Carry On

In the morning I smelled coffee and bacon. I sat up, looking around. It was Saturday, another day gone when I should have done homework instead of crying. I almost thought last night was a dream. Everything seems like a dream at two in the morning. The only thing that convinced me otherwise was the blankets thrown on the couch, Dad's leather jacket tossed on the armchair, and his phone still sitting on the other end of the couch from when I threw it.

"Good morning," He greeted and I turned around. He had two plates in his hand and I got up, taking a plate for him. He actually cooked a breakfast that wasn't made in a toaster or a microwave.

"When did you get the groceries for this?" I asked.

"This morning," He said softly, "I tried to wake you but you were knocked out. I went really quick."

"What time is it?" I questioned, sitting down on the couch and starting to dig into my plate.

"It's eleven. We have somewhere to be at one," He said.

"Where?" I asked.

"If I tell you you're going to hate me. But we're going together, and that's all that matters," He said. I didn't have the energy to question it. So I sat there and continued to eat my breakfast. To my surprise it didn't taste all that bad.

When we were done eating we went our separate ways to get ready. Dad still wouldn't tell me where we were going, just that it wasn't anything fancy. I pulled on a pair of black jeans and a sheer blouse before slipping on some boots. I tossed my hair up into a messy bun and proceeded to meet Dad downstairs, who was already waiting.

We said nothing to each other as we climbed into the car. Dad turned on the radio, as if everything were normal, and drove. I watched where we were going, hoping to get some clue as to were we were headed. We were going the opposite direction of any of the guys' houses and away from the beach.

It took us twenty minutes and two freeway exits to get off somewhere further away from the shore of Huntington. I couldn't recognize any of the nicely built buildings lining the unknown street. It looked like a welcoming community. Green trees and grass lining the streets, nice cars at every stoplight, and families were taking morning walks together. I looked to Dad, searching for an answer, but he gave none.

We pulled up to a series of businesses and Dad turned the car off. I still had no clue where we were, so I followed. Dad looked at him, something sad swirling in his eyes as he reached for me. I let him wrap an arm around me and he shoved his other hand into his front pocket, something he did when he was uncomfortable. We walked in through two large glass doors and we were at a reception desk. Dad moved his arm so it was a bar across my chest. He didn't hold me tight, but he was holding me as if I were going to run away.

"I'm here for Dr. Green," He said softly to the receptionist. She nodded and proceeded to pick up the phone and my head snapped up to him.

"Where are we?" I asked, voice stronger. What doctor could we possibly be at? But he ignored me.

"She's expecting you. Just go down the hall and her office is the last on the right," She intersected and Dad started to move, and I followed. He had his arm around my shoulders again, and I could feel his nerves radiating through him. He was nervous about something, and I didn't like it.

I watched the other office doors that passed. All had small golden, but elegant, plaques that stated a doctor's name and their description. When we came to the last one I looked to the golden plaque for answers.

Dr. Stephanie Green;
Psychiatrist

"You brought me to a crazy doctor?" I muttered and he opened the door.

"No. I brought us to a crazy doctor," He said softly and ushered me inside.

The walls were a light blue, calming for anyone who had some sort of real mental disability. Pictures of serene scenery lined the walls. A foggy morning on the Great Wall of China, an afternoon in the mountains of Peru. All looked as calm as the walls behind them. There was a waiting room that no one was occupying and a desk that had no one present. That lead me to believe Dad went through great lengths to get this place cleared out. Or the label did. I'm sure Dad didn't want anyone to know we were in the loony bin.

"You must be Mr. Haner," A calm and soft voice called. We turned to the doorway on the right where a woman was standing. She had a small frame with a boring face. Brown hair pulled into a pony tail and glasses perched on her nose. She wore no trace of makeup, and I could see a few blemishes on her chin. Her shoes were out of style and she wore a navy blazer with black dress pants.

"Brian," He corrected and we made our way to her. He held his hand out and she shook it.

"And you can call me Stephanie. Nice to meet you. And this must be Elizabeth, your daughter?" She asked and smiled at me. I found myself attempting to hide behind Dad.

"Yes, but she prefers Liza," He said and she nodded.

"Okay. Well let's sit down and have a chat. The both of you can come into my office," She smiled and Dad lightly pushed me forward, urging me to walk.

Stephanie's office was large, probably so her crazy claustrophobic patients didn't pass out from the stress. Her walls had neatly places frames of degrees and awards. They were so perfect I almost thought she was the one to have OCD.

We sat down on a couch and Stephanie sat on a chair adjacent to us. She crossed one leg over the other and pulled out a notebook before smiling at us, "Brian, you informed me that Liza had no prior knowledge to this meeting. Would you like to explain why you're here?" She asked.

I could see Dad tense. He was uncomfortable. Dad isn't the guy to talk about his feelings. If he hated it so much, I wasn't sure why he brought us here, "I know there's something going on with her," He said softly, "And I know I should have done something before..." He paused, "Before it was too late. I was just in denial for so long. I didn't want to think something about my life wasn't perfect."

"What caused you to make a change and bring her here?" Stephanie asked.

"She tried to, to... To kill herself," He whispered, "And a couple days after I left to New York to handle things, and she broke down again. She didn't want me to leave. She thought I was leaving her, but I would never," He defended, "I knew I had to do something."

"Liza, do you understand and agree with everything your father is saying?" She asked and I looked up at her.

"I'm not crazy," I stated and she smiled.

"I know you're not, Liza. But do you agree that your family needs help?" She asked.

"I guess," I shrugged.

She turned back to Dad and smiled softly, "Now I'm going to do your separate sessions. Brian, if you could wait outside for a while I'd like to speak with Liza."

"Without me?" Dad asked.

She nodded, "Yes." No explanation. Just an answer. I actually kind of liked her. Reluctantly Dad stood and gave me a soft smile before heading out the door, shutting it behind him, "How old are you Liza?"

"Seventeen," I answered.

"You're very much old enough to understand certain things then, yes?" She asked.

"Yup."

"So I'm going to ask you some questions, Liza. However, I can't help you or your father unless you're completely honest with me. This is a room where you can tell me everything that is running through your head, and you will not be judged. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

I watched Stephanie like a hawk as she crossed on leg over the other, her notebook neatly placed on her lap. She had a pen, and she was scribbling things down. I watched as she pushed the glasses perched on her nose up, so they weren't falling. There was nothing out of place with this woman. She was clean cut, not a hair out of place. She was immaculate.

"How is your relationship with your father?" She asked and I scoffed.

"What do you think? That's obviously why we're here. That and the fact that he thinks I'm crazy," I stated and she nodded.

"When did your relationship start to falter?" She asked and I shrugged, "This is going to be hard, but you need to think back. Way back to something that triggered it."

We were silent for a long time, and she wasn't bothered by that.

"It's always been this way," I said softly.

"Are you sure about that?" She asked and I glared. She nodded, agreeing before writing something down, "Liza, can you tell me what your favorite memory of your father is? It can be anything. Any happy memory you have of him."

I looked at her, face blank. I thought back before Mom left. Before Dad wanted me gone. My memory of my father was foggy before my twelfth birthday, two days after Mom skipped town. Even then I had no great memories. He was a ghost.

"I-I don't have one," I said softly.

"Well, there has to be something? Can you tell me any memory about your father before your Mom left?"

I shook my head, "I don't remember him."

He doesn't remember you either.
And I knew something was very, very wrong with me.