Andrew felt the counselor studying him from across the desk. She was all right, he guessed, for a shrink.
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Andrew was a tough kid, a football player. He had short blond hair, dark blue eyes and a rough face for someone his age. He was wearing a red shirt and jeans. His arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes set on not talking.
This was the third time he’d had to talk to her. In that time, he’d barely said three words.
It was Valentine’s Day. Something about it made him want to reach out to someone. He didn’t know why, but he felt like opening up.
The counselor looked out the window. A gloomy, cold, rain was falling. She looked down at her coffee before turning at Andrew again.
She said, “Next year you’ll be playing Varsity.”
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “I guess.”
He saw her perk up at his two words.
She prodded, “Are you still going to smoke pot, then, too?”
Andrew took his eyes to the counselor and gave her a mean look. “I don’t smoke pot.”
The counselor tapped a folder on her desk. “Your drug test tells otherwise. There was ”
Andrew glanced at the folder. “Whatever. Kick me out of school, then. It’s not like it’s going to change anything.”
The counselor edged forward carefully. “How so?”
Andrew shrugged his shoulders again. “My old man gives me a hard time no matter what. He’ll just lecture me about being better, to be more like him.”
“Makes you mad, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said, “it does. It’s like nothing I do is good enough for him. This season was my best ever and all he said was that my throwing arm needed work.”
“A lot of pressure at school, too, I guess?”
Andrew stiffened for a minute. He had already brought up his dad, what was the harm in continuing?
He said, “Class, grades, friends, girls, popularity, coaches, games, plays… School is a real headache.”
“And… not much better at home?”
Andrew stared out the window into the rain, quiet and contemplative.
When he spoke, his voice was angry. “My old man is a perfectionist. He doesn’t care about me. All he cares about is whether I make him look good.”
The counselor asked, “Then, why did you first try marijuana?”
Andrew didn’t take his eyes from the rain.
He said, “A friend of mine on the team, his older brother smokes. I was at his house one day, and his brother asked if wanted to try it. I’d had a bad day at school, at practice, and with my old man.”
Andrew fidgeted in his seat.
“I was fed up,” he said. “No one was hearing me or even seeing me. I was just another student or player or imperfect son.”
Andrew was quiet again. The counselor moved to speak, but Andrew continued.
“So I tried some. It relaxed me, made me calm down. I felt a lot better about my crappy day. What’s wrong with that?”
The counselor digested all that Andrew told her. He was starting to feel like she actually was listening and paying attention, like she might really want to help him. Did she understand where he was coming from, though?
“Andrew,” she said, “have you tried any heavier drugs?”
Andrew took a deep breath. “My old man takes some anti-depressants,” he said. “I steal some here and there. That’s it, though, just to help me calm down, make it through. You know?”
“Have you taken anything this morning?”
“Nah, tonight we have the Valentine’s Dance. I don’t want to be on anything then. Besides, season is over. I can slack off some now. Next year, though…”
Andrew went silent.
The counselor urged, “Next year?”
“Next year is Varsity. More pressure, different coaches. Sometimes I wish I could just quit and be normal. But my old man won’t hear it. He played ball so I have to play ball.”
“You don’t like football, then?”
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “It’s okay. But tough, you know? High school is tough all around. You have to find a place to fit in. Being a jock means no one messes with you and the popular girls like you.”
“It also means a lot of pressure which leads to drug use, too, huh? You said it yourself, sometimes you wish you could quit and be normal.”
Andrew stood and began to pace.
He said, “At school, there’s this chess club. All the nerds hang out there. Only… they aren’t really nerds. They’re normal kids. And… and there’s this girl.”
He trailed off, thinking about Rachel’s short mousy hair and her round face. She was super short, not at all like the cheerleaders and popular girls he was used to hanging out with. She spoke her mind a lot, too. She didn’t seem afraid to offend him, maybe because she didn’t know he liked her… maybe because she didn’t think he’d like her. But he liked the way her thin fingers hovered over the chess pieces, glancing alongside a rook or a pawn before she decided on her move. He liked the way she grinned when he made a good move, but he really liked it better when he made a mistake and she smirked, and taunted him playfully, then explained how she was kicking his ass systematically.
The counselor smiled. “You like her?”
Andrew leaned on the sill. Did he? Would he have brought her up otherwise?
“She’s kinda dorky, but yeah, I like her. We actually played a game of chess in study hall one day. She beat me in like five moves. It was… good. No pressure.”
“Do you want to join the chess club, then?”
Andrew nodded. “But if I quit ball and did what I want, the pressure would be even worse. I would catch it from my old man, my friends, my coaches, the teachers, even the girls.”
“Andrew,” the counselor said, “it sounds like you do what others what you want to do a lot.”
He didn’t have an answer.
“I hate to bring it back around, but is that why you ran to pot and anti-depressants? To escape the pressures.”
“This sounds like one of those corny after school specials…”
“It’s your life, Andrew. Your friend is dead from an overdose; the same friend whose older brother smokes pot and offered it to you.”
Andrew bit his lower lip hard. “We weren’t good friends. Just friends. I didn’t know he was doing hard stuff. I feel bad that he’s dead, and I miss him hanging out but… but I’m not like that. I don’t do anything heavy.”
The counselor seemed to shrug. She said, “Neither did he, in the beginning. Did you know you were going to smoke the day you went to his house?”
“No.”
“And from there, you began stealing anti-depressants. Why? Was the pot not enough?”
She didn’t get it, Andrew decided. He said, anger rising in his voice, “I just needed a little extra edge.”
Her eyes went wide at his tone. Then a tranquil mask of understanding settled back in.
“I see,” she said. “What happens if you get offered a scholarship to play at college and get introduced to even more pressures there? What will you do then, if the anti-depressants lose their ‘edge’? Seek something more?”
Andrew ran a thumb over the folder with his drug results.
He said softly, “I didn’t ask for this. I just need to escape a little at times. The pot and the pills help.”
“But the pressure is still there. And from what you’re saying, they seem to be getting worse.”
Andrew’s pacing increased. He tossed his hands in to his hair, running his fingers through the short dark locks.
He said, “What am I supposed to do then? Huh, tell me? I feel like I’m inside this boiler and the pressure is getting worse. I feel like I’m going to explode! So what if none of that stuff helps. What’s the harm?”
The counselor sat up straight in her chair behind the desk. She caught Andrew’s eyes as she said, “I’d say to ask your friend that. But he’s not here anymore.”
Andrew shook his head. “That’s not fair.”
“Why?”
“Because… he…”
He shook his head. He paced more.
The counselor said, “Because he played football like you? Had the same teachers, coaches, pressures at home? Why isn’t it fair? Look at him, because you’re right behind him.”
Andrew froze. He had never thought about dying before. He felt very small, insignificant. Had anything he ever done mattered? Would anyone remember him if he died tomorrow? If he died of an overdose some day, would he just be that junkie football player who OD’d?
All the pressure he felt, all the reasons to smoke and steal anti-depressants, nothing seemed that important.
His friend and teammate was dead. The meth had killed him. And deep down, he knew, if anti-depressants stopped being enough, he would seek harder drugs, too.
“I… I think I’m addicted to the anti-depressants.” Andrew shifted uncomfortably.
He asked in a whisper, “What can I do? To not be like him?”
The counselor stood and smiled. “I think talking has been a good start. And we’ll keep meeting like this as long as you want.” She said as she glanced to the clock, “The hour’s almost up. Do you want to talk to your father about the chess club?”
A knot tightened in Andrew’s chest. He wanted to quit the football team, though. He wanted to join the chess club and be around that girl, Rachel. It was going to take some time, but he wanted to remove the negative pressure in his life. He guessed this was as good a first step as any.
He asked, “Can you be there when I talk to him?”
“Every step of the way, Andrew.”