We step outside, and I lean my back against the brick wall of the building, nodding my head to the bench for her to sit if she wants. She places her bag down and sits on the bench, pulling her legs up on top of it with her, and facing me.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say. It sounds obvious, but I tell her anyway. “I’m—” I feel stupid saying proud, like it’s some gold star I’m trying to give her. I say it anyway cause I think it matters. “I’m proud of you for coming.”
Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile too hard. “I almost didn’t,” she says. “I sat in the library for twenty minutes making a list of why it was a terrible idea, why I didn’t want to tell other kids I’d probably see around campus all my problems.”
“New rooms can be pretty intimidating.”
Her eyes flick toward the campus that’s still filled with students walking by. “I didn’t know you were—”
“Psych major. Clinical hours.”
She squints at me in mock suspicion. “Psych, huh? Wouldn’t have guessed that looking at you.”
I bark out a laugh before I can think better of it. “What does that mean?”
She shrugs, cheeks going a little pink like she didn’t expect herself to say that. “You’re…not really what I picture when I thinktherapist.”
I pretend to be offended. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She tips her head, searching for what line she’s willing to cross here. “Um, good to look at,” she says, shyly. “But the distraction that can be is probably the bad part.”
It’s not obvious flirtation; it’s subtle, and makes me feel things I know I shouldn’t.
“I could shave and wear a clip-on tie next week?” I offer.
“Oh, please don’t,” she says, laughing.
“I wanted to make sure something is clear, though. If being in a group I help facilitate makes you uncomfortable, I can switch nights. No hard feelings. I want the room to feel safe for everyone.”
Her eyes snap back to mine, surprised, then relieved. “It was…weird for, like, a second,” she says. “Then it made me feel—” She pauses, thinking. “Less weird? I don’t know…kinda made me feelmorecomfortable for some reason.”
“If that changes, tell me. I’ll move. We’ve got a Thursday group. It’s not an issue.”
She nods. The breeze lifts the small pieces of her hair, and I hold onto every feature of hers.
“How are you?” I ask, careful to keep the question focused on tonight, not asking for my own personal need to know. “I know first nights can be…a lot.”
She studies the parking lot, then looks at her hands around her legs. I’ve noticed how she avoids eye contact. Like, she’ll give it to you for a second or two, to be normal, and then look near you or at something on herself just to break the stare. It’s…I don’t want to say cute…but…I don’t have another word unless I want to pull out the therapist analyzing card, which I don’t want to do with her.
“Yeah,” she says. “But like good still, like you just have to get past the first awkward part, knowing it’ll be worth it after.”
“It will be,” I tell her, then look at my watch. “I won’t keep you,” I say, pushing off the wall. “But it was good to see you. I’m here on Wednesdays. We keep check-ins tight at the door, no therapy in the hallways. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’ll always be here to hear you out.”
She nods, standing up and walking across the grass a couple of steps before turning back. “I’ll probably come next week,” she says, like she’s really just making the deal with herself out loud.
“I hope I see you,” I tell her, and mean it more than I should. “If you change your mind, that’s okay too.”
She nods and slips off into the night. I just watch, arms folded, staring like I can will whatever desire I have to be around her away with telling myself it’s nothing. It’s just caring about another person in a human-to-human kind of way. Of course it is. It can’t be anything else. She’s still just a stranger.
Even when I hate that she is.
61
Lydia
My late request to add Psych Health to my classes was finally approved this week. I’ve been trying to adjust my courses to align more with the possibility of a social work major. I haven’t declared my major, or even told anyone that I was considering social work…or what I would do with it…but it just feels right. I could make a difference there, right? I don’t know, maybe not, but I’d like to maybe try, however that looks.
I’m one of the first in class this afternoon, introducing myself to the professor before class starts and trying to get a couple of things in line to catch up on assignments. Then I sit in a top seat, because for some reason, today my brain is okay with not being closest to the door, to an exit, to an escape. I feel present today, and I feel safe. From the world, from the people in it, and from my mind. Today is a good day.Let’s keep it that way.
