One Last Thing ✅

thirty-eight things

Dr. Knowles stands before me, frowning, flipping through papers on a clipboard. Grams is sitting on the bench next to the window, peeking out at the parking lot. The sun falls across her face, highlighting her cheekbones.

It occurs to me what a beautiful woman she is.

The way her eyes are kind of sad and her shoulders slump, like she's been through hell and back. Which she has, I know, just like I get that it's my fault that she looks so tired right now.

I've never known a stronger woman than Grams. Everything she's been through. Watching her daughter go to prison, losing her husband to cancer. Yet she just keeps on going.

Just keeps on.

After a moment, Dr. Knowles looks up at me, tucks her pen into her messy bun. Her frown remains. "Well, medically you're fine to leave today. I just worry that you're going to end up back here in another week." She turns to Grams. "What kind of a support plan does she have in place?"

Grams looks confused. "Well, there's me..."

Dr. Knowles shakes her head. "That's not enough. I know that you're an incredibly caring caregiver, and I know that you're doing your utmost to keep Lil healthy and happy. However, the fact of the matter is that Lil is going through an extremely traumatic experience. She needs a couple of things. First of all, you'll need to talk to her family doctor about getting her some medication. An anti-depressant, possibly more.  I don't know if she'll need to be on it permanently, but she's definitely going to need something to help her through this period. Secondly, she'll need to talk to someone. Does your health insurance cover counseling?"

I watch as Grams's face falls. Of course we don't have insurance for that kind of thing. She works part-time at the public library. I don't know much about psychiatrists, but I assume they're expensive. As in hundreds of dollars an hour expensive. There's just no way we can afford that.

Grams shakes her head.

"I could talk to Mrs. Feldmann," I say, remembering how I felt after I left her office, more relaxed, like I'd unstrapped a baby elephant from my shoulders. The feeling only lasted a little while, but maybe that's a start. "At school?"

Dr. Knowles tips her head. "A school counselor would work. It would have to be a regular thing, though. I'd like you to check with in her at least every other day. Do you think you'll be able to arrange that?"

Grams jumps in. "I'll give Mr. O'Hara a call. Surely he'll be able to set something up. After all, you were in a band with his son, right?"

I nod and press my lips together, thinking about Abbott, what he and Jared and Riley must think of me right now. It makes me feel ashamed that they saw me that way, so weak, so pitiful.

Pathetic.

A familiar longing creeps into my head, one for steel and anguish, followed by liberation, at least until the need comes around again. I wonder whether Grams already got rid of the knives in the kitchen. If she hasn't, she will soon, of course. My mind wanders, thinking of where I might find a replacement tool.

And then I catch myself.

You promised you wouldn't.

The thought is enough to bring me back to the present, but not enough to completely banish my urge to cut. I look at Grams, wondering if I'll be able to keep my promise to her.

You have to, I tell myself. You have to try.

Dr. Knowles speaks, breaking through my thoughts. "Is that a deal, Lil?"

I shake my head. "Is what a deal?"

She looks at me with steady eyes. "You have to fight."

My gaze falls to Grams, who has gone back to looking out the window. Her eyes are sad, but strong. Fearless. Whatever comes her way, she can handle it. I try to picture myself, at her age.

I close my eyes.

For a moment, there is nothing, but then...

There I am, sixty years old, sitting by a fireplace with a guitar in my hands. There is someone beside me, but I'm not sure who it is. The main thing is the warmth. So much warmth. On my face and my arms.

The warmth.

It feels like... hope.

I open my eyes and fix my gaze on Dr. Knowles.

"Deal."