Speaking in Tongues (2 page)

This was interesting too. Hanson had never asked that. Wouldn’t ask anything so blunt. And unlike this guy, Hanson didn’t look into her eyes when he spoke. Staring right back, she said, “No, I don’t.”

He seemed amused. “You know why you’re here?”

Silent as always, Crazy Megan answers first.
Because I’m fucked up, I’m dysfunctional. I’m a nutcase. I’m psycho. I’m loony. And half the school knows and do you have a fucking
clue
how hard it is to walk through those halls with everybody looking at you and thinking, Shrink bait, shrink bait?
Crazy Megan also mentions what just plain Megan would never in a million years tell him—about the fake computerized picture of Megan in a straitjacket that made the rounds of Jefferson High two weeks ago.

But now Megan merely recited, “ ’Cause if I didn’t come to see a therapist they’d send me to Juvenile Detention.”

When she’d been found, drunk, strolling along the catwalk of the municipal water tower two months ago she’d been committing a crime. The county police got involved and she maybe pushed, maybe slugged a cop. But finally everybody agreed that if she saw a counselor the commonwealth’s attorney wouldn’t press charges.

“That’s true. But it’s not the answer.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

“The answer is that you’re here so that you can feel better.”

Oh, please,
Crazy Megan begins, rolling her crazy eyes.

And, okay, it was totally stupid, his words themselves. But . . . but . . . there was something about the
way
Dr. Peters said them that, just for a second, less than a second, Megan believed that he really meant them. This guy’s in a different universe from Dr. Loser Elbow Patch Hanson.

He opened his briefcase and took out a yellow pad. A brochure fell out onto the desk. She glanced at it. A picture of San Francisco was on the cover.

“Oh, you’re going there?” she asked.

“A conference,” he said, flipping through the brochure. He handed it to her.

“Awesome.”

“I love the city,” he continued. “I’m a former hippie. Tie-dyed-in-the-wool Deadhead and Jefferson Airplane fan . . . Whole nine yards. Course, that was before your time.”

“No way. I’m totally into Janis Joplin and Hendrix.”

“Yeah? You ever been to the Bay Area?”

“Not yet. But I’m going someday. My mother doesn’t know it. But I am.”

He squinted. “Hey, you know, there
is
a resemblance—you and Joplin. If you didn’t have your hair up it’d be the same as hers.”

Megan now wished she hadn’t done the pert ’n’ perky ponytail.

The doctor added, “You’re prettier, of course. And thinner. Can you belt out the blues?”

“Like, I wish . . .”

“But you don’t remember hippies.” He chuckled.

“Time out!” she said enthusiastically. “I’ve seen
Woodstock,
like, eight times.”

She also wished she’d kept the peace symbol.

“So tell me, did you really try to kill yourself? Cross your heart.”

“And hope to die?” she joked.

He smiled.

She said, “No.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, I was just drinking a little Southern Comfort. All right, maybe more than a little.”

“Joplin’s drink,” he said. “Too fucking sweet for me.”

Whoa, the F-word. Cool. She was almost—almost—beginning to like him.

He glanced again at her hair—the fringes on her face. Then back to her eyes. It was like one of Josh’s caresses. Somewhere within her she felt a tiny ping—of reassurance and pleasure.

Megan continued her story. “And somebody I was with said no way they’d climb up to the top and I said I would and I did. That’s it. Like a dare is all.”

“All right, so you got nabbed by the cops on some bullshit charge.”

“That’s about it.”

“Not exactly the crime of the century.”

“I
didn’t think so either. But they were so . . . you know.”

“I know,” he said. “Now tell me about yourself. Your secret history.”

“Well, my parents are divorced. I live with Bett.
She has this business? It’s really a decorating business but she says she’s an interior designer ’cause it sounds better. Tate’s got this farm in Prince William. He used to be this famous lawyer but now he just does people’s wills and sells houses and stuff. He hires people to run the farm for him. Sharecroppers. Sound like slaves, or whatever, but they’re just people he hires.”

“And your relationship with the folks? Is the porridge too hot, too cold or just right?”

“Just right.”

He nodded, made a small notation on his pad though he might’ve been just doodling. Maybe she bored him. Maybe he was writing a grocery list.

Things to buy after my appointment with Crazy Megan.

She told him about growing up, about the deaths of her mother’s parents and her father’s dad. The only other relative she’d been close to was her aunt Susan—her mother’s twin sister. “She’s a nice lady but she’s had a rough time. She’s been sick all her life. And she really, really wanted kids but couldn’t have them.”

“Ah,” he said.

None of it felt important to her and she guessed it was even less important to him.

“What about friends?”

Count ’em on one hand,
Crazy Megan says.

Shhhh.

“I hang with the goth crowd mostly,” she told the doctor.

“As in ‘gothic’?”

“Yeah. Only . . .” She decided she could tell him the truth. “What it is is I kinda stay by myself a lot. I meet
people but I end up figuring, why bother? There’re a lot of losers out there.”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed. “That’s why my business is so good.”

She blinked in surprise. Then smiled too.

“What’s the boyfriend situation?”

“This won’t take much time,” she said, laughing ruefully. “I was going with this guy? Joshua? And he was, like, all right. Only he was older. And he was black. I mean, he wasn’t a gangsta or anything. His father’s a soldier, like an officer in the Pentagon, and his mother’s some big executive. I didn’t have a problem with the race thing. But Dr. Hanson said I was probably involved with him just to make my parents nuts.”

“Were you?”

“I don’t know. I kinda liked him. No, I
did
like him.”

“But you broke up?”

“Sure. Dr. Hanson said I ought to dump him.”

“He
said
that?”

“Well, not exactly. But I got that impression.”

Crazy Megan thinks that Mr. Handsome Shrink, Mr.
George Clooney
stud, ought to’ve figured it out:
How can a psycho nutcase like me go out with
anybody?
If I hadn’t dumped Josh—which I cried about for two weeks—if I hadn’t left, then everybody at his school would be on his case. “He’s the one with the loony girl.” And then his folks would find out—they’re the nicest people in the universe and totally in love—and they’d be crushed . . . Well, of course I
had
to leave . . .

“Nobody else on the horizon?” he asked.

“Nope.” She shook her head.

“Okay, let’s talk about the family some more. Your mother.”

“Bett and I get along great.” She hesitated. “Only it’s funny about her—she’s into her business but she also believes in all this New Age stuff crap. I’m, like, just chill, okay? That stuff is so bogus. But she doesn’t hassle me about it. Doesn’t hassle me about anything really. It’s great between us. Really great. The only problem is she’s engaged to a geek.”

“Do you two talk, your mom and you? Chew the fat, as my grandmother used to say?”

“Sure . . . I mean, she’s busy a lot. But who isn’t, right? Yeah, we talk.” She hoped he didn’t ask her about what. She’d have to make up something.

“And how ’bout Dad?”

She shrugged. “He’s nice. He takes me to concerts, shopping. We get along great.”

“Great?”

C.M.—Crazy Megan—chides,
Is that the only word you know, bitch? Great, great, great . . . You sound like a parrot.

“Yeah,” Megan said. “Only . . .”

“Only what?”

“Well, it’s like we don’t have a lot to talk
about.
He wants me to go windsurfing with him but I went once and it’s a totally superficial way to spend your time. I’d rather read a book or something.”

“You like to read?”

“Yeah, I read a lot.”

“Who’re some of your favorite authors?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Her mind went blank.

Crazy Megan isn’t much help.
Yep, he’s gonna think you’re damaged.

Quiet! Megan ordered her alter ego. She remembered the last book she’d read. “You know Márquez? I’m reading
Autumn of the Patriarch.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Oh, I loved it.”

“No kidding. I—”

Dr. Peters added,
“Love in the Time of Cholera.
Best love story ever written. I’ve read it three times.”

Another ecstatic ping. The book was actually sitting on her bedside table. “Me too. Well, I only read it once.”

“Tell me more,” he continued, “about your father.”

“Um, he’s pretty handsome still—I mean for a guy in his forties. And he’s in pretty good shape. He dates a lot but he can’t seem to settle down with anybody. He says he wants a family.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah. But if he does then why does he date girls named Bambi? . . . Just kidding. But they look like they’re Bambis.” They both laughed.

“Tell me about the divorce.”

“I don’t really remember them together. They split up when I was three.”

“Why?”

“They got married too young. That’s what Bett says. They kind of went different ways. Mom was, like, real flighty and into that New Age stuff I was telling you about. And Dad was just the opposite.”

“Whose idea was the divorce?”

“I think my dad’s.”

He jotted another note then looked up. “So how mad are you at your parents?”

“I’m not.”

“Really?” he asked, as if he were completely surprised. “You’re sure the porridge isn’t too hot?”

“I love ’em. They love me. We get along gre—fine. The porridge is just right. What the fuck is porridge anyway?”

“Don’t have a clue,” Peters said quickly. “Give me an early memory about your mother.”

“What?”

“Quick! Now!
Do it!”
His eyes flashed.

Megan felt a wave of heat crinkle through her face. “I—”

“Don’t hesitate,” he whispered. “Say what’s on your mind!”

She blurted, “Bett’s getting ready for a date, putting on makeup, staring in a mirror and poking at a wrinkle, like she’s hoping it’ll go away. She always
does
that. Like her face is the most important thing in the world to her. Her looks, you know.”

“And what do you think as you watch her?” His dark eyes were fervent. Her mind froze again. “No, you’re hesitating.
Tell
me!”

“ ‘Slut.’ ”

He nodded. “Now
that’s
wonderful, Megan.”

She felt swollen with pride. Didn’t know why. But she did.

“Brilliant. Now give me a memory about your father. Fast!”

“Bears.” She gasped and lifted a hand to her mouth. “No . . . Wait. Let me think.”

But the doctor pounced. “Bears? At the zoo?”

“No, never mind.”

“Tell me.”

She was shaking her head, no.

“Tell me, Megan,” he insisted. “Tell me about the bears.”

“It’s not important.”

“Oh, it
is
important,” he said, leaning forward. “Listen. You’re with
me
now, Megan. Forget whatever Hanson’s done. I don’t operate his way, groping around in the dark. I go deep.”

She looked into his eyes and froze—like a deer in headlights.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “Trust me. I’m going to change your life forever.”

“They weren’t real bears.”

“Toys?”

“Bears in a story.”

“What’s so hard about this?” Dr. Peters asked.

“I don’t know.”

Crazy Megan gives her a good burst of sarcasm.
Oh, good job, loser. You’ve blown it now. You
had
to tell him about the book.

But the other side of her was thinking: Seven weeks of bullshit with Dr. Shiny Head Hanson and she hadn’t felt a thing but bored. Ten minutes with Dr. Peters and she was hooked up to an electric current.

Crazy Megan says,
It’s too hard. It hurts too much.

But Bill couldn’t hear C.M., of course.

“Go on,” he encouraged.

And she went on.

“I was about six, okay? I was spending the weekend with Tate. He lives in this big house and nobody’s around for miles. It’s in the middle of his cornfields and it’s all quiet and really, really spooky. I was feeling weird, all scared. I asked him to read me a story but he said he didn’t have any children’s books. I was really hurt. I started to cry and asked why didn’t he have any.
He got all freaked and went out to the old barn—where he told me I wasn’t ever supposed to go—and he came back with this book. It was called
The Whispering Bears.
Only it turned out it wasn’t really a kid’s story at all. I found out later it was a book of folk stories from Europe.”

“Do you remember it?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s stupid.”

“No,” Peters said, leaning forward again. “I’ll bet it’s anything
but
stupid. Tell me.”

“There was a town by the edge of the woods. And everybody who lived there was happy, you know, like in all fairy stories before the bad shit happens. People walking down the street, singing, going to market, having dinner with their families. Then one day these two big bears walked out of the woods and stood at the edge of town with their heads down and it sounded like they were whispering to each other.

“At first nobody paid any attention then little by little the people stopped what they were doing and tried to hear what the bears were saying. But nobody could. That night the bears went back into the forest. And the townspeople stood around and one woman said she knew what they were whispering about—they were making fun of the people in the village. And then everybody started noticing how everybody else walked funny or talked funny or looked stupid and they all ended up laughing at each other, and everybody got mad and there were all kinds of fights in town.