Olivia’s office is small but very cozy. There’s no chaise longue like in the movies (to my disappointment), but there’s a big, comfortable armchair. I don’t feel as large sitting on it.
On the wall next to the window, there’s a shelf with a bunch of knickknacks. Most of them are little dolls sitting on a couch near a little sign that says PSYCHOLOGY. Of all of them, only one is Black. I guess that says a lot about the knickknacks industry.
“So, Felipe, how has your week been?” Olivia asks after welcoming me and offering water, coffee, and yogurt hard candy.
I pop a candy in my mouth as I think of where to start.
This week has been a whirlwind because nothing ever happens in my life, and then suddenly everything happened. In our sessions, I usually talk about my problems in school, or about how I managed not to cry for four days straight. But today I have a lot to say. So I spill it all out.
I tell her about Caio staying with us and how his presence makes me feel completely desperate. I tell her about how awful I felt when he saw me wrapped in the towel. I think about mentioning Caio in his pajamas, how it’s the most gorgeous sight in the world, but I leave that part out because it’s the kind of stuff that sounds ridiculous in your head but even more ridiculous when you say it out loud. I decide to keep Caio-in-pajamas all to myself. Instead, I tell her about the red shirt he picked out for me, and how I’d like nothing more than to talk to him about any and all things, but I can’t because I always end up deciding that I don’t have anything interesting to say.
“Whoa,” Olivia says as she looks at her notes. “A lot’s happened in the last few days, hasn’t it? But let’s take it one step at a time. First of all, I’m so proud of your evolution, Felipe. You were able to talk to your neighbor, and that’s wonderful!”
The difficulty I have socializing with others my own age is something we’ve worked on together since our first session.
“But our conversations are short, and he probably thinks I’m weird,” I answer, refusing to accept her compliments.
“One step at a time, Felipe,” she repeats. “This first interaction between the two of you is important, because if you’re open to dialogue, that means something. Do you feel comfortable around Caio?” she asks, her hand on her chin as if she were Sherlock Holmes interrogating a suspect.
“Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t,” I respond.
“When do you, and when don’t you?”
“We talk at night. Before bed. But in the morning, I can’t say anything. I freeze and just end the conversation with an ‘aye, aye’, ” I say, frustrated.
“And do you know why that is?” Olivia asks, and I already know where she’s going.
“I think I do. In fact, I’m almost positive I do. At night, in the dark, I feel safer. Because he can’t see me.”
“That’s an interesting conclusion,” she says. “And do you intend to spend the next few days talking to Caio only at night and ignoring him during the day?”
“No, no!” I say, a little loud, maybe trying to convince myself more than her. “I want to talk to him the whole day. In a healthy way, of course. You get what I mean.”
She laughs a little, and I keep talking.
“I don’t know what’s up with me. When I look at him, the words don’t come out right. But in the dark, I can talk without thinking about it.”
“Felipe, I have an exercise for you this week,” she says, and I roll my eyes, because I fail most of the exercises she gives me.
Olivia has given me a number of them. They’re like challenges that I have to accomplish every week, usually silly things, such as saying good morning to a classmate who has never spoken to me, or taking a different route to class. Others are harder, like not staring at the floor when the guys at school call me names.
“You’re going to try and establish a dialogue with Caio, and you have to be the one to start the conversation. In the daytime. Do you think you can do it?”
“Yes,” I lie.
“It doesn’t have to be a two-hour conversation, but try hard to voice your opinion about a topic. Show how you really feel. Don’t try to shape your opinion to what you think Caio wants to hear. Be honest,” she instructs, and I think I should probably ask her for a pen and a piece of paper to write down all the rules of this challenge.
I miss the good ole days when the exercise of the week was to talk with a mirror.
“Okay, Olivia, I swear I’ll try hard. But I never know where to start. I don’t know how to begin a conversation, and it always makes me so anxious. Once, I even looked up ‘How to start a conversation’ on Google! It was no use, though; the results sucked,” I say, and my drama is so genuine that I don’t even feel guilty for using the word sucked in therapy.
“Felipe, don’t be afraid of starting the wrong conversation. If that happens, you can try again another time. Talking about things you both like is interesting, but to be honest, I’m personally much more interested in hearing about experiences that aren’t my own. Conversations that teach us new things are the best ones,” she says, and I write down that sentence in my head, because it’s good. “What do the two of you have in common?”
I consider it for a second, and then start a list.
“We’re both seventeen. We are both gay …” and I can’t think of anything else.
“Okay, and what is it that the two of you don’t have in common?”
“Ah, that’s an easy one! We don’t go to the same school. I’m fat and he’s not. My mom is wonderful, and his mom … well, she’s a bit much,” I say with a quick laugh.
“Very good. Give that some more thought on your way home. Think about ways to open up and show him your opinions about things. But don’t forget that this exercise is about you, and not about Caio. What will determine your success in this exercise is your willingness to have a conversation, not Caio’s opinion about what you talk about. Are we good for today?” she asks, getting up from her chair. That’s her way of saying that our time is up.
Olivia walks me to the door, and before I walk out, she puts her hand on my shoulder.
“Felipe, one last thing. When you’re talking, don’t hold back your smile. You look good when you smile.”
I don’t really know how to process that information, so I answer with a question.
“Now you’re giving me tips on how to flirt, too?”
She laughs. “Just this once. I won’t charge you for that one. And, for god’s sake, you’re seventeen years old! Don’t use the word flirt. No one talks like that anymore.”
I leave her office with a smile, but it fades away after two minutes, because I realize that I will, inevitably, fail this week’s exercise.
I spend the next few hours trying as hard as I can not to go straight home. I take a walk in the town park, but there’s nothing new to see: the same retired gentlemen playing chess, the same pigeons eating bread crumbs by the lake, the same children running after said pigeons, who—poor things—can’t eat their bread crumbs in peace.
I try to turn each scene I observe into a possible conversation topic with Caio. Most of the ideas I have are very bad, but organizing my thoughts like this helps me keep my anxiety in check.