My Name is Benjamin WIlliams
"My name is Benjamin Williams, and I am 17 years old. I live at-" Dr. King interrupts me, smiling. "Ben, that's not how you answer that question. I asked you to tell me about yourself, and all of that stuff is already on your file. Tell me something I don't know." I feel my face getting hot, either from embarrassment or anxiety- I can't tell. Her smile looks fake. "Well," Dr. King looks at me, her smile slowly fading. "I'm not here by choice. My aunt kinda forced me to do therapy, even though I'm fine." "Define 'fine', Ben." I don't know how to answer. I don't want to keep her waiting, but I also don't want it to seem like I'm lying. "Fine as in I don't need help. No offense to you of course, but I'm not having a hard time or anything." She pauses to think. Her previous smile returns to her face when she notices me staring at her. "Well, Ben, we both know that your Aunt Patricia didn't send you here without reason. So, do you want to discuss what happened at-" "No." She doesn't seem offended. Is it because she's used to this, or does she just not really care? "Okay, I understand. Before you got here, Patricia told me that you are quite the writer. Since have a hard time telling me what happened, would you rather write it?"
I walked out of Dr. King's room with a writing assignment in hand. "What's that, Ben?" Aunt Patricia stands up from the waiting room chairs to meet me at the exit. I don't want to answer questions, I just want to go home and get this over with. "Homework, I guess. Can we go now?" She looks aggravated, but she's trying not to show it. She takes a deep breath and then continues to talk. "Sure, hun. Lets set your next appointment and then get out of here. We can go to Subway on the way home for dinner if that's okay with you?" God, please no more questions. "Yeah, that's fine with me." "Okay Ben, let's go."
After a subway trip that seemed to last for eternity, I finally got home. I grab my writing assignment from Dr. King and get to work on her prompt. It's just a couple of sheets of notebook paper, and the top of one of the pages says "What events led to you living with your aunt?" Oh boy, here we go.
I live with my Aunt Patricia for one simple reason, my parents are assholes. But I know that you won't be satisfied with that and that I probably shouldn't swear, so here's the long answer.
Freshman year of high school. It's hard for everyone, but it is just so much harder when you're considered "different". I was and am still considered the weird kid, not because I'm a nerd or some other normal weird kid thing. I'm gay, and being gay is just not a thing to do in Wyoming. Especially in high school. I didn't really have any friends that year, so I didn't have anyone to open up to about being gay. Naturally, I decided to confide in my mother. God, that was stupid. That dumbass move led to screaming lectures and beatings from both of my parents, which eventually led to child protective services being called. So you know, just your typical gay-kid-living-in-a-conservative-home kina sob story, nothing special about it.
That'll have to do. I answered her questions honestly, right? Leaving some things out isn't technically lying, she doesn't need to know about Aaron. No one needs to know about Aaron.
