I love the Family Center where my mom works so I’m not too bothered that I’ve forgotten my house keys. I’ll head over to the Center and get them from Mom maybe peek in at the Early Years wing while I’m there.

It’s not like I’m inconveniencing anyone; these days I walk home from school alone.

I scrunch into my parka and pull the hood over my head even before I’ve left the school building.

Protecting myself from the girls?

Maybe.

I walk out into the rain and start up a jog. My rainboots slap against the sidewalk splashing deliciously. More than the exercise the quick movements help stop that train of thought in its tracks.

By the time I reach the Center I’m hot and breathless. But energized.

I linger for a moment in front of the doors. They are made of elaborate glass engraved with “The Leonard and Claire Reuben Center for Families.” Underneath hangs a poster that the Early Years kids must have painted. “Welcome to the Family Center ” it says in childish letters surrounded by leaves and stems. That’s what we all call it. As I reach for the handle I have a sudden thought: How does my mother feel working at a place called the Family Center when her own family is so broken?

I don’t enter the building with that thought. I let go of the door and jog once around the building. My cheeks are surely red and healthy looking now and I feel somewhat better after I’ve come back full circle.

I push open the door and say hi to Nancy at the desk.

“My my someone looks excited today?” she says half a question in her voice.

Is it so surprising to see me smile?

I almost say it out loud. I could really Nancy’s easy like that.

Last year when I was seeing Dr. Carmel Nancy would chat with me in the waiting room if she wasn’t busy. I’ve known her for ages; Mom’s worked here for as long as I can remember.

Still I don’t say it I don’t want to hear her hem and haw in response.

“Well yeah it’s a nice day…” I say instead.

Nancy looks pointedly at my dripping jacket. I smile sheepishly and head for the stairs.

The upper floors house the therapy wing; speech therapy occupational therapy even music therapy and of course conventional talk therapy. It’s clever really to band them all together like that because no one knows why anyone else is there and you feel completely okay sitting in the waiting room.

I should know; I spent the better part of last year here in session with Dr. Carmel.

Mom claims I still need therapy and she probably has a point. But Dr. Carmel made aliyah last summer and I didn’t want to start with anyone else couldn’t open up again to another person. Dr. Carmel offered to do long-distance Skype sessions but I didn’t take her up on it. I’m awkward enough with this sort of communication; talking to a screen wouldn’t help matters. (Excerpted from Teen Pages Issue 667)