My eyes may be staring at the man, but my mind is playing out what dinner will go best with my Jack and Pepsi tonight.
Maybe hot wings.I wonder if Anchorman’s Bar will deliver. Maybe if I use my celebrity status, they-
“Zander. Did you hear me?”
“Huh?” I catch his stare, *dazed* “yeah. I can do that.” Not really sure what I agreed to, but if it gets this quack to shut his yap and let me leave, I’ll say just about anything.
I stand and flex my hands, roll my shoulders as much as I could, then shift around to release the tension building inside. I’m a caged animal pacing back and forth, waiting for the door to open so as to be set free.
Sitting for long periods of time can make my left side uncomfortable and sometimes numb to my elbow. That is only a piece of my gory tale.
“Great,” my therapist stands, grabbing my file off the table, “I would love to see some of your poetry.”
“We will see.” No emotion, my mask in place. Who does he think he is? That is not happening. I do not write poetry anymore. Not for anyone. That sensitive man died in Afghanistan.
Again, why do I even go to these fricken things?
Because your mother would kick your ass if you stopped going.
Well, isn’t that the truth. She can be scary when she wants to be, and fuck if I want to be in her war path.
I heave a mental sigh as I wait for the receptionist to give me the card with my new appointment date. Would this be the one I skip?
Tempting.
I climb in my battered Chevy truck, the hinges creaking as I close the door. Just as I was gearing up to turn the key over, my cellphone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and let out a curse when I glance the name of the caller. It’s the other woman in my life who I’m surprised has not kicked my ass yet, “hey sis.”
My sister Emma has been relentless in helping me find my way back. I love her, but I wish she would leave me be. I want to be left alone, to drown in my suffering; my newfound escape from reality.
“How’d the appointment go today?” She asks straight out of the gate, not even a hello. How rude! Then again, I should be used to it by now. She does this after every appointment.
As tiny as my big sister is, Emma can give a good beating; maybe because she grew up with all boys. She knew she had to be tough in order to survive. Growing up I’d pumble anyone who’d picked on her and called her names. We are only fourteen months apart; Irish twins in a Polish family, try and figure that one out. We’d often give our parents a good run around. We were always close.Always.
Can’t say much of it now. Yet another thing that is all my fault.
My eyes roll as I glance out at the hazy sunbaked city. September seems to be having an Indian summer heatwave. Reminds me how much I miss the desert. Not a bit of air conditioning there.
If it wasn’t for being discharged, I’d be back there in a heartbeat.
Best not to lollygag and keep her waiting, she will pester me until I spill whatever she thinks might be positive in today’s session.
No way am I mentioning the non-AA party I’m throwing tonight. She would make sure to pop over and shut that shit down.
No sir. Not happening.
*Annoyed* “He wants to see me write again, I guess.”
Her tone brightens, “oh that is wonderful, I love your poetry and songs. Speaking of songs, how would you feel about meeting tonight at our old stomping ground? The band is in town, and they would love to see you.”
And there it is, her real reason for calling. She always does this and has tried getting me out of the house on more than one occasion; I always turn her down.
Emma views this dismissal as her invitation to stop by and annoy the shit out of me. Sibling competition is a big to-do in our family.
At least there would be booze involved if I go. I can sit at the bar and watch the band. I haven’t heard from Derek in over a year other than the welcome home text he sent me while he was touring with the band. He probably wouldn’t even recognize me.
I don’t even recognize me.
“I don’t know-