Scribbles of a Broken Heart

“There’s a swim meeting after school today,” I told Garrett on the ride to school the following Monday.

“Until what time?”

“Four Thirty,” I replied as I let out a yawn and rested my head on the base of his shoulder.

“Who’s taking you home?”

“My mom. She gets off work a little early today.”

“You think she can take me too?”

“Uh huh,” I yawned yet again and snuggled closer to Garrett. I could smell his cologne and

inhaled the engaging, masculine smell.

“Tired?” he wondered.

“Mhmm.”

“Why?”

“Whatever, Garrett. You know that we were up ‘til two last night on the phone.”

“Past your bedtime?”

“Shut up, that’s only four hours of sleep.”

“So you’re gonna use me as a pillow right now?”

“Do you mind?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Of course not,” he replied as he kissed the top of my head. He wrapped his arms around
me and turned me at an angle, so that my torso was now resting on the left side of his chest and my face was placed on his upper arm.

“You smell good by the way.”

“I stopped wearing Axe ‘cause you think it’s so ‘eighth grade,’” he explained.

“You’re sweet,” I mumbled as my eyelids grew heavier. “What is it?”

“Uh…I think it’s Romance by Polo.”

“I like it,” I whispered.

“I’m glad.”

And that was the last thing I heard before I slipped into a peaceful sleep.

“Constance, I am quite tired of these pointless stories.”

“Ms. Templeton, I am quite tired of your complaining,” I mocked in return.

“I need only you tell me how you guys fell in love and how he-“

“I am telling you that!”

“How does soda and cologne tell me anything of how you two may have felt for each other?”

I scoffed, “You must think that love is all about the tears and the hard work people put into it; how many times hearts had to be broken before things actually worked out. You probably think that love has to be hard to be found. That the only way people express it is through candle light dinners and red roses and chocolate! But that isn’t true. With me and Garrett, it was about the small things; the things that I’m trying to tell you now!”

“Lower your voice,” Ms. Templeton demanded, slightly on edge.

“Ugh! I need a break.” I leaped off the chair and almost pried the door open, stepping in to her offices waiting room.

I stared at the room. The couches with side tables filled with magazines, the office plants in every corner. I paced the room and started thinking out loud.

“Why can’t she understand? Why doesn’t anyone even try to understand? Just because Garrett and I had it easy in the beginning doesn’t mean that it wasn’t love. So why does everyone think that we’re faking it? Why don’t my own parents believe me? Why don’t Garrett’s?”

I took deep breaths and plopped down on one of the leather love seats. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I told myself not to cry; it wasn’t going to help anything, it wasn’t going to make anything easier.

Ms. Templeton walked out and towered over me, “It’s been five minutes Constance, come back inside and finish your session.”

“How much time is left?”

“About an hour.”

“Shit,” I complained.

“Do not swear at me,” she spoke with a snooty tone.

“You don’t listen to what I have to say.”

“You’re a child.”

“And you’re a bitch.”

“I am telling your parents about this!”

“Go ahead,” I shot up from the couch so our heights weren’t as great, “it isn’t as if they care about me cursing anyways! They’re more worried if they left a sharp object around me or if I go to the bathroom all by myself. But half the time they just look at me with disgust thinking, ‘how could my daughter ever do a thing like that?’ So go ahead, tell them that I just called you what you really are, a lonely bitch.”

“I have had it! I am telling your parents to increase your therapy hours with another doctor.

You are the most ill-mannered teenager I have ever met!”

“Oh, please. You’ve pulled that card before. What will everyone say when they find out that you turned away a depressed teen because she insulted you? That you can handle the obsessive compulsives but can’t even fix a fifteen-year-old girl? And I know you can’t afford to lose my business. I know you’re having trouble with your practice. How else would you be able to see me two hours a day, five days a week? There’s never anyone else here when I arrive and no one waiting to go in when I leave. Without my parents’ money you’d be
screwed!”

It was now Ms. Templeton’s turn to run out of the room. She went back into her office and shut the door. I was pretty sure I saw her eyes well up while I was screaming at her. I sighed; I hope I didn’t go too far this time. If she tells my parents that I haven’t improved, they’d have me committed for sure.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I waited ten minutes before I knocked on Ms. Templeton’s office door. The guilt was eating me up and I needed her and I to be on good terms. We needed each other. Without my money, she would have to close her practice; without her sanction, my parents might have me psycho-analyzed for the next few years. She couldn’t let that happen to herself and I couldn’t let that happen to myself.

She didn’t answer so I turned the knob slowly.
“Ms. Templeton,” I beckoned before I peeked my head through the door.

What I saw was absolutely pitiful. Her pale green two-piece was wrinkled and her white, ruffled button-up was un-tucked and two buttons were now open, revealing a pale chest. Her head was bent down in to the arm of her black leather chair and a tissue was compressed under her left hand, which hung limp from the arm that was slung over the loveseat. Throaty moans and sobs carried throughout the room and twinges of shame ran throughout my body, clouding my mind. I never thought I could break this woman. And now it was time to play the kid role; admit that I was wrong, even if and when I’m right.

“Ms. Templeton, I’m really sorry. I was out of line and I didn’t mean what I said.”

“It’s true you know.” She had finally sat up and turned towards me. But, it was like she was looking through me, instead of at me.

“What’s true?” I asked, wondering whether she had even heard my apology.

“I’m all alone. I haven’t gone on a date in eleven months, haven’t had a boyfriend in two years. Two years. And now I barely have enough money to keep my office open, I only have three actual clients—and the one that bring in the most income is a little fifteen-year-old that has experienced more romance that I’ve ever had. I am only twenty-six and my life is going nowhere.

There were dozens of hateful comment that I could have thrown back at her; so many words that my tongue was itching to form. However, I wasn’t that heartless—but it did make me wonder who in the room was in need of the most help.

“Ms. Templeton…um, uh…how ‘bout we make a deal?”

She raised her eyebrows in curiosity while she dabbed at her eyes, “What sort of deal?”

I took a long breath and went over all the main points in my head, “Don’t tell my parents what I said earlier and don’t recommend another therapist. I would be screwed and you would be screwed. Also, you know that little agreement we had at the beginning of this session—that if I told you the whole story and you found that I haven’t completely lost it you’d tell my parents to lessen my therapy hours? I want that deal broken. I promise to not tell anybody of your lack of clients, or you’re low tolerance, or about this little break down if you tell my parents that I am completely fine and that I do not need to see anymore shrinks. Deal?” I asked when I was finally finished.

She straightened up and fixed her clothing; re-buttoning and tucking her shirt and smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt.

“This is very low of me, making pacts with a tenth grader,” she started and my lips formed a faint smile as she held out her right hand, “But I agree.” And then we shook on it.

“Just give me a few moments to straighten myself out and then we have forty minutes left before this session ends,” Ms. Templeton said.

I gave a curt nod and she excused herself and sighed, I wasn’t at all excited for this sitting to be over—I’d rather be anywhere than home.