Chapter 25, For the Love of Kayla

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A Better Pair of Shoes, a novel
Chapter 25

For the Love of Kayla

I bet you’re wondering how I got here again; flat on my face.  Looking back, I think I lost my footing the moment I received the letter.  Although, I hadn’t officially fallen until I had met with Tony.  The truth was somehow determined to keep me grounded.  At least, this is what I could gather from the site where my wound had been reopened. 

I pulled into the parking lot of the eight story bank building where my soon to be therapist was located.  Although her office was only four and a half miles from my house, I had set my alarm for six a.m.  I knew I would need enough time to get in the right state of mind.  I really didn’t know what to expect or how I would feel as I got closer to the hour; the moment.  I ended up turning off the alarm at four-thirty when I realized I wouldn’t go back to sleep.  I sat out on the balcony watching the city sleep.  I was careful to be extremely quiet and not to wake my husband.  He just had some sick way of always knowing when something was up.  I thought about how I would respond to questions I assumed the doctor would ask, but when that moment came I was not prepared.

            “So Mrs. Singletary, why are you here?”  I sat there stumped.  I hadn’t thought of that one.  Most of my answers were evasive and didn’t give room for much insight, but how would I tackle this one.  Any way I thought to answer her question would surely leave me wide open.  She was good.
            “Okay, would you say you are here by choice or not?”  She didn’t allow my silence to obstruct her goal.
            “I’m not really sure. Part of me knows I should be here, but the other part doesn’t want to be here.”
            “Why do you think a part of you doesn’t want to be here?”
            “Because it’s hard.”
            “What’s hard?”  Dr. Kat kept her eyes on her pad, and scribbled feverishly only looking up to ask questions.
            “Being Exposed.”
            “And the other part that knows you should be here as you put it….why does it feel that way?”
            “Because part of me wants to be free.”  I felt myself giving in to the process and not fighting as hard to keep her out.
            “It wants to be free to do what?” 
            “I want to be free to feel what I feel; to ask for what I want; to step out from behind my past.”
            “Very good, Kayla.  Is it okay for me to call you Kayla?” 
            “No.”  I quickly responded to the discomfort of her getting too comfortable with me.  Dr. Kat made what seemed to be the motion of a check on her pad and it unnerved me.
            “What are you writing?”  I asked in a demanding voice and with a ticked off look.
            “Would you prefer I not write Mrs. Singletary?”
            “Whatever.  How much longer do we have anyway?”  I checked my watch.
            “Why do you think you’re upset right now?” 
            “I’m not upset!” I barked
            “How many close friends would you say you have?”
            “One and my husband.”
            “So you would consider your husband to be your friend?”
            “How did he earn your friendship?”
            “He was there for me.”
            “When things got to be too much.  When I couldn’t hold it together anymore.”
            “What things couldn’t you hold together?”
            “Everything.  All the pain, the lies, the shhh.”
            “I’m sorry I didn’t get that last part.  Would you repeat that?”
            “The shame.  All the shame.”
            “What were you ashamed of?”
            “I’d rather not say.”  I shelled up, and got cozy in the silence that was familiar to me.
            “Does that mean you’re still ashamed?”  Dr. Kat was relentless, focused, and obviously well studied.  It was hard to deal with my emotions, and play the mental chess game needed to avoid and detour her questions.
            “Who would you say is to blame for the shame you may be still feeling?”
            “I don’t know.”  I sat with my elbows pressing into my knees and my hands to each of my ears.  I was trying to shut out the sound of my mother’s voice saying, “You little bitch”.
             “Maybe she is.  Maybe it’s her because she made me responsible for what happened.”  I thought out loud.
            “Who are we talking about Kayla?”
            “My Mother.  She hates me, but it’s not my fault.  I didn’t want to; I swear.  Not at first.”  I rambled and cried and shook my head from side to side trying to get rid of the sound of her voice.”
            “ZZZZZ!” The alarm on Dr. Kat’s desk was loud and uncaring.  It had only one purpose; to keep her from going over her appointments.  On this day it served several.  It had awakened me from a barrage of my mother’s hateful taunts.  It quieted her voice, and brought me back to the present moment where I understood that she was gone, and could hate me no longer.    
            It was exactly nine-thirty; a whole thirty minutes had gone by since I had sat down, but it felt like ten.
            “So Mrs. Singletary, we’ll pick right back up here on Thursday.  Sheila will give you a time.”  Dr. Kat escorted me to the floating work desk directly outside her office.  I felt cold and naked.  I had left part of me inside Dr. Kat’s office, and I wanted it back.  I didn’t want it there hanging out to dry for everyone to see, but Dr. Kat seamlessly moved to her next subject.
            “Mrs. Johnson, how are you today?  Come on in….”

            I sat in my car for the next fifteen minutes trying to remember all of what I had said; trying to figure out if I had said too much.  I went over the conversation as I remembered it at least twenty times.  I wondered how telling a stranger all my business was going to help me?  I saw no point.  I thought to walk back in and cancel my Thursday appointment, but just then Patti Labelle’s voice started belting out the words, “somebody loves you baby” and I knew it was Wood calling.
            “Hey.”  I smiled
            “You sound happy.”
            “I am.  I’m happy to hear your voice.”    
            “Likewise.”  Wood had no idea how crucial his timing had been. 
            “How’s work?”
            “Okay…kinda slow—sitting in the truck.” 
            “I see.  Well, have a good day, and save some of that energy for me.”
            “I will.”

A Better Pair of Shoes, a novel © Grace Call Communications, LLC Copyright ©2010, 2016, 2017 by Natisha Renee Williams All Rights Reserved