THE CUCKOO'S EGG

by Galen Hardesty

Chapter Five

PROBABLY NOTHING SERIOUSLY WRONG

~*~

At Mrs. Manson's "Come in" Daria opened the door and entered. Mrs. Manson was pretending to be busy with some papers on her desk. After a minute, she jotted something, set the papers aside, and looked up. "Ah, Dara. What can I do for you?"

"It's 'Daria', and you can write me a hall pass to the library."

Mrs. Manson smiled a humorless little smile. "Somehow, I don't think that's why you were sent here, Dara. Who sent you, and why?"

Daria pulled up a chair and sat down, which seemed to displease the counselor slightly. "It's 'Daria'. I read a writing assignment in Mr. O'Neill's class. He started crying and handed me this pass. He never said why."

"Oh, my." Mrs. Manson seemed to be genuinely amused now, but trying not to show it. "Well, let me see what you wrote."

Several minutes later, Mrs. Manson laid aside Daria's story and put on her best friendly, caring look. "This is very well-written, Dara, even if it is very dark and grim. You're one of our most gifted students, and of course we all want you to do well. Do you feel a lot of pressure to succeed, Dara?"

"I want to succeed, but if you mean are my parents hounding me to succeed, then no, Charlie."

Mrs. Manson started a bit at this, then drew herself up to her full height. "My name is not Charlie. You will please address me as 'Mrs. Manson.'" She hesitated, as if remembering something from some long-ago class. "Or… Margaret," she added with a strained little smile.

Tickled at having derailed Manson's interrogation, Daria suppressed a smirk. "Okay. And my name is not Dara. You will please address me as Ms. Morgendorffer. Or… Daria," she replied, breaking the barb off in her opponent.

Mrs. Manson took a deep breath and her jaw muscles visibly flexed. After a few seconds, she continued, "Have you been under any unusual stress lately?"

"No, just the usual."

"Oh? And what is 'the usual?'"

"I want to get a good education and prepare myself for college, but I have to come to Lawndale High instead."

Mrs. Manson scowled and made a notation.

"Is there stress in your family? Say, from a pending or possible divorce?"

"Well, my dad is kind of stressed about his relationship with his father."

"Does your grandfather live with you?"

"No, he's been dead for twenty-three years."

Mrs. Manson looked like she didn't know what to do with this information. She made another note. "Um, well, perhaps we'll come back to that."

"After you have a chance to consult your Cliff Notes," thought Daria.

"How about your mother, Dara?" Manson asked.

"Well, she's been kind of busy at work lately, Marilyn," Daria replied, straight-faced.

Manson started again, looked very irritated, and scribbled something short and probably pithy on her paper. "Fine, Daria. Now, how long has your mother been 'kind of busy at work'?"

"Oh, the last ten or twelve years or so."

Manson gave Daria a sharp look at this, but could detect no sign of joking or untruthfulness. "I see," she said, making a longer notation, "And how does this make you feel?"

"Disinclined to pursue a career as a lawyer," Daria replied glibly.

"Don't cover up, dear. What are your true feelings about your mother spending so much time at work?"

Daria put on an expression as if examining her deepest inner navel. "Well, I'm sorry she has to work so hard, but…"

"Yes?" Manson tried to sound encouraging.

"But I appreciate the room and board," Daria finished, smiling a tiny smile.

Manson frowned, sighed, and scribbled a note. "Do you or any family member have a serious illness?"

"My father has hypertension, but the medication is bringing his blood pressure down."

"What about a pregnancy?" Manson eyed Daria very narrowly as she asked this.

"Not currently."

"Not currently? In the past, then?" Manson asked eagerly.

"Yes, my mother was pregnant on two occasions."

Mrs. Manson started to write something, then stopped, scribbled through it violently, and glared up at Daria. "Have you ever had thoughts of 'hurting' yourself?"

"I pinch myself sometimes, but it doesn't work. I never wake up."

"No, I mean, 'doing harm' to yourself."

"Why would I want to do that? I take plenty of damage in everyday life without deliberately harming myself more."

"Don't be evasive, Dara. Have you ever attempted or thought of attempting suicide?"

"Oh, is that what you meant? Then you were being evasive, not me. You're the one using weasel words like 'hurting yourself'. And no, I've never attempted or seriously considered attempting suicide."

Manson frowned. "Is there any history of suicide in your family?"

"No."

Looking slightly disappointed, Manson made a note. "Have you been feeling depressed lately?"

"Yes."

Manson's eyes lit up. "When?"

"When O'Neill gives me a lame assignment like "Write a story about yourself as a little baby songbird."

Mrs. Manson scowled and marked through what she'd just written. She read over her notes for a minute, frowning thoughtfully, occasionally tapping her lips with her pen. It was an expensive pen, Daria noted, but it bore Frobnico Pharmaceuticals advertising copy.

Manson scribbled something on a card and handed it to Daria. "Dara, I'm recommending that your parents schedule an appointment for you to see Doctor Drake. There's probably nothing seriously wrong, but it won't hurt to be sure."

Daria looked at the card. Her left eyebrow lifted noticeably. "Neurologist? Do you think I have a brain tumor just because I didn't write Mr. O'Neill a happy kiddie story about cute little baby birds?"

Mrs. Manson minutely straightened a few papers in Daria's file folder, looking minutely smug as she did so. "As I said, Dara, it's probably nothing serious. You shouldn't worry about it."

"And if I don't go to see this person?"

Mrs. Manson looked ever so slightly surprised at the question. "Well, Dara, that will be up to your parents, now, won't it?" she replied with a hint of smugness.

"If I don't go?" Daria repeated.

"Well. In such a case, Dara, I should have to recommend that you be suspended from school until you did go. For your own good, of course. And for the good of the other students." Mrs. Manson made a note.

Daria rose from her chair, still looking Mrs. Manson straight in the eye. Several remarks, ranging from sarcastic to indignant to eviscerating, danced on the tip of her tongue, but she stored them away for possible use on another occasion. "My name is Daria," she said, then turned and walked out. Down the hall several steps from Mrs. Manson's door, Daria drew the microcassette recorder from her pocket, turned it off, and put it back. "And you're going to remember it," she concluded.