Caught Inbetween

To be honest I’ve never quite understood the concept of therapy. I sit here and tell you how my mom abandoned me when I was seven and all the dominos fall into place and I’m better. I don’t think so. So instead of talking I just sat there staring at Dr. Leona Simms. I think she was a little exhausted, she tried every option in the book to get me to talk but I either didn’t answer or found a way around the question.

“Do you know why you are here?” She tried again, for the eight time. Jesus she’s persistent, that had to be the tenth question she tried.

I took a breath and counted to ten trying to calm myself, “Yes, and before you ask no, I have no desire to talk about it with you. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me so why should I sit here and tell you my life story.” I started grabbing my things.

“I think I can help you. You have so much anger and grief, I just want to get a fix on where it’s coming from.” She jotted something down on her pad.

I was losing it, “You want to know where it’s coming from? It comes from being stuck in this hole. Losing everything I ever cared about besides my best friend, having your parents give you everything you ever wanted but their attention. Having to sit here and talk to some therapist who will never understand me because a judge who knows nothing about me says it should be that way. If I’m old enough to fuck up my life I don’t understand why I’m not old enough to fix it myself. Jot that down in your notebook.” I stormed out of her office. The anger was coursing through me. I saw the car and dived in slamming the door behind me.

“Wow bad therapy session for the delinquent?” Jonathan mocked at me.

“Shut up and drive,” I snapped at him

He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. I was starting to notice he did that in the car a lot when he gets really mad. Maybe I should stop pissing off the driver; he does have my life in his hands.

I squeezed the bridge of my nose, “I’m sorry, that was mean.”

He just looked at me for a minute before nodding and starting the car. Just like the ride to the Dr. Simms office, the ride back was equally as quiet. I didn’t mind it too much though I was losing myself in my own thoughts.The down side to therapy, regardless of whether you talk or not it still forces you to think about everything you were trying to avoid. I started thinking about my parents; they didn’t say a word when they found out what happened. They never did. Our whole relationship consisted of awkward dinners and cancelled family vacations.

I tried to get my mind off things by looking at the scenery. It didn’t do much good, it was all suburbia. I grew up there; I knew it like the back of my hand. We pulled up to the house and I noticed no one was home so I could walk straight into my room without saying a word to anybody. I was too busy thinking about the scenery to notice a large FedEx box in the middle of my floor which I tripped over.

There was no return address, which seemed weird. Oh well, I opened it to see a new, shiny black Gibson acoustic guitar. It was already tuned from the looks of it and came with a 40 pack of white paramore picks. I picked it up out of the box and held it for a minute, I loved guitars. It was the only thing I had ever stuck with. No matter what you played happy or sad it always sounded beautiful. I strummed a few bars, it sounded perfect. Before we got sent here one of my guitar teachers taught me a new song, he said it should be my anthem, the misunderstood teen. He always was my favorite teacher. I started playing and singing the lyrics.

“I'm only human, I've got a skeleton in me
but I'm not the villain, despite what you're always preaching.
Call me a traitor, I'm just collecting your victims
And they're getting stronger
I hear them calling

Well you find your strength in solutions
but I liked the tension
and not always knowing the answers “

I had almost reached the chorus when I heard my door creak; I looked up to see Jonathan staring back at me with a weird look on his face.

“Uhm,” He coughed, “I started some dinner if you’re hungry it should be done in twenty”

I blushed, no one but Jessica had heard me sing before, “Yeah sure, let me put this up and I’ll be down in a minute.” He nodded and left. I sat there in shock for awhile before getting up and placing the guitar on my bed and going to eat.

When I got downstairs I saw that Jonathan had started spaghetti. I loved Italian food, especially spaghetti. The one family vacation we went on while I was in high school was to Italy. The place was beautiful, I couldn’t hate it even if I tried. There was so much history, so many awful and beautiful things that echoed each other there.

“Do you want some help?” I asked nodding as he was looking very confused between a recipe and tomatoes on the counter

He nodded handing me the knife. It was like Italy in the kitchen for me. I began to dice the tomatoes. After that I rummaged through the fridge and found bacon, I smiled. My own personal Italia.

Jonathan cleared his voice, “What are you making?”

I forgot he was there. “It’s called Amatriciana, it’s a traditional Italian sauce they use for spaghetti. Start chopping up the bacon.”

We both worked in a comfortable silence. After I boiled the tomatoes and Jon browned the bacon they were mixed in a large pot. We both leaned against the counter top admiring our work.

“You’re a really good cook,” He smiled at me, “They don’t teach that in delinquent school.”

I should be mad or even as far as to say fuming but instead I chuckled. “I wasn’t always the wonderful delinquent you see today. One of the only vacations my family took was to Italy. My parents both were consulting in Florence at the time. They sent me to a friend’s house in Tuscany so I wouldn’t be alone. Every day they taught me how to make authentic Italian food. On the weekends we would go explore and they would take me to museums in Rome, or other weekends we would go to Venice. They had this friend named Mario and I swear he was the inspiration for the game character. He lived in Naples and owned a pizzeria, he made the most amazing pizza, and on my 16th birthday, which was the last night I was in Italy he taught me how to make his pizza as my gift.”

Jon was smiling, “That sounds wonderful, all that food.”

I laughed, “You would be thinking about all the food. Here, “I grabbed a wooden spoon and dipped it in the sauce and held it up to his mouth, “Try it.”

The look in his eyes was priceless, “That was amazing!”

I smirked, “I know. Now let’s eat I’m starving.”

We piled so much more food than were humanly possible to eat onto our plates. We sat on the couch watching the A-team and stuffing our faces for a good hour. Finally, when I could eat no more I laid my head on Jon’s shoulder, feeling sleep starting to settle in.

He yawned, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, “Best meal ever.”

I didn’t have the power to say any words I was so full, all I could do was nod in agreement while drifting in and out of consciousness.