Page 16 of True Sight
“Yes, my therapist.” I move away from the group to grab a beer from the fridge. Popping the top off, I throw it away and walk to take my seat at the game table. Everyone else stands from the floor and works their way over.
“You’re going to therapy?” This time it is Hank who speaks.
“Yep. Just started.”
“I think that’s great, brother.” Kolbi gives me his signature clap on the shoulder like he likes to do when he’s proud of someone.
“I love going to therapy. I go every Friday,” Magnolia comments as she stands behind his chair. After her parents cut her off, she started to go as a way to talk to someone about how she was feeling. She never had anything but good things to say about her experience.
“While I wouldn’t say Ilovegoing myself, I don’t mind my weekly head shrinking sessions. Carl’s a good dude and hasn’t once made me want to punch something. Plus, I don’t have a choice but to go seeing as how both my sponsor and princess here would kill me if I missed a session.” Malcolmnods towards Ophelia who’s in his lap. She smacks him on the shoulder and since I’m sitting next to them I can hear him whisper, ‘Harder next time, little fox’into her ear. After relapsing earlier this year, Malcolm admitted himself into a drug rehab program and part of his release terms was to continue to go to therapy. That, and to go to weekly N.A. meetings and check in with his sponsor daily.
“What prompted you to start going?” Hank asks.
“Soldier, we don’t need to know that, maybe Conrad wants to keep that to himself,” his wife says from behind him and for once, I’m grateful for her. I’m not ready to explain the ins and outs of my reasoning for going to them. I don’t mind that they know I’m going, but I’m not ready to tell themwhyjust yet.
“Whatever the reason, I hope it helps,” Bailey says with a smile. I look around the table at the people I call my family and take in their supportive glances. If only they know they are part of the reason I’m going in the first place. Feeling neglected, Annie jumps up and places her front paws on my leg to grab my attention and I start to pet her. As I do, I feel the nervous energy I’d had about telling my friends about therapy start to dissipate.
“To Connie,” Malcolm calls out, raising his glass of water in the air. “And to dealing with our trauma one therapy session at a time.”
“Fuck you, Malcolm, you know I hate being called Connie.”
“To Connie!” Everyone around the table cheers and lifts their glasses to toast. As the bottles and glasses clang together, Annie barks at the noise causing everyone to laugh. I shake my head and sulk at everyone as I rub my hand along Annie’s head.
“I hate all of you. Can we please play now?”
9
HENRY
“And five, six, seven, eight!”
My voice rings out in the empty studio room with the only in-person participant being my laptop. I’m teaching in a small, cramped room that’s tucked upstairs in the studio and currently the only space not under construction. Eventually, the walls will be blown out and the roof lifted to expand the upstairs completely so it will hold an open group fitness room and a secondary room that can be used as an office and storage closet. Right now though, it’s a dark and dingy room with spiders in it that are older than me and a musty smell I can’t air out no matter how hard I try.
As the music continues, I lead my booked out class of students through the routine I’d choreographed. As I dance, I can feel the haze caused by waking up at 3:00 a.m. start to fade. Music and dance always does this to me. It wakes me up, brings me to life, lifts my spirits, and above all else, makes me happy. And that’s why I teach—to give that feeling to other people. Even if it means getting up before the sun to continue to teach the same schedule I had when I lived back in London.It won’t be like this forever and I promised my students to do what I can to keep teaching like this until the studio is open.
Hearing the last eight counts of the song, I move into the cool down part of class.
“And take an inhale.” I pull as much air into my lungs as possible before pushing it out. “And exhale.”
“Nicely done, everyone, you all looked fantastic this morning. Don’t forget, you can see the schedule for classes on my Instagram and sign up for them from there. October’s schedule is up already and ready to be booked. I’ll see some of you again soon.” I wave to the camera and close out of the temporary system I’m using to host classes while Conrad builds out my own platform.
There are plenty of platforms out there I can use, I know this, but I want something specific to my studio and my brain. I dance and teach fitness classes, I’m not some tech genius that has time to figure out a million different softwares and platforms. While I’m doing my best to keep my students coming back and my classes booked with the resources I have, I know it can’t last like this forever.
I close my laptop and wipe my brow with the side of my tank top when a question I want to ask Conrad about my app pops into my head. Not wanting to forget it, I grab my phone and quickly shoot off a text. It is onlyafterit is labeled as ‘delivered’ in my phone that I remember what time of day it is and I grimace to myself in the empty studio, hoping I don’t wake him. Tired from class but wide awake at the same time, I lie on my mat and close my eyes. I can feel my heart starting to race as I think about all the things I need to do today.
Meet with the contractors about the layout of the locker rooms.
Interview a few people who had applied for the instructor positions I’d posted.
Map out classes for next week and make my playlists.
Oh yeah, and maybe do something fun since it is Friday and typically people my age go out and do things or have a social life on Fridays. If I were home, Ellie and I would be going to one of the many fabulous restaurants her fiancé owns or at the very least be curled up on my couch watching ‘Ex on the Beach’ with a cup of tea. Lying flat on the floor, my brain is starting to fall back asleep when I hear my phone buzz on the hardwood next to me.
Conrad:
Yeah, I can make sure to do that for you. I’d rather call you to explain how that works, texting it out would be a pain and it would just make more sense over the phone.
My eyebrows meet in the center of my face and I double check the time. It is a touch before four in the morning—why is he awake so early?
