Nothing, I think, could possibly be more depressing to the depressed than the one holiday focused on the thing we seem to lack: merriment.
Soon after Thanksgiving, Christmas decorations began popping up in windows and shops all over town like a glowing disease that continued to spread to epidemic proportions. I always found it strange and somewhat funny that the city in the "Valley of the Sun" went all out for the winter holidays when we didn't get snow, or even "winter" in general. Nevertheless, people really went nuts for the festivities. You couldn't drive down the street without seeing every other saguaro cactus draped in colorful lights and merrily glowing bulbs hanging from the majority of the pinkish-brown tiled roofs.
The people at the psych clinic where we had group meetings even went so far as to sling a few strands of lights haphazardly across the juniper bushes out front. The whole inside of the meeting room was covered in mangled paper snowflakes which I assumed came from a group of younger kids who used it on a different evening.
I imagined a bunch of sallow-faced and terrified-looking elementary school kids trying to look happy while they chopped up printer paper with safety scissors, all while a Frolland-like drone said "you must remain cheerful at all times!" in a monotone voice at the head of the room. The image made my skin crawl. The thought of six year olds who were somehow already as messed up as the rest of us older kids made me feel hollow inside, so I tried not to concentrate on the decorations as Quinn and I walked into Group on a Thursday evening the week before Christmas.
I could tell something was different the moment we stepped through the door; It was as if the very atmosphere of the room had changed. Alice and Bethany were talking in low voices on one side of the room while Derek and Jeremy were watching something on Derek's phone and laughing. Caleb was at the table pouring two glasses of powder-lemonade for him and Cara, who was sitting serenely in the middle of the circle of chairs gazing dreamily at the ceiling. Compared to the usual funeral-like doldrum we typically walked in on, the scene was practically a madhouse.
"Yo, what's going on?" Quinn asked Caleb immediately.
He swept his shaggy red hair from his face, looking both pleased and perplexed. "I don't know, really. Some lady just walked in here and said Dr. Frolland had to call in sick or something, and that they were trying to find someone to replace him."
"Sweet!" She did nothing to hide her excitement and high-fived Caleb gleefully raising her fists up in the air in a victory pose. I couldn't help a but let a huge grin spread across my face, too. Part was realizing that now I wouldn't have to see the dreary bastard until after the New Year, and part was seeing Quinn so happy. "They should just let us go, you know," she said as she grabbed a couple cookies and held one out to me, which I took anyway, even though I didn't like red velvet. "This is, like, the best Christmas present ever!"
"I wonder what happened," I said out loud, feeling better than I had so far that week. I was off the antidepressants again (I found they made it hard to concentrate on finals--didn't really want to fail) and had been feeling a little... blah since the whole Thanksgiving thing. A thousand scenarios in which Quinn was getting re-admitted to the Clearview Hospital had been running rampant in my mind for a couple weeks now, and it did nothing to improve my mental status. The whole focusing on negative and irrational anxieties thing was easily the most annoying part of my depression.
Ugh.
"He probably got sick of himself," Quinn joked, inhaling her cookie and giving me a shrug. "Who cares? We might have a decent Thursday for once." With that, she turned two Bethany and Alice, who seemed to be talking about nail polish or something, and launched seamlessly into their conversation. It was a marvel, really, how easily she could get along with everyone when she was in a good mood. I sort of wished I had that ability.
"Hello, everyone!" A the door opened a few minutes later and a tall woman with practically a mane of curly hair strode in as if she did so every day. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, maybe, and was pretty despite some worry lines and crow's feet beginning to make their appearances. She was wearing a simple striped sweater and capri pants with bright green slipper-like shoes, almost as green as Quinn's shoelaces. I looked down at Quinn's feet and realized that, though they had once been blindingly neon, I hadn't noticed that they'd slowly been getting dirtier and dimmer over the past few months.
The room fell immediately silent and the newcomer paused, looking around at each of us in turn and smiling warmly. "Please, don't stop on my account. It'll take me a few moments to get myself organized. I got here as soon as I could when they called and told me Ted was sick." She moved a pair of wide glasses from their perch on a purple lanyard around her neck and perched them on her nose before depositing a fairly thick stack of papers onto the table in the back, pulling up a chair, and beginning to look everything over
"Ted," Quinn said with a snicker. "Of course that dweeb is a Ted." She lowered her voice and leaned over to Caleb, who was sitting on the other side of me. "So, what do you make of this chick?"
"I've seen her before, but she's never taken over on any of my other sessions before. I don't know, she seems okay so far." He glanced in her direction, then back at us. "Anything is better than the 'F-Bomb', right?"
Quinn laughed out so loud that everyone in the room, including the new counselor, turned to look at her. She gave everyone an "oops" look and they all went back to what they were doing. "The F-Bomb! MAn, I've never heard that one before. That's my new favorite, you just topped 'F-Flat!'"
Caleb grinned wide, one of those grins that would probably be killer on the ladies if he weren't so shy and reserved. "Yeah, that's an old one." He turned toward me and shrugged. "I've been coming here for, like, three years now. Frolland isn't exactly a favorite. People only take the Thursday night slots if they're new or desperate."
"Well, my mom certainly was desperate," I mumbled. This conversation was making me realize how little I actually knew the kids I was spending ninety minutes a week with, and it was making me hate the "F-Bomb" even more for turning our sessions into some kind of blame/pity fest.
I was rescued from saying anything more when the new lady cleared her throat and stood up, clasping her hands in front of her and surveying the room. "Alright, guys! My name is Hannah, and, obviously, I'm filling in for Te--ahem, Dr. Frolland. So, how is everyone this evening?"
Crickets. A few mumbled "fines" after an awkward pause.
"Oh, so you're not the chatty bunch huh?" Hannah said, pursing her lips and shaking her head slowly. "Well, hopefully we can fix that by the end of the evening. I know I'm only going to be with you for a little while, but I'd still like to get to know you a little! Derek, is it?" She turned to Derek, who seemed surprised she knew his name. "What's your favorite TV show, man?"
"Uh." Derek instantly got that deer-in-the-headlights look. If fact, all of us probably did. This wasn't how Group Meetings went! "I don't really watch TV," he said finally, scratching his arm obsessively.
"Movie?"
He shrugged.
"Band?"
His eyes lit up. "Aww, Guns and Roses all the way!"
"Sweet!" Hannah said, clapping her hands together and making finger-pistols at him. Yeah. I'm serious. Finger pistols. "Finally, someone your age who appreciates classic rock! I'm more of a 'Stones fan myself, but I appreciate!"
"Oh... well, awesome!" Derek grinned nervously and looked like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to have a common interest with a psychiatrist. Yep, Frolland couldn't be bothered to know anything about us other that whatever condition had us returning to this godforsaken little room every week. Quinn and I exchanged a look. The next ninety minutes were probably going to be fairly interesting.
"Well, now that we broke the ice a little bit, how about we get to know each other a little bit?" Hannah suggested, taking a seat in the only chair left. "Let's just go around the room and tell everyone something they probably wouldn't know about you. Cara, is it? How about you start?"
The slender blonde girl looked incredibly skeptical. "Like, what am I supposed to say? Frolland makes us spill our guts every week, everyone already knows everything."
"Oh, forget about all that junk," Hannah said cheerfully, waving her hand dismissively. "Beating those dead horses isn't going to get us anywhere, in my opinion. Like I said, just tell us something we wouldn't know about you."
"O-ooohkay." She made a face and drummed her fingers on the side of her chair for a few seconds. Cara was bipolar (type two, of course), but I didn't really know anything else about her. "I only have nine toes," she blurted out finally, with kind of a sheepish look. " I lost one in a bicycle accident when I was nine."
"Wonderful!" Hannah exclaimed, throwing up her arms. I was quickly gathering that she was the excitable type, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing for her. Bubbly, I think my mom would have called her. "Well, not awesome that you lost your toe," she said quickly when a few kids laughed. "But that's the general idea of what I was looking for. Bethany?"
"My parents are white," Bethany said with a shrug. She was very obviously Hispanic, and had never shy about the fact. "I was adopted when I was, like, two. I don't speak Spanish, either."
"I play the trombone," Jeremy said suddenly, and then looked as if he would rather have not said that. He was the oldest and quietest of the group and was the only one Frolland didn't really press for details about his problems.
"Hey, that's cool. I used to play clarinet," Caleb piped up. They air high-fived and Jeremy seemed to relax a little.
"My favorite color is blue," said Alice, though she was dressed in all black (as usual). "I used to dye my hair blue all the time."
"I was born in Russia," Derek said when Hannah looked his way. "My parents were on a business trip and I was twelve weeks early."
"Wow! See, you guys are so interesting, I never would have guessed any of that!" the counselor said enthusiastically. "Hey, you two in the back, jump in!" Quinn looked at me with wide eyes and shrugged, motioning for me to go first.
"I... uh..." I wasn't sure what to say. Frankly, I didn't even find me very enthralling. "I, ahem, I built my own computer," I said finally. Pause. "Like, from scratch. It took a while."
"Hey, that's really awesome!" Hannah said, smiling at me. She didn't say it in that fake, I-have-no-idea-what-to-say-so-I'm-being-polite way either, which I really appreciated. Alice flashed me a thumbs-up from across the room and I felt myself flush a little.
"Now, you must be Quinn," Hannah said, turning to her without looking down at her notes. "I had a sticky on the top of the files that said "Quinn Lanley will always talk last."
A few kids chuckled, me included, and Quinn grinned a very self-satisfied grin. "That's me. Gotta have the last word."
"So what makes you unique?"
The world seemed to slow down for me. I could have answered that question, to be honest. I could have answered it with any one of a hundred conversations we'd had in the last six months. She was the girl who liked strawberry-pistachio smoothies. She was the one who would rather spend hours, days even, at the bookstore instead of the mall. She was the one who snuck around the rich-people neighborhoods for who-knows-what. She was the one who smiled through her pain and tried to make you do the same. All that, and more, was how I would have answered "what makes Quinn unique."
Quinn looked at me for a few moments and pursed her lips. She took a deep breath. She fidgeted with a hole in her jeans. Finally, she sighed. "I have a turtle," she said finally.
I thought my jaw was going to drop off in sheer bewilderment of how incredibly underwhelming that was.
"His name is Mr. Squeegee, and he's a Mexican Painted Turtle." She made a face. "I know, the name is a little weird. I got him when I was, like, five. Don't hate!"
"Well, that's very nice, Quinn," Hannah said, somewhat subdued. I wonder if maybe she thought Quinn was going to say something else, like I did. Suddenly, I wondered what might have been in those files Frolland had passed on. What if there was something... I didn't even know, just something on one of those papers that Quinn wasn't telling anyone. I tried to push the thought from my mind. Whatever it is, it's her business, I reminded myself firmly. If it mattered, she'd say something by now.
It wasn't much to reassure myself with, but Hannah launched us straight into another activity, which kept me distracted. By the time the session was over, one thing was clear: Hannah was far better at doing the whole therapy thing that our beloved old Dr. F. I had kind of assumed that all psychiatrists were boring as hell and had the emotional capabilities of a Saguaro but that obviously wasn't the case. It was just my luck--our luck, as a whole-- to get stuck with that asshat instead of someone who actually seemed to enjoy their work.
"Well, that's about all we have time for today!" Hannah finally called out at seven-thirty. We were doing this group scavenger-hunt thing with a couple atlases she'd found in the cupboard (team-building and problem solving exercise, she'd called it) and I'd hardly even noticed the time go by because, though I'd never thought it physically possible, we were actually having fun at Support Group for once. "Well, I'm really glad to have met you all! I hope I can see you all again sometime!"
"We should all take turns sneezing in F-Flat's mug," Alice said wanly as we began packing up. "I kinda like this lady."
"Can't win them all, unfortunately," Quinn said plainly, shaking her head. "Ah, well. At least we don't have to see him for two more weeks."
"Samuel?" Hannah appeared over my shoulder, holding a thin file folder with my name stamped in block-letters on the front. "Can we chat for a moment, dude?" I felt a pang in the pit of my stomach, part anxiety and part sadness. Sean was the only one who ever called me "dude." We hadn't spoken in over a month.
"Sure," I said, following her to the table at the back. I caught Quinn watching us walk away and she gave me an it's-probably-nothing shrug.
"Hey, so I saw that Ted has you on some pretty heavy antidepressants," she said as we came out of earshot of the group. "How are those working for you?"
"Oh! Um, fine, I guess?" I wasn't expecting that, though I probably should have been. She seemed genuinely concerned. "I'm taking them, I promise," I said quickly.
"Hey, you're not in trouble," she said reassuringly, She was playing with the corner of the file and I suddenly really wanted to see what was inside. It wasn't very big, which was probably a good thing, but I was curious as to what kind of potential garbage Frolland was filling pages with regarding my mental health. "I just want to make sure it's actually improving your situation, instead of hurting. Like I said, that's a pretty heavy dose."
"No, I'm doing okay," I said finally, after considering it for a moment. "I mean, I'm not taking them all the time, just... kind of when I need them."
"Good," she said, giving me a warm smile and patting me on the shoulder. "I know this probably hasn't been the easiest or most comfortable of situations for you, I just want to help you adjust in whatever way you feel helps you the most."
"Okay. Wow. Well, thanks, I guess," I said, a little overwhelmed by the support.
"You're very welcome," she said tucking the file under her arm. "I don't know if I'll ever be filling in for Ted again, but I do work in the building here, feel free to swing by and ask for me if you need any help with anything." I nodded dumbly and turned to leave. "Oh, Samuel?"
"Yeah?"
"Could you ask Quinn to come talk to me, please?"
"Um, sure." Quinn was still watching us out of the corner of her eye while Bethany chatted at her animatedly. I waved her over and she gave me a questioning look before detaching herself and making her way across the room.
"Everything okay?" She asked in a low voice.
"So far," was all I said. "She wants to talk to you, too."
"Crap," Quinn muttered, shaking her head slowly.
"You're not in trouble... probably," I added, trying to make it a joke. It didn't help.
"I'm not really a fan of the one-on-one" she said, crossing her arms and giving Hannah a weak smile as she continued on to the table. "Hey, don't leave without me."
"Yeah, right," I said, but she wasn't listening. Of course my mom wouldn't be by to pick me up for ages, so I could stand to wait. I made my way outside and slouched down onto "our" wall, wondering what their private talk would be about. While my mind was wandering, Derek was the next to come out of the clinic. He waved at me and then offered to drive me home (everyone seemed to have noticed my parents' aversion to promptness by now). I politely declined. Caleb and Alice came out next and I returned their waves as well. Bethany and Cara came out shortly after with Jeremy close behind.It was a solid five more minutes until Quinn appeared and made her way over to me, walking more slowly than usual. Instead of sitting down on the wall like usual, she remained standing and began poking at a weed growing out of the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe.
"Looks like they're late again" I said plainly. Quinn shrugged sympathetically and then parked herself on the bricks with a sigh. I sat down too. We sat in silence for a few moments. Quinn bent down and plucked the weed from the crack in the concrete and put it carefully in her sweatshirt pocket.
"So, what'd she want to talk to you about?" I asked finally, because she obviously wasn't going to start the conversation.
"Nothing," Quinn replied a little too quickly. "What'd she want to talk to you about?"
I thought that maybe if I played the honesty card she'd fess up and tell me about her own conversation with Hannah. "She wanted to talk to me about antidepressants," I said with a shrug "No big deal."
"Antidepressants," she repeated whimsically, staring off across the parking lot. She wasn't really paying attention; I could tell she was somewhere else in her mind, wrapped up in worries I didn't know and couldn't fix. She turned back to me abruptly. "Screw antidepressants!"
"They're not so bad," I deadpanned. "I mean, I don't love them, but I know why they exist."
"Whatever," she said sourly, shaking her head. "They shouldn't make such a big deal about the damn things." She looked over at me, face half-veiled by that wild dark hair, eyes burdened by whatever weight was sitting atop her soul now. That was the problem, I guessed: I could never tell what fresh new hell she was putting herself through. She wouldn't share and it was frustrating to no end. "Everyone's on antidepressants, Samuel." she said finally, shaking her head slowly. "The difference between us and them is that ours come from little orange bottles and theirs come from television screens and beer bottles."
"Wow," was all I could manage. It was strange seeing her more bitter than myself. I wanted to raise my voice, to yell, to grab her by the shoulders and ask her why, why didn't she just swallow her stupid pride and tell me what was going on? I didn't, though. I couldn't. I just watched her slender fingers draw meaningless circles in the dirty brick of our wall. I wanted to reach out and grab her hand, but I didn't do that either.
"Walk me to the bus stop?" She asked finally. I nodded and we started off across the grass toward the main road. The days were getting noticeably shorter and darkness had already mostly fallen dulling everything around us to a dim grey shadow. The grass swished around our ankles as we drew closer to the lonely bench with its dented overhang "Sorry for being so shitty." She said so quietly I almost didn't hear.
"Don't worry about it," I sighed. I took a leap and decided to just speak my mind. "I mean, I get it. Stuff happens. It sucks. I just wish you'd, I don't know, trust me enough to tell me about it."
"It's not that I don't trust you," She said quickly, stopping in her tracks. I stopped too and turned to face her, though I could barely make out her face in the dark. "I just... don't want to damage you, or something."
"Damage me, or damage yourself by admitting you are dealing with something you can't handle by yourself?" I asked before I lost the nerve. She opened her mouth as her face twisted in defiance and her arms crossed.
She shut her mouth.
One arm dropped.
I waited.
"That's not fair," she muttered. Her voice sounded small, like a childs.
"That's what you'd say to me."
"I know, but..."
"But you're not the only one who can try to help make everyone else's life better so you can ignore your own problems, or whatever," I said firmly, and kept on walking. She was quick to catch up.
"What's gotten into you?" she demanded as we reached the bus stop. The was a street lamp a few yards from the bench which bathed everything in a pitiful orange glow. Quinn looked fierce, but not dangerous. I wasn't trying to piss her off or anything; I just knew this was the only way to get real feelings out of her.
"I'm just tired of this," I said finally. "I'm tired of coming to this stupid group on Thursdays and finding out that, surprise! We're all just as screwed up as the last Thursday. I want people to get better. I want you to get better." I emphasized the word you more than I had meant to and I think she noticed. She reached out her hand and it brushed against mine before she gingerly rested it on my arm.
"Hey, that's... that's good. Thanks. Really." I glanced at her and I could see that her eyes were wet around the edges. We stood there for an untold time, something huge and imperceptible somehow wedged between us even though we were touching. Finally, Quinn sat down and patted the spot next to her. "Look, Samuel, I... I'm glad you care about the other guys. And about me, I guess. It helps."
"Doesn't feel like it," I mumbled.
"It does," she said, more forcefully. "It's just that the issues in question are... complicated. There's history. It's a mess, and it's going to keep being messy for a long time, probably. I don't want to drag you into that. Actually, I refuse to drag you into that! You are to freaking nice, too freaking normal to be dealing with my messes!"
"I don't really think I'm either of those things," I shot back
"Yes, you are. And so help me, I'm not going to ruin that for you!" Quinn's fingers wound into my sleeve and she pulled on it to emphasize her point.
"That doesn't matter!" I protested, throwing up my arms and pulling away. "I already accepted all of that... baggage, or whatever you want to call it, when I... I..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I felt frantic. Nervous. Overwhelmed. I turned away.
"When you what?" She put her hand on my shoulder and tried to pull me back toward her.
I don't know what made me do it. I think that there are moments in life that are so inevitable that they force themselves into places where they don't make sense, like a cosmic car crash or something, some force of time and nature that simply cannot be avoided.
I wasn't planning on it.
I wasn't even sure if I wanted to do it.
But at that moment I couldn't seem to stop myself, and so I turned a hundred and eighty degrees and kissed Quinn Lanely full on the lips right there on the cold metal of that bus stop bench.
"Oh," she sighed, and she kissed me back.
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