I did not like my doctor. Everything I said seemed to confuse her. She kept asking questions, again and again. My head would hurt answering all of them.
I told her, I wanted to be a butterfly. It seemed I had said something interesting. She asked why. So I explained, how I wanted to fly away...so she asked "Why not a bird then?" I thought it was obvious. I didn't want to be a bird. I wanted to be a butterfly. But she has to ask these strange and annoying questions.
I told her...I find butterflies pretty...again...for the third time. She asked me what else I found beautiful…but…I didn’t find anything else beautiful. She was upset by my answer, so she said told me to make a diary, and before every session, to write three things I find pretty. But...I only find butterflies pretty...she didn’t seem to understand that.
He came again, the morning after… my land lord I mean. He told me to change out of my cloths, because I was smelly. I didn't want to. I didn't care if I seemed putrid to him. But he told me he wouldn't leave till I had a proper bath and breakfast. So, I bathed. The water was hot. I hate hot water. I hate anything hot. I made it cold, but, it stayed hot for a few minutes and stung my back. While bathing I could smell eggs. I hated eggs the most. They tasted bad, and smelled worse.
He sat at the table and decided to eat with me. Why he would want to, I didn't know. But since he was there, I decided to ask him questions, so that I could answer my doctor next time. I asked him, "What do you find...pretty?" He seemed confused by the question, like my doctor...was I really so confusing?
"Pretty...hmm” He began “...well, stars, the sun, flowers, trees...and girls...to name a few. Why?" I was hurt. He didn't like butterflies? Why doesn't he like them? He knows I like them very much, so... was he saying he didn't like them because he didn't like me? I decided that then, I didn't like him either. So I got up and walked away. I wanted him out of my appartment, its bad to have people who don't like you in your house. I really didn't like him either. He made me angry and upset. Why did he always make my upset?
"What did I say!?" He asked. "Wait! You haven't finished your food, and your milk is still heating!" He called after me. I hated hot things, and he wanted me to have hot milk? He was horrible! I went in the kitchen to throw away the hot milk.
"Wait!" He came in after me. I held on to the handle and lifted the pot of boiling milk. But the handle was so hot. I dropped the pot on my foot. All the milk spilt on my leg. It was so hot. I was scared and started yelling. It was entirely his fault. He was so wicked. I hated him so much. He came after me, so I threw a plate at him. It hit him in the shoulder. I was angry and scared and upset. I wanted to cry so much. So I ran in the corner of my room, closed the door, and pretended there was nothing and no one around to hurt me. But my leg was still paining so much, and so was my palm.
I heard the door squeak open, so I held my head in my knees, and wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could disappear from his sight.
He put his hand on my leg, and I thought of kicking him, but it felt nice and cool. He was putting cream on my foot.
"Stupid boy..." He muttered. "You should always put cream immediately after getting burned. His hand felt nice as he wrapped a bandage around my leg.
"Now...may I see your palm?" He asked. I was unsure. I was confused. Why did he want my palm? Would he make it feel bad, or good? I held on tighter to my legs. I didn’t want him to take my palm. I was scared it would feel bad. "No." I answered.
He put his hand on my cheek, and said, "I’m not going to hurt you. Give me your palm, I'll make it better." I was looking at his eyes. His eyes were nice. They were a cool soft brown. They were...pretty. I gave him my palm, and saw him wrap a bandage around my hand, but when I looked at his face, he seemed...sad looking at my burn. Was he upset? I couldn't tell, so I kept quiet.
"Now, why don't you tell me why you were so troubled with my answer?" He asked, as he sat next to me.
"You don't like butterflies." I answered. "And you like hot things...like hot milk."
He seemed amused. I didn't know why he seemed so. "Of course I like butterflies...I said that thoes were only a few of the things I find pretty, right?and...You don't like hot things?
"No...I don't." I answered.
"Im sorry, I didn't know that." He answered. He liked butterflies, and he didn't know I didn’t like hot things. If he didn't know, he wasn't trying to hurt me. Which means it was a mistake. So maybe he wasn't being horrible at all...just maybe.
"I'll remember that." He promised. “I’ll make cold milk next time…OK?” I would rather have no milk, but he wouldn’t have that, so I agreed, and he left, after taking my old clothes to clean.
I removed the diary my doctor gave me, and I wrote in my list of pretty things, below butterflies, "Eric's brown eyes." and shut the book. I looked down at the neatly wrapped bandage, and finally, I understood my doctors question…she was not telling me to write things I think are pretty, but to find pretty things. Not just butterflies. I wish she had made it easier to understand, but… I had to thank Eric for making me comprehend it.