To Be Awake and Unafraid

They had him on the ground. Attempting to stay in the fetal position proved didn't help; they still managed to kick him in the stomach with such force that he was soon coughing up blood. The faint metallic taste of blood in his mouth made him gag, breaking his position, making him venerable, as he began to throw up while violently shaking. Taking this opportunity, one of his attackers brandished a knife. Bending down, the attacker looked him in the eye, the knife held at his stomach, his eyes full of rage and hate.

"Good night, Mikey."

Mikey woke up with tears streaming down his face. He look about his room, making sure that it was his room that he was actually in. He stared at the ceiling with wild eyes while his hand traveled towards his abdomen. Near the middle of his stomach, he felt a deep scar that wasn't fully healed. He could feel the stitches that had yet to dissolve. Thinking back to his nightmare, Mikey broke out into a cold sweat. It had been almost 2 months since the attack but it was still fresh in his memory.

Mikey got up and looked at the clock. 3:33. He headed downstairs, past his mothers room, to the kitchen. The light from the refrigerator was a shock, as the entire house had nary a light on, save for a dim lamp or two. he poured his water and sat at the bar, his hands clasped about the moist, cold glass.

"Whats on your mind?" The voice startled Mikey. He looked and it was his elder brother, Gerard, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. Mikey laughed nervously. "I just got thirsty." He looked at his brother, giving him a weak smile that he probably couldn't even see. Gerard came to the bar and sat with him.

"So did you hear about what mom decided to do?" asked Gerard.
"No, I didn't." replied Mikey.
"She's going to put you in post-trauma counseling."
"Why would she do that?"
"Mikey...are you really asking that question?"

Mikey looked down. He knew exactly why she was doing this. She saw that something was wrong. She saw that he was disturbed and wasn't at all the guy that he used to be. He was suddenly introverted and ever-nervous. Mikey felt his throat begin to tighten and hurt. He thanked God for the darkness. He then made his way back upstairs, leaving his water and his brother.

Mikey woke up at 11 am on Saturday morning. He picked up the remote to his dock and turned his iPod on. He grabbed his journal from inside his pillowcase and begin to write.

Gerard says mom is signing me up for post-trauma counseling. There's probably gonna be some shrink with a bunch of degrees plastered on the wall that don't mean shit to me. I'm not talking. I won't talk. I can't talk. He promised what he'd do if I told. I can't risk that. They can't make me. I had another nightmare. He was about to kill me in this one.

As he was putting his journal away, Danielle, their mother, popped into Mikey's room. "Mikey darlin'!" She was truly a ray of sunshine in the sulky, sullen room and Mikey couldn't help but to smile. "Sweety, we're going somewhere at 2, so be ready, m'kay love?"

"Yes mom." said Mikey. "Where are we going?" His mother came and set on the side of his bed. She kissed his forehead.

"I'm gonna take you to a post-trauma counselor." She took his hand in hers. She was the type of mother that was overly affectionate and truly in despair now that one of her sons was grown and the other was well on the way. "Sweetie, you haven't been yourself ever since that...incident. You won't even talk about it but I, eh, I think that it would do you some good just to give it a chance."

Mikey shifted in position. "I don't know..."

"For Pete's sake, just give it a chance!" Gerard yelled from outside the door. He had apparently been earhustling.

"Okay." Mikey said. He was only agreeing to this for his mothers sake.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, while looking about ready to cry. Mikey gave her a smile back, a genuine one, which prompted a tear to fall from her eye.

At about 2, Mikey and his mother were in the counselor's office, in the waiting room, waiting for the counselor, who also happened to be a psychoanalyst.

"Micheal Way?" A receptionist stood at the door.

Mikey raised his hand. The receptionist gave him a warm smile and motioned for him to follow her. They came to a door which bore the nameplate, "Ray Toro - Psychoanalyst".
"Psychoanalyst?" Mikey said to receptionist in a confused tone, but she had already left his side.

Mikey opened the door and was hit by the exotic scent of incense. As he was walked in, he was surprised to see that there were no chairs, but two beanbags on the floor. Between the two bean bags, there was a table with incense burning on it. There were different colored lights all about the room. The carpet was plush and there were throw rugs about the floor, one of a peace sign, the other of a heart. Next to the door, there was a sign that read "No shoes, dude" with a basket underneath. Mikey assumed the basket was to put your shoes in and removed his dirty old black converse and threw them in. The room was smokey and had a hazy sort of feeling to it. Mikey got comfortable on one of the bean bags and picked up a magazine that was lying near it. It was a catalog from someplace called "Hippie Surplus". He raised his eyebrow at this this and began to finger through the catalog. There were some things of interest and a few peculiar stickers, one of which that said "A friend with weed is a friend indeed." Mikey chuckled at this when a voice from behind startled him.

"I suppose its the friend indeed sticker you're looking at."

Mikey turned around and was a bit taken aback. There stood a tall man with big, curly hair. A band was tied about his fro'. He sported a dashiki, bell-bottom jeans, and small, circle-framed glasses.

"Err, yeah." said Mikey. "Are you Dr. Toro?"

The man made his way to the other beanbag and plopped down. "Yes I am. I see that you're here because..." He pulled a clipboard from beneath the table and began to flip through it. "Ah, yes. So...Micheal? Can I call you Mikey? I like to be as informal in here as possible. Helps the atmosphere."

Mikey replied with a "Yeah, sure."

Dr. Toro pulled a pen from somewhere in his afro. This prompted Mikey to think of all the things that could fit in the psychoanalysts hair. "Okay, Mikey. First things first. Tell me how old you are, what kind of things you like to do, and what kind of animal you'd be if you could be one." These were, save for the first one, questions that Mikey had not expected him to ask. Mikey hadn't done anything he liked in such a long time that he sat quietly for a while with his eyes closed.

"Go on, take as much time as you'd like. But remember, we've only got an hour."

"I'm almost 17 years old." Mikey started. "I haven't really done anything I liked in a while...but I guess I like writing in my journal. Yeah, I do that everyday. Um, well, I haven't really been doing anything else. I used to cook and play video games sometimes. I read sometimes now. I don't really do anything."

"That's rad, man. Super." Dr. Toro was lighting another incense, as the other one had burned out. "Now tell me what animal you'd like to be."

"A panther."

"Do you know why?"

Mikey looked to his lap and fiddled with his fingers. "No."

"That's a nervous trait, you know." Dr. Toro spoke in a softer voice. "Fiddling with your fingers is a nervous trait. Do you know what you're nervous about?"

Mikey fiddled with his fingers at a more rapid pace.

"Chill, man. Embrace the incense. It's a special scent! Said to relax the soul and, hopefully, calm the nerves."
"I'd want to be a panther...because...panthers are strong. Deadly. And fast."
"Are those traits that you wished you had?"

"Wha-no! Me? No..." Mikey's eyes got wide. He hadn't expected that reply.

"Relax, relax!" advised the doctor. "We're gonna have to work on this. You're so uptight that its kind of affecting me. Chill, dude. Take in the incense.

"Umm, okay."

"Cool, cool. So...." He was writing something down and had removed his glasses. "I usually wait a week or so after he first visit to assign peeps to each other but...for you, I'm assigning you another one of my guys. I don't like to call you guys patients. Too damn formal and it makes you guys sound mental or something."

"Wait..." Mikey said. "You assign us to each other?"

"Yeah, like I want you guys to meet up. Get to know each other. It'll be helpful cause, ya know, yo don't seem to be busy at all. You need to have friends, man, they're good for each other. Now the guy I'm assigning you, name's Frank by the way, he's not my patient anymore but he's around your age and I know you'll like him. Course' he's kinda the entire opposite of you but, hey, who knows?"

"You know?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Dr. Toro. "I know cause I'm the doctor. You guys are perfect for each other. Now, listen here dude: I won't ever tell your mom or your bro or whoever else comes in here about what we talk about. I'm not allowed to and, frankly, its none of their goddamn business...unless, of course, you want it to be their goddamn business. Then you tell them whatever you like. I wouldn't recommend that you make it their business, though." He smiled. "Well, man, our hour is up! I'll have my groovy receptionist lady to give you Frank's number and you call him up. Make a date. I don't wanna see you next week and you didn't call him and hang out, got that man? We're cool? Yes! Alright! We're done!"

"Thanks Doctor." Mikey gave the doctor a smile. This guy was eccentric if he ever knew an eccentric person.

"Oh yeah!" Dr. Toro stopped Mikey as he was sitting on the floor, putting on his shoes. He handed him a long package. "These are relaxation incense. Burn em' sometimes. When you're got a lot of tension going on or something. Okay. Got it? GREAT!! See you next week!"

Mikey then stepped out, the receptionist waiting at the door for him, number in hand. Mikey wondered how she knew to have the number ready but dismissed it. He slipped it into his pocket and stepped out onto the parking lot to go towards his mom's car.