Page 36 of Because of Dylan

“None. No one. Neither one of them. I’m taking a page of your book and going on a boy sabbatical too. No more dick for me.”

“Not even Professor Dick?”

“Specially not him.”

Chapter Fifteen

Best damn frenchfries I’ve ever had.

Chapter Sixteen

The web page blurs.I blink. The words line up again, making sense once more. My bed creaks when I shift. I’ve been sitting in the same position without moving for so long my whole body aches. I stretch my arms above my head, uncurl my back, circle my neck. Work off the stiffness that has settled into my muscles. Ease off the tension.

For twenty minutes I have been here. Sitting stiff as a log and telling myself to be brave and reach out again. Talk to him and be honest.

Therapist11

He’s available again tonight. The familiar pressure on my chest is there, but less than before. I’m not as anxious or nervous this time around.

I click on his name.

Call or chat?

“Be brave, Becca.”

The mouse hovers in the middle, between the two options. My hands shake, making the cursor oscillate between Call and Chat.

It’s easier to hide behind the Chat window. It gives me time to think. Easier to walk away.

“Be brave, Becca.” I whisper the mantra to myself again and place the cursor over the Call option. Squeeze my eyes shut. Click. The connection beeps, a dial tone follows, the sound loud in my ears. I scramble to grab my earbuds, plug them into the laptop and put them on just in time to hear the second ring coming through.

“Jesus! I’m a mess. Really didn’t think this through.”

I imagine his voice low, and maybe grouchy, like an old man. An old man with a big belly, long gray beard, and a mustache. I picture him as a cross of Freud and Santa Claus and smoking a pipe. A nervous laugh escapes my lips. He answers my call then, and that awkward laugh is the first thing he hears.

“Hello. I’m so glad you’re back.”

My laugh dies. His voice is neither low nor grouchy. He doesn’t sound like an old man at all. Even through my old and staticky earbuds, his voice is warm, soft, and welcoming. It makes me think of melted chocolate, and the notion is so bizarre that it triggers a nervous laugh.

“It’s good to hear you laugh.”

“Hi.” I sound timid and not like myself. I don’t speak with the assertiveness and edge of anger that usually coats my words. This is good. It wasn’t intentional, but I’ll keep this soft and timid voice. It’s another layer of protection. Not that I think whoever is on the other side of the line would ever know who I am. If I thought for a second that someone could find out, I would never have joined this program.

“Will you let me in on the joke?” I can hear the smile in his soothing voice, and I’m at a loss for what to say. I guess the truth will have to do.

“I was picturing you as a cross between Santa Claus and Freud, and it made me laugh.”

It’s his turn to laugh. The sound is melodious, masculine and welcoming. I like it. I like the sound of his voice, the timbre of his laugh. It’s friendly, happy. It makes me feel safe.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think I could pass as Freud or Santa.”

There’s an awkward silence then.

“How are you today?” He takes the lead.

“I’m okay.” For a change, the automatic response is not a lie.

“Yeah? Do you want to pick up where we left off or talk about something else?” He doesn’t mention the rather abrupt way I ended our last conversation, and I’m grateful for that.

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