June Exclusive tale | "Therapy" | Part 1

Better Path Counseling

Austin, Texas

The July air is thick with the promise of storms. The humidity clings to Lola’s skin, weighing her down. It is a relief to enter Dr Light’s home and his downstairs office. These visits aren’t like a trip to Disneyworld, but at least there’s central air. And at least someone wants to listen.

Even if it’s just because they’re paid to do it.

“You look upset.”

“Resting bitch face.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Lola is sitting on the chaise lounge. “That this is a big waste of time. And money.” She glances up at the ceiling fan, whirring around. It’s almost hypnotic.

Dr Light scratches a note on his pad. “It’s only our third session.”

“I’m only just out of college, I don’t have cash to burn. I sign up for these sessions but I’m not making any progress.”

“What makes you say that?”

Lola laughs. “Because I came to you with one thing and now, I’ve got a whole new problem!”

Dr Light gives a thoughtful nod. He is handsome but his gray hair reminds Lola that he must be in his fifties. Silver fox. Does he think that she considers him a snack? Cringe.

“In our first session, you told me about your anger.”

“Still there. I’m angry all the damn time. Those drops you gave me haven’t done a thing.”

The doctor nods. “But you’ve been taking them, yes? Every day?”

“Like clockwork.” She can remember the taste on her tongue – a gentle fizzing, followed by something fruity that reminds Lola of childhood glasses of Tang and at friend’s home.

“This week you messaged me about your dreams. They were…unusual.”

Lola snorts. Unusual. The dreams have been crazy.

Dr Light asks, “Is there a possible connection, do you think, between the anger and these dreams?”

Lola shakes her head. “Nope.”

The therapist smiles. “You seem very sure about that.”

“Yep.” She fusses with the zipper on her hoodie. She’s aware that her short answers make her sound like a sulking teenager. 21 years old, petite with a mere suggestion of breasts, it wouldn’t be first time she was confused for a ninth grader. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time today. The cashier at Royal Blue, raising eyebrows at her ID. Lola had wanted to knock him on the head with her bottle of Tito’s.

Dr Light tilts his head at her. “Can you tell me more about that?”

Lola pokes her sneakered toes into the carpet. “I’m angry because the olds broke the environment, the economy, and our democracy. I’ll never be able to afford a house, the air is literally toxic, and the next president will be a fascist.” She sniffs. “So yeah, I’m angry. And my dreams…” She blushes. She doesn’t want to describe them aloud; they were bad enough to write about on the portal.

“The crib,” prompts Dr. Light.

Lola fusses with the middle-parting in her hair. “I’m a baby in a crib and I’m crying, and no one comes.”

“It’s a bleak dream,” says the doctor. “A dream of rejection. And speaks exactly to your anger, of feeling that your generation has been let down, so to speak.” He puts the pad down on the table beside him. “And it’s a breakthrough.”

Lola rolls her eyes. “My dreams are as bad as my real life. How is that a breakthrough?”

The doctor smiles. “The way you feel during the day. Your anger. Is it helping you? Does it serve you?”

The young woman gets to her feet. “Dr Light, if you’re about to tell me to think positive, then we’re done here.” She walks to the doorway, imagines storming back down the hallway and out the front door. There’s a framed photo in the hallway, Dr Light and his wife, a narrow-faced woman who looks almost as tall as her husband. They look happy in the photo; vibrant, optimistic. Lola sighs. A photo doesn’t make that true, but it’s possible, just possible, that Dr Light and his wife really do have their shit together. But does that really mean this therapist can help Lola with her own basket of trauma?

Maybe she should take that picture off the wall, throw it to the ground.

She walks back into the room.

Dr Light just nods. “What does the anger do?”

“It makes me want to break things. It makes me want to scream at my boss, blow things up.” It makes her want to run out of this office, right now. Because she didn’t pay this guy just to be reminded of how messed up she is.

“A baby’s lived experience is a series of needs. Food, warmth, comfort. Your baby dream,” says Dr Light, “is your subconscious mind looking to get your needs met.”

“As a baby.”

“Correct.”

“But in the dream, no one comes.” Lola holds up her hands. “My subconscious mind isn’t doing a great job.”

“I’ve had a think about that.” Dr Light motions for Lola to sit back down on the chaise longue. “First, I’d like you to relax. Can you relax for me, Lola?”

Lola sits down. She shrugs. “Sure.”

“Can you lie back and close your eyes?”

Lola smirks. “No thanks.” She can see where this is going. One more reason for her zippered hoodie and gray jeans. All of a sudden, she’s furious again. Something about these older men, thinking a woman like Lola must want them, ready to swoon.

“Please?” asks Dr Light. He has a look on his face; something solicitous, but also something hungry.

Lola pushes her shoulders back, looks up at him. He may have over a foot and hundred pounds on her, but she’s not about to be taken advantage of.

Dr Light blinks at the woman’s fierce expression. And he reaches out with his hands, holds the sides of Lola’s face. He says quickly but with perfect clarity, “Loosey goosey.”

“Huh?” Lola is incredulous. “What do- “

Her mouth drops open. Her body goes limp.

Dr Light catches her. No danger, no fall. He lies her down on the chaise longue.

“Yes, you’ve been taking the drops all right. Good girl.” He strokes her forehead. “So much easier than last time. See, I told you we were making progress.”

Lola doesn’t respond. Because she knows that this is a time for listening, not speaking. It’s a time to keep her mind wide open.

Dr Light speaks, and Lola listens. Because she’s completely relaxed. Because it’s her job to do as she’s told.

Dr Light talks and talks, and Lola listens and listens.

And when Dr Light snaps his fingers, Lola opens her eyes and smiles, because she hasn’t felt this good since…well, since her last session.

“Ready to see the bedroom?” asks the doctor.

Lola nods. She’s fine with whatever Dr Light suggests. Lola is perfectly calm and agreeable. She stands up and follows Dr Light out of his office and down the hall. Instead of going towards the front door, they go upstairs.

“Now we know the root,” Dr Light says, “we can tackle the issue.”

They pass a bathroom, another room, and then they reach a door at the end of the hall.

Dr Light opens the door and gestures for Lola to enter. He says, “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Lola goes inside and…if she weren’t so calm, she would laugh out loud. If she weren’t so calm, she’d reach up and slap Dr Light’s face.

Because the scene is absurd. It’s unbelievable.

Dr Light follows her into the room. “You’re having dreams of being a baby because you are trying to process the trauma you experienced as an infant. Only way to get past it is to take it into your waking life.”

Lola looks at the adult-sized crib. Everything else in the room is adult-sized but meant for a baby’s needs. On the over-sized changing table is a thick, white diaper and the fuzziest of pink footed pajamas. There’s a white rocking chair by the window and a closet that is perhaps filled with more baby outfits in Lola’s size.

Lola is so very calm. She picks up the pajamas, holds them out in front of her as if she’s sizing up a new outfit at Wear Art Thou.

The footies feel buttery soft in her hands. She smiles. She’s doing so well, doing what she’s told. It’s good to be calm and agreeable.

She looks at Dr Light. “You want to dress me up…you want me to go in the crib?”

Dr Light nods and smiles. “We continue your therapy here, Lola. In your nursery.”

There’s no way. It’s impossible. The man is a maniac. But Lola doesn’t strike out, she doesn’t run. She imagines her heart, beating quietly and regularly in her chest. She really is the most peaceful of girls.

Girl? Yes, just like Dr Light told her. Easy for him to see her as a girl, because she’s so much younger than him. And looks even younger than her age. Easy to get mixed up, easy to be treated as a child.

“You’ll spend the night here,” says the doctor, going over to the changing table. “I will diaper you, dress you up, feed you a bottle.” He beams at her. “And you will have a perfect night’s sleep. No more nightmares, and no more anger.”

“Because my trauma will be processed,” Lola says quietly. She looks back into her childhood; was there trauma? Mom was rather cold, her dad was rarely present, away on business.

Was that trauma? And if that’s the case, isn’t everyone traumatized? Why isn’t the whole world in need of therapy? Lola blinks. Maybe everyone does need it.

Like Dr Light told her downstairs in his office; Lola is a lucky girl.

“Ready to get changed?” asks Dr Light.

It’s a question, but Lola doesn’t have to worry about making decisions. She’s here to do whatever Dr Light says, because it’s simple that way, it’s easy and calm.

Still, her nose wrinkles at the thought of removing her clothes. Of being naked.

The therapist seems to read her mind. He smiles. “It’s okay, Lola. It’s perfectly okay.” He points to himself and then to her.  “I’m the doctor and you’re the patient. Remember?”

Lola nods and smiles. She feels a blush in her cheeks. Silly Lola. Good thing Dr Light is here to remind her, to guide her. Lucky Lola.

She puts the pajamas down and then gets undressed. When she is down to her underwear, she looks at the doctor, and doesn't he look just the slightest bit nervous? Isn't there a trace of uncertainty on his face? But then Lola removes her bra and panties, and Dr Light is back to his confident self. 

Lola lies down on the changing table, and it’s a little cold, but Dr Light is gentle, talking her through everything he’s doing. Because he’s a good doctor. And Lola doesn’t whine or complain, she doesn’t put up a fuss. Because she’s a good patient.

She’s a good girl.

And then Lola is diapered and dressed, and now she giggles. Because she is calm, but this is very silly. She’s tempted to put a finger to her mouth, to suck on it and keep giggling. Because she is embarrassed, because she feels so infantile.

Dr Light smiles. “I can see you’re feeling better already. And you look adorable.”

The praise sets off the pleasure centers in Lola’s brain, and she giggles some more. When has she ever felt so nice?

Dr Light brushes hair out of Lola’s face. “There’s our pretty girl,” he says softly. And then he guides her over to the rocking chair. He sits her down on his lap and begins to stroke her long hair.

“There’s our good girl,” says Dr Light. “All happy and sweet.”

Lola sighs. She’s dressed in fuzzy pinkness. She is the biggest of babies, but really, she’s not so big. She’s never been big, not really, not compared to others.

“You’re perfectly safe,” Dr Light says.

Lola nods. She lets herself suck on a finger. It’s her choice, just like Dr Light says. Because if any of this gets too much and she wants to stop, she just has to tell the doctor. She nods again. They’re not going to do anything she’s not comfortable with.

She sits on the doctor’s lap and sucks on her finger. She closes her eyes, encased in fuzzy softness, letting the doctor stroke her hair. She listens to the doctor. He has the most wonderful story to tell her.

To be continued...