Can We Not Talk

{ARMANDO}

"How are you?" The therapist asks me, I don't answer her and look outside the window admiring the view outside.

We stay quiet and after seeing I am not going to talk to her she calls my name, "Mr. Armando." I feel like vomiting, who told her to call me that surely, she can go ahead and address my father as mister but as for me I prefer…

Wait, I prefer her not to call me anything if it wasn't for my father I wouldn't even be here in the first place. I shouldn't have ever met her in the first place, I shouldn't be here looking outside wondering why I am back in this room.

I know I am not supposed to be mad at the study room, but it seems like my father wanted to torture me double, he knows how much I loathe being here yet this is where he decided I should meet her.

The room has a lot of memories and they are those memories which you want to remain buried forever, I don't know if my father forgot that or he hates me and would love to make sure I suffer while I am here.

"Armando." The therapist calls me again, I turn around, and when she doesn't say whatever she called me for, I inquire, "what is it, therapist?"

"I am Ivana, I introduced myself yesterday to you."

I hold my hands across my chest, I know her name and I don't care. I stare at her again, and by the look of how she is smiling, I guess she is used by her patients behaving the way I am right now.

"Can you take a seat please, we need to start?" She says and points to the seat. Who is she? For god sake, this is my home and I am the one who is supposed to ask her to take a seat, but since she is already seated and that is out of the window.

I look at the seat, back at her, and back at the window. I turn around and look outside, the window it is and she won't force me to seat so yeah, I can either look outside the window or take a seat or walk out.

The latter seems appealing but I can't my dad will bring me back and tie me to the chair and make sure I stay and talk to the woman or Ivana or whatever she calls herself.

"Mr. Armando, talk to me, how was your night?"

"Can we not talk."

"That is not how therapy works sir, you need to talk to me as I am here to listen to you." She says and I answer with a, "oh."

Of course, I know she is here to listen to me, that is what she is been paid for right? And I am sure she can stay with me for the whole day without me talking and still she will get paid, and by paid I mean a lot of money.

Yesterday, after we finished the session, not that I did any talking anyways, I went to my room and researched about her on the internet and I can tell after reading about her I felt like going to my father and applauding him.

Ivana Miki, is one of the top paid professional therapists in town, she had attended one of the best universities in the country, she had many reviews online and most of them were positive. One of them was like, I love her, she is kind, patient, and understanding.

Like yeah, that is the qualities of a good therapist right?

That is what I had asked myself and when I scrolled down and read the reviews, they kept changing, getting longer and all were praising Ivana and how good she was, not only as a therapist but as a person.

I breathe in the breeze coming through the window and when I get tired I walk to the fridge and pour myself some water I turn to ask her and inquire what she wants, and while I am hoping she says something like juice or something else she says she would love some water.

"Wise." I think and give her the water.

There is some juice in the fridge but I was hoping for her to ask that so I can tell I am going to get her some and then I will go and not come back.

She smiles as she drinks the water, I sip my water too and stare at her. I guess I will have to sip the water slowly like this is the job I am meant to do, and it will make time pass, and by the time I am done with this glass time would finish and she will have no other choice than to leave.

It is not like I am her only patient, I am hundred percent sure that she has other patients for the day.

Ivana looks around the study room and as much as I would love to ask her to look around to make sure she uses our time for other things I can't, if my father walks in and find her doing that it will be her funeral.

Our room has different effects on each one of us in the family, for me, it is a place I wish to never come to. But to my parents, Arthur and his father, it acts as the perfect place they would come and relax and find the calm they need.

The therapist places the glass on top of the table and writes something in her notebook. What is she writing? I haven't spoken anything.

"What are you writing?" This is what I want to ask her but instead, I ask her, "what am I doing here?"

She closes the book and looks at me, I want to tell her there is no need to close the book it is not like I have superpowers that can make me read whatever she has written from where I am.

"Well, your father…"

My father.

I don't know if my disappointment shows on my face but she stops as soon as she starts, I nod at her encouragingly to continue, I don't care whatever she is going to say, what matters is she is the one talking and I am not.

We hear a knock on the door, and I stand up to open it, it is my mother.

"Hi, miss. Ivana, therapy is over." I feel like hugging my mother but from the way she is looking at me, I guess she wants to therapize me herself. Wait, miss. I didn't read about that yesterday, I don't know how I didn't search about her relationship status.

The therapist stood up gathered her things and took her book, bid us goodbye, and walk out. And I am sure she is not going directly to her office she must meet with my father first and tell him how the therapy went.

"Breakfast?" My mother ask and I am sure it was not even a question.

We walk out of the study room and I see my father talking to the therapist, I am surprised my father has not gone to work, they turn to look at us and my father's disappointed look I guess the therapist has told him I didn't say a thing.

I stare at him and I feel my mother pushing me, "Armando."

"Mom, he is the one staring, for god sake, he can go to therapy himself."

My mother laughs and when my father looks at us, she pulls me back to the study room. "Oh, Armando. You are someone else."

My mother covers her mouth as her eyes go wide, I look at her and tell her, "mother see you later."

I can hear her saying she is sorry but it doesn't matter, it is the truth I am someone else.