Sweet Dandelion

“I don’t know why mom thought I could do this.” His voice cracks as he waves his arm at me. “I’m such a fucking failure.”

“You’re not a failure, Sage,” I murmur, clasping my fingers together in front of me.

He lowers his head, brushing the backs of his hands over his wet cheeks.

“Fuck, I don’t know why I’m spilling this all out.”

“Because you need to.”

He lifts his head. “Dani…”

“White, to me, is a new beginning.” I look around the blank slate. “Yeah, it’s cold, sometimes clinical, but it’s symbolic. It’s starting over. It’s learning who I am now, who I’m going to be. White is the freedom to choose. But I think you’re upset about a lot more than the room.” I whisper the last part.

He sniffles, his eyes a little red now. “I’m stressed, worried, my sanity is non-existent,” he admits with a forced laugh.

“You know how I have Mr. Taylor to talk to?” I ask quietly, like he’s some frail injured bird I might frighten if I speak too loud or move too fast. He gives a single jerky nod of his head. “You need to see someone, Herb.” I hope using the nickname will soften the blow.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t dismiss my comment. “Yeah, I know,” he croaks, his voice raw. Schooling his features he says, “I … uh … I’m going to shower. The food is paid for, just the sign the receipt if it comes before I’m out.”

“Mhmm,” I hum, watc

hing him walk down the rest of the hall.

I plop onto my bed, suddenly exhausted. Letting out a mighty groan that should rattle the walls, I cover my face with my hands. It all feels so overwhelming. The past, Sage, Mr. Taylor, life itself. Nothing is simple anymore.

Getting up, I go in search of my phone, finding it on the floor near the couch. I bend, picking it up, and bring up my texts.

Me: I know things are complicated and I’m sorry for bothering you, but is it okay if I text you?

Barely twenty seconds pass before his response comes.

Lachlan: You can text me anytime.

Me: Are you sure?

Lachlan: Yep.

Me: Pinky promise?

He doesn’t respond right away, but when he does it’s with a photo of linked fingers.

Lachlan: Pinky promise.

A stupid, silly, treacherous smile curves my lips.

Lachlan: What’s up?

I lay down on the couch, crossing my feet.

Me: It’s Sage. He’s keeping a lot inside.

Lachlan: We all tend to do that.

Me: He needs to talk to someone … like I talk to you.

Lachlan: I can recommend some counselors he could see.

Me: Could you give me a list to give him?