Chapter 17: The Room with the Blue Chair
1519 Words
It was always harder to admit when she was nervous about something.
Tuesday was no exception.
She changed her shirt three times.
The blue shirt was too stuffy.
The yellow one too bright.
She settled on a cream-colored cardigan in the end.
Not because she loved it…
But because it was… safe.
She checked herself in the bedroom mirror.
“You’ve been through harder things than talking to someone.”
She breathed deeply.
“And that’s true.”
She paused.
“But this is for me.”
For once.
______________
Before the Appointment
Craig knocked quietly on the front door at precisely 8:15.
He hadn’t been planning on starting work until later that morning.
Becca opened the door, coffee cup in hand.
He was holding a paper bag.
“I brought breakfast.”
She smiled.
“You always feed people when they’re nervous.”
“I do.”
“You know I won’t eat anything.”
“I know.”
Craig pulled a blueberry muffin from the bag.
“Well then, I got you something small.”
She laughed.
“You really planned this out.”
“I had all weekend.”
They sat together on the porch drinking coffee.
They didn’t mention the appointment for several minutes.
Instead, they watched the chickens.
Nugget had managed to wedge herself up on top of the water bucket.
Craig pointed.
“I give her thirty seconds.”
“Before what?”
“Before she drops.”
As if on cue, Nugget shifted, flapped her wings and landed in the chicken straw with a squawk of indignation.
Becca laughed uncontrollably.
Craig grinned at her.
“Heads up. Twenty-eight.”
“I bet she meant to do that.”
“Exactly.”
Laughter turned into comfortable silence.
Finally, Craig said something.
“You don’t have to tell me what happens.”
She gave him her attention.
“If you want me too…”
He smiled kindly.
“I’ll listen.”
“If you don’t want to…”
“I’ll just be here.”
She squeezed his hand across the table.
“Thank you.”
The Waiting Room
The counseling office was nothing like Becca expected.
Smaller. Quaint.
Bookshelves were filled with books about grief, trauma, anxiety, healing.
Somewhere softly played an instrumental piano melody.
A diffuser filled the air with lavender.
She smiled despite herself.
Craig would’ve noticed that.
Instead, the receptionist handed her a clipboard.
“You take your time.”
She filled it out sheet by sheet.
Emergency contact.
Medical history.
Family info.
Then she came to a question that made her pause.
What brings you to counseling?
Her pen hovered over the page.
How could decades fit into one little box?
Finally, she wrote:
I survived for far too long. I want to learn how to live.
She read the sentence over, unsure what she’d just typed.
It felt right.
Dr. Parker
A woman in her early fifties stepped into the waiting room.
Slacks. Soft blue blouse. Reading glasses on a chain around her neck.
Her smile was gentle. Warm.
Not obnoxiously happy.
Welcoming.
“Rebecca?”
Becca stood. Heart still pounding.
“I’m Dr. Parker.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
The room itself felt nothing like an office.
Blue upholstered chair across from a plush sofa.
Books. Plants.
A handmade quilt folded over one arm rest.
Even the box of tissues was conveniently placed.
Within reach but not awkwardly shoved in the center of the table.
Dr. Parker noticed Becca studying everything.
“I want my patients to feel at home. Like they’re visiting someone’s living room.”
“It’s cozy.”
“I’m glad.” Dr. Parker sat down.
The First Question
They made small talk for a few minutes before Dr. Parker smiled.
“So…”
She folded her hands together in her lap.
“What made today the day?”
Becca braced herself.
She had expected difficult questions.
About her marriage.
Her husband, Lee.
What he had done.
Instead…
“Today felt right.” She shrugged.
Dr. Parker nodded.
“What else?”
“I needed to.” Another shrug.
“What else did you need?”
Dr. Parker’s eyebrows lifted encouragingly.
Becca took a deep breath.
“I got tired.”
Dr. Parker leaned back gently.
“What did you grow tired of?”
“I wasn’t healed.” Another deep breath.
“I was pretending like I was okay.”
Silence fell over the tiny office.
But it was comfortable silence.
Not the silence that begged to be filled.
It was the silence that gave Becca space to think.
“I moved on.”
“I built my life back up.”
“I fell in love with someone amazing.”
Her eyes filled with tears she knew were coming.
“And I still panic when my phone doesn’t ring at dinner time.”
She snickered through her tears.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore.”
Naming It
Dr. Parker leaned forward.
“Rebecca…”
“What you experienced over the years has taught your nervous system that unpredictability = danger.”
She listened intently.
“Your brain gets that your life has changed.”
“But your body…”
Her eyes met Becca’s. “…doesn’t trust that yet.”
Becca frowned.
“So I’m not…”
She paused.
Fucked up?”
Dr. Parker shook her head with a smile.
“No.”
“You’re adapted.”
She paused again.
“The coping skills that helped you survive… aren’t helpful in your life now.”
Something inside of Becca let go.
She hadn’t known how badly she needed someone to say that to her.
Not make excuses.
Say.
She let out a long breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
The Story Begins
Towards the end of her session, Dr. Parker asked kindly.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to today.”
“Good.”
Becca smiled.
“Because I can’t.”
“I know.” She placed a reassuring hand on Becca’s arm.
“But if there was one thing…”
“One thing you could tell me about your marriage.” She prompted.
Becca looked down at her hands.
When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.
“I forgot who I was.”
There was stillness.
For the first time…
Someone asked her the real reason she needed counseling.
Not that her marriage was abusive.
Not that it was hard.
She had forgotten who she was.
Afterward
The session ended almost before she realized an hour had passed.
Walking back to her car, she felt overwhelmingly tired.
And somehow… free.
All at once.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
It was Craig.
Hope you had a good session! Don’t feel pressure to answer if you’re not ready 😉 ❤️
She typed back quickly.
Can I pick you up at the lake?
The Bench by the Water
An hour later, they sat together on an old wooden bench overlooking the lake.
They’d sat here after getting to know each other years ago, sharing their first real conversation since reconnecting.
Water gently lapped at the shore.
A pair of ducks swam lazily by.
Craig handed her a bottle of water.
“How are you?”
Becca thought about it.
“I’m tired.”
“I figured.”
Her gaze drifted over the lake.
“She asked me what I wanted.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“I told her…”
She smiled softly. “That I wanted to learn how to live.”
Craig nodded.
“You’re doing that.”
She rested her head against his shoulder.
“I also told her something else.”
“What?”
“Something I never told you.”
“Tell me.”
“Somewhere along the way…”
Her voice cracked.
“I forgot who I was.”
Craig was silent for a moment.
He pulled something folded out of his pocket.
“Is this what you told her?”
It was a piece of notebook paper.
Yellowed with age.
Her handwriting.
High school aged.
Dream House
It was titled.
She scrolled down.
A wrap around porch.
A big kitchen.
Fresh flowers.
Chickens.
Write what you want for your husband…
Her eyes met his, tears streaming down her face.
“A husband who makes me laugh.”
“You kept this?” She couldn’t believe it.
Craig smiled.
“You gave it to me sophomore year.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t?” He handed it back to her.
She dried her face with the back of her sleeve.
And there he was.
Craig smiling.
Right where she left him.
“When you asked me if I forgot who I was.”
He nodded to the paper.
“I don’t think you did, babe.”
Becca looked back down at the list.
And then back up at him.
“I think…” She whispered.
He smiled patiently.
“…she was just waiting for you to find her again.”
- Writer
