Symposium 2010

Promise, Promise Carly Stone

I hated him. I hated how the fluorescent lighting in the room tinted his skin yellow, the nauseating pastel coloured walls, and the spots on the ceiling- the 42 spots on the ceiling. I hated the stick figures taped up all over the room with the faces and triangle dresses not coloured in the lines properly. Why was I even there? His name was Dr. Becton and he was supposed to make me better.

I didn’t feel sick. I didn’t look sick. There was only a pit in my stomach with the uncertainty that my mother was no longer in the waiting room. She said she would be. What if she just decided to leave me, her five-year-old daughter, with this man? What if somebody had kidnapped her? I shifted in the blue plastic fold up chair.

“Andy, can you tell me what goes through your head when you look at this picture?”

Dr. Becton said soothingly. My eyes were fixed on the brown wooden door. I was trying to listen to what was going on in the waiting room. I tried to hear the flipping of a magazine or fumbling in a purse, or any sign that my mom was still there. These tests didn’t make any sense. All I saw was a dark blob on a white piece of cardboard. If I squinted it kind of looked like the silhouette of a snowman…or a caterpillar…

“I dunno,” I answered, annoyed.

Dr. Becton sighed and took out a pad of paper and some crayons. He asked me to draw my biggest fear. I drew a spider. I heard a bang in the next room and every inch of me stiffened.

“Don’ t worry honey, it was just the secretary. She probably dropped some books,” he reassured me.

I looked out the window at the evening sky. The tree outside the building was casting a shadow that traced into the room and onto the floor. I saw the broken tree branch on my bed. I saw the scattered pieces of glass on and around the blue and purple rug. I could feel the unwelcome cold air in my cozy room. I saw the ladder. The footprints. I stared at the eight squiggly legs that were attached to the black body of the spider that I drew. My head stayed lowered but my eyes rose to meet Dr. Becton’ s in a look of desperation. I couldn’t sit here for much longer. Reading my mind and glancing at his watch, he gave me a quick and forced smile before saying, “ Well, I guess our time is up for today.” Finally.

Opening the door, I tried to make my way through the narrow twisted hallway as quickly as I could. I turned the corner and saw my mother sitting in the waiting room, legs crossed and reading a book just like she had promised. I ran to her, grabbed her hand, and felt safe. Dr. Becton motioned her over and the two of them stood talking quietly in the corner. They looked at me and smiled.

Sitting in the car, I watched the raindrops dance on the windows of the car, attaching themselves to each other to form bigger globs. Tilting my head I tried to see the tops of the buildings, wondering if it was raining all the way up there too.

My mother looked in her rear-view mirror and asked, “So Andy, what did you and Dr. Becton talk about today?”

I really didn’t see why I had to go to him once a week. I had asked my mother before and she said something about anxiety.

“I dunno,” I mumbled, “ I drew a spider.”

My parents were going out for dinner that night. I cried before they left until all the blood rushed to my head and I felt as if I was going to pass out. I attached myself to my dad’s leg and pleaded with him not to leave me. Finally, with my babysitter restraining me by holding my arms, my parents managed to get out the door after kissing me goodbye.

“Promise promise?” I asked them through sniffles and tears.

“Promise promise,” they both replied.

A few weeks ago Dr. Becton had asked me, “ What is something your mom or dad cansay to you to make you feel better when they go somewhere without you.” I turned this question over in my head for a few minutes. “If they promise me they won’ t die,” I eventually replied. It was that very night that I asked them for the first time, “Promise you wont die? Promise you’ll be here in the morning?” And after they promised, a little part inside of me went quiet.

As I began to ask it more and more, it got shortened to ‘ promise promise.’

My Princess Jasmine night-light plugged into the outlet at the bottom of my door only reminded me that it was dark and that it was night time. My comforter was cool against my bare legs and my pillow felt fresh under my long brown hair. I stared at the closed and locked window. Everywhere I stepped I could feel the crunch of glass slicing the plush rug and pricking the bottoms of my socked feet. Muddy footprints ran across the carpet by the window and out my door. I arched my back as chills ran down my spine. My eyelids were heavy but I needed to stay awake till my parents came