Twelve Truths and a Lie (5 page)

She was thinking hard about it, her eyelashes fanning across her cheeks, her knee innocently brushing up against mine. “Sounds refreshing actually. No talking about yourself or trying to understand them and what kind of person they are. Just…dude, I haven’t gotten off in days and I need you to help me with that.”

My cock stiffened in my pants,
holy shit
. She used those words in such an innocent voice, and the idea of her saying that just a bit rougher, breathier, her hair all mussed up made me painfully hard.

I looked away, so I wouldn’t betray myself. “Yep, just about like that.”

When I saw almost all the stools around us were empty, I realized it was getting late. We had sat there talking practically all night.

As if realizing the same thing, Aurora turned her legs sideways on the stool, breaking our warm connection. “Better get going.”

After we cashed out, I followed behind her out the door, attempting to adjust myself before she caught on. No worries in that department though, because as soon as we stepped out into the frigid night temps with the threat of snow in the forecast, my dick practically turned into a limp icicle, along with the rest of me.

When she got to her car, she rubbed her chilled hands together and said, “It was great talking to you again.”

She made the motion to possibly hug me, before thinking better of it. But damn, I wanted her to. Except we were just…who knew how we’d define it. Acquaintances. Companions. Friends. And not all friends hugged or needed to.

But fuck that. We had just shared a shit ton of personal stuff, so I embraced her anyway. I had to stretch down because of our height difference, and her face naturally landed in my neck. I felt her hot breaths lashing at my chilled throat and imagined us warming up in a completely different way.

I sniffed her hair one last time before dragging myself away. “Until next time.”

I
walked my client out
. Her name was Lucy and she was on the Autism Spectrum. She’d had much trouble keeping friendships the past couple of years because peers claimed she was too intense and in their face.

During our session, we role-played some playground situations so that she could feel better about interacting with classmates, but talking and doing are two different things.

Her mom finally decided to get her on anxiety meds for some of her bigger fears and compulsions, and that has helped tremendously.

I spotted Darius in the waiting room slumped down in one of our orange plastic chairs, his knee jiggling a mile a minute. After greeting his mom, I motioned for him to enter my office.

The walk down the hallway was quiet as usual. He was like a tornado with flesh, always churning inside.

He opened his backpack and pushed his mess of school papers toward me. He picked through them and finally found the chart that showed he’d had a better week. His teacher had changed to simply writing his initials in a loopy scroll.
CM
. And then it hit me: Cameron Miller. Shoot.

This had happened before with friends, because it’s a small world, and sometimes our professional lives intersected. Darius’s mom also signed a release allowing open communication with the school. But it would be unethical to talk about Darius to Cameron in a social situation. So I needed to tread carefully.

I pulled out a puzzle this time because I knew he would need something to do with his hands. It was an after-school appointment and I could tell he was already antsy, not only because of the time of day, but also because of the meds wearing off.

We sat side by side at the table and I dumped out the pieces. “What did you do over the weekend?”

“I had a visit with my dad,” he mumbled.

I bumped his shoulder lightly. “How did it go?”

“It was decent, I guess,” he said, searching for a piece, his fingers working overtime. “He gave me money for clothes.”

Knowing he needed something to center him, I slid a bunch of pieces toward him, so he could go to town finding the right one. “Did you get some new things?”

“Mom took me shopping,” he said, shifting in his seat. “I got me some decent sneakers.”

I looked down to see his new black shoes that were a far cry sturdier than the torn white ones from last week. “Nice.”

“I wanted me some new LeBron’s, but then my brothers wouldn’t have been able to buy shoes,” he said in quick succession, not meeting my gaze. Almost like he didn’t want me to know that he had done a good deed. He was definitely not an attention hog.

“That was cool of you,” I said, spotting a wash of color climb his cheeks. “Bet they’re excited about their new shoes, too.”

He nodded, way ahead on fitting pieces along the border of the puzzle.

“Did you and your dad talk about anything important?” I asked, after looking at the large round clock across the room. Time could fly in these sessions, and I didn’t want to lose any valuable minutes.

“Like what?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what we had discussed in earlier sessions. But a refresher was always good.

“About how you feel,” I said, trying to lead him. “How you want him to visit more.”

Thing was, I knew they wouldn’t. They would just go on as if nothing had happened, never broaching any of those essential topics. Talking did not come easy for many families. So much heartache and frustration and fear often lead to long bouts of silence instead. Easier to squash those feelings than dig up all the sharp edges. They’d find a way to poke and prod eventually. Or in Darius’s case,
erupt.

“He…he doesn’t want to talk about that kind of stuff,” Darius said. “He wants to forget that all of it happened. And sometimes, I do, too.”

“Yeah, of course. Makes a ton of sense. But if you don’t try, at least once or twice, it’s all going to fester inside of you,” I said. I’d wanted to do a session with his father and him, but his dad had refused. He saw our agency as the enemy, and I could totally understand that. He needed to blame somebody, if it wasn’t himself. “The idea is to not have you repeat that same behavior—that same anger your dad has. You don’t want your son to come see me in twenty years.”

He gasped and looked me in the eye for the first time. Then his lips wobbled into a devious grin. “Will you even be alive in twenty years?”

I teasingly nudged his shoulder. “Oh, I’ll get back at you for that, just you wait.”

It was so great to hear him laugh. Like he had no troubles in the world in that moment.

“You’ll want to have a healthy relationship with your own kids someday, right?” I asked, fitting a corner piece in.

“Right,” he said, face serious again.

“With your brothers, too?” I said. “They already look up to you. But you need it to be for the right reasons.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, almost looking embarrassed. It was true that most siblings fought to the death and then protected each other fiercely against the rest of the world. But Darius had to be not only a brother but also a caretaker to them while his mom worked longer hours at her receptionist job to put food on the table.

“That means you have to get your frustration out in different ways,” I said, finding a couple more pieces to finish the border. “You can’t be fighting and getting kicked out of every school.”

He dipped his head.

“So, let’s talk about ways to release that frustration.”

We spent the remainder of the session talking about getting his anger out. He was assigned a journal and was to begin bringing it to sessions next week. I wouldn’t read it. I would only check that he was recording something in it every single day.

I chose that method for him because, according to his records, he was good at writing in school. It was at least one solid way to release all of his pent-up frustration. I knew he could do it if he put his mind to it.

L
ater that night
, I received a panicked text from my friend.

Sydney: My period is late.

I attempted to stave off her alarm.

Me:
You’ve been late before.

Sydney: You’re right. But does this time have to happen right after I’ve had a thing with him?

She was referring to some mysterious guy she hooked up with about a month ago that she claimed was one of the best sexual experiences of her life. She acted like it was no big deal after that, but I knew it had been. And she refused to give up his name. Nicole and I were afraid it was a parent of one of her dance kids. And that he was married or in the middle of a divorce. Yikes, would that get messy.

Me: True. But I bet it’s stress because of that. You have to chill out.

Sydney: You’re probably right.

Me: It might help if we knew who the guy was.

There was a long pause, and I thought maybe I had pissed her off. If somebody had pressed me about my covert meetings with Cameron, I might balk as well.

Sydney:
Fine. It’s Maddie. But I don’t want to talk about it with you guys, not yet. I just want to go to sleep. So tired. I’ll have a clearer head tomorrow.

Oh God, Cameron’s roommate, Maddie. I just knew she had a crush on him.

Me:
Thanks for confiding in me. I love you, friend, and all will be okay.

I made myself a Lean Cuisine and turned on the television to a decorating show, but I could barely concentrate.

My phone buzzed with a text from Nicole.

Nicole: Did she tell you?

Me: Yep.

Nicole: Oh gosh, that would be a disaster.

Me: Yes, it would. But we’d help her through it.

Nicole: All my appendages crossed.

Me: Same.

Nicole: Want to come over for dinner on Friday? Michael has a work thing.

Pause. Was I meeting Cameron? Did I say something? No, not yet. It felt nice that this was my little secret.

Me: Might grab drinks with a co-worker. Another day?

Later as I lay in bed, a text came through from Cameron.

Cameron: How do you feel about Marvel superheroes?

Me: Well, X-Men is my favorite and that franchise has done a good job with the prequel movie.

Long pause. Too much?

Cameron: Want to see the new Avengers movie this Friday?

Me: Meet you at the theatre?

Cameron: Deal.

And just like that we were doing something different. Meeting in a new location. One that did not involve any kind of alcohol. I still wasn’t sure if he was in denial about his drinking habits. Many people were. But if I noticed anything off, I’d deal with it then. Or not. None of my business.

Except, we had shared a lot last week. So that made him a friend. And I wouldn’t be able to ignore any warning signs. But this time would be different because we were absolutely not dating. The pressure was off. I didn’t have to fix him, only help him, if he needed it.

I was actually excited to see a movie. Hadn’t I wished for somebody to go to the cinema with lately? Sydney and Nicole were not into those blockbuster franchises.

They hadn’t read the comic books like I did when I was younger, alongside my brother. God, I missed Aaron sometimes. It had been too long. Usually I flew out to see him and his wife and kids once a year for the holidays. Maybe I’d call him to talk, just like old times. I scrolled through the contacts on my phone and did exactly that.

“Everything okay, sis?” Aaron asked in a semi panic. That’s when I realized it was after ten o’clock at night, my time.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” I said. I could hear his television playing in the background. “Just needed to hear a friendly voice from my past.”

“Is this because Mom’s birthday is around the corner?” he asked, lowering his voice. I hadn’t given it much thought until he said it. Sometimes the dates of her birth and death just snuck up on me. I swiped at a stray tear, not even realizing that I had begun crying. What in the world had come over me?

“Maybe,” I said, trying not to sniffle into the phone or he’d really be worried about me. Though he knew I could pretty much cry at the drop of a hat. “Just…miss you guys sometimes. Not my awkward teen years or anything like that because, whoa. Just having a family around me.”

“Oh, Rory,” he sighed into the phone. “Honey, I miss you, too. I’m sorry we don’t live closer.”

“Oh, please don’t feel bad, it’s not anybody’s fault. It is what it is,” I said. My brother moved to the city where his wife lived and where he was able to find a job after their wedding. At least my mom had been alive to see him get married. Thankfully her accident hadn’t happened that night, even though she had gotten fairly sloshed at the reception. I was still in college at the time and completely mortified, if not sick with worry. “I’ll be sure to visit this summer. But I have a good job and great friends and I have no complaints in my life.”

“You sound different,” he said, as his wife, Kim, laughed at something, probably on the program they had been watching before I called.

“Different how?” I asked, staring up at the ceiling.

“More…settled, I guess is the word,” he replied. “More like yourself.”

“Huh,” I said. “That’s good to know.”

Maybe this year of living like a monk had really done wonders.

“Still swearing off boys?” I heard Kim shout to me in the background. “Hand me that phone so I can catch up with my sister-in-law, too.”

I laughed and hunkered down in my sheets, ready to fill her in—on most of it, anyway. Or maybe even all of it.

I
t was Friday afternoon
, I had just walked my kids out to their busses, mentally exhausted from the day. Most of the students from this school walked, but my kids came from different neighborhoods around the county, so the district provided transportation.

They got all the usual jokes about taking the short bus, which sucked because being in a self-contained unit was tough enough. There was a stigma about being in my classroom—they were known as either the bad or crazy kids in the school.

But damn if I didn’t want to yank some of those regular education students into my classroom to teach a lesson or two about manners, empathy, and definitely misogyny.

It was true that for the first time in my teaching career I had a room full of all boys. But the last time we had a couple of girls in the mix, my aid and I had squashed ridiculous catcalls and behaviors mimicking sex acts straight out of the gate.

If anything, the kids in my classroom needed to feel safe, something many of them weren’t privy to on a regular basis. Along with acceptance.

So today, when we had an all-school assembly, which was anxiety provoking in itself, Sandy and I had a talk with our students.

“How do you guys want to be seen at Thomas Jefferson?” Sandy had asked.

Five hands shot up immediately.

“Like we’re part of the school,” my skinny goth student named Jared said.

“Like we’re normal,” Christopher, who typically had trouble controlling what came out of his mouth, added.

“Nobody’s normal, no matter what they tell you. But that’s beside the point,” I said, nodding. “Listen up. You are all in my classroom for different reasons. Your needs are diverse and our job is to help you. There’s no shame in that.”

“Yeah, but that’s not how the other kids and teachers see it,” Darius, my toughest kid, replied. He was whip smart, could do so much with all that pent-up energy, and hopefully I could steer him in the right direction.

Problem was, up to this point, he responded best to adults who were bigger, had more of a bite. I was stern with him. But I also intended to show him that assertive was not the same as aggressive, and respect could be earned in more rewarding ways.

“You’re right.” Darius sat back with a smug look on his face. “And they won’t see anything different as long as you continue to show the world outside this classroom that you don’t have it all together.”

“But we don’t have it all together,” another kid named Liam said, and we all laughed.

“That’s true, too,” I replied, patting his shoulder. “In one way or another, you all have trouble controlling your emotions or actions. But the fact is, people don’t get that.”

“Mental health diagnoses don’t look like other illnesses or disabilities,” Sandy said. “You just look unruly. It’s unfortunate, but that’s how the world works. Maybe someday that’ll change.”

“So for now, how about we help each other out in group settings outside the classroom.” I looked each of my students in the eye, hoping to get all of them on board. “It’s important that you guys know how to act in a social situation, especially one that calls for you to sit and pay attention for a long period of time.”

“Those assemblies suck,” Christopher whined, and a few of the kids grumbled.

“You might be right,” I said. “But there will always be something you have to sit through that you don’t like.”

“Especially as an adult,” Sandy added and a couple of the students’ eyes widened. “And as an adult, you’d look pretty interesting in the middle of a restaurant or theatre having a temper tantrum because you’re bored. You’d also get thrown out or arrested. So you better get the hang of sitting through things you don’t like
now
.”

Christopher mimicked pouting like a toddler and Jared snickered.

I walked over to Darius’s desk and knocked my knuckles on it. “How about Darius uses a signal if he hears anybody is getting out of hand in the assembly today?”

His eyebrows climbed to his hairline. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Can you do that for me? Be my go-to guy?”

He swallowed. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”

I tilted my head in his direction. “Means you’ll have to be sharp.”

He nodded, sitting up straight.

“What if he falls down on the job?” Christopher asked.

“I don’t see it happening, but good point nonetheless,” I said, scanning the room for an additional helper.

“I won’t mess up,” Darius said, throwing Christopher a furious look for questioning his leadership skills.

“I doubt Darius will fail in his assigned task, but he might need help at the other end of the table.” I looked over at Sandy who angled her head at the student in front of her. One who liked to remain passive, invisible. “Hmmm, I’ll need Liam to be his second-in-command.”

He began shaking his head to argue the point, but Sandy leaned over and whispered in his ear, no doubt something reassuring. His shoulders relaxed.

“Do we get something for behaving at the assembly?” Christopher piped in. “A special treat?”

“You get to keep your dignity and self-respect. And that’s pretty important,” I said, practically rolling my eyes. It might be true that a sense of entitlement had been instilled in this new generation. But I still wouldn’t want to return to years past. These kids were more open in general. To diversity. And that was a good thing.

“So what do we say?” I asked in a rousing voice.

We put our hands on top of Sandy’s in the center of the room, and Darius led them in a goofy cheer. It was worth it to see the camaraderie and smiles on their faces. If anything, they had each other, and they needed to know that, especially when they felt everyone outside that classroom was against them.

We walked down to the assembly in a single-file line and silently sat at our end of the long table. My students received the same stares they always did from the rest of the school. Some kids snickered in their direction. Adults threw my kids skittish glances along with sympathetic ones for Sandy and me. Everybody seemed to walk on eggshells around us, given the misconceptions and maybe how my students had acted out in public at one time or another. I was going to have a talk with the principal again. We needed another sensitivity workshop or some kind of shit like that.

But hell, I was so proud of them today. Darius did his part by using a snap symbol if one of the boys was beginning to get restless and disruptive. Liam followed suit at the other end of the table. I only had to walk Christopher out once into the hall to get his body moving, because he had such trouble keeping still.

All in all, it had been a rewarding day.

And tonight I was going to see a movie with Aurora. A night out with a cool friend. And damn was I looking forward to it.