Aerials

In a way, I understood my mother’s logic and her problems, but I’d have to admit that I could not place a finger on why I understood her more than anyone else did. For the first few weeks, I did not want to be with Melinda the Psycho Hypochondriaic; I wanted to be with my mom to make sure she was going to be fine. However, I realized like the other Hermits, Melinda was sheltering me from that frightening experience, trying to prevent me from ending up like my mother. Simpler, it was for my “well-being”, yeah, let’s go with that. I had to visit the shrink for a few weeks. I told my Aunt I was fine and I did not need help. For the most part, I just didn’t want to be spilling my life story out on the floor, and have to explain it to a complete stranger. I never saw a purpose in confiding in someone that didn’t know you.

I remember the first visit like it was yesterday. Weeks before the visit when I started living with her, we fought like crazy, back and forth like two little kids fighting over a toy. I refused, she wanted to me to go. It was terrible. I just wanted to avoid another screaming match that ended with a slamming door and me calling her a “psychotic bitch”. I’m sure Melinda thought it was abnormal for me to never be in a talkative mood, she was a Hermit after all. I knew if I talked, a fight would break out with my Aunt so I tended to keep to myself. I do recall that the car ride to the place was extremely quiet for that reason. As we pulled into parking lot, I started to feel sick. I wanted to refuse to go inside, but I knew anything Melinda wanted me to do, I would have to do it, despite any of my rebellious efforts.

We walked inside and took a seat in Dr.Gallentine’s waiting room, three floors up in a brick office-building complex which were full of other doctors’ offices. To me, the waiting room was a bit abnormal because it was circular in shape with black chairs that wrapped around the walls. In the center was a TV, with a talk show on, featuring a girl taking about her struggle with drug addictions. I swear there was some sick bastard that followed me around and loved playing sick cruel jokes on me. Of course, that’s exactly what I needed now… Even though the room was relatively empty, Melinda sat in the first chair she could find. Not wanting to be suffocated any more than I needed to by Melinda I took a seat against the picture window across from the open receptionist desk. The young receptionist called both Melinda and I over to sign standard procedure forms and sign in.

As soon as my part was finished, I sat back down in my seat letting Melinda take over the paper work. I wanted to have as little part in this as I could. It must have been the rebel in me thinking that. The young secretary called my name a few minutes later and told me to come with her. She led me down the long narrow hall in to an open room and shut the door after I walked in.

In the room sat a long red couch up against the wall on the wooden floor next to a black leather swivel chair. Great, I am defiantly seeing a shrink. What’s first, ink blots? I laughed out loud to a few more mental jokes I made in my head before sitting down on a red leather couch. I remember looking at the crème walls while sitting there, tracing my eyes to a picture of outdoor scenes hanging on the wall next to me saying “Serenity.” I wish, it was that easy. Serenity was what I wanted, but there was no easy way to get it. I didn’t want problems with Melinda. I didn’t want my mom to have the problems she did so I could live with her still and not any of the Hermits. I didn’t want my Dad to be the asshole he became when his affairs started. But, I knew I couldn’t change these things. I just had to let that go. I stared up at the ceiling and let out a sigh. I just had to accept that I was stuck there and Serenity would have to wait for me. I heard a knock at the door, which startled me a bit. I looked towards the door as it opened.

A tall man entered the room removing his glasses from his pocket as he shut the door behind him. He reminded me of my father with his light brown hair even though it was starting to show a few gray hairs. My eyes followed him as he walked to his seat. I began to analyze him out of my own discomfort. I assumed he had a hobby of golf, due to the fact his polo shirt had two golf clubs embellished as a logo on the pocket. It must have been ‘Causal Friday’. When he sat down in the leather chair he began to introduce himself as Dr. Gallintine, and how it was a pleasure to meet me, and the usual garbage one would hear. I just sat there and nodded.

He went through all the standard questions. How old I was, whom I lived with, where I went to school, hobbies of mine, if I was on any medication for depression, ADHD, and other various things. It took about fifteen minutes to go though them with all my yeses, nos, maybes, and not sures. After that, we got down to business.

“So, your Aunt was telling me about your mom earlier this week on the phone…” I knew he was just saying that hoping I would begin to spill my guts about everything all over his marble floor.

So, I nodded. Melinda had mostly likely told you everything that happened. “I see.”

He looked at me for a moment, and as he was about to say something, of course I decided to open my mouth.

“If you’re asking me how my home life is, let’s put it this way. We both know it’s not perfect,” I responded.

He looked a bit surprised as if I read his mind. I didn’t, it was very predictable what he was thinking.

“Look, it’s easy for me to read others, facial expressions, gestures, tone of voice. I had picked it up from observing my family’s behavior,” I remarked to him. He still looked a bit confused, but I wouldn’t blame him for being confused. I was trying to change the subject.

Being able to “read” people was something I have picked up from being around certain people for so long. Let me put it this way; some people have the hobby of watching birds. I was a people watcher. I don’t mean to sound like a stalker, but have you ever watched a person? Within a few minutes, you can learn a lot about them, from their body language, nervous habits and see their personal ticks. For example, my one Uncle had this tick, whenever he is going to say something; he would always take in a deep breath. Melinda, when she was upset, she would have her hands on her hips as she talked. He looked at me again motioning to continue, I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid talking for long.

“My family, I guess for a lack of better words, has issues. Some of them have mental issues, others physical, but mostly because they cannot handle the truth. They tend to be over protective, hermits that shelter all of the non-adults in the family from the world. Pretty much leaving me in the dark about anything considered an ‘evil’ or “bad” in the world.”

He looked at me and began to write on a small tablet he had pulled out from his pocket. Great, he’s taking notes.

“These ‘evils’ were not allowed in conversations, drugs, alcohol, and self-injury, sex, anything that surrounded my mother’s past addictions, behaviors and my father’s affairs. Basically, if the topic is not conservative in nature it isn’t allowed to be a topic of discussion. I just never understood why and I just had to accept the rule as followed.”

Eventually I ended up expressing to him how at times I wanted my family to be normal, where the mom and dad are fine and love each other, not this messed up way. Also, how every night I would pray to get out of this situation, anyway possible. I ended up mostly directing my conversation towards Melinda. What bugged me most about living with her was that she would not leave me alone. I never was alone in the house, even when I would sleep. I had to sleep on a cot in her room. If Melinda had to run an errand, I had to go with her. It was annoying. She treated me like a child who couldn't be trusted to be in the room next to you, because the second you take your eyes off them they're in trouble. If I ever took vitamins, she would get them for me. Melinda was afraid I would overdose, becoming like my mom.

Finally, after a month of weekly appointments with the shrink, he told Melinda I was fine. He told her to his surprise I didn’t exhibit any post-traumatic stress and wasn’t a risk for self harm and all that junk. He even said I took the situation I was in better than any of his adults did, but Melinda being herself she did not believe him. She continued my visits with him until she was sure I was, according to her, 'in a somewhat normal state'. Even then, my father’s affairs still went on, my mother was in and out rehab. Still I grew older, but nothing changed much. My mom ended up going to a mental rehabilitation center for a year. I think that was the longest she was clean.

For those years where you could say my family was falling apart, school wasn't the best. I kept mostly to myself, but that was not abnormal. I didn’t feel the need to get involved with all the drama and social cliques at my school. I had enough at home, why would I want more? I was the quiet girl in the corner with her nose in the book. I was not an outcast, I did have friends but only a few. I was a straight A student, always in the advance classes you know, that girl. Even with my brilliance, I did not fit in, the kids thought because I was smart I had no life. The odd thing about this was if you looked at me and I told you nothing about my past or nothing about me, you would think that being the anti social outcast would be the last category you would place me in. I’ve been told I had that popular girl look. I still find that I bit of a joke. I know I was gifted with mostly all the good genes looking most like my mother with her deep brunette hair color, the resemblance of her once perfect complexion and skin tone, balanced between tan and pale and her once proportionate figure. The only resemblance I had of my dad was his eyes. He had the strangest eyes, it would never stay one color, and it ranged from a shade of blue that was almost gray to a deep green. I was different from the others at my school. Most of the girls had light hair, bleach blond or badly dyed jet-black hair with an almost orange complexion from fake baking or constant spray tans. To me, it seemed like they had a terrible obsession with the Jersey Shore.

The rumors about my parents and my home life did not help either. Kids thought I was just as messed up as them assuming I was using and abusing like them. I even remember stoners and druggies coming up to me asking me if I wanted to smoke or do a line after school with them. I would admit I was not perfect, but I wasn’t fucked up. But, the odd thing about all of that, it didn’t bug me one bit. I knew it didn’t matter. I was something more than this. Still the teens were teens, immaturity and all. With boys, I never had any luck. They would never understand why a pretty girl like me had my head in the books. I had my reasons. I never wanted to explain nor did I even care to for that matter. It was because they didn’t know rule number two:
Rule number Two: I do not owe you any explanation. It is because I said so. It is because I want it that way.