Julia Lelieveld and the fifth element
~18~

Three hours later, Lucas was on the curb with his motorcycle. He looked as nice as ever. I could see a light shirt peeking out from under his leather jacket. He was wearing dark blue jeans. His hair is stylishly messed up again and a big smile around his mouth. I also wore jeans myself. On it I wore a white blouse with a short brown waistcoat. Over my pants I wore leather boots with a heel the same shade of brown as the waistcoat.

I noticed my stomach jump a little at the sight of Lucas. The only bit of happiness I felt in my body, it did me good. “Hi, you’re here!”

“Yes, of course I’m here!” He looked at me questioningly. “That was a short night, wasn’t it.”

“Yes indeed, early to bed tonight.” I shrugged, hoping I’d come across as casual. “That’s right,” he said, handing me the same helmet from yesterday. Once at school, it was clear that gossip was going around. Everyone looked at me wide-eyed. Eva was already waiting for me and she wanted to know everything that had happened. She had probably already heard it from Bas, but of course she also wanted a detailed explanation of why I arrived with Lucas on the bike this morning.

In the morning the story was still going around that I had indeed bruised my wrist when falling. In the afternoon the story circulated that I had become so angry with Sandra that I had hit the wall next to Sandra’s head out of frustration. And because I had argued with a police officer, I was taken to the station for further questioning. I had long been glad that no further comment had been made on the fact that my mother had died and that my father was never home.

The whole day passed in a bit of a blur. I tried to shut myself off from all the gossip and stares. Before I knew it it was half past three and I had to go to the therapist. I was sure that if I didn’t go, my father would replace out. I didn’t want to argue anymore.

The therapist’s office was next to the downtown park. The village had two parks. The park I looked out on from my bedroom and the park right in the center.

I stepped into a sort of waiting room. The waiting area looked more like a comfortable living room. It was decorated with warm colors. I sat down on a green cloth sofa. There were several magazines to read. There was a name tag on the door opposite the entrance. I got up to see if I was really seeing it right. That too, shit. Would it be her? No, it won’t, will it? But on the other hand, how many will live in this village with this name?

The name tag said Hannah Rondebal, a psychiatrist. The mother of Eva and Bas. Still a psychiatrist. Dad had said it would be a therapist, but a psychiatrist is a tad worse. A psychiatrist has a say in the treatment, a say in the administration of medication, let’s not talk about forced therapy. So I really wasn’t going to do this. How could my father do that? He knew I was friends with Eva and Bas. He went to replace someone else, and this time a real therapist. I grabbed my coat and bag and walked to the exit. At the same moment the door opened behind me. “You must be Julia,” said a friendly voice behind me.

I turned and I looked at a beautiful woman in her forties. She had the same black hair as Eva and Bas. She had beautiful curls that fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were large and reliable, unlike those of Eva and Bas. They both had those happy twinkle eyes. They must have got it from their father. No, I could tell exactly who had her eyes, Daan. He had the same big and reliable eyes.

She wore a gray pencil dress, which showed off her slim figure. She still held the door of her office open expectantly. Reluctantly, I walked over to her and shook her hand. “Good afternoon, I’m Julia Lelieveld.” I had always learned to introduce myself properly to someone. She shook my hand with a firm handshake. “I’m Hannah Rondebal, come on.” And she gestured her hand toward the office. I walked into a spacious and bright office. It had the same atmosphere as the waiting area. Homely and calm. The wall opposite the door consisted almost entirely of windows. You looked out on a very beautiful courtyard garden. On the right wall, right next to me, was a large bookcase, which was completely filled. In front of me was a comfortable sofa and a large lounge chair. To the left of the office was a large wooden desk. Several diplomas hung framed behind the desk. Hannah gestured to the couch for me to take a seat. She herself sat down in the large recliner. She clasped her hands together and rested them on her lap. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Julia,” she said in a friendly tone. I wondered if she had heard much from my father or from Eva and Bas. “You are the mother of Eva and Bas?” I asked her. Although I was almost certain, I needed confirmation. She nodded, causing her curls to dance on her shoulders for a moment. “Yes, that’s right. You get on well with them, don’t you?”

It was weird meeting your friends’ mother like that.

I promised myself to be honest. There was no point in lying. This was a fresh start, and there are no lies, especially to a psychiatrist. Maybe I won’t tell her everything right away, but that’s something else. “Yes, they are very nice. I’m glad I know them.”

She nodded briefly. In front of her lay a black leather folder with a notepad in it. She picked it up and started writing. I always found that so annoying. As if she had learned something immediately from this reaction. I always felt like I was walking on eggshells. What would she write now? Something negative or something positive? It made me insecure, I hated that.

I knew she had a professional secrecy and that what we discussed here will really stay between us. But I didn’t really feel comfortable with it. I knew I would meet her at home with Eva and Bas. I think there will always be a different atmosphere between us than I would not be in therapy with her.

“What are you thinking of?”

Geez, that was straight forward. They often started with some general questions, to get to know each other a bit. But Hannah didn’t, she jumped right in the middle. Probably a method of psychiatrists. I still couldn’t believe I was seeing a psychiatrist.

“That it will be strange if I see you at your house.” I shrugged and looked at her.

“You know what we’re discussing here will stay between us.” I nodded. “Yes I know.”

“Do you know why you’re here?”

I looked at her questioningly. This was such a trick question. She’d already discussed everything with my father, of course, and she’d probably seen my old files, too.

“I had a fight with my father yesterday.”

“I did talk to your father about that, but do you know why he called me?”

She was at the ready with pen and paper, probably expecting me to say something special.

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me about it.”

“What doesn’t he want to talk about?”

“About the fight.” I kept it short and sweet. I didn’t feel like revealing my soul and happiness openly. It probably will, because I believe she is good at her job.

“What was the argument about?”

I looked at her questioningly. “Didn’t my father already tell you that?”

“I’d like to hear from you.”

I looked at my hands for a moment. I closed my right hand around my left wrist, it still hurts. Gosh, what a day that was yesterday. Actually, I should have told her everything about what had happened. She would probably better understand the reason for the fight, but I didn’t feel like going back and going over everything again. It was no secret, because Eva and Bas knew the whole story. Well, almost the whole story. Just like Luke.

“I was mad at my father about his work.”

She nodded again and wrote something down. “I understood from your father that something else came up in the quarrel?”

“If you already know, why do I have to tell you everything again?” I said, a bit angry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at all. It wasn’t much, but still a little, so that it was audible. I found that I was still mad at my father. That he didn’t want to talk to me. She immediately hit the nail on the head. I was sitting here because of my confession that I thought every day about Mom’s death, not specifically because of the fight I had with Dad.

“Because I’d like to hear it from you, why don’t you tell me what else was discussed during the fight.”

“I don’t feel like talking about that now. You probably know what was discussed, my father will have told you about it. And otherwise you must have read it in the old files.” I was in less than ten minutes and I was already done. It was harder than I thought. I didn’t want to talk about my mother or the accident at all. It hurts so much to think about it, let alone talk about it.

“Look Julia. I always try to start with a clean slate. I will be honest with you. I heard from your father that something happened in the past that you are still having a very hard time dealing with. I have your old files here in the office, but I haven’t read them yet. I would like to start with you from the beginning. Prejudice has no place here. This is what I know and from where I want to continue working with you.” She looked at me with a sweet open smile. I thought about my own mother. She had such a beautiful smile, I couldn’t argue with her. We were very much alike. This was Eva and Bas their mother and my psychiatrist. I’d better do my best so this won’t repeat itself too often. I took a deep breath in and out a few times. Somehow I felt obliged to Eva and Bas to behave well and to be honest. Most importantly, of course, was to be honest with myself. I knew full well that I had to do my best here. I’m far from over it. Everything reminded me that Mama was gone. I couldn’t even watch a scary movie anymore. I was hampered by everything. Maybe Hannah could help me out. Let me function normally again. And I was sure that if I did my best here, Hannah would too. And that it will really pay off. But it was just so hard. I really have to make the best of it, I just have to.

I nodded. “It’s just hard for me to talk about it.”

I shrugged and looked at her.

“Then we’ll try to work on that.” She wrote something down again and looked at me again. “I know your father wants us to talk about what happened during the fight, but do you want to talk about something else first?”

I understood where she wanted to go. That we would talk about something else first, so that we could get to know each other better. Before we started discussing Mama’s death.

“I replace it annoying that my father doesn’t want to talk to me about the fight. I have the feeling he’s avoiding me.”

The rest of the session we talked about my relationship with my father. I had to admit it was a bit of a relief. Even though Hannah said she didn’t know what had happened, she gave reasons from my father’s point of view as to why he might be behaving this way. We agreed again for next Thursday at four o’clock.

My father was not home that evening. He arrived just as I was about to eat. It was nice that he was finally home with dinner. He asked me how it was at school and in therapy. I told him that we mainly talked about him. He found that quite surprising to see his reaction. I did tell him that it might be a good idea to talk to someone again. He seemed to agree with me. The quarrel was no longer discussed. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. After this afternoon I also tried to reason from his point of view. It wasn’t easy for him either. He had nearly lost his wife and also his daughter to his work. Of course he felt very guilty. He took the blame, which must have been a huge burden. I had told him more than once that he couldn’t do anything about it. That he shouldn’t torture himself with this thought anymore, but it didn’t help. He kept blaming himself. I knew he also had conversations through his work, but I don’t think they really worked. We spent the rest of the evening watching TV together and talking about school. He was even curious about my friends. I told him about Eva and Bas. I also mentioned Lucas. Of course as a real detective he also noticed that my bike was not there last night. I told him I got a ride from Lucas. He was also curious about my wrist. I had explained to him that I had slipped in the gym, I had concealed the incident with Sandra. He didn’t need to know that I was facing Mama’s death and his many works. It remained superficial, but I still enjoyed talking to him about these kinds of things. I missed my mother so much with things like this. We could talk about anything. I decided to go to bed early that night to catch up on some sleep.