“How are you feeling? We’ve had a lot to cover in our last sessions.”
I guess we’re going to walk and talk about things that matter as we go. I squint through the brightness of the afternoon to look at her, wishing I’d remembered my sunglasses.
“I feel good. Like I can breathe again.”
“How so?”
I spent the last two sessions telling Brenda everything about those fifteen minutes I drove in my car with Aaron. I told her about his bulky backpack and the way he smelled. I told her the things he said and the things I wished I could take back.
“Well, you know that saying about having the weight of the world on your shoulders?”
Brenda nods. The force of a Santa Ana wind whips past us, making my frizzy hair flat, and I brace myself against it.
“I didn’t really know what that meant until I felt that way.”
“And how do you feel now?”
I think for a minute. “This might sound really weird, but it makes me think of my team suit. For swimming. It’s tight. And sometimes it crushes my chest a little. Still, it’s the uniform and it makes me go faster and I’m required to wear it to compete. Yet sometimes, after a meet, it just feels so good to take it off.”
Brenda nods.
“Even though it’s off, there are still marks on my skin where the straps have dug in. Or I’m chafed under my armpits. So it almost feels like I’m still wearing it. I’m still kind of uncomfortable.”
“I understand what you’re trying to say.”
“Will it get better?” My fingers flutter at my sides like an instantaneous reaction to that fear. “Like, what if I cross the street tomorrow and it’s one block too many? Will I freak out and have to start all over again?”
I should probably let Brenda know I left my apartment by myself last week, but that would mean telling her I wrote a letter to Aaron. She might not like that I wrote another letter and didn’t let her read it. I figured since Aaron is dead, it didn’t matter if I mailed it or not. I wrote it because I had to. I wrote it and it made me feel better. I mailed it because I wanted to let go.
“You’re testing boundaries,” Brenda says. “Your day-to-day is going to be less about overcoming and more about managing.”
She waits for me to punch the button for the crosswalk.
“Morgan, what you admitted—about giving Aaron a ride to school—that was profound. You need to process it. You need to fully work through the emotions of that. I can see that you’re trying. And I know how hard it is. But saying it out loud was important. Admitting it was a huge step. As long as you keep doing what you’re doing, you’re going to keep moving forward.”
There are people and cars all around us, but she doesn’t even seem to notice because she’s too busy making eye contact with me. She seems like she understands so much that it makes me wonder if there’s something she’s had to carry around her whole life, too.
“But maybe,” I say, “if I hadn’t given Aaron a ride to school, he wouldn’t have done what he did.”
Brenda stops in the middle of the sidewalk. “I want you to hear this because it’s important, got it?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay that you gave Aaron a ride. The fact that you gave him a ride didn’t make a difference. He was going to get to school and do what he did whether you picked him up or not. Do you understand that?”
“How do you know?”
“Because when someone like Aaron is set on doing something, he’s going to find a way no matter what.”
There’s a bus stop bench nearby, and I motion to it. I want to stay there and just breathe. Brenda sits next to me. We look out at the street. We watch the traffic.
Brenda says, “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”
I nod. The wind is there. And the street. And the people. And the cars. I listen. I breathe. I think. I process. I’ve spent minutes, hours, weeks, and months thinking I could’ve made a difference if I hadn’t stopped to give him a ride. Or if I’d picked up on the clues that are so clear to me now. His backpack. His warning to skip first period. Everything he said. But if I believe what Brenda is telling me, I couldn’t have changed the outcome. Not at all.
“Don’t punish yourself for being kind,” Brenda says. “Perhaps more people should’ve been kind to Aaron.”
When I’m ready, we head inside the corner store. The smell of deli sandwiches crawls up my nostrils, making my mouth water. I remember roast beef on sourdough bread and sour cream and onion potato chips. I remember getting food to go on Saturdays in the summer and eating it on the beach with Sage while we watched the waves roll in. I suddenly want a roast beef sandwich because I can have a roast beef sandwich. I’m sick of grilled cheese.