I sat in
a green leather chair with Daddy in his wheelchair next to me in a room full of
disturbed persons. The gold plate on the door read DR.
ZANDRA BARNABY, PSYCHIATRIST.
It
was Lillie Robinson's idea. I overheard her talking to Daddy while I was recollecting
my thoughts in Gina's bedroom.
"Logan,
the girl is obviously disturbed," she'd declared. "I know you're a very devoted
father and dote on Maxine as much as possible, but she won't get better if you
keep sheltering her. I know that if you love her as much as I know you do,
you'll do the right thing and I suggest you find her some help."
"Help?
Help?" Daddy sounded angry. "What kind of help do you propose,
Lillie?"
So,
Lillie gave Daddy the address and phone number of Zandra Barnaby. A psychiatrist.
My best friend's mother thought I needed a shrink. Daddy's face froze when
Lillie handed him the slip of paper.
"A
psychiatrist, Lillie?" Daddy said.
"Now,
Logan, a lot of teens are seeing psychiatrists nowadays and even more so than
when we were kids. Charles and I met her at the convention in Portland.
Zandra's a kind, warm person and wouldn't hurt Maxine. You can trust her."
I
hated the word "trust".
When
I came home after two days at Gina's, I saw that Daddy had fixed all the frames
I'd destroyed and replaced the glass I'd broken. The wall was repaired where
I'd missed. I wondered what he had done with the Ninja and I guessed it was
better if I never knew. Daddy had also fixed my To Max With Love
necklace. I was wearing it now.
"Maxine
Cale? Doctor Barnaby will see you now," the secretary announced.
As
I got up, Daddy squeezed my hand. Everyone else in the waiting room peered at
me, wondering, I wonder what her problem is. I knew because
that's what I'd been thinking.
Dr.
Zandra Barnaby was African American, like Aunt Cindy. Only Dr. Barnaby's skin
was the color of wet tree bark, that dark brown it turns after a rain shower.
Her hair was streaked with gray and pulled into a bun and she wore tiny,
rimless glasses. She wore a magenta suit and a pearl necklace with matching
earrings. She was also very skinny.
"Hello,
Maxine," she greeted, extending her hand in a gesture of welcome. I shook it
and before Dr. Barnaby let go she held my hand in hers for a moment and then
sat down in a big blue armchair. "You can sit if you'd like. I won't hurt you."
"No?"
I sat slowly on a big red couch. I crossed my arms under my bosom and pursed my
lips.
"No."
"That's
too bad."
"Maxine,"
Dr. Barnaby repeated after a moment of silence. "That's a beautiful name. I was
going to name my daughter Megan, Maxine. My husband and I were looking for a
name that started with an M, but my husband wanted to name her Megan after his
aunt."
I
crossed my arms tighter.
"Well,
Maxine, why don't we start by telling me about yourself, hm?"
"Like
what?" I asked bitterly.
"Let's
start with basic information. Where did your mom come up with a beautiful name
like Maxine?"
"My
mom's dead," I blurted. "She died when I was born."
Dr.
Barnaby nodded, as if she knew I was going to say that. "You sound angry,
Maxine."
"I
am angry. Not knowing your mother makes you that way."
"Getting
back to your mother—I understand you took out this anger on her photographs."
"Not
the pictures. Just the frames."
"You
also trashed her motorbike, correct?"
"Motorcycle.
A black Ninja. A real beauty. Shiny chrome hubcaps, smooth leather seat, good
handlebars."
"If
you loved it so much, why destroy it?"
"Who
said I loved it? I bashed the goddamn windshield in!"
Dr.
Barnaby didn't ridicule me about my language, just nodded and scribbled on a
pad. "You really are a very angry girl, Maxine. I can see that."
I
was silent. How was I suppost to respond to that?
"Tell
you what. Let's play a game. I'll say a word and you can tell me the first
thing that pops into your mind, okay?"
I
shrugged. I'd played this with Gina before except one of us would say the name
of an actress or actor and the other would say the first thing they think of.
"Hot,"
Dr. Barnaby began.
"Cold,"
I responded.
"Angry."
"Sad."
I wondered where she was going with this.
"Wedding."
"Funeral."
"Mother."
"Dead."
"Excuse
me?"
"You're
excused."
"No,
I wasn't playing then. I said, 'mother' and you responded with 'dead'. I found
that odd."
I
squirmed in my seat and fiddled with my necklace.
"I
think that's enough word games," Dr. Barnaby said, writing on her pad. "Now, I
want to ask you some questions about yourself and I want you to answer as
truthfully as you can, okay?"
"All
right."
"Do
you hate your father?"
I
bit my lip. "Sometimes."
"Do
you hate your mother?"
That
one I refused to answer.
"Do
you hate yourself?"
"I
don't 'hate', I 'highly dislike'," I informed her.
Dr.
Barnaby put down her pad, "I can see you're not going to answer my questions so
I'll tell you what. You'll be me and I'll be you."
"Huh?"
"You
can ask me anything you'd like. You can be the doctor for today."
So
I sat at her desk and took a piece of paper and a pencil from a holder and sat
back,
"How
old are you?"
"Fifty-five,"
she said with a straight face.
"How
much do you weigh?"
"One
hundred and thirteen pounds."
"Did
you ever regret marriage?"
"No."
"Do
you know what it's like to be in someone's shadow?"
"Of
course."
"Tell
me about that."
"I
had a sister named Matilda who was four years older. I also had a sister named
Antoinetta who was two years younger. I was compared to Matilda while
Antoinetta was compared to me."
"And
where are your sisters now?"
"Matilda's
a teacher and Antoinetta's a Broadway producer."
"What
were you like as a child?"
"I
was very quiet. I liked to be by myself and draw a lot."
"What
did you draw?"
"Animals
and forests. I also liked to jump rope. I did double-Dutch with my sisters."
I
nibbled on the eraser of the pencil and wondered what else I could ask her. She
was way too calm!
"Have
you ever wanted to kill someone?" I asked.
"No."
"Me,
neither. Ever want to shoot a random person?"
"No."
"Me,
neither…ever feel such extreme hatred for someone that you wanted to rip off
his head?"
"No."
"Me,
neither. Hey, have you ever wanted to go on a killing spree right in the middle
of a mall?"
"No."
"Yeah,
me, neither. So…have you ever wanted to jump off the Space Needle?"
"No."
"Me,
neither. Too high."
We
were both silent for a minute.
"You
know, this is getting kind of boring."
"You're
right. That's enough role-reversal."
I
took my seat back on the couch.
"Maxine,
I want you to tell me what your life is like," Dr. Barnaby said. "What's it
like being you: Maxine Cale."
"It's
all right."
"Did
you ever wish you were someone else?"
"Plenty
of times. That way my mother would still be alive."
"How
do you figure?"
"My
dad named me Maxine after my mother," I began. "My full name is Maxine Guevara
Cale, which was her full name."
"Oh.
Her name was Maxine, too?"
"No!"
I corrected sharply. "Just Max. Only Max…my daddy said my mother had a baby
sister named Eva who died when she was nine and I was to be named after her, if
I was born a girl that is. If I was a boy I would be Zack after her brother who
committed suicide."
"Suicide?
Why would your mother name you after someone who committed suicide?"
Did she
know about Manticore? "My mother needed a heart transplant and he was the only
one with her blood type so he shot himself so the doctors could take his
heart."
"I see."
"But, if
my name was Eva Cale instead of Maxine Cale, my daddy wouldn't have had to name
me for my mother. Therefore, she'd still be alive."
"So
by changing your name, it would bring your mother back?"
"If
I could turn back time, yes."
"Would
you be happy if you were Eva?"
"Maybe.
I'm not very happy being Maxine right now."
"I
can call you Eva if you'd like."
"Really?"
"If
that's what you want, whenever you're here you can be Eva," Dr. Barnaby
promised as she scribbled furiously on her pad. "So, Eva, what do you
like to do for fun?"
"I
like to run," I said. "I do track at school. I've won first place in ten events
at one meet. My teacher calls me Mad Max 'cause I run so fast."
"Congratulations,"
Dr. Barnaby smiled.
"Can
I ask you something?"
"Of
course."
"Who
else knows about what we're talking about?"
"No
one. Just the two of us. Everything said in this office stays here and never
escapes. It's like…a big prison for all your problems. Your problems escape
from your mouth and stick to the walls and they're stuck there forever."
"So
if someone wanted to know about what I said and they branded you with hot coals
you wouldn't tell?"
"Nope."
"What
if they stuck your head in a box of scorpions? Would you tell?"
"No,
I wouldn't. Not even your father knows what we're talking about."
"So…I
can say anything I want and no one else but you will know?"
"That's
true."
"Okay…I
hate my mother."
"Really."
"I
hate her so much that sometimes I'm glad she's dead!"
"I
think that's a bit harsh, don't you, Eva?"
"I
don't care! I'm living in her shadow! I have her name, her face, her voice and
her damned wedding ring!"
"You
have her wedding ring?"
"On
my necklace," I threw my hair away from my chest so Dr. Barnaby could have a
good look at the gold marriage band with the tiny diamond my daddy gave her
eighteen years ago. "Inside it says To Max With Love."
"Why
do you wear it on a necklace instead of on your finger?"
"Because
all though I look like her, I don't want to be her. I always get, 'You look so
much like your mother' from our family friends. And Daddy confuses me with her
all the time. Sometimes I think that if I didn't look like my mother, Daddy
would have given me up for adoption."
Dr.
Barnaby put her pencil behind her ear. "Why do you hate your mother, Eva?"
"Because…because…because…"
I stuttered. Why did I have such a strong hatred for her? "I just do, is
all!" I brought my hands up to cover my face and began to sob. How many
years have I spent crying over her?
"It's
okay, Eva," Dr. Barnaby said softly, coming over to sit next to me. She patted
my knee with affection.
"No,
I don't want to be Eva anymore," I sobbed. "I want to be called by my real
name: Maxine."
When my session ended, Daddy was waiting for
me. I had cleaned up so he couldn't tell I'd been crying.
"Well,
how was it?" he asked after he kissed me hello. "Was she nice?"
"Yes,
she was very warm. I think I'm actually coming to terms."
We
drove home in Daddy's Aztec in silence. We were each deep in our own thoughts.
The ride seemed faster than it had been when we were going to see Dr. Barnaby
for the first time.
The
elevator ride up to the penthouse also took forever. I sat on the floor like I
always do and Daddy held onto the handicapped railing. When it got to our place,
I saw pink: pink carnations, that is. I stepped from the elevator aghast. In
every vase and cubby hole, behind every photograph on the wall, Daddy had put a
small bouquet of my favorite flower. The biggest surprise was right in front of
me, on the table in the foyer. The vase my mother loved so had been fixed and
now held sixteen pink carnations decorated with baby's breath. I whirled around
in awe and hugged Daddy closely.
"Happy
Birthday," he said, "and many more."
