“Ohh lemme see, lemme see!” Vanessa beams with excitement as she pulls the small card from Rhonda’s fingers.

“Hey! I was still looking at it!” Rhonda looked ruefully at Vanessa.

“So where are you going first?” Sherry adds.

“Mom won’t let me drive…” I say sadly.

Sherry reaches for the card and gives it a tug. “My turn.”

“Careful! Don’t rip it!” I admonish the trio.

“It’s only a temporary, you get the real one in a month or two.” Vanessa chimes back.

“I can’t believe it, one of us has a license now! This is going to be great!” Sherry’s excitement is unassailable.

“I may have a license, but I don’t have a car and my folks won’t let me drive.”

“What’s the point of having a driver’s license if you can’t drive.” Rhonda looks at me puzzled.

“Did you look at the name on the card?”

“Yeah, Angela Lynn Rhodes. So?” Vanessa reads from the card.

“Well the name change is official!” I grin.

The trio look at me puzzled.

“You added ‘Lynn’?” Sherry questions.

I shake my head… “Nevermind” I forgot, it’s been a lifetime since anyone has called me Xander.

“Hey Angie, we should go celebrate! Red Robin for some shakes?” Rhonda rarely suggests going to Red Robin. She waitresses there and likes to avoid it when not working.

“Sorry Rhonda, I’ve got to go to the hospital.”

“Are you sick?” Sherry looks at me concerned. Vanessa and Rhonda glare at her. “Oh… Sorry Angie.
How is she?”

“I don’t know. Some days she’s fine and others… I just don’t know until I get there.”

“I’m sorry, Ang. Is there anything we can do?” Vanessa looks at me. She worries about me. I’ve cried on her shoulder on more than one occasion.

“No, you all are great. I don’t know where I would be without all of you.” The sadness creeps in as my voice cracks at the end.

“Angie! Your mom’s here!” Vanessa’s mom calls out from the living room. I grab my purse and my temporary license from Sherry. After quick hug to all of them, I dash down the stairs. “Thanks, Mrs. Morgan!”

“Slow down, Angie!” She admonishes me as she stands at the doorway.

“Sorry, Mrs. Morgan.” I squeak out as I rush to give her a hug as I exit.

Mom’s waiting for me inside the car. “Did you have fun with your friends?”

“It was great, Mom! We were doing some pre-shopping shopping… for back to school.”

“Pre-Shopping?”

“Pre-Shopping, we get the shipment of new items in store a day or two before we have to steam them and put them on the rack. We usually have to tag and inventory everything as well. So when they first get put on display we’ve already decided what we like and don’t. We reserve them in advance for the sales. We save time and money! Isn’t that great?” She’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“What happened to just shopping?” She starts the car and begins the short drive to the Hospital where Carla has lived since her episode 2 weeks ago.

“Mom, if we do that all the cute stuff will be snapped up by all the other shoppers. Especially, if I have to work on the sale days. And I’m not paying full price on any of that…”

“Alright sweetheart, I just don’t want all your money going to clothing.”

“It’s not. Though, I really do want a car…” We come to a halt at one of the busy intersections in town.

“We’re not starting that discussion again, young lady.” She glares at me.

“Why not? I’ve been saving as much as I can for it? And doesn’t it take enough of your time to drive me around everywhere.”

“What and miss quality time with my daughter?” She looks at me with an impish smile and accelerates when the light turns green.

“MOOOOM! I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“Well, the ‘MOOOM’ certainly undercuts that doesn’t it? And so does crossing your arms and huffing.” She adds with a giggle. “You’re sixteen young lady and you should act like it.”

“Isn’t whining and begging for a car, part of being sixteen?” I smile back.

“Don’t get smart with me young lady. We’re almost at the hospital. Please try to keep your composure there. Honestly, Angela, you’ve got to keep better control over your emotions. Crying at every little thing isn’t becoming. I do think we should talk to Dr. Watkins next week about your hormone levels. “

Mom parks the car. My anxiety begins to replace the distraction of the past week. The lot is full so we’re parked near the street. I wish I wore my athletic shoes as I look at the gravel covering the re-paved blacktop. My athletic shoes just wouldn’t work my maroon floral sundress. My ballet flats aren’t going to provide much in the way of cushion. Between my anxiety and the thought of stepping through the blacktop I start to wonder if mom will let me just sit in the car. My hopes are dashed when mom looks at me with a glare, "Get a move on Angela."

Mom’s pace is quicker than mine and I struggle to keep up. Her almost gauzy cardigan, tank top, and cargo shorts are on wrong side of chic; however her less than fashionable tennis shoes- I would kill for right now as my feet crunch over the jagged stones of the parking lot. She’s a good ten paces ahead of me by the time she reaches the revolving door entrance to the lobby. My heart begins to race as I approach the entrance to the hospital. Part of it is the walk, but I can feel my the pressure in my chest begin to build.

“Angela, hurry up!” mom chides my pace. The tiled floor in the hospital lobby is a relief from the overheated gravel-ridden blacktop outside. It’s late in the afternoon and the cold blast of the AC in the lobby brings a smile to my face. I also dries up the beads of sweat forming on my brow. The wait for the elevator only serves to grow my dread.

We take the elevator up, I stare as each floor number lights up 2, 3, 4 my heart is pounding and can feel my tremor grow. The doors open to the Behavioral Health wing I step out pensively while mom checks in with the nurse. Nurse Gordon eyes me and smiles. “She’s having one of her good days sweetheart.” I force a smile.

My heart breaks every time I come here. My sister is just so… broken. I can’t do anything. I'm caught between the fear and helplessness that swirl within me. I really don’t know how Mom copes with it all. I see her strength and I wish for the same. My wish isn't granted. She’s been through so much. They both have.

My mother steps through the door, then realizing that I’m not beside her turns sees me and closes her eyes and sighs. I haven’t moved from my spot in front of the reception desk. I just stand there staring at the entryway. She’s about to say something but stops when she sees the tears in my eyes. It saddens me that I can’t bring myself to walk in there one more time. It makes me angry that I can’t just fake a smile to go and see my broken sister. I’m ashamed of myself for making my mom choose between me and her other daughter. She’s chosen me once too often. I see her turn and walk though the doors and they close behind her.

***

“I’m a horrible sister.” I sit there staring at Mrs. Huffman. She’s back to tapping her pencil on her notepad again. She remains quiet. I’m expecting the question of ‘how does that make you feel?' I’m met with silence. “I should have went in there.” More tapping. “I just didn’t want to…” I stop look up at her. Her expressionless face gives me little to go on. I wonder why she isn’t saying anything.

“Are you through?” She say plainly.

I give her a puzzled look. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Did it make you feel any better?” Again another plain statement.

“No.” I relent.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because saying something and not doing anything about it is pointless?”

That brings a smile to her face. She doesn’t have to say a word. I feel worse now but, at least I have something to go on. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Sure”

“Go through all of our sessions together and tell me what we’ve discussed.”

“What?”

“I said to go through each of our sessions and tell me what we’ve discussed.”

“Okay,” It’s an odd request. I’m not sure where this is going. “The first visit, we introduced each other, I told you about wanting to have a second letter for my transition and you asked me to write in a journal. The second visit we talked about what I wanted to do with my life, what my dreams were and how I saw myself happiest. The third visit I talked about my sister and missing her and wishing she was back in my life. The fourth visits, I talked about my sister’s return and that awful night. The fifth visit, I talked about visiting my sister in the hospital and the episode she had while I was there. And now I’m telling you I felt guilty about not visiting my sister on the last trip to the hospital.”

“Notice a pattern?”

“No, over the last few weeks it was mainly about my sister and before that it was about how I saw myself.”

“We never once discussed why you are really here.”

“My transition?”

“Yes.”

“What’s there to talk about? That part of my life is normal compared everything going on with my sister.”

“What if I told you that I was not going to write you that letter?”

“I don’t know, I’d be shocked. I think. Is it because my problems with my sister are dominating our sessions? I thought at least you would be someone I can talk to about my problems. I’m not supposed to share those with you?”

“Well you can share what it is you want but unless we get to the discussion on your transition, We’re not going to go anywhere.”

“So I have to choose between my issues with my sister and my transition? That’s not fair!”

“Why not? You were here to discuss your transition and not the issues with your sister.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Of course I can.”

“Well, if you can’t help me with my sister then I don’t see a reason to work with you on my transition. I’ll find someone that can help me with both.”

“You’d probably have to start over.”

“Fine by me. Is our session over?”

“Not quite. yet. There’s one more thing.”

“Here.” She walks over to me with a manila envelope.

“What is this?”

“What you came here for. Open it.”

I open the letter and read it and my eyes go wide. “Is real?”

“Yes, I’m sorry about all that before. I wanted to make sure you were going to seek help for your issues with your sister even after I handed you my recommendation.”

“This means I can…”

“Well, not until you’re 18 actually but, yes.”

It hits me the fortunate turn my life had taken and the opposite path my sister's had taken. The guilt of it washes over me. This is supposed to be one of the happiest moments in my life. I don't have my sister to share it with. I cry myself to sleep again that night as I have since my sister's episode. All I can wonder is What happened to her? Can she ever be the sister that returned to me that first evening or will she be the broken young woman that I feared to visit?

Please help her...