I've never been quite sure why I agreed to take the job in the first place.
That statement probably gives a rather wrong impression, but it's nothing
horrible, just a little dangerous at times. Actually, it really shouldn't
be as dangerous as it tends to be. After all, I'm just a peer counselor.
All I know is that I went to guidance one day and was asked if I was
interested, and, since it got me out of class, I agreed to it. Why not?
How hard could it be, right?
How could I know what they really expected of me?
Well, two group meetings into the position, I was asked to join the school psychiatrist for a little "chat." All I could think was "Great! There goes my skip ticket!" I was pretty sure that they had unanimously decided that I was too crazy myself to help other disturbed students; therefore I was completely expecting them to kick me off of the counseling team. At this point, I'm not sure whether it was fortunate or not that my guess at the conversation's topic was so off from the truth.
"We have a request," was the first thing I heard upon sitting down in the little office. "There's a boy, a newly transferred senior, whose housemates have asked us to put in the school therapy program. Unfortunately, none of us have been able to get across to him and we were thinking that maybe one of his peers might be able to make better headway. Since you have had such success with the group sessions in the short time you've been working with us, we decided that you would be the best choice to try with him. I wanted to ask you first, though, just to make sure you didn't have a problem with it."
My position was an odd one, something between total relief and utter confusion. I was glad they hadn't decided to kick me out, but to be the sole counselor for a student no one else had had any success with…? Did they really think I could do better than the professionals? I mean, what could I do that they couldn't? Once again, I'm not sure whether it's fortunate or not, but I said yes. After all, I do tend to be a rather curious person, and no one can ever accuse me of being too cautious.
So, mere moments later, I found myself sitting alone in the peer counseling room with my new charge, and I nearly wet myself when they walked the guy in. I mean, if they couldn't crack into him with their PhDs on the wall, what was I supposed to do? My outlook became increasingly bleak as he took his seat, and, when they closed the door, my sun all but went out.
I looked back and forth between the spiky, white hair on his head and the smooth, printed pages in my lap. The psychiatrist's handwritten notes were scratched in blue ink on black lines in a frightening mirror image of the scars on the boy's face. Oh this should be special, was the only thought in my head as I met a single, gold eye, the left one covered by an imposingly black patch.
Oh now this was just silly. Two group sessions went good so they thought I could handle the real crazies? Well, let me tell you, there's a major difference between high school rejects and certifiable psychos.
We stared at one another for a long moment, neither of us quite sure how to respond to the other. How was I supposed to start this? At least in group I could say "Okay, now introduce yourselves." Here, though, it was just he and I, staring each other down. It didn't help that I could practically hear him debating in his head over how to react to me. Should he be violent? Should he stay calm? Should he ignore me? Should he listen? Should he stay silent? Should he talk? There were so many questions running blatantly across the back of his eye.
After a rather long span of undisturbed silence, I started to get a little edgy. He wasn't even moving, blinking, anything, but just sat there, staring at me from that scarred face. And as I stared back, his paleness started to stand out from the black of his T-shirt and jeans. Suddenly he was glowing like some angel that God had viciously punished for following Lucifer, when in fact the poor angel hadn't followed the damned one at all, but, because God is almighty and can't admit to ever being wrong for fear that someone will question him, the punishment was carried out anyway.
Suddenly, as if he'd heard my thoughts, my charge smiled at me. "Hello."
How could I know what they really expected of me?
Well, two group meetings into the position, I was asked to join the school psychiatrist for a little "chat." All I could think was "Great! There goes my skip ticket!" I was pretty sure that they had unanimously decided that I was too crazy myself to help other disturbed students; therefore I was completely expecting them to kick me off of the counseling team. At this point, I'm not sure whether it was fortunate or not that my guess at the conversation's topic was so off from the truth.
"We have a request," was the first thing I heard upon sitting down in the little office. "There's a boy, a newly transferred senior, whose housemates have asked us to put in the school therapy program. Unfortunately, none of us have been able to get across to him and we were thinking that maybe one of his peers might be able to make better headway. Since you have had such success with the group sessions in the short time you've been working with us, we decided that you would be the best choice to try with him. I wanted to ask you first, though, just to make sure you didn't have a problem with it."
My position was an odd one, something between total relief and utter confusion. I was glad they hadn't decided to kick me out, but to be the sole counselor for a student no one else had had any success with…? Did they really think I could do better than the professionals? I mean, what could I do that they couldn't? Once again, I'm not sure whether it's fortunate or not, but I said yes. After all, I do tend to be a rather curious person, and no one can ever accuse me of being too cautious.
So, mere moments later, I found myself sitting alone in the peer counseling room with my new charge, and I nearly wet myself when they walked the guy in. I mean, if they couldn't crack into him with their PhDs on the wall, what was I supposed to do? My outlook became increasingly bleak as he took his seat, and, when they closed the door, my sun all but went out.
I looked back and forth between the spiky, white hair on his head and the smooth, printed pages in my lap. The psychiatrist's handwritten notes were scratched in blue ink on black lines in a frightening mirror image of the scars on the boy's face. Oh this should be special, was the only thought in my head as I met a single, gold eye, the left one covered by an imposingly black patch.
Oh now this was just silly. Two group sessions went good so they thought I could handle the real crazies? Well, let me tell you, there's a major difference between high school rejects and certifiable psychos.
We stared at one another for a long moment, neither of us quite sure how to respond to the other. How was I supposed to start this? At least in group I could say "Okay, now introduce yourselves." Here, though, it was just he and I, staring each other down. It didn't help that I could practically hear him debating in his head over how to react to me. Should he be violent? Should he stay calm? Should he ignore me? Should he listen? Should he stay silent? Should he talk? There were so many questions running blatantly across the back of his eye.
After a rather long span of undisturbed silence, I started to get a little edgy. He wasn't even moving, blinking, anything, but just sat there, staring at me from that scarred face. And as I stared back, his paleness started to stand out from the black of his T-shirt and jeans. Suddenly he was glowing like some angel that God had viciously punished for following Lucifer, when in fact the poor angel hadn't followed the damned one at all, but, because God is almighty and can't admit to ever being wrong for fear that someone will question him, the punishment was carried out anyway.
Suddenly, as if he'd heard my thoughts, my charge smiled at me. "Hello."