Why Can't You See Part II

I tried so hard to stop seeing her after my parents’ revelation, but it just wasn’t that simple. It was like trying to stop seeing leaves, or the color blue. My parents finally decided maybe I needed to see a psychologist. Maybe there was a reason that I kept seeing her. So that’s how I ended up at the Samms Psychological Center every Thursday at 6:30.1

Tanisha Samms, her name was, and she had an incredible sense of interior decoration. It was all we talked about the first time I went there. The walls were painted with a brownish-red color, and there were all sorts of pictures of scenery and Indians, or an interesting combination of the two. 2

“You like my office?” she had asked when I first walked in. I was speechless. It was nothing like I thought it would be. Nothing at all.3

“Yes, I do. It’s very comfortable looking,” I replied. She had a very pretty loveseat and an armchair sitting around a glass coffee table. I didn’t see a desk or one of those little beds that the client is supposed to lay on that you always see on TV. 4

“Well, you can sit where you like,” she told me. I walked over to the armchair and took it, wondering silently if I was supposed to sit on the loveseat despite what she had said. Apparently not, because she went and sprawled herself over it. I was going to like this woman. 5

“Okay, so is Miranda in here, or did you come in alone?” she asked.6

“Just me,” I answered. “Is Miranda allowed to come in?”7

“Yes, I’m going to need her at some point or other. But for now, it should just be the two of us. That okay with you?” I nodded, still taking in my surroundings. 8

“I know it isn’t exactly ‘business like’,” she said, making quotes with her fingers, “but it seems to suit the purpose better than a cheery colored room with me in an uncomfortable chair and you on an uncomfortable sofa bed.”9

“Oh, I like this better. If this were to be an average office, I would probably feel like a mental patient. This way it feels less professional and more casual and friendly,” I replied. She smiled one of those smiles that you see on a toothpaste ad. I wondered what kind of toothpaste she used. 10

We didn’t really get to matters of much importance that day, or the next week. She just asked simple questions and then we would talk about ourselves. I truly enjoyed the release of my secrets. She even had Miranda in after the third visit. 11

Miranda was just as impressed with the room as I had been, and so I translated that to Tanisha for her. 12

“Glad you like it,” she said, looking in the general direction of Miranda. I almost would have believed she could see her too if she hadn’t have been looking about a foot to the left of her shoulder. 13

“So, would you say that you and Martha share the same interests in pretty much everything?” she asked the wall near Miranda. 14

“No, actually we’re pretty different,” Miranda started. I parroted her words and let her continue. 15

“Like, we do like some of the same music, and pretty much all of the same TV shows, but we like different sports, and think different actors are hot, and have different favorite colors…we really aren’t the same exact person.”16

The session didn’t last too much longer after that, and Miranda left just before it ended. Tanisha got up and walked over to a cabinet (a very impressive brown oak cabinet, might I add) and took out a small bottle of pills. 17

“These are for you. There’s a certain section in your brain where your imagination comes from, and it’s highly overactive in you. Miranda comes from there, but the hyperactivity refuses to get rid of her, and so you’re left believing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’s real. You can probably even feel her and ‘read her mind’ and everything like that. Just take one of these pills every day and it’ll calm down that section in your brain, and Miranda will only exist as your old imaginary friend,” she promised. I thanked her and left. 18

“Martha, what are you doing?” Miranda asked me that night. I had a pill in one hand and a bottle of Dr. Fizz in the other. “Martha, you don’t have to take them. They’ll kill me! Please Martha, don’t get rid of me,” she begged. 19

I thought about it. What did it matter if she didn’t exist? She was still my sister. I put the pill back in the bottle and threw in in my bottom dresser drawer, and then went and hugged my sister, tears streaming down both of our cheeks. 20

And I could feel her just fine.