Chapter Two Sarah
As I eyed the sandy-haired young boy wriggling in his seat across from me, I waved the felt puppet on my left hand. “And what game does Polly Positive say we should play when we get scared of stuttering?”
“That’s right.” Slanting my brows in confusion, I tapped one of my free fingers against my chin. “Oh no. I think I forgot how to play the game. Should I ask Polly Positive?”
“N-Noooo!”
I smiled. “Does that mean you can help me?”
Lucas nodded. “It’s l-look.”
“That’s right. We should look at three things around us, right?”
“Uh, huh.”
“What’s the second one?”
“L-Listen!”
Nodding, I replied, “Yes, we should listen to three things around us.”
“L-Like the s-sound of the f-fishes in your t-tank.”
With a laugh, I replied, “That’s right. My aquarium is noisy, isn’t it?”
At Lucas’s nod, I said, “Now I remember that the last one starts with an M. Is it moo three times like a cow?”
He giggled. “N-No. You n-name t-three p-parts of your b-body you c-can m-move.”
I playfully smacked my forehead. “Oops, it was move, not moo.”
The timer on my desk dinged, signaling the end of our session. “Our playtime is over for today. You did such an amazing job that you get to pick a toy out of the reward bin.”
His tiny brows shot up in surprise. “I d-do?”
“Yes, sir.”
After launching himself out of the chair, he ran to the giant box of toys I had in the corner of my office. As he decided on just the right toy, I pulled Polly Positive off my hand and discarded her on the table.
When I first entered college with the intention of becoming a speech-language pathologist, I never imagined I’d one day be using puppets as a part of my practice.
Polly Positive was just one of the ones I used to help children stop stuttering or correct speech impediments.
They were used in conjunction with CBT or Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
In my practice, I used CBT to help kids who stuttered by showing them how to manage their emotions and behaviors.
Sometimes that came through play like with Polly Positive, or sometimes it came through acting out real-life scenarios.
There was nothing more rewarding than helping to change a child’s negative thoughts and fears about speaking.
After rising out of my chair, I joined Lucas at the toy box. “Find one?”
He waved a Batman car at me, which immediately made me think of my Batman-obsessed younger brother. “T-This one.”
“That looks like a great choice.”
Taking him by the hand, I then led him out of my office and down the hallway.
As Lucas bounded into the waiting room with a happy shriek, his parents, the Greens, popped out of their chairs, their faces etched with concern.
Over the years, I’d seen that same expression written on hundreds of parents’ faces after their child’s first session.
With a reassuring smile, I said, “He responded well.”
As relief replaced the concern, Lucas bounced on the balls of his feet. “D-Dr. S-Sarah has p-puppets!”
Mr. Green smiled as he ruffled Lucas’s hair. “That’s awesome, buddy.”
I handed his mother the folder of practice activities. “Here is his homework. Next week, I’d like to work with the three of you.”
Mrs. Green’s auburn brows rose in surprise. “All of us?”
With a nod, I replied, “It will help you to understand the strategies that we’re working on.”
She smiled at me before turning her attention to Lucas. “Did you hear that? Mommy and Daddy have therapy with you next week?”
“Yeah!” Lucas shouted as he danced around his parents.
His enthusiasm was infectious, and I couldn’t fight the smile on my face. “You keep working hard, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Come on, buddy. I think someone deserves some ice cream for working so hard,” Mr. Green suggested.
Lucas squealed before racing to the door of the waiting room, causing us to chuckle. “I would suggest two scoops, but then I don’t have to go home with him,” I mused.
“Thanks again, Dr. Whitfield.”
“You’re welcome.”
I then followed Lucas’s parents across the waiting room to the door. After giving them a final wave, I exited the waiting room. I found several of my colleagues standing around the circular receptionist station. It was one of our end-of-the-day rituals–a way to let off some steam by chatting.
Although I wanted to talk to my bestie both in and outside of the practice, Tara, the sight of one doctor in particular caused me not to join them.
Dr. Miles Stanton had recently joined our practice from New York.
Although he was a very renowned speech-language pathologist, he gave me the creeps with the way he sometimes leered at me.
After throwing up my hand in greeting, I started to continue on to my office when Miles stepped in front of me. “Where’s the fire, Whitfield?”
With a tight smile, I replied, “Nowhere.”
“You sure seem to be rushing off somewhere.”
Before I could answer, Tara came over to sling her arm around my shoulder. “Sarah has dinner plans.”
Miles’s expression darkened. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
Since I didn’t want to give a creep like him any insight into my personal life, I gave an apathetic shrug of my shoulders. “We have a standing Wednesday dinner.”
“Sounds serious,” Miles remarked.
Tara waggled her brows. “Oh, it is.” When I shot her a look, she added, “Sarah’s been seeing him for years.”
With a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Miles said, “Well, he’s a lucky man.”
“I’m the lucky one,” I countered.
“Right. Well, have a good evening.”
After Miles excused himself, Tara winked. “How long do you think it’ll take him to figure out the identity of your mystery man?”
With a roll of my eyes, I groaned, “It depends on which office busybody he interrogates first.”
She snorted. “And you know he will.”
“Why do the creepy ones always have it out for me?”
Tilting her head in thought, she suggested, “You have a head for business but a bod for sin.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ew.”
“Or maybe it’s a misguided teacher fetish. He wants you to fuck the fluency out of him.”
“You’ve seriously got to get out more.”
Tara swept a hand to her chest. “I’m the one who needs to get out more? You’re the one who spends way too many weekends at boring conferences.”
At the mention of how I spent my weekends, I decided to quickly change the subject. While she was my best friend, there were some aspects of my life that even she didn’t know about.
“On that note, I’m going to take my boring self to Sammy’s.”
Tara grinned. “Tell him hello for me.”
“I sure will.”
***
After grabbing my phone and bag, I hurried out the back door so as not to have to run into Miles again. Once I was in the safety of my car, I finally exhaled the anxious breath I felt I’d been holding since escaping my office.
As I pulled out of my parking spot, my phone rang.
When I glanced at the time on the dash, I smiled to myself.
If there was one thing my mother was, it was punctual.
Every afternoon at 5:15, she called me. Since the office closed at five, she liked to think those added fifteen minutes were enough for me to get my shit together and get to the car.
I tapped the button on the steering wheel to answer the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?”
“Good. Two new clients had promising sessions,” I related.
“That’s wonderful. Are you heading to Samuel’s?”
“It’s Wednesday, isn’t it?” I replied.
It had probably been close to two years now since Sammy and I had our standing Wednesday night dinners at the group home where he lived. Sammy and I both shared an independent streak, and even though our parents wanted to keep him home with them always, he wouldn’t have it.
Mom laughed. “Is he still on a pasta kick?
“Absolutely.”
“He’s getting really good at his lasagna.”
“I know. It’s as good as yours.”
“Make sure to tell him that. It’ll make his day.”
Chuckling, I replied, “There’s no false modesty in the Whitfield house, is there?”
“None.”
At the lull of the conversation, I nibbled on my bottom lip before asking the question that never got easier. “How’s Dad?”
At Mom’s hesitation, my chest clenched. Two years ago, my dad’s occasional forgetfulness and balance issues had been formally diagnosed as Lewy Body Dementia. He had good days and bad days. The bad days were especially hard on Mom and in turn me since she needed me both physically and emotionally.
All my life I’d been called an “old soul”.
As the only girl wedged between two brothers with varying challenges, I was known as my parents’ blessing.
The one who made straight A’s, never got into one peep of trouble, and volunteered in the church’s nursery and soup kitchen.
I strived for perfection and killed myself to please everyone around me, especially my parents.
How many times had I heard, “Hollis and Kathy sure have their hands full. Thank God they have sweet Sarah to help carry their burden.”
I fucking hated that backhanded compliment. I hated the pity and judgment of how people viewed my older brother, Silas’s, hard to treat mental illness that later became schizophrenia, and Sammy’s high-functioning Down Syndrome.
I didn’t even know there was a name for what I experienced growing up until I got to college. But it was all spelled out for me in my Psych 101 book. I realized I was The Glass Child aka The Invisible Child.
Mom’s voice brought me back to the present. “It’s been a tough day.”
My fingers gripped my steering wheel tighter. “Do I need to come over?”
“No, no. I don’t want to disappoint Sammy.”
“But if you need me–”
“I’m fine, Sarah. I promise.”
“I can always come by after dinner to help.”
Mom’s ragged breath echoed through the line. “You have too much on your plate as it is.”
“And you know I don’t mind. I promise.”
“I can handle it.”
“Mom–”
“Have a good dinner with Sammy. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I replied.