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After a quick survey of the room, Mr. Graham chose the couch bathed in sunlight. “Nice office.” Take that, Malaysia.
“Thanks. It’s new.” After recent events, I was surprised he didn’t make a production of who would sit where. He just planted his delectable rear on a cushion, quietly waiting for me. Why couldn’t all my clients do that? If one particular client did, I’d still be in California, living my best old life.
“I’ll be right with you.” I proclaimed out of habit while crossing to my desk. Seizing writing supplies in one hand, I set the timer on my watch. Going over the allotted time for each patient cost us all money. Well, it would cost me if I had another client scheduled.
Right then, it dawned that though my work life was still predictable, it was unrecognizable too. I was blessed that most of the changes were good and would roll with the rest. Pivoting on my heels, I found Mr. Graham leaning forward, arms hanging off his knees. His stormy grays were concentrated on me as if he was hungry, and I was the meal. That damn carnal hunger of mine came flowing back like a tsunami. My dark blue jean dress with a sweetheart neckline and tiny shoulder straps started to shrink around my body. Was it me, or was it getting hot in here too?
Ignoring the desire to fan myself, I took a gigantic breath in then strutted to my armchair directly in front of him. Why the hell was I strutting? Just sit, Cherise, and stay seated until this was over, and he was long gone. With an end of session-strategy in place, I only needed a plan to get through the session. While I tried to concoct a strategy in my head, he was waiting for me to speak. There was something I was supposed to say, but I came up with nothing. My spiel for kicking off appointments had escaped me. His stare was destroying me. The sun giving him an ethereal glow wasn’t helping.
Although, I’d put him in the avenging angel category. In my off-hours, I wondered for the umpteenth time if this guy would’ve really hurt us when we first met. Even then, there was nothing sweet about him. Not evil either, unlike Shane. The intensity that billowed off of Mr. Graham like smoke hindered simple thinking back then and now. Worse, the quiet in the room was getting louder. Say something, Cherise.
“Ah, is it too bright in here? I can lower the blinds a bit. Whatever you need to feel comfortable.” I came off breathless again and desperate. My lack of a sex life was showing.
Glancing over at the windows, he smirked as if he knew something I didn’t. “No, it’s fine. Sunlight is a free anti-depressant, right? What part of my life do you want to start with? Traumatic recent events or traumatic past events? Fucked up seems to be the theme for my world.” Regret flashed across his handsome mug. “Sorry about the f-bomb.”
His heavy gaze swung back my way. I realized he was starting the session, doing my job. I was in deep, deep trouble. No one had to know that unless I broadcasted it, though. Crossing my legs, I searched for that clinically-detached headspace and shifted the legal pad for taking notes in my lap.
“Cursing is fine, Mr. Graham. It helps release anger and stress, actually. That doesn’t mean to go into a family-friendly place and drop more f-bombs. I’m sorry you had more than one trauma, one being too many in my book. But, that’s life and why we need to vent about it. Let’s start at the beginning of your life, working our way through the years.” I almost applauded myself for speaking full sentences.
Mr. Graham’s eagle-focus dropped to my legs, where the exposed skin tingled. “Well, I was born thirty-six-years ago to drug addicts.”
I shouldn’t have found him being only a couple years older than me pleasing, but did. A part of me always wanted to get to know him better. He intrigued me even on that fateful night long ago, and he wasn’t kidding about trauma being his life’s theme. As he disclosed, he seemed to go from one tragedy to the next in Long Island as a child. Losing his parents to live in state-sanctioned group homes where adults were one to every twenty boys. The adults weren’t nurturing. It was on him as a five-year-old to decide what was best for him and Greg. That was too much for me.
No one deserved a childhood more than Mr. Graham and his brother did. Sadly, the other Mr. Graham would never have one. I could give Tobin one. Mercifully, my muted watch’s alarm vibrating against my skin cautioned me time was up. I raised my hand to cut him off midsentence.
Confused, he inquired, “I say something wrong?” If he said another word, I’d probably cry. Never finding that clinically-detached headspace, I’d hung off his every depressing word.
“No, just hold that thought for the next session. Time’s up for this one and none too soon. Too much rehashing of the past tends to drag people down in the present.” I was at rock bottom myself though it wasn’t my story. “I’m going to piss you off now with giving you some homework.”
An arched eyebrow rose up his forehead. “Seriously?” he complained like, well, a five-year-old.
It was hard to keep a straight face. “Yep. Have you heard about the little carnival that’s sprung up right outside the city for the next two weeks?”
His other eyebrow jacked up. “Yeah. What does that have to do with homework?”
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“It’s your assignment. You have two weeks to spend at least two of the evenings at the carnival’s while it's here. You will act like a kid there until you’re tired, then you go home. I promise you’ll sleep like a baby at night and smile while doing it.” Mr. Graham was about as tightly wound as they came.
His hiked up eyebrows plummeted so his face could rearrange itself into disbelief. “I don’t know how to act like a kid.”
“Exactly. I bet you have no happy memories as a carefree kid or adult. Your childhood has been one trial after the other. That’s when you should have been discovering yourself. If you do not get acting like a kid out of the way, you will do it when you have kids. Kids have no business raising kids, overgrown or otherwise. Bad things we’ve been through and those we haven’t experienced but should’ve will manifest in other parts of our lives when it shouldn’t. Your girlfriend and future wife will thank me later.” The lucky bitches.
He started to laugh and kept doing it. It got so bad he fell over sideways on the couch, holding his sides. His humor was perplexing but contagious. I only allowed my lips to curve upward as he got the laughter out of his system. While waiting, I leaned forward to swing the legal pad from my fingertips patiently. What else did I have to do?
Eventually, his amusement faded away. He resumed an upright position, eyes twinkling back at me. That was probably the happiest he had ever been. “I think I needed that, Dr. Johnston.”
“We all need that. Now, can you tell me what was so funny, Mr. Graham?”
A controlled chuckle broke free from him. “You meant who’s funny? You are. I don’t have the faintest clue about girlfriends. I haven’t and wouldn’t saddle a woman with someone who isn’t worthy of her for life.” Make that unlucky bitches then.
Tipping my head sideways, I asked him, “Why not? Despite our beginnings, you don’t present as a cruel man. After what you just said about women, you’re more protective than anything of them.” Trust me, I’d examined our first interaction from every angle on many lonely nights. Not once had he ever given off ‘I’m about to beat or kill you’ signals. As he divulged more things about himself, he only cemented my opinion of him. He’d been dealt a bad hand at birth. He’d been playing it with a moral guide ever since.
When he simply stared at me as if no one had ever told him something good about himself, I deduced I’d left him speechless. “I’m going to leave you with a question. You can answer it for me the next time we meet.”
“What is it?” He sat up, listening avidly just as I wanted him to.
“Are any of us worthy, Mr. Graham?” I got up, or I’d continue to sit there. He was easy to talk to once I knew he was a mostly harmless man. “I’ll walk you out. Make another appointment with Miss. Clark for whatever time fits your schedule between nine and five, Monday through Saturday. Two weeks is the longest you should go without seeing me. When you come back, I want a full report on your days at the carnival and an answer to my question. You may write down your thoughts on it if you want to for me to read.” I was not above tricking people into journaling. It was a healthy, informal way of releasing secrets and pent-up feelings between sessions.
