LYRA
08.03.15
Dr. Rose stares at me from the other side of her desk, slack-jawed and with disbelief etched into every crease of her crinkled forehead. I’m here at my regular monthly therapy appointment, and I’ve just finished recapping the last four weeks of my life to her, starting with the terrorist attack at the Pamplona airport and ending with Tavian leaving my apartment at 4:30 a.m. this morning to catch a train back to Philly to make his 8:00 a.m. class.
He’s now spent three straight weekends here with me, the last two from Friday evening until early Monday morning, stretching out every minute we have together. Our days together are spent roaming around the city and eating at new restaurants, exploring places I never knew existed. While at night, we watch mindless TV and cuddle naked, exploring every inch of each other’s body. The days are fun, but the nights… the nights are everything.
It sucks during the week when he’s not here. I no longer find peace in the quiet of being alone that I once reveled in. His lingering scent on my bedsheets, regular text messages, and nightly FaceTime sessions are my saving grace. That, and my fingers have finally healed enough to where I can operate my camera. I’ve been a picture-taking fool lately, improving my craft while spending as little time at my loft during the day as possible.
“I-I-I really am speechless right now, Lyra,” my therapist sputters with a subtle shake of her head. “The trip was supposed to be a first step on the ladder, not an express elevator to the top floor.”
“But that’s good, right?” I ask, holding her befuddled gaze, forcing myself to not focus on the numbers I know by memory.
She nods and leans forward, resting her arms on the glass surface, her face impassive. “Honestly, I’m hesitantly optimistic and encouraged, but the rapid pace this is all happening worries me a bit. Surviving a traumatic event like you did can affect the way your brain processes information. It can cause you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.”
“Well, it did do that,” I say, not understanding the reason for her apprehension. “There’s no way I would’ve ever gotten in the car with a complete stranger unless I feared for my life and thought it was my best chance at survival. And that uncharacteristic decision led me to meeting someone who makes me want to stop existing and start living.”
“You don’t feel like you owed him something because he saved your life? That’s not what spurred you to say yes to his offer of tagging along with him on the rest of his trip?”
I think back to the day Tavian and I first met. My body trembles at the gruesome memories and the blood-curdling terror I experienced as we fled the airport in his rental car. I recall how his steady, commanding voice calmed my nerves, the way his firm yet gentle touch soothed away the fear. And I remember the conviction in his crystal blue eyes that burned brighter than his numbers when he talked about how his summer trips remind him to live life to the fullest. Adventures that added width and depth to his life, not length.
“No. Of course, I was thankful for what he did, but I never felt like I owed him anything,” I answer assuredly. “It wasn’t until we were in Barcelona, after we were clearly safe from harm, that he asked me to join him. I said yes, because I wanted to go… because I knew in my bones it was what I was supposed to do.”
“And his numbers? Were they a factor in your decision?”
My mouth opens to retort a snide “So now you believe me about the numbers? When it’s beneficial for you?” but I stop before the words come out. Lashing out at my therapist isn’t what I came here to do. She’s only trying to help, making sure I’m not setting myself up for regression.
“It was a combination of a lot of things all at once. I didn’t want to wonder what if later. Like you always tell me, ‘Surrender to what is, let go of what was, and trust in what will be.’” I lick my lips nervously, needing her support more than I’d like to admit. Not having family or girlfriends to talk to about this stuff with makes Dr. Rose my only sounding board, and her approval directly correlates to my confidence in this new outlook on life I’m trying to adopt. “I finally trusted in something other than the numbers.”
Slowly, over several incredibly long, silent seconds, a smile spreads across her sharp, stern features, until eventually, her entire face is lit up and she’s bouncing excitedly in her leather chair. Her expression reminds me a lot of how my mom would look when she was proud of me for acing a test or figuring out how to do something on my own.
“Yes!” she shouts, triumphantly pumping her fist in the air. Her lack of holding back triggers a giggle to escape from my throat. “I didn’t know what or who it would take to break through to you, but I knew it was possible. I’m just sad you had to experience what you did for it to happen. You see, Lyra, you’re not a loner because you don’t like people; you’re a loner, because you like them too much. And with that comes the fear of getting attached, because you’ll eventually get hurt when they let you down or you’re forced to say goodbye. But that’s what life’s about—finding the relationships that are worth the pain, the summits peaking higher than the valleys dip low.”
I nod emphatically, feeding off her enthusiasm. “That’s how he makes me feel when we’re together. That I’m worth it, that he’s worth it… that we’re worth it.”
“Well, there’s everything you need to know then.” Dr. Rose beams at me. “Now the key is not losing focus of that. Do you guys plan on continuing to see each other on the weekends like you have been?”
Another nod as I take a swig from the water bottle she gives me at the start of each session. My anxiety kicks back up when I think about his request before he left this morning.
“Yes, except this weekend he asked me to go to Philly instead of him coming here. His birthday is Saturday, and every year his mom rents out his favorite restaurant for a big dinner. He wants to introduce me to his family and friends.”
Dr. Rose immediately senses the reluctance in my voice I’m trying to hide. “Are you hesitant because you think he’s moving too fast, or because you don’t want to look the people in the eye?”
“I don’t feel like he’s moving too fast, and seeing the numbers will always be unnerving. I don’t expect that’ll ever change,” I tell her. “But I’m training myself to focus on other attributes. Every day when I’ve gone out in the city with my camera, I’ve been making a point to make eye contact with strangers and to find something about them that I like, whether it be their smile or the color of their hair or the angle of their jaw. I know it sounds weird, but it helps, and it’s becoming easier the more I do it.”
“It doesn’t sound weird at all. Many of my patients with social anxiety disorder use similar coping skills when they’re in large groups of people.” Graciously, she doesn’t mention that she suggested this exact technique to me a few years ago when I first started seeing her. “So if it’s not either of those things, why the apprehension to go to the party?”
Dropping my gaze to my locked fingers in my lap, I conjure up the nerve to admit the root of my fear. “I guess I’m just worried they won’t like me. I mean, I know how to be polite and pleasant, though I’m aware I can be awkwardly shy. But, more than anything, I just want them to like me—to really like me.”
“By ‘them,’ you mean his mom?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug noncommittally, even though she and I both know she nailed it on the head.
Dr. Rose leans back in her chair and her thin lips curve up into a satisfied smirk. “You know, Lyra, I really can’t express how delighted I am to hear you talk today. Before you left on your trip, I felt like you were making real progress. And I was so hopeful that the trip to Florence—the chance to say goodbye to your parents on your own terms—would provide you the peace you needed to stop dwelling in the past and to start living in the present.
“But after the terrorist attack, once I made sure your name was on the safe list, I was worried you’d suffer a substantial regression, and understandably so. This, however”—she gestures her hands at me—“this transformation you’ve made blows my optimistic hopes out of the water. Being nervous about meeting the guy you’re dating’s mom because you want her to accept you is one hundred percent normal for everyone. It’s a sign you truly care about him and want the relationship to progress. If you just show his mom the real Lyra, open up a little, and let her see your feelings for her son, there’s no way she won’t love you.”
I take a few moments to allow her words to soak in. There’s no doubt meeting Tavian completely tilted my world on its axis. His passion for living life to the fullest is contagious, and the reinforced walls I spent the last twelve years constructing around my heart proved to be defenseless to the dichotomy of his strong, assertive personality paired with the tender affection he bestows upon me. He makes me feel vulnerable and hopeful and cherished and eager for more of him.
But mostly, he makes me feel alive.
“Thank you, Dr. Rose. Thank you for believing in me,” I finally say, treating her to a genuine smile of my own. “I realize I’ve got a long way to go, a lot of questions I may never get answers to, but I’m now slowly understanding what I’ve been missing in life by not letting anyone get close. And I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
She stands up and straightens her black pencil skirt before rounding her desk and stopping directly in front of me. I push to my feet, knowing my hour is up, unable to not feel a little proud of myself for this progressive session.
“Good. I don’t want you to be alone anymore either.” Reaching out to grab hold of my shoulders, she fixes her warm honey eyes on mine. “If you need to talk anytime between appointments, if you start second-guessing what you’re doing, call me on my cell. I’m here whenever you need me. But assuming I don’t hear from you until next month, I’m going to be anticipating more good news. I’m so proud of you, Lyra, and I’m sure your parents would be, too.”
The mention of my late parents would normally send my mood into a downward spiral, but not today. Today, I use her words as fuel to be a better me. There will never be a day I don’t miss my mom and dad and wish they were still here, but Dr. Rose is right—it’s time to make them proud of the daughter they loved so much.
After we exchange goodbyes and I schedule my next appointment for the first week of September, I leave her office with my head held a little higher and my step a bit lighter than when I walked in. Her praise and uplifting words are exactly the reassurance I needed. Now, I have to go shopping for a new outfit to wear to the party and figure out what to give my guy for the first–and only–birthday I’ll ever get to spend with him.
I better make it unforgettable.