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Jake kept playing as he stepped away from the microphone. "I'll take you."
I shook my head, moving towards him. I'd get to stay longer if I let him drop me off, but I didn't want to interrupt rehearsal. "It's not far."
"Tonight?" He asked, with a loaded smirk.
"Yes, please," I nodded.
One, quick kiss was all he could afford, but he still managed to send my stomach fluttering. He eyed me up and down, mouthing the word, 'sexy,' as if accusing me. I grinned, feeling his eyes on me as I waived to all of them and hunched my way out of the half-open garage.
Outside, the heat was just as intense, but there was a light breeze. I turned my face to the warm sky and strolled a few feet with my eyes closed, knowing there was nothing in my path and it was thirty strides to the corner.
I hated leaving in the middle of rehearsals when my opportunities to watch felt so few and far between. Especially because, Jake was always in a great mood afterwards. Good was Jakes' signature move-his way of life-he was always good, in every way. But the most relaxed and happy time of his day was after he played for a while. After shows, he was on another level.
But it was Friday and that meant I had to pay a visit to Doctor Williams. It also meant that it was Jakes' night off from work and the Foster would be working, too.
I loved Fridays.
11
-Angel
I kicked at the gravel on the sidewalk, dreading my appointment. I didn't want to meet with Doctor Elena Williams. Her office smelled like bleach and floor polish, and when I was inside it I'd spend most of my time pretending to be somewhere else.
She seemed nice and all, but I don't know that she ever helped me. Maybe it was her technique that didn't jive. She was always asking questions about how my problems made me feel instead of telling me how to fix them. Kind of made me feel like she was full of shit, to be honest.
She had a very snug space on the second floor at the county clinic. It was an all-purpose type of building with an emergency room and small hospital. There was a cancer clinic held one weekend a month, but the wing I visited was very small; used mainly for psychiatric care.
Walking inside the small lobby, I headed straight for the elevator and waited.
It was going to be bad.
The sweat beading on my neck didn't stop even though I was out of the heat. Rivulets slid down my back as I walked into her office and took my seat.
"Hello, Miss Patel."
Her fingers clicked on a small, gray remote and the sounds of the ocean filled the room. Doctor Williams smiled cheerily while recorded seagulls called. She opened her notepad while running through the customary pleasantries. The 'hi-how-are-you's.
Freaking therapist. No one addressed me by my last name except her and my gym teacher.
My last name is supposed to be Asian, but I'm not sure what kind-Middle Eastern or Oriental. I don't look like either one. My eyes are all round and brown. Not thin and black. And my hair . . . well, it's nearly the same color as my eyes and thin. Not thick and black. But I love the dry heat and can get a wicked tan when I want.
When I was little, I would obsess over not knowing. I used to wish I'd been born in Ancient China. So much so, that inside my head, I built a hazy world set on a mystical mountain top, up so high the only scenery was shrouded in purple, magic clouds. There wasn't a soul in sight to witness my birth. Not even my mother. (My shrink said it had something to do with abandonment issues, but whatever.) I was a daughter of the sky, sheltered by ancient trees and fed by lotus blossoms. Long, lush vines dressed me in flower petals and velvety green leaves.
I could imagine that place so vividly, that I sometimes wondered if it was real, if I was reincarnated and remembering things I wasn't supposed to, from past lives-which made me wonder if reincarnation was an actual thing, because sometimes I felt ancient. Well, stretched beyond my years, anyways.
My birth certificate was a contradictory piece of evidence to those ideas. It said that I was born in a hospital in Flagstaff during the month of September to a mother who was only twenty when she had me. The bracket labeled 'Father' was left blank. So, the part-mystery-Asian-thing was a much more likely possibility than being birthed by nature on a misty mountain top.
+++
"Angel, you're drifting, again," Doctor Williams said.
"No, I am attempting to ignore you." I sighed and tried to let go of the associated stress.
The ocean sounds dissipated as she turned the boom box volume down to background noise and gave a good-natured chuckle.
"You said you'd tell me about her. You have to try."
"Hm, let's see . . ." I tried not to sound sarcastic. "She's dead," I announced with an eye roll, because that was what we'd always come back to. Every problem I ever had was born of my dead mother.
