Page 2 of The Last Session

He stared at me. “Maybe you don’t.”

“All right.” Lydia plucked a black crayon. “Biggest fear. I’m in.”

“Great.” I jumped up and went to the window, struggling until itburst open—it stopped at two inches, so no one could slide through. Damp, cool air washed over me and I sucked it in greedily. My head ached from last night, when my roommate, Dom, had again canceled our reality-dating-show-and-takeout night and I’d unwisely opened and finished a bottle of sauvignon blanc. The fluorescent lighting did not help with hangovers.

When I came back to the table, everyone was admiring a drawing Lonnie proudly held aloft. He was the best artist of the small group, but didn’t follow instructions and always produced something just like this: a naked woman with flowing locks and enormous breasts. I’d tried to fight it, first stern, then cajoling, but it hadn’t made a difference. Now I just let it go.

It now seemed strange that I’d made the efforts to start this group in the first place. Past me of only a year ago had been a different person: a second-career thirty-two-year-old who had high hopes, who really thought she could make a difference. Current me, frankly, found her embarrassing.

“A woman,” I said evenly to Lonnie. “You’re scared of women?”

“Oh, deeply.” Lonnie set down the paper and shaded in his subject’s hair—orange, just like mine. I’d been shocked to find out Lonnie had been a college professor decades before. He’d gone on medication after his first psychotic break in his thirties, but had stopped taking it, devolved into psychosis, and subsequently lost his job and home. Recently he’d been taken into police custody after threatening people on a subway platform, and we were in the process of transferring him to a longer-term care facility.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lydia paused in her scribbling. “You thinkwomenare the scary ones?” She caught my eye, colluding with me.

“Maybe what you’re afraid of is intimacy, Lonnie?” I tried to sound open, curious. “That would make sense. A lot of people fear—”

“Nope.” He pointed the orange crayon at me. “You.All of you.”

“I think Lon has a point.” Ace sat back, folding his arms. “Because men are physically stronger, y’all have come up with your own weapons. Mental ones.”

“Mind control?” Lydia looked skeptical, but Lonnie nodded vigorously.

“Exactly!” He stabbed the figure’s right boob with the crayon. “My ex-wife was so good at manipulating me, I would’ve done anything forher. And you know how she repaid me? Stole all my money and ran off with our goddamn dog walker.”

Lonnie’s stories about his ex-wife changed daily. It was actually interesting how he mythologized her. I didn’t know if she’d even really existed. Lonnie was mostly stabilized by meds at this point but occasionally seemed to lose his grip on reality.

“They knowjustwhat to say.” Ace nodded sagely.

Lydia scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. You want to talk about whatwehave to put up with? Fear of men attacking us, raping us,killingus.”

“Here we go.” Ace rolled his eyes.

“Oh, so it’s not true? So I’m just making it up? You hearing this, Red?” She turned to me, but I concentrated on dumping out more crayons. There were incredibly disturbing stats on women and domestic violence, of course—but I also knew jumping into the fray would just make it worse.

“Calm down.” Lonnie waved a dismissive hand.

“You’re just going to sit there and let them talk shit about us?” she asked me, her volume increasing.

“Why don’t we focus on the prompt. What are you drawing?” Hopefully, I could head off one of her rages, which were rare but legendary. Before she could answer, Ben, the fourth and mostly silent member of our group, let out a prolonged groan. He held the sides of his head and stared down at his paper as if he’d made an unforgiveable artistic mistake.

“Shut up, Ben,” Lydia spat. For some reason, she treated him like a bratty teen instead of the half-catatonic sixty-year-old he was. He was on a powerful dose of meds for schizophrenia and was also in the process of being moved to another care facility. He’d spent most of his time in the TV room, but had shown up for art therapy the previous week, where he’d peacefully doodled cartoon characters.

“Hey.” Ace straightened. “Don’t talk to him that way.”

“Or what?” Lydia faced him. “You’ll use one of your trusty male weapons? Kill me? Rape me?”

“Don’t worry, honey.” Ace smirked at Lonnie, who smirked back. “No chance of that.”

“Oh, I’m too old and gross, huh?” Lydia stood so fast her chair fell over. “Is that what you’re saying, you piece of shit?”

“Hey.” I set down a crayon. “Everyone, let’s just—”

“You got it!” Ace chuckled, unbothered. “No one wants to see your ugly ass.”

Lydia’s pale face flushed tomato-soup red.

“Watch out!” Lonnie called, gleeful. “The old hag will slit your throat.”

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