotion, and scream, “Why? Why God? WHY?”

Within one single moment that feels like a lifetime, my whole being finally releases, violently breaking down. I start sobbing, “I’m barely holding on. I’m fighting to learn how to go on without you. I. Don’t. Know. How. I have to try, Elle. I will never forget you. I will always keep you in my heart, now broken, but still beating. Every single day spent living without you is hard to face. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Remember that first day of second grade when you asked me at recess, ‘wanna play’? You were so brave. I wasn’t, but gosh, I was so happy you asked. Or, how about in the sixth grade during our walk to school when Jeff Ickes jumped out of the tall pines, shoved me, and demanded my lunch money. You stood up for me? He used to bully me all the time, until that time when you stomped on his foot and elbowed him in the ribs so hard he stumbled backwards in a daze.”