Also slight language warning.]Non-descript? No, that wasn’t the right word for it. Flat? Bland? Ordinary. Faige shook her head, sitting up from the supine position she’d been in and looking around the office. Beige walls, a bookshelf, a few overly plush chairs and a couch, everything was carefully designed to make one feel comfortable. Faige just thought it was unremarkable. Ms. Wilson said she had to get some more note paper. Faige wondered if she was being watched through that mirror. Surly it was a one-way mirror. She wasn’t mental, like Roach, what was their deal?
Finally, she returned as promised with a fresh stack of paper, closing the door behind her. Faige leaned forward a bit, lifting her hand in a lazy greeting wave. “Welcome back, did ya get me that coffee I wanted?” The councilor set down a glass of water, touché.
“So why did you decide to come to me?” She said, settling into her own overly padded chair and resting her tablet in her lap.
“Brodi mostly. I dunno, he thinks I have issues and need to talk it out.” Faige scoffed. Yep, this was all Brodi’s fault. “And I’m sick of other kids trying to psychoanalyze me. It’s getting old.”
“Issues?” Ms. Wilson repeated, raising her voice with the intonation of a question.
“Oh… ya know…” Faige flopped back onto her back, if she was gonna talk to a shrink she may as well do it properly. She could hear Ms. Wilson’s dislike of the word “shrink”. The teenager stared at the ceiling, folding her arms under her head. “Mommy issues, daddy issues, issues with boys. Typical sh- stuff. Not like big bad Roach issues or anything.”
“We’re not here to talk about Roach. How about you talk about whatever is on your mind and I’ll listen, let’s take it from there.”
“Uhh… okay. Well… my parents are fabulous and I dunno why everyone thinks I have issues with them.” Faige paused, that was bullshit. But come on, her issues with her mom weren’t bad. Not bad like Roach’s, she didn’t have a legitimate reason to be at odds with her mom. She frowned, holding her hand up in front of her face to study her chipped black nail polish. “Okay… she thought I was never good enough. My mom did. You know I wasn’t like my cousins, attractive and popular like she wanted. But that’s normal, every kid goes through that.”
Ms. Wilson nodded, writing something down. “Can you remember any particular instance of this? Of not feeling good enough?”
“Yeah—“
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I suck at gymnastics. The little girl stood all huffy in her pretty pink leotard, refusing to even –attempt- the balance beam trick they’d been trying to teach her all week. “I don’t wanna.” She whined, arms folded and eyes on her feet.
“Nobody’s expecting you to nail it on the first time.” Her teacher said, the peppy teenager always had that air of way-too-cheerful that some take on when they work with little kids.
Faige looked over at her and frowned. “I don’t. Wanna.”
“Look, just try it once, that’s all we’re asking okay?”
The six year old wrinkled her nose, looking back at the balance beam. Forward cartwheel, it wasn’t –that- hard. Fine. Just to make them happy she was going to try it. She took a deep breath and began the trick, but just has she did the gym door opened and she saw her mother slip in. Losing her concentration, Faige slipped and fell on her stomach, forehead hitting the beam. After a second pause, she flopped off of it and onto the floor, promptly bursting into tears and whines of “ow… owww… I hurt my nose.”
Her mother came scurrying over, kneeling down to help her little girl stand and examine the red goose egg on her forehead. Once she’d established that her child was fine, she stood and gave her hand a little yank. “She’s alright, see you tomorrow!” she called cheerfully to the teenage coach.
After she’d been buckled into her booster, Faige could see her mother’s eyes in the rear view. That cheerfulness was gone, and replaced by something else. Anger? Disappointment? “Do you know how much your father pays for these lessons, Faige?” She said, shaking her head. “You could at least –try-.”
“But mom I did try—“
“No you didn’t, I saw you from the door. You said you wanted to do gymnastics , right?”
“More than ballet anyway.” She muttered, knocking her tennis shoes together.
“If you don’t start trying harder, we’ll just have to forget it I think….” Her mother sighed, eyes on the road as they pulled out of the parking lot.
Faige frowned silently, she was a disappointment.
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“I didn’t actually –want- to do gymnastics I was just doing it…”
“To make her happy?” Ms. Wilson interjected, scribbling a note down.
“Yeah. But that never happens. She’s never happy. She wishes she had a different daughter… so I stopped trying.” Faige muttered, chipping the nail polish off her thumb. Ugh, stop it, Roach says you fiddle with your hands when you’re nervous.
“I don’t think you stopped trying. “ Ms. Wilson said, the words almost ominous.
“Yeah, well… what do you know?” Faige stood up, collecting her books. “We’re done here. I’ll come back… when I feel like it.” How very “rebel” of you, Faige.. She walked out, issuing a wave on her way. “See ya.”