Baby steps, Mia, baby steps
. Her hands shook as she attempted to concentrate on the sandwich. She kept smiling as she cut the bread and wrapped it in plastic and put it in a bag. She reached into the fridge again for a soda and hurried down the stairs before she could change her mind.
* * *
Mia walked around the zoo, enjoying it as she hadn’t since she was a child. She glanced at her watch, not knowing when Damien would be taking a lunch break and wondering if she should have called him.
The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end and she smiled before turning around. Only Damien had that effect on her.
“Mia, baby, is anything wrong?’
“I made you lunch.”
“How long have you been here?” Damien asked, moving closer to kiss her. “You may not want to get too close to me. Why didn’t you call?”
“I’ve been here a couple of hours. I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did.”
“Are you on lunch break now?”
“Yeah, you picked the right time. What did you bring me?” he asked, taking her hand and leading her to a table under a grove of trees.
“Ham.”
“I’m starved,” Damien said, reaching into the bag and tearing into the plastic. “Mia, I think you forgot the ham.” He opened the bread slices to show her, laughing at her embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. Where were you going to eat? We can get you something.”
“I wouldn’t dare. This is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten.” Damien kept swatting Mia’s hand away as she tried to take the bread from him. But he refused, ate every dry crumb and rinsed it down with the soda that was now hot. He laughed every second. And finally Mia laughed with him. For the first time in weeks he saw the tension ease from her face. This was more like it. This was what he’d expected marriage to Mia to be like.
When they were done, he walked with Mia, giving her a personal introduction to some of his favorite animals, yelling for her to duck when one of the more aggressive monkeys decided to throw his droppings at them.
“You like it here, don’t you?” Mia asked, moving out of firing range of another volley of droppings.
“Yeah, I do.”
“More than singing?”
“No, but equally. I’ve been toying around with the idea of going back to school, becoming a vet.”
“You’re going to stop working at the club?”
“School will take years. Besides, singing is the fulfillment of a dream. I won’t give it up but something more solid will be a good investment in our future.”
“I like the sound of that,
our
future.”
“You’re okay with it?”
“I’m okay with anything that makes you happy, just as long as I’m in the picture.”
“You are the picture,” Damien said, taking her in his arms, forgetting about his dirty clothes or the monkey taking his aim.
“Mia, you’re positively glowing. What happened? Did you finally stop repressing and tell that brand new husband of yours what was going on in your head?”
Mia laughed. “You’ll never believe what happened. It was Damien who really initiated the conversation. We started talking and it was all a big misunderstanding. Even the gift.”
“What gift?” Dr. Grey asked.
Mia could feel her face getting red and was grateful that her skin tone was not as light as Damien’s. She’d be forever blushing and then having to feel embarrassed about it.
“Damien gave me a tape, a porn tape. He left it on the nightstand on our wedding night.”
“The tape upset you?”
“Of course it did. I was expecting something a bit more romantic.”
“Did you tell him that.”
“I didn’t then but I did once we talked.”
“Good.”
Mia smiled and began licking her top lip with the tip of her tongue.
“What’s up, Mia,” Dr. Grey asked.
“Why do you think something is up?”
“You’re licking your lip. For you that’s a dead give-away, so go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“You didn’t comment on the tape Damien gave me. Wouldn’t it upset you if your husband had given you one?”
“No. And my husband has given me a bunch of porn tapes. So what? I’ve given him all kinds of kinky stuff, but, Mia, that’s me. I was never repressed sexually.”
“What are you talking about? I wasn’t repressed, not sexually.”
“Mia, come off it. Your brother had you so afraid of turning out to be like your mother that he put the fear of himself, God, sex and everything into your head and you were the good little girl. You played along.”
Mia was getting angry. She always did when Dr. Grey ventured into the area of her brother. “I think you keep forgetting my brother was a kid. He had no business being saddled with me. He should have had someone taking care of him, not the other way around.”
“I know that, Mia, and I’m not criticizing your brother. I’m merely saying that because of the way you were raised, you learned to survive by suppressing your emotions.”
“Nothing I did was Keefe’s fault. What I did was my fault alone.”
“Who raised you, Mia? You said yourself your mother didn’t.”
“Would you get over trying to blame my brother? We were talking about my husband, not Keefe.”
Mia stormed out of the room and went into the small vending area to blow off steam. She heard the click of heels and knew her therapist had followed her.
She stood glaring at Dr. Grey as she fed quarters into a machine. “Why are you following me?” Mia blurted.
“I’m not. I wanted something cold to drink.” Dr. Grey retrieved her drink, then peered at Mia. “I’ve been reviewing your session tapes. You’re doing an excellent job with the patients. They all love you.”
Mia chewed on her lips. “Thanks. I guess it’s myself I have to work on.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I ran out like that.”
“No problem. I still run out of my own therapy sessions when it gets too personal.”
Mia laughed and moved in closer to Dr. Grey. “Tell me something. Why is it that all therapists are in therapy? It’s seems a bit ironic don’t you think?”
Dr. Grey laughed too. “When you think about it, it is. But, Mia, think about this. We’re only human. And in our line of work we’re like a human garbage dump. What do you think would happen if we never had a chance to get rid of all our refuse? No, I don’t think I’d trust a therapist who wasn’t seeing someone. First, getting therapy puts the therapist at the same level as their patients and they’re better able to empathize.” She took a long drink. “Ready to go back?”
Mia shrugged her shoulders. “Are we talking about Keefe or Damien?”
“I don’t see how we can talk about one without the other. But I promise for today we’ll concentrate on you and your marriage. That is what you want to work on, isn’t it?”
Once Mia had settled comfortably in her chair she gazed around the room at the hot pink and blue colors that appeared to bleed into each other. Mia thought it was an ugly room and knew she wouldn’t choose those colors for her own office. No, she’d choose pale greens and yellows, soothing colors, something more dignified.
“What are you thinking about, Mia?”
“Nothing.” Mia turned toward Dr. Grey.
“Suppressing again, are we?”
“We’re not, since you’re asking. You’re not in my body or my mind and if you really want to know what I was thinking… I was wondering why you painted your room such God-awful colors?”
Dr. Grey started laughing and Mia laughed too. “Okay, I suppress,” Mia admitted. “But please don’t ever refer to what I do as ‘we.’ I hate it.”
“Good. Breakthrough!”
For a long moment the two women smiled at each other, each feeling genuine affection for the other.
“Why do you think you have to hold everything in, Mia? It’s okay to say what you really think.”
“I know that.”
“I know you know that, but you don’t practice it, even about something as silly as this damn paint.”
“I don’t like conflict.”
“No one does.”
“That’s not true,” Mia said, a half smile pulling at her lips. “My mother thrives on conflict and also, so it seems, my father-in-law.”
“Touché. I meant most sane people.”
“I’m in here seeing you. You call that sane?”
“Do you think all the patients that come to see you are insane?”
“Of course not. I was kidding.”
“I think there might be some truth in what you’re saying. You think it makes you weak to need help, yet you chose a profession where you will be forced to work with people you feel are weak.”
Mia cringed, and twisted her lips.
“You may as well say it or I will,” Dr. Grey smiled.
Mia refused to speak.
“Okay, then I’ll say it. You think your patients are nuts, wacko, looney. Hell, Mia, I thought the same thing myself when I started twenty years ago.”
Mia’s eyes opened wide and she was perched on the edge of her chair, ready to bolt.
“Sit back down, Mia. That was a long time ago, before I discovered that all humans are flawed, including me, and that it didn’t make a person weak to engage in therapy, but that it made them strong. Their desire to get better made them strong. And that’s always what you wanted to be. I know that, Mia, you’ve always wanted to be strong. No names, but you were taught to be strong and to do that you started suppressing your emotions.”
“Listen,” Mia said softly. “You’ve got it all wrong. I keep telling you that and you keep insisting on putting labels on me.”
“I’m not putting a label on you. If I am, I’m sorry. Why don’t you tell me what started it?”
“I did it in the beginning when I was very little because I was afraid. My mom would leave us and I would be scared. My aunts or cousins would come over and I’d pretend that nothing was wrong. Keefe used to tell me that Mom would get in trouble if we didn’t pretend that we were alright, that she was at the store.”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about your brother?”
“I don’t want you talking about him.”
“Fair enough, go ahead.”
“You already know about foster care.”
“I know that you went and something happened and you landed in the hospital and shortly after your brother cooked up a scheme to get you out. I don’t know anything that happened while you were there.”
“Neither do I,” Mia answered truthfully. “Most of the time I was so afraid and wanting my brother that I wasn’t able to focus. I wasn’t able to repress, suppress, take your pick. I couldn’t do it. That time I did go a bit nuts. I’ll admit it. I couldn’t cope.”
“Mia, you’re much too hard on yourself. You were a little girl. You should never have had to cope with the things that happened to you.”
Mia glared. “Stop pressing. I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m not holding back anything from that time.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. Your look always says it for you,” Mia fumed. “Do you want me to continue this or not?”
Dr. Grey shrugged her own shoulders. “I don’t much care really, Mia. You’re one of my most difficult patients. It’s always harder treating a colleague.”
Mia smiled despite her anger. “You think of me as a colleague?”
“Of course I do. You are a very good therapist with or without a license. And I think all the things you’ve been through in your life are going to make you even better. Now wipe that grin off your face and continue.”
As hard as she tried, Mia couldn’t erase the grin, but she did continue talking. “It took a lot of suppressing to not tell my friends that Keefe and I were living alone. I felt special, like we were so much braver than anyone else. I thought they were babies, that they had to have mothers and fathers taking care of them.”
“Did you really?”
“Yeah, in a way I did. Keefe made things so much fun for me. He made it an adventure that I sat in fast food restaurants doing my homework for hours each night, waiting for him to get off. He bought me a ton of books, took me to the library every week for more, and quizzed me on each book I read. He made learning fun for me. I rarely whined about it.”
“Didn’t you ever do anything besides study while you waited for him?”
“Of course. Keefe got me a CD player and headphones.
“How about television?”
“Neither of us watched much television. We didn’t have time for that. Keefe…” Mia hesitated. “Keefe was preparing us both to make it, to become successful. It worked.” She smiled. “He did a good job and he was always there making sure I was safe.”
“I agree.” Dr. Grey smiled at Mia. “Your brother did a good job.”
“He did,” Mia said with pride. “And I’m grateful to him,” she said more aggressively. “If it hadn’t been for him, I would have been crying every time I wasn’t invited to a party or something.”
“Did that happen a lot?” Dr. Grey asked softly.
“Enough,” Mia answered. “Keefe told me not to let them see that I wanted to come, that if they knew that they would use it to hurt me. So I learned to hold it in and I’d talk to myself in my head and work it out. That was my process.”