Quiet
one
"Do I have to go?" I whine, pulling my favorite quilt over my head to hide away from the morning sun.
"You do have to go. You won't talk to me. You won't talk to your father. And you need to talk to someone. So a therapist it is." Mom says, pulling the quilt away from me. I don't have to talk to anyone. You can force me to go to the appointment, can't force me to talk. "Get dressed, we're leaving in ten."
I roll my eyes when she turns away. I drag myself out of bed and dress in a clean pair of leggins and an oversized sweater. I pull my messy hair into a bun on top of my head, slip on some flats and meet Mom in the kitchen downstairs.
"You couldn't have found anything better to wear?" She complains while pouring herself a travel-mug of coffee.
"Nothing fits." I argue.
"Alright well let's go."
~~
"So, Dylan, tell me about yourself." The black haired woman says. Her piercing blue eyes stare at me from behind her thick rimmed glasses. Her legs are crossed and a notebook rests open on her lap.
"What do you want to know?" I ask, my feet perched up on the coffee table in front of me.
"What do you want me to know about you?"
"Is this how it's going to be? We sit here answering each others questions with a question of our own?"
"It sure seems that way, doesn't it?" She says and small smile spreads across her lips. "We can sit here, asking questions back and forth until your times up. Or you can actually participate. You might actually get something out of this." You really believe that, don't you.
"Well, I've lived in Seattle my whole life. But Mom got a new job which resulted in us having to move to the other side of the city. So we started at a new school and I met a cute boy at a party, we had sex, and that's how I ended up here." I gesture to my belly. "Did I mention the part where I found out he has a girlfriend, after we did the deed? She's not too happy with me."
"That's a lot for someone to deal with at your age. How are you handling all of this?"
"Apparently not very well or my parents wouldn't feel the need to drag me out to see you."
"Let's leave your parents out of this. How do you feel like you're handling it?"
"See, I know what you're doing. You're trying to trick me into talking about my feelings, but it's not going to happen."
"Why are you so against opening up?"
"I'm not, I just don't open up to strangers. See I know your job is to be open minded and you're supposed to be unbiased, but I know what you're thinking. It's the same thing everyone thinks when they see a pregnant 16 year old."
"I am judging you, Dylan. As a human I can't help it. But it's not what you think. You see, I was a pregnant 16 year old, too. I understand the difficulty decisions you have made to get you to where you are. And I understand the difficult decisions you will have to make in the coming years, and months, and even days."
"What did you do?" I ask.
"I had a beautiful baby girl, and then I gave her up to a wonderful couple. She's a few years older than you now, and she's attending Yale."
"Ah, so you're advocating for adoption?"
"No, because what was the right decision for me, may not be the right decision for you. Look I'm a therapist, not a doctor. My job here is to talk you through your thoughts and choices."
This is where I go quiet. I don't need to talk through my decisions. I just want to be left alone.
"You do have to go. You won't talk to me. You won't talk to your father. And you need to talk to someone. So a therapist it is." Mom says, pulling the quilt away from me. I don't have to talk to anyone. You can force me to go to the appointment, can't force me to talk. "Get dressed, we're leaving in ten."
I roll my eyes when she turns away. I drag myself out of bed and dress in a clean pair of leggins and an oversized sweater. I pull my messy hair into a bun on top of my head, slip on some flats and meet Mom in the kitchen downstairs.
"You couldn't have found anything better to wear?" She complains while pouring herself a travel-mug of coffee.
"Nothing fits." I argue.
"Alright well let's go."
~~
"So, Dylan, tell me about yourself." The black haired woman says. Her piercing blue eyes stare at me from behind her thick rimmed glasses. Her legs are crossed and a notebook rests open on her lap.
"What do you want to know?" I ask, my feet perched up on the coffee table in front of me.
"What do you want me to know about you?"
"Is this how it's going to be? We sit here answering each others questions with a question of our own?"
"It sure seems that way, doesn't it?" She says and small smile spreads across her lips. "We can sit here, asking questions back and forth until your times up. Or you can actually participate. You might actually get something out of this." You really believe that, don't you.
"Well, I've lived in Seattle my whole life. But Mom got a new job which resulted in us having to move to the other side of the city. So we started at a new school and I met a cute boy at a party, we had sex, and that's how I ended up here." I gesture to my belly. "Did I mention the part where I found out he has a girlfriend, after we did the deed? She's not too happy with me."
"That's a lot for someone to deal with at your age. How are you handling all of this?"
"Apparently not very well or my parents wouldn't feel the need to drag me out to see you."
"Let's leave your parents out of this. How do you feel like you're handling it?"
"See, I know what you're doing. You're trying to trick me into talking about my feelings, but it's not going to happen."
"Why are you so against opening up?"
"I'm not, I just don't open up to strangers. See I know your job is to be open minded and you're supposed to be unbiased, but I know what you're thinking. It's the same thing everyone thinks when they see a pregnant 16 year old."
"I am judging you, Dylan. As a human I can't help it. But it's not what you think. You see, I was a pregnant 16 year old, too. I understand the difficulty decisions you have made to get you to where you are. And I understand the difficult decisions you will have to make in the coming years, and months, and even days."
"What did you do?" I ask.
"I had a beautiful baby girl, and then I gave her up to a wonderful couple. She's a few years older than you now, and she's attending Yale."
"Ah, so you're advocating for adoption?"
"No, because what was the right decision for me, may not be the right decision for you. Look I'm a therapist, not a doctor. My job here is to talk you through your thoughts and choices."
This is where I go quiet. I don't need to talk through my decisions. I just want to be left alone.
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