“Growing up, Cooper was the golden boy. Dad loved that he looked like Mom. Bragged to anyone who would listen about his natural athletic ability. All anyone noticed about me was my speech issues. Mom tried to make me feel special, but there was always that gleam in her eye when someone brought up Cooper. And then you moved in and I became obsolete. Mom doted on you. Cooper took you under his wing. Even dad was nice to you. I didn’t matter anymore.”
My heart breaks for little Logan. I remember how timid and quiet he was. I always thought it was his way of being rebellious. You know, perfect life and all. I never imagined those antisocial traits were because of his insecurities. “That’s not true, Logan. Everyone loved you.”
He snort-laughs. “Yeah right.” He pauses for a slow, shaky breath, then continues. “I thought you and I would be close. We were both rejects in our own families—no offense—but you fell under the Cooper spell too.”
“You wouldn’t talk to me.” Those first few weeks, I tried to be his friend. I’d sit next to him, a big smile on my face and say hey. Logan would usually stare out me, eyes wide, mouth slack. At this point he’d either run to his room and lock himself inside or ignore me all together. Eventually I stopped trying and he started waving or giving timid smiles when I was in the room. It took years but I finally got sentences out of him.
“I couldn’t talk to you Piper, physically couldn’t. And then Cooper had to go and be your savior the first night when you had that nightmare. Any chance I had at you noticing me was gone the moment I saw you blinded by all that is Cooper.”
“You were there for that?” My nightmares back then were simple: locked out of the house, trapped in a closet, forgotten for days without food. They were nothing compared to what I’ve got now.
“Yeah, Piper. I watched from the doorway as everyone rushed in to save you.”
“I…I didn’t know.”
“Everything was always about you and Cooper.” He shakes his head, years of disappointment written on his face. “You know, I scored the winning touchdown at our Homecoming game freshman year? But all mom cared about was you. How you were gonna handle moving back in with your real mother. She didn’t even tell me I did a good jo
b at the game. It’s like she wasn’t even there but I know she was because I saw her in the stands. That’s the moment I started to hate you.”
Logan exhales and looks up at me. “People talked about you all the time. Everything they said fizzled out in a day or two. So, when Tad asked why Cooper was always up your ass, I made something up. I didn’t know that rumor would take off like it did. It snowballed out of control and it’s all my fault. And then with everything that happened this summer…” He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, shakes his head and reaches for my hand, fingers curling around my palm.
One Mississippi.
The balloon in my chest inflates. Tiny needles spread from my hand up my arm, similar to the feeling of when your foot falls asleep but ten times worse. My head is foggy, I hear the words he’s saying but they aren’t fully processing in my mind.
“I wish I had been a better brother to you. I was stupid and selfish and in reality, a whole lot jealous. If we were closer, maybe you would have come to me instead of leaving the party that night. If we had a better relationship maybe that asshole wouldn’t have…”
I pull my hand from underneath Logan’s and rest it on his shoulder. The pressure in my chest deflates, needles disappearing almost as quickly as they came. Logan’s honey eyes, red rimmed and puffy, meet my grays. “Nothing you could have done would have changed what happened. You can’t blame yourself for the way that night went down.”
Logan gives a half chuckle. “You’d make a good therapist.”
“I’ve seen our counselor more times than I’ll admit this year. I’d be disappointed if I couldn’t offer some advice at this point.”
Blue ballpoint pen raps against lined paper in my inch thick file. The pages inside scribbled with notes about my mom, how I’ve adjusted this year, and about the days we sat in silence.
Mamma T forced me to see Ms. Cherrybroom when I was released from the psych ward last August. I was only there for three days, the mandatory minimum when Baker Acted, but believe me when I say that three days in there is three too many. I left with a prescription for antidepressants, that I refuse to take, and a referral for a therapist. My weekly turned monthly visits with the school counselor was our compromise.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
“We’re down to three sessions, Piper.” Ms. Cherrybroom’s a big lady. Not fat, just big. Like an Amazonian woman. The large oak desk that fills most of the room looks small under her. Conversely, the leather seat I’m in, purchased as a matching set, practically swallows me.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
“I wish you’d consider Post-Secondary School. You’re too smart to waste your life in a dead end job. I’ve got connections at the Community College here. We can work something out, get you an academic scholarship. There’s no reason why our valedictorian can’t go to school.”
Same song different tune. Ms. Cherrybroom’s convinced my attempt at taking my life was a fluke. She doesn’t know the real reason behind it or about the two other failed attempts. She did however teach me how to better manage my anxiety attacks: breathe through them, control the situation, picture myself in a happy situation etc. Now that I’m all better—in her eyes— she’s convinced I’m ready for the real world which includes parties, college, and things she can’t legally talk about...whatever that means.
“I’m moving the day after graduation.”
Ms. Cherrybroom’s eyes light up. “I’m so glad to hear that. Where did you enroll?”