Fake It Like You Matter

"Get out of the fucking way!" A man screamed from his car and I pealed myself off the pavement in front of him, quickly grabbing my skateboard which I had just fallen off of, and stepping back onto the sidewalk.

"Sorry," I mumbled at the small line of traffic I had just somersaulted in front of, but more to myself and gave a sheepish yet apologetic wave. "Dont worry about me, I'm fine. Happens all the time..."

Unfortunately I wasnt kidding. It did happen more than I'd have liked to admit. I just had a bad habit of multitasking, and whenever I tried to combine skateboarding and almost anything else, it usually ended in a minor injury or two.

Today I had decided to be efficient and check my messages while I was skating to my first appointment. I had also forgotten that I was in fact on a skateboard when I saw '1 New Text Message' pop up on my phone. That was when the parked car came out of nowhere.

I dusted myself off and wiped the fresh blood off my already scarred elbow, then went back to the text message.

'So Love, it looks like you're cute AND sneaky.
Do you give out your number to every guy?
Pete, venti hazelnut mocha'

Jessa was right. He had seen my number...and he used my number.

And he thought I was cute?!

I freaked out for a second, shoved my phone back in my bag and booked it to my new therapists office. I did not want to be late for my first session. I had to try and convince this guy I was normal, and if I was late it would probably mean I had issues with authority or something. Wait...

I giggled as I ran up the eight flights of stairs, wondering how could anyone possibly peg me for someone with authority issues?

"Hey," I huffed to the receptionist on the ninth floor, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of my pocket, and handed it to her, still breathing heavily. "I think I have an appointment with, um...Dr. Adams?"

The older woman looked in serious need of a new wardrobe, or at least a little colour. She was drowning in beige and seemed completely unaware of an impending death by neutrals. She gave me a once over, frowning.

"Dr. Adams is with someone at the moment, but you can have a seat in the designated waiting area." She said to me curtly, peering over her reading glasses.

After a ten minute wait, Dr. Adams emerged from his office with a middle aged woman who was still looking pretty torn up over whatever they had been discussing.

"Same time next week, I think, Mary." He said to her. Then to the receptionist, "Take care of that, would you, Ellen?"

"Of course, Dr. Adams," She smiled, "Oh, and your four o'clock, Ms. McEvie, is here."

He turned to me, "Ah yes. Ms. Love McEvie. Please come in."

I stood up and walked past the man. He was quite a few inches taller than I was, slightly balding, but he had a warmth to him that I hadn't been expecting. As much as I didn't want to be there, I knew it wasn't his fault, and decided that I would try to make the best of it.

"Its nice to meet you, Ms. McEvie." He began and offered me a cup of coffee.

"No thanks," I smiled, sitting on the couch, "I work at Starbucks, so I try and stay away from coffee when I'm not there."

"I don't blame you." He chuckled, "So what brings you here today?"

"My stepmother thought it would be a good idea for me to see you," I explained.

'But you don't think you need to be here, right?" He asked, pouring himself a cup.

I shrugged, "I'm 18, I don't know what I need.'

"Is that what she said?" He smirked, taking a seat in the armchair adjacent to me.

I smirked right back, "Mighta been."

"Well, why do you think she wanted you to come?" He wondered, "What do you think her reasons would be?"

"I guess Ive never really made things exceptionally easy on her, but that doesn't mean I need to be sent for psychoanalysis. Its just typical Cinderella syndrome, isn't it?" I smiled at him, "You know, Evil stepmother and all that jazz, only without the singing and sewing mice. And I guess I get you for a fairy godmother."

"My apologies," He sat back and laughed, "Cinderella syndrome. Ill have to remember that."

So maybe therapy wouldn't be that bad, I thought to myself. But there was no way Id let my dad or Diana know that.

"Alright then, Love." He sighed, "Its obvious that you're intelligent, and that you aren't thrilled to be here, but there are two ways we can spend our time together every week. You can chose not to trust me or tell me anything and waste this time, or you can trust me, and we can try and figure things out together. In my opinion, everyone would benefit from some time with a psychologist as long as they were open to it."

"You have to say that, Dr. Adams. You're a psychologist." I giggled, but continued, "But I know what you mean, and no, I don't think I really need to be here, but I'm sure I will end up taking something away from this, even if thats just a better understanding of myself. I don't plan on making this any more difficult for you than it has to be."

His face softened and I thought I saw what may have been the beginnings of fondness in his expression. "That is a very good way of looking at this, Love."

"So, where do we start?" I asked picking at my cuticle, "My childhood, right?"

"Are you nervous?"

"About this? No," I looked at him, "Are you nervous, Dr. Adams?"

He smiled, "No. Your'e fidgeting."

"Habit," I pulled my legs up and crossed them under me, "I just quit biting my nails, so its like a replacement. Instead of biting my nails, I fidget because I still haven't really figured out what to do with my hands yet."

"Okay, well why dont we start today with talking about your mother?" He thought, "Is that okay?"

"My mother or my stepmother?"

"Mother."

"Sure. She died when I was nine. We still lived in Vancouver then. She was a teacher. My teacher in grade three actually," I bit my lip, "So I got to spend that whole last year with her."

I went on and explained that my dad had remarried only 5 months after her death and moved us to Chicago for business. We talked about how my dad and I got along these days, and the time slipped by. Dr. Adams and I concluded that my father worked too much, and of course, that I sort of resented him for that.

"Well, thats our time." Dr. Adams said, "Thank you, Love. I know what we talked about today was more than likely things you could have come up with on your own, but sometimes its just good to say it out loud."

"Sure. Validation and what not," I nodded and followed him out of his office, "Well thanks Dr. Adams..."

"Does this time work for you next Monday?" He wondered.

I nodded, and dear old Ellen penciled me in.

As I walked towards my house, a 3 story old school mansion tucked away from the noise and traffic, but still in downtown Chicago, I couldn't help but wonder if I had accidentally enjoyed going to therapy.