"Yeah, fine," she said, resigning herself to scribbling something in the notebook. Sensing a pause in the conversation, she picked up the cup of lukewarm coffee and took a sip.
"Are you comfortable?" Jenny asked, putting the clipboard down and sitting cross-legged on the couch. Crystal set the cup down and crossed her arms before nodding. "Good," the therapist continued. "Have you been reading your morning meditations?" Another nod. While she didn't take the time to think about the meaning of the passages, she did open the book each morning and glance at it. "So today's topic is about putting the blame where it belongs."
Uh oh. Crystal stiffened, shifting until her legs were tucked up beneath her. The feeling of being in the principal's office was returning with renewed force. "I know where the blame belongs," she said softly, her gaze returning to the safety of the cream colored diplomas on the wall.
"Where?"
"With him."
"Give him a name."
"Him. My mother's useless excuse for a husband."
"Your father."
Crystal grunted and took a deep breath.
"What did you call him?"
"You mean besides fucking asshole?" She shifted again, wishing she was allowed to smoke in the therapist's office.
"Besides that," Jenny said with a knowing smirk.
"We called him" It took some effort to get the word out. "
Daddy." Crystal made no effort to keep the venom out of her voice. "He didn't deserve to be called that. I hate the bastard." "Why?"
"You know why. I told you he hurt me and Patty."
"There are many ways to hurt someone, Crystal. What did he do?"
Her right foot began twitching nervously. "I dunno, everything I guess."
"You do know. No copouts."
Crystal turned and glared at the therapist. "He hit us," she said angrily. "He thought being our father gave him the right to beat the shit out of us whenever he wanted. That enough?" She looked back at the diplomas, waiting for the reaction to her outburst.
"You tell me," Jenny said calmly. "Are your nightmares about him hitting you and your sister?"
"They're about a lot of things," she shrugged, her anger deflated somewhat by the gentle tone directed at her. "Sometimes." "What are they about most of the time?"
The foot moved faster. "Different things." Just say it, the little voice in her head screamed. Go ahead. Shock her ass and tell her how he used to crawl into your bed at night. Tell her what a dirty little girl you were. Crystal's breathing increased, the walls of the large office seeming far too confining. "I-I gotta go," she said suddenly, rising from her chair.
"Crystal, wait." Jenny stood as well, the clipboard casually tossed on the couch.
"No, I have to go."
"You can end a session any time you feel you have to but I don't want you to run off because you're afraid to face feelings that come up in here." She reached around Crystal and picked up the notebook. "Remember that whatever you say in this room, whatever you write about in this book, it stays here. No one is going to use it against you or judge you for it." Handing the notebook to Crystal, she added "Besides, I have a feeling you do enough self-judging as it is."
While the walls seemed to stop closing in, the young woman still found herself unable to look Jenny in the eye, choosing instead to stare at the black and white marbled cover of the composition book. "You think so, huh Doc?"
"Yeah, I think so," Jenny said softly. Crystal tried not to flinch when she felt the soft pressure of the therapist's hand on her shoulder. "We're going to work on that." Releasing her grasp, Jenny moved back a step. "All right, I can see the trapped rabbit look in your eyes. Read your meditations, write in your journal, and most important of all, do something nice for yourself each day."
Crystal rolled her eyes. Oh yeah, do something nice for myself each day. Keep living in the clouds, Doc. To Jenny she said "Yeah, okay Doc. I'll see you next week."
Screech! Crystal jammed both feet on her brake pedal to avoid rear-ending the truck in front of her. A second later she saw the reason for the sudden stop as a quickly moving delivery person darted between the slow moving traffic. "Oh I hate driving downtown," she said out loud. Screaming guitar chords answered back from the rear speakers. The Omni lacked air conditioning, a must in the late July heat, forcing her to leave the windows down in hopes of a passing breeze. Surrounded by multi-story buildings with mirrored windows, that hope was quickly fading.
Halfway up the next block she saw an open parking space, the first one in over ten minutes. Pulling a paper napkin from the pile wedged between the seat and emergency brake, Crystal wiped the perspiration from her face. "Ah damn." Surrounded by neatly cut grass was a bright yellow fire hydrant, revealing why the curb space was unoccupied. Deciding to take her chances, she jerked the wheel to the right and pulled the hatchback into the parking space. Stretching across the seat, she rolled the windows up to within an inch of the top, hoping the small opening would be enough to keep the interior from becoming a sauna while she was gone.
A large sign affixed to the chain link fencing surrounding the building proclaimed it to be another M. Swenson Construction project. Now the trick is to find Michael, she thought, opening the gate and stepping into the construction area. Piles of debris were everywhere, neatly organized according to material. She saw workers moving about, carrying burnt boards and twisted metal framing. He must be inside somewhere. "Hey lady, this is a hard hat area. You can't be running around in here."
She turned to see a tall man wearing a yellow safety helmet running towards her. "Lady, we're dumping things out the windows and off the roof. You shouldn't be in here."
"I'm looking for Michael Swenson."
"He's inside but you still can't run around without a hard hat." He pointed at the archway leading into the building. "Stand there for now. That way nothing falls on you. I'll be right back." He took off around the corner of the building, returning moments later with a safety helmet in his hand. "Here.
Michael's inside in the back office. Go straight down and take a right. You can't miss him."
"Thank you."
Michael was on the phone when she walked in. "Hold on just a minute, Peter, okay?" He held the phone to his chest. "Well hello there, Miss Sheridan. I'll be right with you." He put the phone back to his ear. "Peter? I'll call you back. Someone just came in. Okay good. Bye." Setting the phone back in its cradle, the large blonde man smiled and stepped around his desk. "And how are you today?"
"Fine thanks and please call me Crystal."
"So what brings you downtown?"
"You said at dinner last week that you were looking for help."
"Well yes but that's just for demolition work. You know, hard manual labor." He looked at her skeptically. "I don't think it's a job suited to you."
Crystal took the hard hat off, confident that nothing would fall on her head while in the office. "It's just hauling stuff out, right? Sheetrock and stuff? Laura said you've hired her before."
"Well, yes I have but this is a great deal of sweat work, Crystal. I don't know if you're suited for it." He pointed at the metal folding chair. "Please, have a seat." He leaned against the desk. "Why would you want to do something like this anyway and more importantly, what happened to your face?"
"Some drunk at the club," she said, answering the latter question first. "And I need the money. I can't work there looking like this."
Michael walked over to the file cabinet and picked up one of the clipboards resting atop it. "I suppose it's only fair to give you a chance," he said. "Fill these out and I need a copy of your social security card and license." He handed her the clipboard, which had several employment forms on it. "I hire by the day, pay by the week. Payday is Monday for the previous week. Ten dollars an hour, half-hour lunch and a ten minute break every hour. I'll issue you a set of gloves and a hat but you'll have to get your own boots. I'm afraid those sneakers just won't do around here."