Page 47 of Space Oddities

I raise a brow at her.

“Sorry.” She laughs. “I’m just full of trite expressions today. I just meant that the way you described your mother made me think of something.” Instead of sharing, she jots down a note. “Can you tell me when you started noticing your fear of small spaces?”

Glancing at her notepad, I answer her question. “The first time was when I couldn’t bring myself to get on a plane. It was right before graduate school. Dad had just won his first US Senate election and I’d given up the Olympics to go to MIT.” I give the therapist a sardonic look. “As I mentioned before, the senator was not pleased.” I shrug. “But I got the plane ticket, went to the airport, checked my luggage, and even made it through security. Then…” I trail off, remembering standing at the gate, staring down the length of the boarding bridge, feeling like if I stepped through the opening it would close in on me until I couldn’t breathe. “I couldn’t do it.” I wipe a hand down my face as if to clean away the anxiety the memory causes. “I had to go back home, get my car, and make the cross-country drive.” I laugh at myself. “Almost missed the start of the semester.”

“Would you say that was a defining moment in your life? Giving up the chance at Olympics and going to graduate school instead?”

I nod, still trying to shake the memory.

“And your mother?” Dr. Brown asks. “What did she say about your decision?”

“Mom?” I blink, trying to recall. “I… huh. I don’t know.” I huff out a humorless laugh. “I don’t think she ever said anything to me then.” Feeling somewhat uncomfortable with that truth, I add, “She stopped getting much of a say after that US Senate election, anyway.”

The timer she’d set at the beginning of our session chimes.

“That’s the end of the hour.” Dr. Brown shifts forward in her seat, leaning toward me. “But I want you to know that I heard you. That I’ve listened to what you said, and I am extremely confident that you can overcome your claustrophobia.” She hesitates for a moment. “It’s only our first session, and there is a lot to learn and understand, but from what you’ve told me, I honestly think that your anxiety stems from having to make such a large decision on your own regarding your future, which was against the wishes of your father, whom you have described as, um, quite domineering.”

I smile at her attempt to describe my father so politely.

“You saw your mother trapped by her marital circumstances and may have felt trapped yourself. And your anxiety over this may have manifested itself in a physical aversion to being confined.”

“Huh.” There’s a lot to unpack in what she said, but all of it connects.

Dr. Brown clasps her hands in front of her. “I hesitated to say any of this, because as I said, it is early days. However, Idowant to assure you that you should not let your claustrophobia waylay your occupational progress. I truly believe that through cognitive behavior therapy and probably, at least at the start, an anti-anxiety medication for during flights or confining situations, you’ll be able to overcome this.”

Relief washes over me. And embarrassingly, my eyes feel hot. Clearing my throat, I stretch out my hand. “Thanks Dr. Brown. I really appreciate it.”

Her grip is firm when she shakes my hand. “Of course. That’s why they pay me the big bucks. And by they, I mean you.”

We laugh, but before I can stand to take my leave, she gestures for me to wait. “One more thing.” She taps her notebook with a knuckle. “Your homework.”

Twelve

Optional Retrieval

Trish

“How... can youdothat?”Rose, sweating and panting, lies starfish style on the stage, glitter and stripper makeup smeared down her face.

“It’s obvious the girl used to strip,” Nina, Myra’s dark haired friend, states. She’s sweaty as well but not beet red like Rose. Probably because she and the other ladies did modified versions of the pole exercises with help from a chair.

Rose went full tilt.

Rose snorts, but when I don’t refute the allegation, her eyes widen. “Seriously?” She struggles up on her elbows. “But you’re so...so...” She gestures wildly, apparently unable to think of a word.

I shrug. I’m exhausted. Not from the class. There weren’t even any inverted dips. Muscle memory and my three-times-a-week Pilate exercises got me through the beginner pole dance routine. But I’m tired of hiding things. Tired of secrets.

And what’s the use of it, anyway? I’ll be leaving soon.

“College bills don’t pay themselves, and any student loan I could have gotten back then would’ve had an astronomical interest rate.”

“You’re so cool.” Rose blows a wisp of hair out of her face.

“Don’t you find it odd that only a moment ago you called me boring and now that you know I took my clothes off for money you think I’m cool?”

Rose falls back and reassumes her starfish position, blinking into the circulating lights. “Nope.”

“Well, I for one am so glad you guys came. Really keeps us older gals on our toes.” Myra blots her slightly damp forehead with a towel that has ‘sweet ass’ spelled in sequins along the bottom edge.

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