Eve Archer by A.P. Coiteux

Eve Archer by A.P. Coiteux

Author:A.P. Coiteux [A.P. Coiteux]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: TalonInk, Inc.
Published: 2022-08-18T00:00:00+00:00


26

Invenir pater

Lately I had been falling back into my old ways. I don’t mean sleeping too late or surreptitiously double-dipping when there’s hummus out. I mean that crippling social anxiety was returning – my special brand that rendered me incapable of speech and sent me skulking away in tears. How I hated it!

There was a point around my 12th birthday when it had gotten to be too much. The silence, the crying, the laughter from my peers that inevitably trailed after me. Why did groups of people – dumb kids my own stupid age whom I neither feared nor respected! – launch me into a spiral of tongue-tied sweat? It meant no one showed up to my birthday party that year. And that night, after she had quietly and wonderfully filled empty chairs with my dragon stuffed animals and reset the table for an “elegant, intimate dinner” for my sister and me that later broke out into a living room karaoke party with just us, my mom draped her arm around me and asked if I was really ok.

“I don’t know why I can’t talk to them,” I had sniffed.

“The same reason you can’t sprint as quicky as Usain Bolt,” she had said gently.

“Because I’m not a Jamaican man?” I had looked at her giggling, but thoroughly confused.

“I mean, that too,” she smiled, “but everyone’s body chemistry is different, right? Some have the physiology and chemical makeup to be great sprinters, some have the physiology and chemical makeup to be great actors … and then some have the physiology and chemical makeup to be born with diabetes or anemia or to feel a little more anxious or stressed in different situations.

“Tell that to my friends,” I mumbled, “or rather, my classmates.”

“Nevermind them,” she said. “Everyone has a story you don’t know about. Would you like to talk with someone about it?”

“I do talk. I have Bartholomew,” I had said, gesturing toward the yellow and gold dragon who sat propped at the head of the table still.

“Right. But perhaps you’d like to meet with someone a little more, um, professional?”

“Nooooo!” I wailed, assuming she was going to force me to see the school counselor. The outcome, though, was an appointment with a licensed psychologist named Brittney who explained to me that just as we exercise muscles to keep our bodies functioning properly, we talk to keep our minds functioning properly, and we understand that nutrition and diet affect body and mind, and we might need to have extra medication to help balance things out, and blah, blah, blah … I had done my best to stay engaged, but my guard was up and my skepticism maxed out.

Brittney and I made a go of it for about a year. I bought into the idea of therapy helping me – that there wasn’t anything wrong with me per se – but I never bought into the idea of Brittney being the one to facilitate this. My mom had coughed to hide her laughter



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