“They’re…” I let out a harsh laugh as I pondered how to explain the twins. “They’re sixteen. They’re sort of… nutty.” I nodded, satisfied that I’d thought up a nice way to sayferal. “They don’t take anything seriously. They’re just, you know, teenagers in the worst way. Completely ridiculous.”
Twenty very long seconds.
“Do you see yourself in them?”
I was so shocked, my first impulse was to throw a box of tissues at her. But I refrained and breathed in through my nose, trying to collect myself to prevent myself from hissing,Absolutely fucking not.
“Me… in the twins?” I pretended to give it some thought. “Not really, no.”
She waited for so long the silence was deafening.
The twins were just sosilly. They did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. They didn’t care what anyone thought of them. It was like they were the stars of their own personal show andoh my God.
“They are just like me,” I whispered, horrified.
I could have sworn I saw a satisfied smirk flit across the therapist’s face.
“But how…? But I’m not… I thought we were nothing alike. I mean, I don’t even really like them.”
“Oftentimes, we are quick to criticize others for qualities we dislike in ourselves.”
I was not ready for that wisdom mic drop. I had to sit and think about that for a good long while. If she started asking if I was like Mom, I would have to leave. (Spoiler alert: the answer was probably yes, but I would never be thinking about that again, ever.)
Finally she said, “Since your work is what brought you here, would you like to talk more about your career?”
I shrugged.
“What did you study in school?”
“I was an English major.”
“And why did you choose that?”
“I like books.”
“Did you have any careers in mind when you chose your major?”
“Not really. I never was much of a planner.”
She smiled. “That’s perfectly okay.” That was when I realized how mean I was to myself sometimes. When I’d said, “I’m not a planner,” what I’d really meant wasI am lazy and irresponsible.I blinked for a moment, trying to reorient myself around the idea that some of my “flaws” might actually be “perfectly okay.”
“Um. Yeah, so I just sort of fell into tech support because I needed a job, and that’s what people do here, right?” I gave a little laugh. “Work in tech?”
“Some people. What did you want to be when you were a child?”
“President, of course.”
She smiled more broadly this time. “Not every child wants to be president.”
“Oh. Well, I definitely did. I ran my own campaigns and everything. I even shot a commercial when I was eight. My mom probably still has the VHS.”
“Do you still have an interest in politics?”
“I don’t think it was an interest in politics when I was a kid so much as just wanting to be the center of the universe. But yes, I still do.”
She paused for so long I thought maybe the appointment was over and she was waiting for me to see myself out.
“Yeah, I mean…,” I continued. “I follow politics. I like to complain about how horrible everything is and daydream about how I would fix things.”
