Free Marionette by T. B. Markinson Page A

ordered—‌not to just go through the motions, but to try. To really try. She hadn’t told me how to do that, though. People are good at giving advice, but not on giving a step-by-step, how-to guide. I wanted a procedure, something that would fix my problem. How did I repress the urge to kill myself? Step one…? Why can’t there be a step-by-step program? Don’t drunks have a program? I wanted a program.
    The afternoon was beautiful. Puffy marshmallow clouds floated through the cerulean sky. Birds chirped. Squirrels scampered about, chattering at passersby. I felt a strong urge to jump in my car and head toward the canyon to hike.
    Instead, I was sitting in Liddy’s office, waiting. She walked in two minutes late—‌not bad, for her. I elected not to give her a hard time. After all, it had backfired before.
    “How have you been since our last meeting?” Her words felt hollow to me.
    “Fine.”
    She turned around and headed toward her desk. Her hair covered half of her face, but from the part I could see, she wasn’t pleased with my reply. Liddy set her bag down and picked up the usual from her desk: pencil and notepad.
    I was starting to loathe the pencil and notepad. What the fuck did she need them for?
    She perched herself in the chair opposite and fussed with her blazer. I preferred her in jeans and a sweater, but I didn’t think I really got a say.
    Had she forgotten I was there? I opted to stay absolutely still.
    As she adjusted her shirt, she asked, “What would you like to talk about today?”
    Why couldn’t she provide the blueprint for me? If I knew what was wrong with me, then I would fix it. I can be a rational person. Her question angered me, so I decided to be annoying. “The birds and the bees.”
    “Maybe next time, even though I think that would be an interesting discussion to have with you.”
    What in the hell did she mean by that? If I were braver, I would have asked. But I was logical, not brave. I didn’t like people making assumptions about me, yet letting people make assumptions helped me stay hidden.
    I inspected my shoes, making sure my laces hadn’t magically untied themselves. Just to be sure, I tightened the knots.
    “You mentioned last week that you aren’t close to your father.”
    “Correct.”
    “Would you like to elaborate?” She attempted a coaxing smile. Did another one of her suicidal patients attempt to kill themselves? Was that why she was in a crap mood?
    “We lived in the same house—‌that was our only connection.”
    She tapped her pencil, but showed no emotion. “And that doesn’t bother you.”
    I sighed. “You get used to it. I’ve had seventeen years to realize that he doesn’t love me. He never wanted me. He’s made that clear. Over the years, I’ve watched him torture my mother, me…‌not sure how he feels about Abbie, though. I grew to hate him. Now…‌I don’t know. I don’t like him, but hate…‌I prefer to ignore the fact that he’s my dad. I’m tired. Tired of hating. Now, I avoid. When I still lived at home, I could go for days and not see him once. I’ve turned avoiding my father into a game.”
    “And how do you know he feels this way about you?”
    “Oh, he doesn’t mince his words. And his actions—‌well, they don’t lie either.” I crossed my arms and slunk down further into my chair.
    “How do you mean?”
    I closed my eyes, trying to eradicate one particular image, but couldn’t. I wished I had a delete button on my brain. I hated feeling normal and then—‌BAM!—‌a picture floating before my eyes taunted me, lured me back.
    “A few years after the Lego incident, my mother had surgery. After surviving those years, I thought nothing could destroy her. I thought her surgery would transform her into a superhero. I put a lot of hope into that thought. I wanted my mom back.
    “I blamed the Lego incident just as much as everyone else. My memories of her before were gone. All I remembered was the mean mom. In my