1. Tyler
Arrival in Pine Creek
“I hate that I have to be here.”
I mumble to myself while impatiently waiting in the tiny sitting room.
I’m far from home in the small town of Pine Creek, where I’ve just moved with my son and his elderly nanny, who is like a grandmother to us both.
I know Timmy, my six-year-old son, is secretly relieved to be here. He’s a movie fanatic, so moving to a new town he’s never been to is quite an adventure for him.
He didn’t care for living in Rondale because every child born there had a bit of demon in them.
There were more bullies than friendly kids for my son to play with. And I had grown to hate the unsafe ranch where I practiced bull riding.
The staff there acted as if they weren’t licensed to work the jobs they did, and the cowboys and bull riders were arrogant and didn’t understand what friendly competition was.
But the knee injury I sustained at that ranch forced me to take a hiatus from my bull riding career and move to another town.
Mrs. Carolyn, the nanny, suggested that I see a therapist on my road to recovery because, in her eyes, I hadn’t been healthily handling my injury.
Plus, she said something about it not being a good thing to keep feelings bottled in, whether good or bad.
So here I am for my first meeting with the therapist recommended to me and who is supposed to be ‘the bee”s knees’ from how she’s lauded so highly.
Mrs. Joanie Mitchell, one of our new neighbors, talked this Sarah person up to the point of sparking my interest. Her husband, Bill, just nodded, and he had a huge smile.
“Mr. Parker?”
I look up from twiddling my thumbs in my lap at the sudden voice cutting into my thoughts. I lift my head and don’t expect to see the stunning beauty before me.
She has a clipboard in her hand, and I wonder if she’s the therapist”s assistant.
“Yes, I am. And you are?”
I anxiously wait as she gives me a sunny smile and adjusts her square glasses.
“I’m Dr. Marlene. I noticed you didn’t check off a few boxes, and I wanted to return this to you so you could do that.”
Annoyance washes over me and is strong enough to overtake my attraction for her.
I feel like a child being scolded to finish their class assignment before they can go outside for recess.
Or maybe my not wanting to be here in the first place and believing that getting therapy is a huge mistake is making me defiant.
“What’s a few unanswered questions on a piece of paper? Don’t you have to ask me those questions anyway?”
Dr. Marlene tilts her head slightly, a patient yet firm look settling in her eyes. ”Mr. Parker, the purpose of these forms is to streamline our session.
It gives me a preliminary understanding of why you”re here and what areas we need to focus on.
It”s not just about asking questions. It”s also about efficiency and depth in our conversation.”
I cross my arms, feeling a stubborn resolve tighten in my chest. ”But if we talk about all this stuff anyway, why must I write it down first?
Isn”t that just wasting time? We could be talking about things that matter instead of ticking boxes.”
She sets the clipboard on a nearby table, never breaking eye contact.
”It might seem redundant, but this process helps me serve you better. Having this information beforehand, I can prepare for our sessions more effectively, ensuring we cover the necessary ground. Plus, some people find it easier to express themselves in writing than speaking out loud.”
I scoff, the annoyance bubbling up again.
”Well, I”m not one of those people. I don”t see why I can”t tell you what”s happening. All this paperwork feels like just another hoop to jump through.”
Dr. Marlene nods, her expression softening slightly.
”I understand it can feel that way, especially if you”re not accustomed to therapy. But these ”hoops,” as you call them, are designed in your best interest. It”s not just about bureaucracy or formality. It”s about creating a foundation for effective therapy. Can we agree to work together on this, even if it initially seems tedious?”
I hesitate, her words making sense despite my resistance. The stubborn part of me wants to argue further, but another part recognizes the logic in her explanation.
Still, it”s hard to shake off the feeling of being cornered.
”Fine, but I still think it”s unnecessary. I”m here to talk, not write an essay about my feelings.”
Dr. Marlene picks up the clipboard again, offering it to me with a gentle smile.
”Thank you, Tyler. I promise that the more we cooperate, the more fruitful our journey will be. And who knows? You might find some value in this process after all.”
Reluctantly, I take the clipboard from her.
Its weight feels like a concession.
”We”ll see.”
I mutter, still unconvinced but willing to move past this impasse.
I push open the door to my house, the familiar sound of the creek promising the comfort of home.
As soon as the door swung open, a blur of energy rockets towards me.
”Daddy!”
Timmy”s voice, filled with the joy only a six-year-old can muster, wraps around me even before his tiny arms do.
”Hey, champ!”
I sweep him up into a hug, lifting him off the ground.
At that moment, the weight of the world and the annoyance of the therapy session all melt away.
Mrs. Carolyn strides into the hallway with a smile that could light up the darkest rooms.
”He”s had an absolute ball of a day, Tyler.”
She says, her voice carrying the warmth of a summer”s day.
”We went to the park, fed the ducks, and he even made a new friend!”
”That”s awesome, buddy,”
I tell Timmy, setting him down but keeping one hand on his shoulder.
Mrs. Carolyn catches my eye, a twinkle of wisdom in hers.
”And, Tyler, remember when I said moving here over the summer, before Timmy started at his new school, would be good for him? For both of you, actually?”
I nod, recalling our many conversations about the move and starting fresh.
At the time, I was skeptical and hesitant to uproot what little stability we had.
But looking at Timmy now, seeing how he”s flourished and embraced this new beginning with an open heart, I know she was right.
”You were right, Mrs. Carolyn.”
I admit, the words were not as hard to say as I thought they might be.
”This was the best decision. Seeing him so happy, so... alive. It”s more than I could”ve asked for.”
Mrs. Carolyn smiles, her gaze softening.
”Well, I”ve been around the block a time or two.”
She says with a chuckle.
”I”m just glad to see you both doing so well.”
With a burst of energy that only a child possesses, Timmy dashes upstairs to his bedroom, the sounds of his laughter trailing behind him like the tail of a comet.
Mrs. Carolyn watches him go with a fondness that speaks volumes of their relationship before turning her gentle, inquiring eyes back to me.
”So, Tyler.”
She starts, her tone shifting to a more serious note.
”How did it go with your new therapist today?”
She leans against the kitchen counter, inviting me to open up.
I sigh, the weight of the world seemingly settling back on my shoulders.
”Honestly, Mrs. Carolyn, I don”t get it.”
I confess, my frustration bubbling up as I lean on the opposite counter facing her.
”Why do I need a therapist for an injured knee? Isn”t the rehab enough? I”m here to get my body back in shape, not spill my guts to some stranger.”
Mrs. Carolyn nods her expression understanding but stern.
”Tyler, remember how you were after the injury? The anger you felt wasn”t just because of the pain. You were on a fast track to the top, and then, in one moment, everything changed. It wasn”t just your knee that needed healing. It was also your mind. The depression, the pushing everyone away... Moving to Pine Creek was about starting fresh in more ways than one. And bull riding again, especially at a ranch that values safety like Beartooth Ranch does, is your dream, right?”
Her words, spoken with the wisdom and frankness I”ve come to rely on, hit me harder than I want to admit.
Yet, the skepticism and doubt about the therapy process cling to me stubbornly.
”I just... I don”t see how talking about my feelings will help me get back on a bull again. If anything, it”s going to annoy me more. Make me feel even more on edge.”
I argue, though part of me wonders if I”m just afraid of facing those feelings head-on.
Mrs. Carolyn”s smile is kind, yet her firm gaze tells me she won”t back down on this.
”Tyler, healing isn”t just about the physical wounds. And sometimes, facing what annoys or scares us most is exactly how we move past it. Give it a chance. For Timmy, if not for yourself. He needs his dad in all ways; not just halfway.”
Her words linger between us, a gentle yet undeniable challenge. I find myself forced to consider that maybe, just maybe, there”s truth in her perspective.
And as I stand there, in the warmth of our kitchen, the sound of Timmy”s joyous play echoing down the stairs, I can”t help but wonder if Pine Creek—and everything it represents—might be the healing ground I”ve been so stubbornly resisting.
But this whole therapy deal? It’s hard for me to get on board with that.
It still makes me uncomfortable and angry that this seems to be something I’m pushed into doing.
I grew up with a father who believed in keeping personal stuff within the family and not telling your business to strangers.
And Dr. Marlene is every bit of a stranger, no matter how raved about by the locals.