Hearing Anna

ii.iii

THURSDAY AFTERNOON MEANS AN appointment with dr. carraway. i don't want to go, don't want to see that lady again. i don't want to fork over my money just so i can talk it out with a 'professional'.

i have already learned that talking about something a year too late is like delaying the punchline of a sad, cruel joke until it is no longer relevant. blood may flood the town's streets, contaminate its river, but the next year, the river will be clean, and the prior year's events become old news.

when i tell carraway this, she calmly reminds me of one of her prime teachings for me. she tsks at me, then says, "everything culminates into one being. no event is separate from another. you were raped, and so you smoke off the memory. they coincide. one causes the other, therefore your situation is relevant."

i find it foul, how she can say that word with such a lightness, as if it is a lovely feather rather than a proverbial knife in my stomach. she says rape like she might say any other word, should she be high; i say it with the weight it begs to be said with, as if i wrote it and traced over the letters a million times.

"it is completely irrelevant, ma'am, because the rape occurred outside of anything i knew, anything i know. i'm forgetting about it, and if it weren't for these stupid visits, i'd -"

"anna," she warns. "calm down." she gestures to me with a light hand. "how have these past few weeks been, since i got you back on zoloft?"

truth is, i've never taken one of those pills. the prescription has remained unretrieved for a month. not that they made any different. the first go-round with them, i had been complacent and blank. i hated it. after i finished the second bottle, i refused to take any more. my third therapist - the one i had when i had first quit taking the pills - seemed to disappear after that, and i swore to myself i would not put those little pills in my mouth again.

"i have felt okay, i suppose." my feelings with elliot are more than okay. my heart pounds at the prospect of our date tomorrow.

"have you gained any inclinations since starting the medication that have been positive?" god, it's like she knows what i'm thinking about.

i debate whether or not i should be honest with dr. carraway. she really tries hard to do her job, i just don't cooperate well with these personal matters of mine. "well, a friend of mine and i are going on a date tomorrow evening."

her dull, grey eyes brighten up, as if this is the realisation of the century. "that's good, anna, but be careful."

elliot isn't like that. "i shall."

the conversation goes on with a monotone, but something about the way she perked up at the thought of me finding a kind friend to be around to help me cope gives me hope that this is a good thing.