Why Are You Here?

The writing prompt for this story was: write a story about someone finding acceptance.

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Week 1:

As Neal entered the room, she said, “Please sit wherever you are most comfortable. The chair or the sofa.” He chose the chair.

“Why are you here?”

Neal responded with an attitude. “You tell me.”

“That’s not my role. Answer the question, please.”

“The City put me on leave.”

“For…”

“They say I need,” he made air quotes, ‘anger management.’ I had a bad moment.”

She got up and walked to the desk. She grabbed an envelope with the return address ‘City of Springfield, Department of Human Resources.’ According to this, you threw coffee at a young woman.”

“It wasn’t hot coffee.”

“Thankfully, but still. I’d like you to describe the incident.”

Neal rolled his eyes and let out a big sigh. “Our admin assistant, Zoey, asked me if I was bringing my usual brownies to the potluck.”

“What about that question triggered you?”

He paused as if he was struggling to say the word. “Usual.”

“What about that word evoked your anger?”

Silence.

“You know, it’s dusty in here.” He touched the surface of the nearby desk and then examined his hand.”

“Not important.”

“I don’t make the brownies. My wife does.”

She let that sentence hang in the air, then said, “And…”

“Look, she wasn’t able to, okay?”

“Why?” She said the word softly as if she knew it was dangerous.

“Because she’s dead.” He shouted the words. He tilted his head for emphasis.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard, but I needed you to say it. That’s all for today. I’ll have homework for you each time.”

“Homework?”

“Yes, it will help this process move along.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Exercise. I think you have some bottled-up anger. It’s understandable. Exercise will help.”

“I’m not much of a going to the gym kinda guy. Look at me.” She saw a man of medium height and build who was neither muscular nor scrawny.

“Thirty minutes of bodily movement. Anything you want. Walk, run, bike, dance, do jumping jacks. Whatever. Just get outside and move. Got it?”

“We’ll see.” He got up and walked toward the door as if it took a herculean effort.

Week 2:

Neal walked in and took the sofa this time.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Hello to you, too. Anger management.”

“Yes, good. Did you go outside and exercise?”

“I did. One day, I washed the car. Another day, I mowed the lawn. I even took a walk around the block.”

“How did you feel after?” Neal shrugged.

“Let’s go back to the incident with Zoey. From the beginning.” He sighed. She just stared and waited.

“I was sitting in my cubicle doing a bank rec. I was getting close to zero, you know, completing the reconciliation. Zoey interrupted me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She came bouncing in all happy, not a care in the world. She had this sign-up sheet for the monthly Accounting potluck to celebrate birthdays. Everyone knows I bring brownies.”

“People look forward to them then? Expect them?”

“Yes, they’re the best.” Neal shifted from sitting to lying on the couch and folded his arms.”

“Continue.”

“She asked me if she could mark me down for the brownies. It triggered me somehow. I reached for my mug and threw the contents at her shirt.”

“You said it triggered you. What about it did?”

“Zoey asked me for something I couldn’t give her. My wife’s brownies. It was impossible.”

The woman leaned in, her glasses in her hand, as if Neal was about to say something noteworthy.

“Can you describe how you felt?”

“I’m not good with feelings.”

The woman handed him a paper from her lap. “Here’s a list of feelings. Which ones were you feeling at that moment?”

He took the paper and scanned the list. “How come angry isn’t on this list?”

“It’s a secondary emotion, meaning another feeling evokes anger, like sadness, for example.”

“Look, angry is how I felt.”

“Okay, we’ll circle back to the list later. Did Zoey know that your wife makes the brownies?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she know that your wife had passed?”

“No, no one knows.”

“No one knows? Why haven’t you told people?”

“Lotsa reasons.”

“Okay, that’s a good place to pause. Your homework for next time is to tell three people.”

“Tell three people what?”

“That your wife died.”

Week 3:

“Why are you here?” He went straight to the couch and laid down.

“Anger management and the loss of my wife.” Neal was matter-of-fact.

“Good. Did you do your homework? Tell three people?”

“I called my sister and told her. She has a husband and son, so that’s three.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Not well. She cried. She wants to come visit. I discouraged her.”

“Why?”

“What good would it do? We’d just sit around being sad. Nothing good can come from that.”

“Well, there’d be companionship. People need people. You could talk about your wife and remember happier times, perhaps.”

“Yeah, well. I’d have to clean the house. It’s not in great shape. Too much trouble.”

“Let’s shift gears. Let’s talk about your wife’s death.” The woman crossed her legs.

“What about it?”

“How’d your wife die?”

“She got hit by a bus, an accident.”

“Can you describe the scene?”

He sat up, incredulous, “What, you want me to describe the gory details?”

“No, sorry. What happened before?”

“We were on the curb waiting to cross the street. And then the bus hit her, and she died.”

“Did the street sign say ‘walk’?”

“I wasn’t looking at the street sign.” He laid back down with his right arm across his eyes as if it would blind him to the memory. Tears rolled down the side of his face into his ears.

“I have the police report here. Shall I read it, or will you tell me?” He was unresponsive, so she read the words. “Cause of death: suicide. Witnesses reported that the woman deliberately stepped in front of the oncoming bus.”

Neal curled into a ball, faced the back of the couch, and sobbed. Several minutes passed, and then they heard a scratching sound. They turned toward the closed door. They saw a cat’s paw extend into the room under the door.

“Okay to let the cat in?” she asked.

After a moment, Neal said, “Okay.”

“Your homework for this week is to tell your workplace that your wife has died.”

A month later:

A green Subaru pulled up to Neal and Abby’s driveway. A man, a woman, and their son exited. The woman, Neal’s sister Helen, took the lead and proceeded toward the front door. Before she could knock, something grabbed her attention. Helen heard her brother speaking as if he was on the phone because it was a one-sided conversation. Then she heard angry words followed by sobbing. Helen turned around, looked at her husband, and pointed to the car. The man nodded. They returned to the car and drove away.

Months later:

“Why are you here?” she asked. He sat in the chair and leaned forward.

“To ask you why you left me, Abby?”

“I was depressed. You know that I’ve struggled with depression for years.”

“I know. But couldn’t you stay for us, me and Shadow?”

“You don’t even like cats—you’re allergic.”

“You’re evading my question.” Neal stared, waiting for an answer.

“You may find this hard to believe, but my suicide had nothing to do with you. I was in mental hell. It was easier to step off the curb than continue. Honestly, I thought you’d be better off, eventually, without me.”

“It’s like you shifted all that mental pain onto me.”

“I’m so sorry.” She paused to let that sink in. “How are you doing?”

“I’m angry at you. I can’t forgive you for leaving us.”

“I know.”

“How are you doing?” she asked again.

“It’s not as bad as months ago. I’m actually exercising. I get out of the house a bit.”

“Good. I have a new homework assignment for you.”

“Yeah? What?”

“Apologize to Zoey.”

Next week:

“Why are you here?” she said. Neal sat on the couch.

“To tell you that I apologized to Zoey.”

Abby smiled. “I’m glad. How did it go?”

“Well, I think she’s still afraid of me.”

“Understandable.”

“We were in the HR office. I was so nervous. Zoey stared in her lap. We sat across from each other. I looked her in the eye, well, where her eye would be if she were looking at me. And I said, ‘I’m sorry, and that it won’t happen again. It’s not an excuse, but I was grieving the loss of my wife. I apologize. Please forgive me.’”

“All the elements of a good apology. Well done. What did she say?”

“Zoey said she understood and was sorry about my wife.”

“That it?”

“I’m cleared to start work again.”

“Good. Have you forgiven me?”

“Not completely.”

“Are you still angry with me?”

“Not all of the time.”

“Have you thrown any more coffee?”

“Definitely not.”

The conversation lulled. “You know,” Abby said, “you really need to clean this room, vacuum, dust, etc.”

“You’re right. I’m having a service come in to prepare for the sale.”

“You’re moving?”

“Yep, me and Shadow need a smaller place. Gardening was your thing. We want a condo where someone else does the yard work. I found a place overlooking a pool. Built-in entertainment for Shadow.”

“You guys seem tight.”

“We are. He’s my cat now. Do you have homework for me?”

“Yes, go live your life.”

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Originally published June 2024 on Reedsy.com.