Conversations (G)
Dr. Goldstein is a big man, much bigger than Jensen ever could be. And big in a way that is much different than the way Logan and Jeff tower over everything. Their size is made up of hard planes of muscles and defined lines of bone and skin. Even that one time when they were angry, the only time Jared ever saw them like that, they weren’t like this. Even when they seemed to expand and fill the entire room with their presence they still didn’t take up too much room. They don’t have round fingers, like little sausages. Their faces don’t droop under the weight of their cheeks. They don’t spill over the edges of their chairs, leaking soft pouches of flesh in spaces not reserved for them.
Jared wants to be afraid as he looks at everything in the room. His eyes flit over the too-big desk, across the wall festooned with framed pieces of paper. His gaze drifts to the play area before finally returning to the puffy face of the man in front of him.
“Hi Jared,” Dr. Goldstein says with a soft smile that bunches the excess skin around his mouth. “How are you today?”
Jared stares back at him, unsure what he supposed to answer. He’s been many things today already - happy and warm in Jensen’s arms, giggly and silly as Michelle poked her fingers at his nose, nervous when Sonya walked him into the big stone building.
“Ok, well then Jared, can you tell me how old you are?”
Jared knows how to answer this one. Twelve, he is supposed to say. Twelve years old now, I’m twelve, he wants to say proudly, but his tongue sticks to the floor of his mouth and he doesn’t say it.
Dr. Goldstein nods and writes something in his little book. Jared takes in the slope of his legs, the way his thighs bulge out and taper only a little at his thick knees. The doctor clears his throat.
“Ok, that’s ok Jared. You don’t have to tell me,” he says, as though he understands, as though his beady eyes see more than just Jared’s flesh and hair and clothes. “I hear you like to draw. Tell me Jared, what’s your favourite colour to draw with?”
He knows the answer to this one too. Blue, then green. Blue for the water that looked so freeing, so peaceful. Green for life. All he has to do is look at the trees and the grass and he feels the hope bubble up in his chest. He shapes the words on his tongue, ready to share this knowledge, ready to explain why Sonya has to keep buying him new blue and green markers, but the letters get tangled and jumbled and never make it past his teeth.
It’s odd, watching Dr. Goldstein’s kind expression, watching him write in his little book that nearly disappears in his meaty hands.
“How would you like to tell me about some of the things you like to draw?” he doctor says gently. “I’d really like to hear you talk about your art.”
He is all ready to say it. He is all ready to explain that he draws Jensen, and sometimes Michelle. Sometimes the dogs he goes to play with. He is going to say how he draws happy, sunny things to chase away the grey shadows of memory, and how he draws frightening things just to prove to himself that he isn’t afraid anymore. The sound gets stuck in his throat and instead of telling the doctor, he just stares at him.
Dr. Goldstein nods once and shuffles in his chair. “It’s alright Jared,” he says. “You don’t have to talk to me today. How about you draw me a picture instead?”
Jared likes that plan. He nods his head and slides out of the big chair - big like everything else in this office - and moves toward the easel. Not today, maybe not today, but someday. Maybe someday he can tell the doctor all the things he can only say to Jensen. Maybe the doctor is willing to wait until he’s finally ready.
Back to Master Post
Jared wants to be afraid as he looks at everything in the room. His eyes flit over the too-big desk, across the wall festooned with framed pieces of paper. His gaze drifts to the play area before finally returning to the puffy face of the man in front of him.
“Hi Jared,” Dr. Goldstein says with a soft smile that bunches the excess skin around his mouth. “How are you today?”
Jared stares back at him, unsure what he supposed to answer. He’s been many things today already - happy and warm in Jensen’s arms, giggly and silly as Michelle poked her fingers at his nose, nervous when Sonya walked him into the big stone building.
“Ok, well then Jared, can you tell me how old you are?”
Jared knows how to answer this one. Twelve, he is supposed to say. Twelve years old now, I’m twelve, he wants to say proudly, but his tongue sticks to the floor of his mouth and he doesn’t say it.
Dr. Goldstein nods and writes something in his little book. Jared takes in the slope of his legs, the way his thighs bulge out and taper only a little at his thick knees. The doctor clears his throat.
“Ok, that’s ok Jared. You don’t have to tell me,” he says, as though he understands, as though his beady eyes see more than just Jared’s flesh and hair and clothes. “I hear you like to draw. Tell me Jared, what’s your favourite colour to draw with?”
He knows the answer to this one too. Blue, then green. Blue for the water that looked so freeing, so peaceful. Green for life. All he has to do is look at the trees and the grass and he feels the hope bubble up in his chest. He shapes the words on his tongue, ready to share this knowledge, ready to explain why Sonya has to keep buying him new blue and green markers, but the letters get tangled and jumbled and never make it past his teeth.
It’s odd, watching Dr. Goldstein’s kind expression, watching him write in his little book that nearly disappears in his meaty hands.
“How would you like to tell me about some of the things you like to draw?” he doctor says gently. “I’d really like to hear you talk about your art.”
He is all ready to say it. He is all ready to explain that he draws Jensen, and sometimes Michelle. Sometimes the dogs he goes to play with. He is going to say how he draws happy, sunny things to chase away the grey shadows of memory, and how he draws frightening things just to prove to himself that he isn’t afraid anymore. The sound gets stuck in his throat and instead of telling the doctor, he just stares at him.
Dr. Goldstein nods once and shuffles in his chair. “It’s alright Jared,” he says. “You don’t have to talk to me today. How about you draw me a picture instead?”
Jared likes that plan. He nods his head and slides out of the big chair - big like everything else in this office - and moves toward the easel. Not today, maybe not today, but someday. Maybe someday he can tell the doctor all the things he can only say to Jensen. Maybe the doctor is willing to wait until he’s finally ready.
Back to Master Post