“Let’s head back to the tables over there. You’ll find lots of magazines, scissors, and glue for you to make your collage with.”
I stood up as everyone made their way to the table. I expected that Erik would have sat as far away from me as possible, but instead he sat across from me as he started his project. He didn’t seem to be angry at me at all, which was very surprising to me considering how I had just acted toward him in his room.
“So, this is you helping teach the group?” he said with that grin I had seen before.
“Hey, it’s better than nothing. I’m helping with the fun part.”
“I’m not sure it is,” he joked and then went back to work.
I didn’t distract him, or anyone else. Instead, I went around the table and looked at the collages of their life. It was a fun little exercise and filled with meaning.
If I had made a collage, it would have certainly been my parents all over it. They were the greatest people on earth. I had been such an annoying teenager and then just pure trouble when I became an adult. I was grateful they had stuck it out with me and hadn’t given up home all together.
Sobriety was damn hard for me. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would be if I didn’t have my parents to help me. After I got out of treatment, I didn’t have a job, or money, and I could barely keep my body moving forward each day. My mom would make me breakfast and my dad would talk to me about my day. It was those little things that really helped me day in and day out.
I continued to look around at everyone’s projects. There were enlightening and showed so much about who each person was. It was very interesting to see who they chose to do their collages on and the pictures they assigned to their loved ones.
Kimber had pictures of men all over her collage, as well as expensive shoes and jewelry. It was clear that she valued material things and men a lot. I couldn’t help but think that would have been my collage back when I went through treatment.
As I walked around the table, I learned so much about each of the patients.
Stan had a beautiful display of everything music on his collage. He had drums, violins, singers, and concert venues. He had been a drummer for so many years; his happiness was tied to it. But his drumming career was over and he was left to try and make some sort of meaningful life and that had been when he started to struggle.
When I walked behind Erik, I took a look at his collage and felt like I was peeking into his soul. Colorful, vibrant pictures of mothers with their children were all over. He had playgrounds, pizza parlors, family dinners, and people laughing.
I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at his collage. It was clear that he had a mother who loved him, but it also seemed clear that she was no longer alive. I saw angels and clouds across the top of his page. I felt for him and the loss he must feel. I couldn’t imagine living without my mother; she was truly one of my best friends.
As we wrapped up the session, everyone took their collages with them back to their rooms. They also brought pictures and glue sticks, just in case they had anything else to add before the next day when they would share their collage with the group; no scissors were allowed back in the rooms, though.
“I just need to cut out a few more pictures,” Erik said as everyone was leaving. “I’d like to fill up this empty section, if you don’t mind. I know I won’t work on it later and I like to finish things once I start them.”
I felt like the last comment was totally aimed at me and the yelling fit I had had with him earlier. I still felt horrible for the way I had talked to him. Not just because he seemed like an okay guy, but really because he was a patient and it had been entirely unprofessional of me. The way I had talked to him was much more about me and my own issues than it was about him and his issues. I really didn’t know him well enough to know what his issues were.
“Cassidy, stay with him and put everything back in the cabinet when he’s done, please,” Jarrod said.
“Sure.”
As everyone left the room, the comfort level between Erik and I seemed to go with them. Being left alone with him wasn’t anything I had planned. I sat there quietly as he cut pictures and casually looked up at me. I thought about apologizing to him for the way I had talked before, but that didn’t seem necessary. He clearly wasn’t angry with me, so I decided to just drop it and move forward.
Sometimes he smiled; sometimes he just looked at me and went back to work. I didn’t want to talk first. I really didn’t have anything to say. I had acted like a total jerk to him earlier, and if I managed to say a single word, it should have been to apologize to him.
“I’m sorry,” Erik said as he put the scissors down and reached across the table and touched my hand.
My whole body froze as I looked at him. Why was his hand touching mine? Why was he apologizing? He hadn’t done anything wrong; it had been me who screamed like some sort of crazy person. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on. I had been thinking about apologizing to him for so long that I thought maybe I had imagined him saying something to me. But there he was with his hand on mine, and as he looked at me, I realized he definitely had just apologized to me.
“Okay,” I managed to mutter. “But what are you apologizing for?”
His hand on my skin was sending a nervous feeling throughout my body. I felt warm and shaky as I looked at him. Is he flirting with me, or just being nice? I couldn’t tell. Do I want him to flirt with me?
No. What am I even thinking? This guy was a patient. He was off limits. He was also a bit of an ass. He was going through withdrawal really badly and was literally reaching out for help though, so I couldn’t exactly just leave him hanging.
“Seriously, I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I had planned to leave after the first week and then decided to stay. But then I was going to leave again. I just couldn’t make up my mind. You were right. Thanks.”
His voice was calm and even as he spoke to me. I searched his eyes for some sign that he was being sarcastic. How was I right? I couldn’t even remember what I had said to him. The only thing I remembered was yelling at the poor guy and making him feel bad enough that he had climbed out of bed and come to group.
“What was I right about?” I managed to say with a bit of a grin.
It wasn’t often that anyone told me I was right about something. Typically, I was the one making mistakes and not following the rules, both at work and at home.