Dad’s Belt

an excerpt

When I graduated therapy, I didn’t have anyone to celebrate with so I invited Omala to Thanksgiving. She declined on account of ethics. I miss her still, even now that I have you and your warm skin and dimples. She used to lean toward me when I spoke, like she really cared. It made me feel important.

She’d start with, “How will you know this session was worthwhile,” and I would struggle to answer the question. I’d always stare at stained glass reflections on her wall. I made sure to book around sunset because I liked looking at those colours shift.

On an evening with a sun-scorched sky, I told her, “If the thoughts stop, that’s how I’ll know this was worthwhile.” I looked to her for approval and she gave it to me with a nod.

“What would be different? If those thoughts stopped.” She uncrossed one leg, to cross the other over top.

I paused. I always paused. At first I expected her to fill my silences, but she’d sit in them with me, like lobsters in a pot. “I could be quiet. Alone.”

She nodded again and leaned in further. “When you imagine that quiet, what does it look like? Describe it to me.”

I glanced at the glass and had to squint. It looked like it had been ignited. “I always have to have something on. Music, podcasts, T.V., the blender. If I don’t, I see it.” I closed my eyes. “I see it now.” My breath caught in my throat and I stood to force some air in. My chest was tight like it was bandaged. I struggled to breathe. My eyes were wide, frantic.

Then I noticed how calm Omala’s face was. “Find one thing in this room and focus on it. Notice its edges, its textures.”

I looked to the wall. To the splashes of colour I came here for. They licked the paint like flames. I noticed reds and yellows, oblique shapes that enveloped one-another. I found my breath, but my chest was still tight so I squinted toward the window, to the ornament that cast the light.

“Is that stained glass—“ I rolled my shoulders back and tilted my head. “Is that stained glass a vagina?”

She gripped the arms of her velvet chair and backed up. It’s the only time I’d ever seen her squirm. “It’s... I mean, yes. It’s a Yoni.”