27 Revelations Read online

  “Jesus take the wheel.” I rushed out of the kitchen toward the bathroom. When I looked back before shutting the door, Kate whispered something to Rosalina, and I could read my name on her lips. I wasn’t sure what they thought of me, but I didn’t care. When the lease was up, they could kick rocks.

  “Mara,” Kate said.

  The bathroom door was shut so I pretended not to hear.

  “Mara.” She was right outside the door.

  I cracked it open to see what she wanted, and her icy blue eyes were so close it made me jump.

  “What?”

  “Don’t forget about the lunch today,” she said.

  “What lunch?” I threw my arms up. She was wasting my time.

  She stepped back away from the door.

  “The lunch,” she said as she continued to move farther back into the living room.

  “You better not be trying to get out of it!” Rosalina yelled from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, we suffer, you suffer,” Kate said, walking towards the entryway.

  I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  I closed the door to the bathroom and took a deep breath. The meeting. That’s where my focus needed to be. I kept telling myself to stay positive, but I knew I was toast. Everything over before it even started. I had this one opportunity to try and make it right.

  I just hoped I didn’t blow it.

  Chapter 2

  I stepped outside and walked down the steps towards the sidewalk. I carried my tote with my clothing reserve on my shoulder, and I looked terrible in my long, black pencil skirt and purple silk blouse. My hair was still wet from the shower and trails of water streamed down my neck. We didn’t live far from campus, but I couldn’t walk, not if I wanted to make it on time, so I walked up the block to the bus stop with speed. I felt like my brain had been replaced by a storm cloud. A whole lot of lightning and thunder that wouldn’t let up, the noise in my mind worsening with each step. My surroundings were familiar but the people were not. There was not one face I recognized as I watched. Some ran, some walked, but most seemed to move at a pace in between. Some were going nowhere at all and stared at their phones or sat on their porches, taking in the air.

  I thought the worst of them. That was my new belief system. Don’t trust. Always expect the worst first and never be surprised by the worst again. People kept secrets, and I knew that most of all. I saw it all the time in the office with clients. The girl on the porch sitting with her boyfriend had probably slept with his best friend. The married guy that just walked past me buried in his phone most likely had a porn addiction. They were all messed up, and to imagine what they could be thinking about, right then and there, made me squirm. I clung to my bag straps for dear life as people moved past me.

  Spring classes had ended last week, with many of the secret keepers packing up and moving away to continue their perversities elsewhere. However, the start of summer classes only brought in more weirdos and foreshadowed that in the fall there would be more to come. I slipped one strap off my shoulder and looked inside my bag. My keys weren’t there. I sat the bag down on the ground and pulled everything out, glancing up every few seconds to check my surroundings. It wasn’t the keys I wanted but the pepper spray that rested on the chain. When I found it, I yanked it out and gripped it in the palm of my hand to conceal it. The bus came to a stop a few feet ahead of me so I walked the short distance to the door and pulled out my student ID.

  Vomit rose from my stomach when Bad Santa opened the door. I swallowed it and was glad to have my pepper spray in my hand. Bad Santa was the creepy bus driver. He had an all-white mullet, Santa beard, and belly to match, and though I hadn’t experienced his charm, I knew Melanie had. She had given me the 411 on other sketchy encounters she’d had with public transportation personnel since she moved to the city, such as the Jordanian cab driver that kept calling a girl he was dating a slut because she went out on a date with someone else. I remember her telling me repeatedly that he said he wanted to kill her, so after that Melanie never took a cab again.

  But this guy, Bad Santa, was the worst. Most were too distracted to notice the ogling, but not Melanie; she was like a hawk. She had caught him on several occasions watching girls in the rearview mirror as they got on and off the bus, licking his lips as if someone had just placed a roast in his lap while he burned holes in their asses with his eyes.

  “Then,” she said, “if it’s really good to him, he’ll tickle his pickle, if you know what I mean.” I didn’t believe her until I saw it for myself. The stare, the eye hunger, and the fake readjusting and scratching of the nutsack.

  I headed towards a seat in the back of the bus, and when I sat down I kept my eyes on him to make sure there was no funny business. I breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened. I guess I wasn’t his type. He started driving and I redirected my attention to my blinking phone and the notifications I hadn’t had the time to check. James and Johnathan had both sent me texts wishing me luck. James, in his natural fashion, was spiritual in his support, offering prayers and urging me to “trust God’s will.” A concept I never understood. While Johnathan, a man more like myself, more sinner than saint, told me plainly, “Big sis, don’t fuck up.”

  Last but not least, there was Mom. It was her voicemail, which I knew would be filled with all kinds of invaluable insight. Just knowing she had called left me more optimistic about my chances. I dialed voicemail, waiting for her saintly message, but it was his voice that vibrated in my ear.

  “Mara, this is your father, I need to—”

  I hung up the phone and dropped it in my lap. What the hell did he want? Why did she let him ambush me like that? My leg started to shake and my body temperature rose. I picked up the phone and called her.

  “Hello?” she said in her thick Jamaican accent.

  “Pamela. Why is your husband using your phone to call me?”

  “What? He not using my phone, an’ don’t call me Pamela, I am yuh mother,” she said.

  “Mom, yes, he is, he left a message on my phone this morning.”

  “Well, Mara, what do you want me to do ‘bout it, then? He is yuh father.”

  “Not by choice,” I muttered under my breath. “Tell Kenny to leave me alone.”

  She let out a sigh. “I will tell him.”

  My leg stopped shaking.

  “Thank you… I love you,” I said.

  “I love yuh, too, and good luck today. I am praying for yuh.”

  “Thanks,” I said, accepting her support. But I wasn’t as confident in her prayers as she was.

  The rest of the ride I thought about what I was going to say and how I was going to say it. I plotted my defense, taking note of each and every detail, the truths and the lies, and didn’t care which one stuck as long as it kept me where I wanted to be, and that was in the program. But what if it didn’t? My breath was heavy as I opened the door to The Counseling Institute, hands leaving sweat on everything that I touched. People came and went as usual but I felt as though I was walking to the gallows. I headed towards the back where the private offices were. My chest began to ache and my blouse clung to the sweat on my back. I quickened my pace as I moved through the halls, desperate for the bathroom.

  The door was an arm’s length away and I barreled through, not caring who was in my path, and that included the woman I almost trampled as I burst through the door. She stopped briefly and I assumed she was waiting for an apology, but she wasn’t going to get one. I slammed my bag onto the sink counter and tore through it looking for my pill bag, throwing out its contents without a care. My eyes scanned the bottles one by one, looking for the little yellow ones.

  I stopped to take a few breaths to calm myself, but the only good the breathing exercises were good for was keeping me alive. I needed the drugs. I reached in again and grabbed exactly what I needed. I poured a Xanax into the palm of my hand, broke it in half, and put it in my mouth. I stuck my head under the faucet to wash it down and I stared at mysel
f in the mirror. I didn’t look all right, and the anxiety was beginning to take a toll. My eyes were heavy, sagging from the weight of my stress. My hair was flying away from my ears and my blouse was pit-stained with sweat and water that had splashed from the sink. I looked down at my phone to check the time.

  I was late. I threw my stuff back into my bag, smoothed down my flyaways, and sprinted out of the bathroom. Her office door was shut when I arrived, but I could hear voices on the other side. I stood there staring at it as I tried to catch my breath. Dr. Joanne Bradley, Ph.D., Associate Director of Counseling Psychology. Not wanting to interrupt, I sat in one of the soft leather chairs outside of her door. There were about four stretched down the wall, but I sat in the one closest so I could eavesdrop. I sat for a few moments, ears straining to hear.

  She was in there with a man, but that’s all I could make out. Beads of sweat had stopped running down my ribcage, and the air conditioner blowing from the vent made my wet blouse icy. Knowing that someone was in there aggravated me. We had an appointment, and I wanted to get this over with. I wanted to know my fate, and whoever was in there was holding me up. Dr. Bradley was cruel for allowing it, for forcing me to wallow in my fear.

  I fiddled with my clothes while I waited. Picking off lint balls that weren’t even there and smoothing out invisible wrinkles. I wished I had chosen a different blouse. I went over my defense, which had turned into a desperate plea. I decided that I would go in there and admit my wrongs and beg. I am embarrassed by my actions and I take full responsibility for them … yada, yada, yada.

  “Hey, Mara.”

  Hearing my name made me jump.

  My lips curled in disgust just hearing his voice. Jason walked towards me with Erin trailing behind, her arms folded across her chest. Jason was a vampire, and his presence sucked out what little hope and optimism I had left. He wasn’t fat, but he was a bigger guy with a body shaped like a refrigerator. His hair was dark and prematurely graying, and his face looked like it had perpetual diaper rash. If he wasn’t a real vampire, he needed to be. All he needed to do to complete the look was be out when it was dark. I saw that he still had that cut on his upper lip, and satisfaction swept over me.

  “Hey,” I said, my response dry. Hopefully he would get the hint and go away.

  “So, girlfriend, what brings you here?” he asked as he stood there rubbing his chin. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of months. We all thought you quit or something. What’s up?”

  I couldn’t figure out why he was being so nice. If he kept up this charade, I’d put another cut on his lip to match the one already there. I looked at Erin. She was silent. Even with all the makeup she wore I could still see the purple outline of a black eye. She still had the face of a bulldog and I pitied her for being so ugly. I couldn’t believe that I once thought she was my friend.

  “I have a meeting with Dr. Bradley,” I said, pushing back the hair in my face.

  He stood there with his legs crossed and his eyes gleamed with delight. I knew some of my classmates had placed bets on what was going to happen to me, so I guess he felt this would be a great time to snoop and confirm any potential winnings. Jason was not liked, nor loved, only tolerated by most people he encountered. Two years ago, during orientation, everyone was asked why they wanted to be a therapist and his response, with no hesitation, was, “To manipulate people.” Most assumed that this was a failed attempt at being humorous, but I knew better. I’ve tried to keep my distance ever since.

  “Are you going to be able to graduate?” he asked. “You did miss most of this semester.”

  I sat up in my chair and chuckled. Nosey bastard. Like I didn’t already know that.

  “Oh, Mara, I’m sorry, I’m prying,” he said as he placed his hand on his chest.

  I gave a fake smile to match his fake apology while Erin’s hate-filled eyes watched my every move.

  The door to Dr. Bradley’s office opened and she peered out.

  “Mara, you can come in now,” she said, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  I grabbed my bag and sped into her office. It was nice when I heard the door slam in their faces.

  “Have a seat, Mara,” she said. She directed me to an empty chair across from her desk.

  The chair next to it was occupied by a firm-looking man with a serious demeanor. Dr. Bradley moved with grace across the room to her desk. She was a small woman, and when standing, I towered over her a good six inches. She had to be in her late forties, but she looked younger. She had a gentle appearance to her face, and her blonde hair cascaded softly onto her shoulders. She dressed like I used to. In heels, nice fitted skirts, and blouses varying in color from pastels to rich reds and blues. She was nothing like the other professors, who seemed to be permanently glued to their khaki pants.

  I took my seat, and the man in the chair leaned back and assessed me as if he was taking inventory. I want to punch his gut for looking so hard. He wore some gray dress pants, tennis shoes, and a powder-blue polo with a badge dangling from his neck that had a number and read Probation Officer. In his lap was a manila envelope that read MARA J. GOODWIN.

  “Shall we get started, then?” Dr. Bradley spoke as she adjusted herself in her seat. “Mara, this is Officer Chad Lowe.”

  I reached out to shake his hand and the roughness of it made me cringe inside. They were calloused, and pieces of dry skin were flaking away.

  Dr. Bradley started to speak again so I glided back into my chair, subtly rubbing the hand he had shook on my skirts to remove any skin remnants.

  “He is the probation officer that the courts have assigned you. We were meeting before you arrived to discuss whether or not you will be graduating with us and continuing your education here after the events that transpired in April.”

  I tilted my head down in shame like a five-year-old being told to go to the corner.

  Dr. Bradley continued. “Because I am familiar with you and the circumstances regarding the medical and legal troubles that you have had this semester, I have taken it upon myself to work with you and Officer Lowe to determine whether or not you, me, and the courts can work towards a solution that allows you to finish the counseling psychology program with us and move forward as you had planned.”

  I was overcome with joy. The most I had had in a very long time. They were going let me finish my degree, even after what I had done. I was certain that the decision was made out of pity and not mercy, but I didn’t care. My body became giddy with excitement.

  “However, Mara, I do believe the first question that needs to be answered is whether or not you want to finish this program.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I’ve worked for this my entire life. I’m not a quitter. I want to finish, I do.”

  “All right,” Dr. Bradley said as she sat up in her chair with delight. “That settles that, but there are a few things that we need to discuss before we proceed. First, Mara, you need to understand that you are the exception and not the rule. We do not condone violence in any form, and most students would have been removed immediately. Physical assault on a classmate, or anyone, for that matter, is not and never will be tolerated in this program or academic institution. However, the circumstances regarding your attack on Erin and Jason played an important role in our decision and the decision of the courts.”

  I nodded my head in agreement.

  “In order for you finish this program and secure your future position in the clinical psychology program you will need to agree to a few terms and conditions.”

  “Absolutely. Anything,” I said.

  “Officer Lowe will explain in more detail next week when you meet at his office because we are short on time today, but you will need to abide by the rules of your probation as it is set by the courts. Also, you will need to make up the clinical hours that you missed this past semester this summer and fall in order to graduate on time to be eligible to start classes second semester. Officer Lowe, is there anything else you w
ould like to add?”

  I looked over at him, sitting in the chair, fingering the pen in his hand.

  “Ms. Goodwin, as Dr. Bradley has stated, I am your assigned probation officer. She has spoken highly of you and has informed me that you are tenacious, gritty, and dedicated to your studies. I trust that you will do what is necessary for you to remain a student here.” He opened the manila folder. “According to her and other character witnesses, you are a model student and your records show that you have had no previous encounters with the law, no priors and such.” He closed the envelope. “So I am hoping that you will continue being a model student and citizen. Make the right choices and things will be easy.”

  “You will be required to meet with me once every two weeks to discuss your academic progress,” Dr. Bradley said.

  “And according to the judge,” said Officer Lowe, “you will also be required to complete three hundred hours of community service, but the judge was lenient and arranged for your clinical hours to count towards this. You’re a lucky girl, Ms. Goodwin, very lucky.” And as the word lucky left his mouth, my smile turned to a frown. Lucky is not what I would describe the unfortunate event that got me in this mess in the first place. Dr. Bradley knew what he said struck a nerve.

  “Lucky, huh?” I said as I stared at him. I could feel the hardness in my face.

  “Thank you so much, Officer Lowe,” Dr. Bradley said hastily as she reached out to shake his hand. “I know Mara will be on top of things.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, still hearing the tension in my voice as he stood to leave.

  “Thank the judge,” Lowe said. “I’ll see you in my office next week.” He walked toward the door and grabbed the door knob but paused before he opened it. “And Ms. Goodwin, there is one more thing.”

  I turned in the chair so I could see him.

  “You must also attend a weekly support group.”

  The sweats were back. This time with a vengeance.

  “Yes, Mara, I almost forgot,” Dr. Bradley said. “Dr. Moore has started a therapy group for some of the clients she’s been working with, she believes that having you there would be a nice addition.”