"I'll pick you up after your appointment, sweetie. Okay?" Tim looked up, stirred out of his own thoughts by the womans voice. She stood in the doorway of the waiting room, a hand on the shoulder of a young boy, who met Tim's eye almost instantly. He looked frightened. Tim dropped his gaze,surprised by the sudden eye contact. He had never seen the boy before, and as far as he knew, he was the only child who met with the therapist. He had never seen another child, although certificates on the therapists office wall proclaimed that he specialized in both adult and children patients. Tim wasn't sure what the difference between his appointments and the grownups were. He suspected that the grownups weren't allowed to colour when they talked to the therapist. The waiting room, at present, was empty, aside from himself, a woman in her forties, and the new boy. "Okay." Tim heard the boy mumbled thickly. He could hear the sounds of the boys mothers shoes clicking on the hallway tiles as she walked away. After a few moments, the other side of the couch on which Tim sat was occupied.
The boy said nothing at first, and Tim did not look up at him. Instead he focused on his knees, which were boney and dirty, compared to the other boy. His knees, which were just inches from Tims, were less chicken like, although just as scabbed. Tim wondered idly if the other boy got the scabs from climbing trees, like he had. "Hi." said the boy, sounding much less nervous than Tim would have expected. He looked up from his knees. "I'm Brian." the boy said, breaking out into a lopsided grin. He looked as if his hair had been combed at one point, but it stuck out now in a disheveled mess; a shock of mousey brown. "Hello..?" Brian asked tentatively. Tim realized he had been staring at him, mouth slightly agape. "Oh...uh...Tim. I'm Tim." he said, his voice strained and nervous. Brian beamed again. "This is my first time here." he babbled, kicking his legs a little against the couch, "Are there any other kids? What's therapy like? Do you like it?" Tim was overwhelmed by the stream of questions. Maybe this kid was more nervous than he had thought. "I..yeah, you're the only other kid, I think. Therapy is okay, I guess. I don't really like it, but I have to go. So.." Tim trailed off, but Brian didn't press him on why he didn't like therapy. "So do you, like, know everyone here?" he whispered, leaning in a little closer. Tim wondered if by everyone Brian meant the people in the waiting room, which came out to be the pair of them and the silent woman in the corner. "Sort of." Tim whispered back. "Who's that?" Brian asked, gesturing with his head to the rooms only other occupant. "That's Miss. Talbot." Tim breathed, hoping that the woman wouldn't hear him. He was a little frightened of her. She arrived at precisely 12:07 for her appointment, even though hers wasn't until 1:30, after his. She never said anything, just stared at her folded hands in her lap, or sometimes surveyed passing people sternly over the tops of her glasses, her lips pursed disapprovingly. Brian looked like he wanted to ask more, but the door to the therapists office opened. The previous patient walked out, a skinny man in his thirties, who smiled at Tim as he walked out. "Timothy…" the therapist called, and Tim stood. "See yah later, Tim!" Brain said, smiling again. Tim wondered why Brian needed a therapist.
"Why doesn't your mom stay with you?" Tim asked, a few minutes after Brian had sat down next to him. They had made it through several lobby waits together now, and Brian's family had never once stayed with him. "My mom has to go. She has work, and has to drop me off early. She takes me home when she has a lunch break. My dad would take me home, only he's...he's busy, so he can't." Brian faltered, looking away. Tim let silence settle between them, unsure if he should talk again. He didn't want to upset Brian. But he was soon recovered, the troubled look leaving his face. "Why doesn't your mom stay with you?" he asked in return. "She doesn't like therapists." Tim said quietly, picking at a healing scab on his knee. "Why?" Brian persisted. "She says people will think I'm weird, if they see me here. I guess she thinks people will think she's weird too…" Tim tore the scab off with a sharp tug, instantly regretting it as blood welled up on his knee. "That's dumb." Brian proclaimed, kicking his feet. "Do you have any pets?" he asked, switching the topic completely. "Yes." Tim replied. They had gotten to know a lot about one another in their weekly half an hour conversations. Tim found out that Brian did, indeed, like to climb trees. They had birthdays within four days of each other, and both of them were missing a canine tooth. Brian also played the same video games, and liked science. "Only, it's not real science. You don't get to do that until middle school." Brian had said, although that had confused Tim. Fifth grade science seemed real to him. They both tried to avoid serious topics.
"What's your favourite book?" Tim asked, resting his chin on his knees. He sat, facing Brian on the couch, his feet drawn up to his chest. Brian did the same. "It's called North American Wildlife." he replied. "What's that about?" Tim questioned. "It's a guide to all of the animals in North America! It's got all of the birds and fish and snakes and all the big animals. Every single one!" Brian said excitedly, wrapping his arms around his legs. "That sounds really boring." said Tim, "Mine's Huckleberry Finn." But Brian was frowning, looking thoroughly upset. "It isn't boring! It's got pictures and stuff about every single animal! My dad gave it to me for my birthday. It's not boring." he muttered the last bit, looking away from Tim as he drew his knees closer to his chest. "I'm going to the bathroom." he said after a minute of stiff silence. As Brian stood up, Tim noticed that something had fallen out of his pocket and onto the cushion of the couch, a folded piece of paper. Tim waited until Brian had left the room to pick up the paper. He unfolded it carefully. It was a drawing, done in crayon. It showed three people, outlined in thick black wax. One figure Tim presumed to be Brian's mom, as she was depicted in a grey skirt and had blond hair, lemon yellow in the drawing, put up in a bun. Another figure, who stood further away, in the far right side of the drawing. This must be Brian's father. He had a dark blue, scribbled on tie and spiky, brown hair. The third figure, smaller than the other two, appeared to be Brian. He has drawn himself standing next to his mother, hair coloured the same as his fathers. None of the figures are smiling. But Brian has drawn himself with a garish red frowny face. The rest of the drawing depicted houses and the sun, as well as Brian's dog, Rowdy, who stood next to Brian in the drawing.
"Where did you get that?" Brian asked angrily, yanking the drawing from Tim's grip. Tim hadn't heard him return from the bathroom. "I'm sorry. It fell out of your pocket…" Tim said, defensively, not daring to meet Brian's eye. He hovered over the couch for a few moment, before sitting down with a sigh. "My parents aren't married anymore." he said quietly, "I live with my mom most of the time, but I get to see my dad sometimes. That's why I'm here. My mom thought it would help me with stuff." Tim watched Brian as he spoke. He wasn't looking at Tim, but rather the floor, rocking back and forth a little. "My doctor thought therapy would help me." Tim said gently. They had never talked about why they were here before, but Brian had now, so Tim felt obligated to do the same. "I have to draw stuff too. I draw what I see...that's why I'm here. I see things, sometimes." Tim glanced at Brian. He had stopped rocking and was looking at Tim curiously now. "What sort of things do you see?" Brian whispered. Tim paused, looking away from Brian and focusing on the floor. "A tall man, without a face. He watches me, sometimes." Tim fell silent, still not looking at Brian. "How does he watch you if he doesn't have a face?" Brian questioned sharply. Tim shrank away from his tone. "I…." he squeaked, trying to find words to explain. "So you're crazy." Brian said loudly, dropping his whisper completely. "I'm not crazy." Tim breathed, eyes welling with tears already. "You sound crazy." Brian persisted. Tim turned away from him, attempting to breathe again. He was crying now, quietly. He made no attempt to defend himself from Brians accusations. "But...but that's okay." Brian said loudly, frightened by Tim's reaction. "I think you're nice! You're my best friend!" Tim did not look at Brian as he said this, but he was paying attention all the same. " And my mom says everyone is a little crazy." Brian finished lamely. Tim had stopped crying by the time the therapist called his name.
"Do you wanna go to the park tomorrow?" Brian asked, kicking his heels against the floor. He had grown four inches taller in two months. Tim had yet to hit much of a growth spurt. "I'll have to ask my mom." Tim replied. He was sure that she would say yes, though. She was excited that he had been making friends, and he was now playing with Brian outside of therapy. They would meet for afternoons at the park and zoo, when Brian's mothers schedule would allow it, or Tim would ride his bike to Brian's to play videogames. Their therapist encouraged it. "I think I'll bring Rowdy with me." Brian said, smiling a bit at the idea as he bounced his right foot against the carpet. "I'd bring my dog, but she's too old to have fun at the park." said Tim, miming Brian's actions. They talked above whispers today; Miss. Talbot was not there for her appointment. "How old is she?" Brian asked. Tim shrugged in response.
After a few minutes of silence, Brian grinned, touching his right pocket gingerly. "Hey Tim….wanna see what I found outside?" he asked, already carefully unzipping the pocket of his shorts. "What is it?" Tim questioned. Brian removed something with cupped hands. "I caught it outside, on the sidewalk. It almost got away, but I caught it and put it in my pocket." Moving his thumb slightly, Brian allowed Tim to look into his hands. He was holding a small, mottled brown lizard. "It's an Eastern Fence Lizard." Brian declared proudly. "Cool." Tim said, nodding. He was unfamiliar with lizards, and wasn't sure if he should be impressed with this one or not. "They're really hard to catch. They run really, really fast." Brian said, holding his clasped hands to his chest and peeking at the lizard between his fingers. "Oh…" Tim said, unsure of what to say. "Should we let it go? Isn't it going to get cold in here?" Tim did remember hearing in class that lizards were cold blooded and needed the sun. The AC was on full blast in the waiting room, and Tim imagined that the poor lizard was probably both frightened and cold. "Okay.." Brian said, standing up and looking around. They were the only ones in the room, yet both of them moved with exaggerated caution to the door. Ducking past the receptionist, the two made it out the front door of the building. The pair squatted on their heels on the edge of the concrete. "Ready?" Brian asked Tim, holding his cupped hands close to the grass. "Go!" Tim whispered. Brian opened his hands and they watched as the little brown lizard darted off at top speed towards the bushes, disappearing quickly from their view. "Cool." Tim repeated, returning Brian's smile. The two reentered the building, finding that they had not been as sneaky as they had thought. The receptionist had been standing at the door the whole time, watching them. She shook her head, smiling despite herself, muttering something about 'boys' as she escorted the two back to their couch.
Tim's medication had been changed upon his last visit, and by the time Brian seated himself next to Tim on the waiting room couch, Tim's head was throbbing. "You alright?" Brian questioned. Tim nodded, screwing his eyes shut. "Just a headache." Tim whined, although he wasn't sure this was just a headache. It felt different. Tim didn't like the new medication at all. It wasn't keeping the nightmares away like his old pills did. "I get headaches sometimes. My mom says it's because I might need glasses soon." Brian said, sitting cross legged on the couch. Tim nodded, unsure of what to say in return. Mostly he just wanted to lay down in a dark, quiet place. "Is that why you have a headache?" Brian asked, whispering now. Tim shook his head. After a few moments, he chanced opening his eyes. "It's my new medicine-" Tim stopped mid sentence, instead focusing on the dark figure in the doorway over Brian's shoulder. Tim's headache roared. It had followed him here, to his safe place, in the daytime. "Tim?" Brian questioned. Tim had stopped breathing. He scrambled over the side of the couch, curling into a ball against the wall. Brian followed him quickly. "Tim? Tim, what's wrong?" Brian questioned, attempting to put his hand on Tim's knee. "NO!" Tim screeched, flinching away from Brian, "IT MIGHT SEE YOU!" Tim didn't want that. He wasn't sure if the thing could hurt Brian now, but he felt certain that if Brian touched him while the thing was here, it would. Tim clasped his hands to his ears; he could hear its movement now. Through his hands, Tim heard Brian say something like "Hold on." and within a few minutes, although it felt like much longer to Tim, his therapist was picking him up and carrying him from the room. Tim wasn't sure when he started screaming, or when he stopped.
Brian waited until his appointment, moved to the earlier time of 1:30, alone on the couch. Tim did not show up for his appointment. Brian hadn't seen him since he had been carried away, crying and screaming at things only he could see. He had asked the therapist about Tim, but his question had been dodged. The only thing he would tell Brian was that Tim needed more treatment than he could get here, and that he would no longer be coming to his appointments. He would not tell Brian where Tim had gone, though. Discouraged, Brian left his appointment with the plan to bike to Tim's house and find him there. He had only been there once before, and even then, only briefly. Tim didn't like to invite people to his house. Brian hoped he remembered how to get there. After several minutes, Brian had persuaded his mother to allow him bike there, promising to be home in time for dinner. It took him over an hour to get there, taking several wrong turns, and finding the house on almost pure accident, after taking an alleyway and ending up on the correct dead end street.
Tim's house was small, a single story boxy home with peeling white siding and an overgrown, patchy lawn. But the front porch was neatly swept, and the screen door had been newly mended. Brian approached the front door, looking for a doorbell for several minutes before giving up and tentatively knocking on the screen door. From somewhere inside, a dog howled. "Just a minute!" someone called from inside, a woman. Brian waited patiently, scuffing his shoe at the badly faded and worn welcome mat on the front step. The deadbolt on the door clicked and the door was pulled open a few inches. A woman's face appeared in the small space. "Hello?" she said questioningly, clearly not expecting a small boy to be standing on her porch. "Hello, ma'am." Brian said, remembering his manners, "Does a boy named Tim live here…? Brian felt suddenly feeling very nervous. He didn't even know his friends last name. "Are you a friend of Tim's?" the woman asked, not answering his question directly. "Yeah. I'm Brian." he said, hoping that maybe Tim had mentioned him to his family. "Right, right. Brian." the woman said, smiling. "I was just wondering, because Tim didn't come to therapy today. Is he home?" Brian asked, unable to see into the house, past Tim's mom. Behind her calves, an old dog stuck its greying muzzle out at Brian. The woman frowned. "Tim won't be coming to therapy anymore, actually. He's….he's not home now, actually. He won't be for awhile. He is sick. He's staying somewhere now where he will get better treatment. So he will feel better." Brian thought the woman looked as if she wanted to shut the door in his face. "Do you know when he will be home?" Brian asked. The woman shook her head. "Can I visit him?" Brian persisted, his voice rising an octave. Tim's mom smiled sadly, looking weary and tired. "I'm not sure, dear." she said. Brian was silent for a few moments. "Thank you." he said finally, turning around and plodding down the steps, dragging his feet to his bike, which he had propped up against the chain link fence surrounding the yard. Behind him, he heard the deadbolt lock back into place. Promptly, he had an idea.
Biking home as fast as he could, Brian arrived home well before his designated curfew. Taking the steps two at a time, he made his way to his room. He found what he was looking for very quickly. He knew exactly where it would be. "Mom!" he shouted down the stairs, "Do we have wrapping paper?" It took a few minutes to find wrapping paper that wasn't Christmas themed. Brian carried the roll of lemon yellow wrapping paper upstairs to his room, finding a pair of scissors and a roll of clear tape in his desk. Before he wrapped it, Brian found a sheet of lined paper, and a pen. Carefully, he wrote a note to Tim, printing as neatly as possible. He considered himself to be a good speller, and everything appeared to be correct to him. He tucked the note into his gift, and set to work wrapping. He took his time, wrapping meticulously. After he was finished, Brian cleared away the excess wrapping and placed the gift on his desk. He would get it to Tim somehow.
Brian's mother made him wait until after noon to bike over to Tim's house again. He puts Tim's gift into his school bag, which he wore on his back. He didn't have a basket for his bike, and didn't want to be encumbered by the package the whole ride to Tim's. Parking his bike in the same place as he had the day before, Brian marched up to Tim's door, package in hand. He knocked. Once again, a dog howled from inside. It took Tim's mom a few minutes to unlock the door. She seemed surprised to see him again. "Hello, Brian." she said questioningly, eyeing the package in his hands. "Hello, ma'am. I was wondering if you could give this to Tim?" Brian said, a little breathlessly, holding the package out with both hands. "What is it?" she asked, looking suspiciously at the yellow-wrapped package. "It's a gift. For Tim. Please?" Brian pleaded, holding the package out further still. "I'm sure he will appreciate it." the woman said finally, taking the package from Brian. "Please make sure he gets it." Brian said as he walked off of the porch. The woman nodded, disappearing back inside the house and shutting the door.
Someone knocked on Tim's door. Three heavy, dull thumps on the metal door. The doctor entered without waiting for Tim to reply. "You have some mail today, Timothy." he said, handing Tim a rectangular package wrapped in bright yellow paper. "From who?" Tim asked, turning the gift over in his hands. It was heavy, and felt solid. It looked like it had been unwrapped and then hastily re-wrapped. "Your mother said it was from a friend." the doctor said, making his way to the door, "And don't worry. We checked to make sure it's safe for you to have. A nurse will be back in to check on you in a little while, okay Timothy?" the doctor said. Tim nodded and h e closed the door, locking it behind him. Sitting down on the bed in the corner, Tim turned the package over in his hands, finding a corner of tape on the wrappings. Gingerly, he unwrapped the package. Inside was a book. North American Wildlife, Brian's favourite. Tim smiled, carefully opening to the first page. A piece of folded paper slid out and on to his lap. Sitting the book aside, Tim unfolded the paper and looked over the scrawled out pen writing of the short, choppy note before he read it. 'Dear Tim,' it started 'I wanted to give you something that makes me feel better. When I am upset, I read this book, and it makes me feel better, so I hope it makes you feel better too. Your mom says you are sick. I am sorry I called you crazy. I don't think you are. They won't tell me where you are. I miss you. I hope we are still friends, even if we do not see each other very much. I will write my address at the bottom of the page, so you can send me a letter back, if you can. Your friend, Brian.' Tim read the letter through twice before folding it neatly and tucking it back into the book, which he thumbed through carefully. It wasn't nearly as boring as he thought it would be. He could understand why Brian liked it so much. Smiling to himself, Tim planned on asking the nurse for paper and a pencil. He had a lot to tell Brian.