She nods and opens her mouth, ready to say something, but then abruptly stops and gazes off into the distance over my shoulder. I wait for her to return eye contact, but she doesn’t. In fact, her pupils dilate, and she appears flustered.
Curious, I turn to look at what has captured her attention. I need not look far. Standing a few feet away, Dr. Archibald talks to a young girl. He listens, nodding every so often. He’s a pillar of support and care.
When he looks our way, a breathy sigh leaves Tamara’s parted lips. My first instinct is to look away, but for some unknown reason, I don’t. I admire the way Dr. Archibald holds himself with complete confidence and control. He has rolled up the sleeves of his crisp shirt, revealing taut, muscular forearms. He doesn’t look like your typical doctor because he’s young, around thirty, and he also looks like he belongs on the cover of Vogue.
I wonder what brought him here.
When he matches my stare and appears to be as transfixed by me as I am by him, the air sizzles around me. I shyly push my glasses up my nose, feeling an unfamiliar warmth pool within. I’m embarrassed, as I’m certain he can read my strange response to him.
“I’ll see you this afternoon.” Tamara’s voice severs my trance-like state. Zoe was right; I am infected by the Dr. Roman Archibald love bug.
“Yes.” I clear my hoarse voice. “Yes, I’ll see you then.”
She scampers past me, headed Dr. Archibald’s way. His eyes stay focused on me. However, the look is so intense I feel light-headed. When he finally breaks our eye lock, I can breathe again.
I’m looking forward to Tamara’s class.
The timetable seems well mapped out with enough activities to keep everyone busy. When I enter the pastel green room, I admire the inspirational pictures that litter the walls and relish in the soft sprinkle of lavender in the air.
About ten children are seated at desks with bright paints and large sheets of paper spread out in front of them. They all seem excited to get started.
“Hi, I’m Lola.” I give a small wave while the kids turn in their seats to give me their undivided attention. “I’ll be helping today. So if you have any questions, let me know.”
I can’t kick my sense of happiness. These children look as excited as I am to be here, confirming that I’m doing the right thing.
Tamara enters, her stylish jacket over her forearm. She appears at ease and comfortable in her natural habitat. “Hello, everyone. Once we’re all settled, we will start.” She floats over to the docking station and connects her pink iPod.
She then kicks off her heels and places them in the corner of the room. “Today, we’re going to do an exercise which requires nothing but a pen and paper.” She reaches into her large tote bag. After a moment of riffling around, she produces a stack of journals. “These are yours to keep, and I encourage you to write or draw in them whenever you feel the need.” She walks around the room, handing out the books. Her movements are so graceful and agile; a sense of calm surrounds her. She smiles gently when offering me my book.
When everyone has their supplies, she continues. “These journals are for when you don’t know what to say.” She gazes around the room, connecting with each of us. “There is no judgment here. No rules. No wrong or right. I want you to express everything you feel, no matter what it is. Take your time, and remember, this is a safe place. Begin when you’re ready.”
There is no doubt Tamara loves what she does.
Just as I’m about to offer my assistance, Tamara gently reaches for my arm. “How about you take a moment to write down why you’re here? I do this with all the volunteers. It helps.” There is no need for her to explain. Being here takes a toll on everyone.
But I’ve never been one to write down my feelings even though my doctors encouraged it. I just didn’t see the point. Writing down how shitty my life is wouldn’t change my circumstances.
I don’t see my opinion changing anytime soon, but I open the book, pressing down on the spine in thought. I’ve always been a reader, as the thought of being a writer is beyond frightening. All those words detailing your feelings, I couldn’t think of anything worse. I rub over my chest, my