I can’t help but watch her. It’s boiling hot outside and, in this room, so why is she wearing a hoody? A part of me is hoping she’ll look my way, but nothing. I give up and focus my attention on Hazel and the rest of the group.
An older man, perhaps late sixties, pipes up, “My name is Fred.”
“Hi, Fred,” everyone greets in unison.
“It was 1992, the Barcelona Olympics. We were celebrating the US winning gold, and a bunch of us holiday folk were crossing a busy street to get to the local bar. As we crossed the road, this taxi comes out of nowhere, and I watch it, frozen in the middle of the road. My friend pushes me out of the way, saving me from my death.” Fred falls into a digestive silence, his story appearing to be more tragic than his near brush with death. “I have agyrophobia, the fear of crossing roads,” he admits.
“At first, it wasn’t a huge deal, but as time went on, I struggled to go to work, out for groceries, or even just visit my neighbor across the street. My wife ended up leaving me and took my daughter with her. She’d had enough of my paranoia.” The sad tone in his voice only mildly projects the turmoil he’s facing and the bitter disappointment in himself for losing his family—the poor man.
“Fred, last week you told us about your journey to the local store by foot,” Hazel says encouragingly.
Fred stares at the floor, nervously clicking his scuffed brown boots together. “Yeah, I walked, but I stood watching the store from across the street for an hour.”
So many questions run through my mind. How on earth does he get anywhere? Is it even possible not to cross a road? My fear of coyotes seems so insignificant right now.
“I know what you new folk must be thinking… how do I get anywhere? Well, I drive. If I have to go to the post office across the road, I get in my car and drive.”
Jerry mumbles something under his breath starting a heated debate with Fred.
Not paying attention to either of them, I find myself drawn to the mystery girl who continues to sit in silence near the door. From what I can see of her face, she is quite pale. Her cheekbones are prominent and not in a healthy way. Although she’s wearing loose articles of clothing, her frame appears to be emaciated. I don’t want to stare, but there’s something about her that intrigues me.
“Honestly, you two fight like cats and dogs. Grow some balls and shut up already.” The tranny has had enough of their bickering. He, she, hell I don’t know, is wearing a low-cut dress with a visible bust. My instincts would say ‘he’ due to his Adam’s apple that’s practically jumping out at me.
Stop fucking staring.
“Like you’re one to talk, Penny,” Jerry mocks. “If I need balls, I’m sure you’ve still got a pair tucked into your panties.”
“Jerry, Penny,” Hazel softly calls their names and, like magic, they shut up, although still angry from their argument. I suspect Hazel is the mother hen to everyone in this room. They seem to respect her, and the calming influence she has over them is likely the exact reason they come back every week. “I always like to give individuals a task to take home with them, a step to healing. I want you to focus on one thing that made you smile this week. It could be a delicious ice cream you ate or maybe someone you saw. Something or someone who makes you happy, even for just a moment.” Hazel smiles hopefully at each of us.
“Does having sex with a cab driver count?” Penny sighs dreamily.
“What is it with you and sex? I swear, Penny, sometimes you’re such a wh—” Jerry is interrupted by a furious Penny.
“A what, Jerry? A whore? Just because I like sex doesn’t make me a whore!”
Whoa! We have entered some awkward territory now.
“Stop being such a jerk in front of our new member, Jerry.” Penny looks directly at me and shoots me a wink. Jerry rolls his eyes.
“Thank you… Penny?” I ask politely.
“Yes, Penny… Penny Tration.” She bats her eyelashes at me this time.
I shake my head unable to hide my smile, and obviously, I’m not the only one as Fred is bowing his head with a smirk on his face.
“Nice to meet you, Penny Tration.” I hold in my laughter as best as I can. “My name is Julian… Julian Baker.”
The sound of a chair screeching along the wooden floor echoes through the room. My head turns to the noise coming from the hooded girl. She lifts her head slightly, and I’m eager to see her face. Only her lips are visible, a pale pink with the right corner raw from where she’s been chewing, most likely due to the anxiety of this meeting.
What the fuck is it about her?
Whatever it is needs to stop right here, right now. I came here to heal and find peace, not to hook up and sleep with someone in the group. Next time I sit in this chair, I’m almost certain it will be my turn to open the vault of my past and lay it bare for everyone to see.
It terrifies me to the core.
As if Hazel can sense my trepidation, she casually walks over and places her palm over mine. “Don’t be afraid. It’ll happen when you’re ready.”
“I think I’m ready, I just… I don’t know,” I blurt out.