plumped up
and inviting. The space where the head should have been was gone, and so was
the song. I looked back and forth between them, my panting breaths the only
sound to be heard anymore.
Somehow, that
didn’t comfort me.
Chapter Eight
The counsellor
came again a week later. We did the same routine, one that I knew we’d stick to
from now on: I let her in, we go to the living room, she sits on the couch in
her brown suit with her plum red hair. I sit in my wheelchair. Rinse and
repeat.
By now the
house looked a little more lived–in, which she picked up on with a forced grin
on her face. ‘What’s that you’ve been reading?’ she asked, nodding at the
magazines scattered on the armchair by the fireplace.
‘It’s Cosmopolitan ,’
I said. ‘Just a magazine.’
‘Oh,’ she
said, nodding, twirling her pen between her long fingers. ‘Anything good?’
I shrugged.
‘How to dress for an interview. There was an article about marriage, and
whether women considered marriage a sign of success.’
‘And what did
you think about it?’
I shrugged
again. ‘I don’t know. I suppose if you can’t please a man, you can’t perform
the most basic task a woman possesses by nature. That’s what we were made for.’
Melanie
frowned and cocked her head to one side, her curls bobbing. ‘How so?’
‘I’m not
religious but I suppose there’s the whole Adam and Eve thing. Evolution. Male
stags fight to the death over the females,’ I said.
‘Ah, but do
humans behave the same way, do you think?’
‘Well, yeah.
It’s just...I don’t know how to explain it.’
‘Try.’
I scratched my
head. When I pulled my hand away, a few strands of hair came with it. I tucked
them under my leg. ‘Guys don’t fight over girls ‘cause they have more choice.
You have to make them like you. And if you don’t, then you aren’t good
enough and you won’t get picked. They won’t even notice you’re alive.’
Melanie tapped
the pen on her pad of paper. ‘Do you honestly think that, hm?’
‘That’s
basically what they say in the articles. I mean they don’t come right out with
it, but it’s...What’s it called? That English term. Rhetoric?’
She smiled,
but her eyes remained cold. She was getting concerned, I could tell. I was
experienced with these things from my last counsellor. This was how it all
starts. I knew that any minute now, she was going to ask me about him .
‘Well that’s
nicely observed. You should look into journalism. Are you interested in
journalism? I know you haven’t applied to go to any colleges in September,
but—’
‘I really
don’t want to,’ I said. ‘I don’t see the point. I was thinking of taking up
photography or something like that.’
‘Well, it’s
the perfect location for it, with all this scenery on your doorstep. How’s
things with dad?’
My body went
cold. In my mind I could hear a tapping sound on a door, followed by a bed
creaking. In my mind’s eye I could see Peter’s silhouette on the cliff top. I
could see frosting smeared on a toilet seat. I pinched the bridge of my nose, bowed
my head, and closed my eyes.
‘Ellen? What’s
the matter, not feeling well?’ Melanie tapped my bad knee with her fingertips.
‘That’s my bad
leg,’ I said, flinching. I opened my eyes. ‘Everything’s fine. He’s at work.’
‘Good, good.’
She took a slow, deep breath. Here it comes , I thought. She wasn’t done
yet. And I was right.
‘Ellen, I
wonder if we could chat a little bit about Dennis Denton. You might have heard
recently that—’
I clamped my
hands over my ears. ‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘Not today.’
Her cold eyes
softened. ‘We’ll have to at some point, Ellen. We’ve got things to address. We
need to discuss you being here when—’
‘It’s fine,’ I
urged, tightening my hands over my ears. Her mouth kept moving, but I squeezed
and squeezed so hard I couldn’t hear a word of it. When the mouth stopped
moving, I took my
and inviting. The space where the head should have been was gone, and so was
the song. I looked back and forth between them, my panting breaths the only
sound to be heard anymore.
Somehow, that
didn’t comfort me.
Chapter Eight
The counsellor
came again a week later. We did the same routine, one that I knew we’d stick to
from now on: I let her in, we go to the living room, she sits on the couch in
her brown suit with her plum red hair. I sit in my wheelchair. Rinse and
repeat.
By now the
house looked a little more lived–in, which she picked up on with a forced grin
on her face. ‘What’s that you’ve been reading?’ she asked, nodding at the
magazines scattered on the armchair by the fireplace.
‘It’s Cosmopolitan ,’
I said. ‘Just a magazine.’
‘Oh,’ she
said, nodding, twirling her pen between her long fingers. ‘Anything good?’
I shrugged.
‘How to dress for an interview. There was an article about marriage, and
whether women considered marriage a sign of success.’
‘And what did
you think about it?’
I shrugged
again. ‘I don’t know. I suppose if you can’t please a man, you can’t perform
the most basic task a woman possesses by nature. That’s what we were made for.’
Melanie
frowned and cocked her head to one side, her curls bobbing. ‘How so?’
‘I’m not
religious but I suppose there’s the whole Adam and Eve thing. Evolution. Male
stags fight to the death over the females,’ I said.
‘Ah, but do
humans behave the same way, do you think?’
‘Well, yeah.
It’s just...I don’t know how to explain it.’
‘Try.’
I scratched my
head. When I pulled my hand away, a few strands of hair came with it. I tucked
them under my leg. ‘Guys don’t fight over girls ‘cause they have more choice.
You have to make them like you. And if you don’t, then you aren’t good
enough and you won’t get picked. They won’t even notice you’re alive.’
Melanie tapped
the pen on her pad of paper. ‘Do you honestly think that, hm?’
‘That’s
basically what they say in the articles. I mean they don’t come right out with
it, but it’s...What’s it called? That English term. Rhetoric?’
She smiled,
but her eyes remained cold. She was getting concerned, I could tell. I was
experienced with these things from my last counsellor. This was how it all
starts. I knew that any minute now, she was going to ask me about him .
‘Well that’s
nicely observed. You should look into journalism. Are you interested in
journalism? I know you haven’t applied to go to any colleges in September,
but—’
‘I really
don’t want to,’ I said. ‘I don’t see the point. I was thinking of taking up
photography or something like that.’
‘Well, it’s
the perfect location for it, with all this scenery on your doorstep. How’s
things with dad?’
My body went
cold. In my mind I could hear a tapping sound on a door, followed by a bed
creaking. In my mind’s eye I could see Peter’s silhouette on the cliff top. I
could see frosting smeared on a toilet seat. I pinched the bridge of my nose, bowed
my head, and closed my eyes.
‘Ellen? What’s
the matter, not feeling well?’ Melanie tapped my bad knee with her fingertips.
‘That’s my bad
leg,’ I said, flinching. I opened my eyes. ‘Everything’s fine. He’s at work.’
‘Good, good.’
She took a slow, deep breath. Here it comes , I thought. She wasn’t done
yet. And I was right.
‘Ellen, I
wonder if we could chat a little bit about Dennis Denton. You might have heard
recently that—’
I clamped my
hands over my ears. ‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘Not today.’
Her cold eyes
softened. ‘We’ll have to at some point, Ellen. We’ve got things to address. We
need to discuss you being here when—’
‘It’s fine,’ I
urged, tightening my hands over my ears. Her mouth kept moving, but I squeezed
and squeezed so hard I couldn’t hear a word of it. When the mouth stopped
moving, I took my
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