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wordss - Jet - 08-04-2020
She felt foreign wrapped in a familiar skin. Her hair pulled back into a tight bun, loose hair that had fallen shaping her round face. Her hands carefully rotated in her lap, each finger toying with the other in an uncomfortable sparse. One leg hung carelessly across her other, as if a safety blanket protecting her from the noise of the room.
“Jen?” The receptionist called, a petite blonde with a waist so small she could get lost standing sideways in a crowded space. It felt odd for the receptionist to say her name so loud, considering the waiting area consisted of two chairs and Jen was the only one to fill a seat.
Uncomfortably Jen rises.
“Coffee? Tea?” The blonde smiles as if the room needed more warmth than the sweet scent of vanilla and soft burn of candles.
“No, thank you” she responds in a hesitant manner, internally dying for a coffee but unable to find the security in herself to drink it.
“Right this way then! Dr. Smyt is just finishing up with another client and then she will be with you,” and with that the blonde turns—flashing a pair of miniature red heels paired with a beige pencil skirt and tucked white blouse—leaving Jen to follow suit.
The hallway is long and narrow, with abstract paintings decorating the walls and antique rugs to liven up the rich wood floor. The last door on the left swings open to reveal a burgundy painted room with dark furniture and large windows. The leather couch is littered with pastel pillows and fuzzy blankets.
Jen reaches up with her arms, as if to protect her chilling skin from the contagious heat.
“Go ahead and take a seat, she will only be a minute or two,” though Jen doesn’t reply as she sees red heels disappear behind the door. What more is there to say? Thank you?
Hardly.
It hardly feels like a minute goes by before suddenly the knob is turning and a tall, fashionable woman enters. Her brunette hair is so long Jen almost loses herself in the entangled curled strands, and her eyes pop a vibrant green against the metal framed glasses that fit snug onto her angular face.
“Jennifer?” The woman flashes a vinear-smile, her emerald green blouse and fitted cream pants suddenly far too prominent compared to the legging and hoodied mouse curled onto the couch.
A meek smile is offered—an honest effort, surely—before replying, “yes—I go by Jay though.”
“Jay!” Dr. Smyt exclaims clasping her hands together in what would normally appear to be fake and overbearing yet completely suiting to her buzzing energy. “I can work with that. Hello Jay, I am Dr. Smyt. Thank you for coming in.”
She carefully moves across the room to the lazy boy strategically placed crooked to the window as to not blind her tablet screen. She lowers herself and crosses her legs in a casual position, reaching for her tablet and already jotting down a few notes. Jay uncomfortably crosses her legs and reaches for the pillow on her left to cradle in her lap.
Did she notice my stomach?
“Well,” her attention returns and Jay finds herself toying with the fringe hanging off the blanket like a deer nibbling grass ditch-side before jumping into oncoming traffic, “what brings you here Jay?”
The silence that follows is as deafening as the heartbeat that erupts in her chest. Her mind flashes from scene to scene and yet she cannot find words to place where and why and how because in all honesty, she isn’t sure what’s wrong with her.
“I think I have depression and anxiety,” is instead what fills the space in the room, the labels as critical as the way she looked herself in the mirror that same morning.
“Those are some heavy titles, why do you cling to them?”
Because my mother believes I should be on an anti-depressant or anti-anxiety.
“It’s something my family and I have talked about, and my previous therapists have said similar things.”
“Fair,” she nods before resting her hands on her knees and looking so deep into Jay that she pulls herself further into the couch, “do you feel anxious or depressed all the time?”
Yes. No.
“It depends on the day and where my head is at in that moment,” her eyes flicker to the window as a bird swoops by.
“What do you need from me?”
I just want to be normal.