Free Rumble by Ellen Hopkins Page A

Proper oxygen
intake always makes a person process better.
I almost hesitate to return to our earlier
discussion, but why are you worried
about losing Hayden? You obviously
care very much about her. Do you not
think she feels the same way about you?
She sits patiently while I consider
    the straightforward question. “I do,
    at least most of the time. But lately
    we seem to argue a lot, and since I know
    you’ll ask, over ludicrous stuff like jealousy.”

The Soft Chime
    Of an alarm means our session
    is technically over. Technically,
    because Martha refuses to honor
    alarms. She shuffles in her seat.
Our time’s up, I know, but
I can’t let you go without
saying that jealousy is far
from being ludicrous.
It’s the impetus for many
bad things, including breakups.
    And now we slip into a short,
    terse-because-we’re-already-
    running-a-few-minutes-late Q & A.
Q: Who’s jealous? You or her?
    A: “Both of us, actually.”
Q: Are the reasons real or imagined?
    I almost say hers are invented,
    mine one hundred percent spot-on,
    but that even sounds warped to me. So,
    A: “I really wish I knew.”

Beyond the Inner Sanctum Door
    There is noise in the waiting room.
    Martha’s next victim is also running
    a little late, which gives Martha
the leeway to add, Well, since I can’t
talk to Hayden, you’ll have to do it. Open
up. Tell her what’s bothering you,
without accusation. Discourse is a two-way
street, though. Be sure to ask what’s on
her mind, and listen without comment
until she’s finished. Communication
is the key to success in any relationship,
but you have to be forthright. Love is a fragile
thing, easily destroyed by dishonesty.
Just remember to be honest with yourself
first. Otherwise, there’s really no point.
She smiles at my obvious eye roll, stands
to let me know I have been dismissed.
All right, then. Go forth. Cause no mayhem.

Decent Session
    I leave, feeling marginally better
    about myself, Hayden, even my lack
    of friends. They were nothing
    but deserters, and who needs
    traitorous pals blurring the focus
    of your life? Perspective. That’s exactly
    what I needed today, and Martha is great
    at allowing me a broader view without
    accusing me of being a freak for not
    having it in the first place. She’s okay.
    I wish Mom would talk to her instead
    of bending her pastor’s ear, expecting
    the dude to be a human conduit to
    the Great Therapist in the Sky. But
    my parents seem to believe therapy
    is only useful when you’re young
    and not quite over your brother’s
    suicide. What about the self-inflicted
    death of your favorite son? At least,
    your favorite until it turns out he’s gay.

I Almost Call Martha Myself
    When I get home and find Mom well
    on her way to an alcohol-fueled meltdown,
    instead of busting her butt not selling real
    estate due to the economy. She’s in the den,
    knees tucked beneath her on the window
    seat, and the gentle light through the glass
    does nothing to soften the blotchiness
    of her face. She’s been crying for a while.
    “What’s wrong?” I ask, certain
    I don’t want to hear her answer
    or jump into this conversation.
Too late. He. Wants. To leave. Me,
Matthew. Tobacco spices her breath,
and gin punctuates the sentence.
    “Dad?” Ridiculous question, like,
    duh, she means Dad. “Did he say so?”
She coughs up a laugh. He never
says anything, does he? Not even
when Luke . . . Fresh tears splash
from her eyes. No, he hasn’t said
so yet. But he will. And I don’t know
what I’ll do when he finally finds
the guts to tell me that’s what he wants.

What Would Martha Say?
    I draw from today’s session, put on
    my best therapist face. “I have no idea
    exactly what brought this on, but just
    today I was informed by an expert that
    communication is the key to every
    relationship. Why don’t you just ask
    him if that’s what he’s got on his mind?
    I mean, there’s no use stressing over
    something that may not happen at all.
    And even if that is