Free Lundyn Bridges by Patrice Johnson Page B

denial and refusal to accept responsibility penetrated my heart like a knife. I sat up on the edge of the couch maintaining eye contact with her. She stood facing me with her arms crossed. I wanted her to be contrite, but she seemed aloof andwithout remorse. My anger swelled inside me. Francine cussed under her breath breaking the stillness of the moment.
    â€œYou think your kids are happy you left them? You think your kids want to live with the fact that you loved drugs more than you loved them? You think they should be happy because they grew up in foster care?” I asked, without pausing for a response, as my voice escalated with each question.
    â€œIt could have been a lot worse!" She yelled interrupting me. "I didn’t make my kids sell drugs! I always sent money and toys for Christmas – and they never appreciated any of it!”
    By this time I was standing and yelling back at her. “Did you tell them plenty of lies, too? Did you keep promising you would stop using drugs? Did you promise them they would be a family?”
    â€œWhat the #@%&* does it matter to you?” Francine waved her clenched fist in my face.
    For a moment I thought she was going to hit me. I didn't move; I felt no fear. “That’s just what my mother would say!” I heard myself yelling and realized the emotional monsters that frequently tormented me had defeated my composure and professionalism.
    â€œI’m not your mother!'
    â€œNo, but you sure do remind me of her!” Without putting my binder in my briefcase, I picked up everything, leaving my Starbuck’s cup on the table, and marched out the door without looking back. I refused to cry even though tears swelled in my eyes. I had shed enough tears over a junkie who didn’t care about her kids.
    â€œHey girl,” Kiarra was walking up to the passenger side of my car. “Didn’t you hear me call you? What was all the yelling at Francine’s about?”
    I couldn’t look at her, and I dare not blink. I slung my things on the back seat and sat in the passenger seat, leaving the door open.
    Kiarra bent down trying to make eye contact. “Lundyn, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”
    â€œI hope she rots in hell,” I whispered.
    â€œHold up girl.” Kiarra put her hand on my shoulder. “What happened?”
    â€œI know why her kids don’t visit her,” I stated through clenched teeth. “She was a horrible mother. She never cared about her kids; she only cared about the drugs.”
    â€œThis isn’t about you and your mother,” Kiarra retorted. “Francine is not your mother. Francine is your client. This is not the time for transference.”
    I was emotionally fragile, and it would have been very easy to be angry with Kiarra for her chastising remarks. I sat motionless and said nothing. Kiarra opened the back door and sat with me.
    Kiarra grabbed my arm as I got up to go around to the driver’s side of my car. My teeth were still clenched, and I was still fighting back tears. Taking a deep breath, and avoiding eye contact, I whispered, “My rounds with Dr. Sankar start in an hour, I gotta go.”
    â€œGo home Lundyn,” Kiarra said, maintaining a firm grip my arm. “I’ll do your rounds. I’ll tell Dr. Sankar you didn’t feel well. Go home. I’ll come by after work.”
    It was almost six-thirty when Kiarra arrived with cheese steak hoagies from Vento's and a bottle of blackcherry soda. She joined me at the dining room table, and we ate in silence staring out the kitchen window. I was thinking of how to thank her for rescuing my sanity. I could tell she was searching for something to say that wasn’t therapeutic. She knew I needed a friend more than I needed the reality check. My heart knew she would have the right words.
    â€œThe sun set is beautiful.” Kiarra finally broke the silence. “It’s a perfect ending to the day as