And when she told me the story, I could feel the pain of the pea as if it was poking into my own back.
“That poor princess!” I said.
And Mom said, “I swear, Jenna. You’re so sensitive they could put you down in a mine instead of a canary.”
I took it as a compliment, thinking she was saying since I was as cheerful and bright as a canary, I could take the bird’s place anywhere. But since then I found out that when you put a canary down in a poisoned mine, it’s so sensitive that it’ll drop dead, telling miners of a fatal gas that they couldn’t otherwise see. I hope that doesn’t mean I’ll drop dead before my family gets wind of the deadly dangers lurking in our very own house.
This counselor man invites us to take a seat anywhere in the office, clearly trying to make us feel at home. But I honestly don’t know if I would recognize feeling at home if I felt it.
“Jenna, sit on a chair.” Mom insists that I not sit on the floor which is the opposite of what she usually says.
I crawl to the couch and balance insecurely on the edge of the seat, feeling strange to be at level with everyone else. My back is rigid, my knees clamped tightly together. My hands are layered on top of them, right over left.
“Go ahead. Sit back and relax, Jenna,” the man says. “We’ll be here for a while.”
It feels wrong sitting back with ease. No, it feels more than wrong. It feels dangerous, even risky.
When the counselor talks way too long about himself and his qualifications, all I can think about is how our family’s precious money is being wasted. I make a list in my mind of things Mom could buy me with the money we’re spending on this appointment. I could always use some school clothes, a new set of pens, a fresh stick of deodorant for sure.
“I have a master’s degree in social work and fifteen years experience with a practice in Tampa …”
