Chapter Text
Friday, 18th of December, 1959. 1:29pm.
One hour until my appointment. I've heard rumours about the counsellor, varying from 'really hot' to 'mediocre, sadly', from Charlie and Cameron respectively. I don't know what to expect, and honestly I don't want to expect, either. I'll write about the experience in the evening, if I even make it to then. Meeks claims that counsellors are like unlicensed therapists, but can't give you meds or anything. All they do is offer a listening ear, shitty advice and a breath mint. I went down to the lake again this morning. The cold bit my face and left me with a red nose, numb from everything but the emptiness in my stomach. I sat by the freezing waters and traced the blurry lines of my reflection in the ice.
Neil was such a compassionate person. He poured his heart and soul into his acting. The play on Tuesday, A Midsummer Night's Dream, was heart-wrenching. Neil, if you can hear, or read this; you're incredible. You had so much passion and confidence. All that I wish I was, you had. I wish I could see him again, just one more time. I would give anything to give him one last hug. One last conversation, even if it were just a single word between us. One more glance into those sweet, kind eyes. I shall write again soon, but break is finishing in one minute. Until this evening, Neil.
Friday, 18th of December, 1959. 7:01pm.
I've concluded my appointment with the counsellor. Her name is Jennifer Szilter, with a silent S, but she insists I call her Jen. The woman was nice enough, wrote down some notes as I expressed my feelings in the most general sense I could. She was a slim, slender person with meticulously styled blonde curls that hung around her neck. She wore a bright red lipstick that shined under the lights as she spoke, in a strangely grotesque way. On the Charlie-to-Cameron rating scale of attractiveness, she was pretty, sure, but I don't think she'd ever be appealing to me. Not that that would ever happen... she's an authoritative figure and it's just strange.
I walked into her office and immediately Jennifer leapt up and came to greet me. She shook my hand with some force, and led me to a plush velvet chair, patting my shoulder. I recall her asking me some generalised questions, such as how my day had been, what my favourite subject is, et cetera. We spoke about the damages of loss and coping strategies for an hour. I was bored out of my mind, and her cloudy grey eyes seemed to stare right through my monotonous, simple answers. She'd peer at me, trying to discern whether I was lying or not. I would not say that it was awkward, but it wasn't a particularly desirable situation to be in. Unless you're Charlie and have an extreme libido.
Classes had ended by the time I got back to our dorm. My dorm. I've been doing homework since. Trigonometry homework. Physics homework. Literature homework. Latin homework. So much to do, simply to distract my confused and overcrowded mind from everything else going on around me and in my life.
Knox just walked in. He came and sat on my bed, tried to almost lecture me on the importance of ‘carpe diem’. I grumbled and he laughed. I hadn’t thought about the saying since Keating left. ‘Seize the day!’ It was too optimistic for me at the moment. “You’re wallowing in depression.” Knox said. I threw a shoe at him and told him to get out. He’s gone now. I’ll finish my homework later. There’s something I need to do.