Page 22 of Breathe Again

“Auntie Willa!” Olivia’s feet charged the front door that Willa had unlocked with her key.

“Hey, Birdy!” I could hear the smile in my sister’s voice. How she came from my mother I will never know. Me? I could be uptight, grumpy, snappish. Willa? Just easy, breezy cheer. Like a summer holiday. Beautiful like summer, too.

I watched Olivia hugging Willa around the waist, Willa’s hands held Olivia lightly at her back, her smiling face tilted down toward her niece. Willa and Olivia could easily pass for sisters or even mother and daughter at a stretch. Both had fine, curly, chestnut hair they wore layered to their shoulders, straight, thick, eyebrows that slanted over long-lashed eyes, and we all three had the same delicately formed downturned lips with their perfect bows.

Willa was blessed with freckles and four extra inches of height than I had, and legs up to her neck. Olivia got those too, but she got hers from her dad. It was a mystery where Willa got those fantastic legs. She was curvy like me, however, her curves stretched out over an extra four inches, which made her va-va-va-voom instead of dumpy.

Olivia released her and skipped back to the family room. Willa hung her coat on a hook, slipped off a stylish pair of brown suede ankle boots, and wandered toward me in her socks. Wearing black leggings, a plain white V-neck tee, and an open plaid shirt with rolled sleeves, she looked sweet and sexy and stylish all at once.

“I swear it’s your legs that allow you to wear anything you want and still look like a fashion plate.”

I hugged my sister. I loved her like my own child. I babysat her, a lot, from the time she was born, and all through her childhood years when I still lived at home. In fact, that did not stop even after I moved out. With thirteen years between us, she was like my own baby.

“If I wore that I’d look like a lumberjack ballerina.”

She gave me a good squeeze, her lightning eyes reprimanding me. “Mara, you need to be kinder to yourself. Sometimes, and I hesitate to say this, but sometimes I swear you're channeling Mom. She doesn’t need to be here to put you down because you do it for her.”

She kept her arms around me but leaned back to look me in the face. “You are the most beautiful person I know.”

Wet hit my eyes but I beat it back. Wet, not because I was touched by her remark, though I was, but because I really wished I were beautiful on the outside. Shallow, and of course I knew beauty inside was more important, but I wasn’t exactly confident I had that either, and I so longed to be beautiful. I didn’t begrudge my sister her beauty. There was no jealousy, I wanted every good thing for my sister. I was just tired of feeling like wallpaper.

“I love you, sweet Willa. Thank you for being here with Olivia today.”

“Always happy to be with my birdy.” She smiled, then yelled to Olivia, “I’ve got good animal stories for you today!”

Working part-time at the animal shelter, Willa always had new stories, which would be even more interesting to Olivia now that she already knew, or would meet, the animals in question.

Willa also donated her time and talent providing free graphic design for their website and fundraising events. Along with her partner and friend, Junie, and their assistant and friend, Minty, she ran her own graphic design firm. They had office space in downtown Milltown, but she only worked from the office a couple of times a week, allowing her free time which she used to manage the volunteer roster at the animal shelter, and get her fur baby fix at the same time. She also made herself available to me when I had a doctor’s appointment or had to go somewhere without Olivia.

Unsurprisingly, I got out of the house with little fanfare. Auntie Willa and Olivia were part of our mutual admiration society, and they held each other in high esteem.

It was only a short while later I learned there was a world of difference between a psychiatrist and a psychologist.

A psychologist is trained to help you unwind yourself from the ropes of mental entanglement.

A psychiatrist is trained to strip your skin off and painstakingly peel back each of your layers starting with your outer layer of protective fat and moving inward to cross section your muscle and sinew, map your nervous system, and extract the marrow from your bones.

By the end of the appointment, I felt battered, raw, and shamefully exposed.

The questions came one on top of the other.

What brings you here today?

Do you ever hurt yourself?

Do you feel empty?

How often do you get angry?’

“You seem to be angry at your mother.”

I hated that question. I felt judged. Just that simple question. I felt like screaming, ‘Wouldn’t you be? Am I not allowed to be angry with my mother?’ I realized later that he never implied that my anger was negative, but I felt the judgement deeply, nonetheless.

“You said you yell sometimes. Do you yell every day?”

“I get frustrated. I don’t yell hard or mean, just things like ‘for the love of peace can you please brush your teeth?’ after asking six times. I don’t yell hard at her.”

“You said a relative abused you. Can you tell me about that?”

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