Chapter 39: Therapy

May 25th, 1978

I wasn’t sure what to expect. Bethany and her mom arrived at 3:30pm as promised and we drove to a small medical office building on Route 28. The therapist was on the second floor. We went up and sat in the waiting room. Bethany’s mom would wait for us. That didn’t surprise me at all.

The receptionist invited Bethany in, then asked me for the permission note that Dad had signed. When I’d arrived home from Bethany’s I decided to approach Dad first. I thought Mom would have freaked out at my dating a messed up girl, and would practically accuse me of trying to set her up. Dad was being more reasonable, so I got him to sign the permission note Bethany had given me.

I was asked to wait and they would call me. I picked up and thumbed through a brochure for the therapist. She focused on victims of rape, incest, child abuse, and the like. She only took patients who were under 25. The fact that she could make a practice on such a narrow patient base opened my eyes to something I had no idea existed. This was way more common than I knew. I had no idea that this kind of thing was that widespread. It was hard for me to fathom.

About ten minutes after Bethany had gone in, I was ushered into the room. The therapist, Doctor Fran Mercer looked to be about thirty-five, and seemed very friendly. She had me sit in a chair next to the one Bethany was in.

“Steve, Bethany tells me she told you about what happened to her. Do you have any questions for me before we start?”

“Only to know how I can help her.”

“That is the question, isn’t it? It’s really the only question, but a lot of boyfriends ask questions.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I understand that you and Bethany are just friends. Usually, the partners that girls bring in already have an established relationship. It’s not often I see a fifteen-year-old in your situation.”

“That’s OK. I’m just super confused and want to know how to help Bethany.”

“Will you answer some questions for me?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“I’m going to ask Bethany to leave for a bit. I want to make sure I get honest answers, not ones that are designed not to hurt her, OK? Trust me; you could say something totally innocent that could affect her in ways you can’t imagine.”

“OK.”

“OK, Bethany?”

“Yes,” she said and went to the waiting room.

“Steve, why are you here today?”

“Bethany asked me to come. And I want to learn how to help her. A friend of mine warned me about how, uhm, volatile, I guess, this situation could be.”

“Your friend is right. Let me guess, an adult woman?”

“Yes.”

“And she had some kind of trauma in her life?”

“Yes. Her husband was killed in Vietnam shortly after they married.”

Doctor Mercer nodded knowingly, and I wondered if she knew Jennie.

“She’s right, you know,” Doctor Mercer said. “Being the friend, or more, of a rape victim, is difficult. I asked if you knew why you were here. You gave me an answer, but it’s only a partial answer.”

This was sounding like Melanie. Maybe this is what Melanie ought to be doing. I quickly dismissed the stray thought.

“I guess it’s because I’ve taken Bethany on a couple of dates and I guess she likes me. And she’s afraid of liking a guy and getting close to him.”

“Very good. She and I talked about you. She does like you, very much. She told me a few things, but I want to ask you myself, OK?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to answer, but the more you tell me the more I can help her. And the more I can help you help her.”

“OK.”

“I get the idea that you have been sexually active.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“About a year now.”

“Was it just one or two instances? Or something more regular?”

“More regular.”

“And there has been more than one girl?”

“Yes.”

“OK. I don’t need more details than that. You know, of course, that any kind of intimacy is going to be hard for Bethany. Even a kiss.”

“My friend told me that, yes. I’ve done nothing even like that with Bethany. I didn’t even think about it.”

“Slow down, that wasn’t meant to accuse you. Sorry. But she did slow dance with you, right? And kiss your cheek? And then hold your hand on a walk?”

“Yes. That’s all true. Though she was nervous about it every time. She was shaking. And as for the hand-holding, she dropped my hand when we got in sight of her house.”

“Yes, she was nervous, or more accurately, frightened. Just like she was at the dance. You danced at arm’s length the whole night, except for the last dance, right?”

“Yes.”

“Changing topics - Why did you ask her brother to go on your date?”

“To make her parents comfortable. I could tell they were evaluating me. Her dad looked very concerned, though her mom was more, I don’t know, calm, I guess, about it.”

“That’s pretty perceptive. Back to the dance. Tell me what you thought when you first saw her. Just whatever popped into your mind.”

“Well, I thought she was beautiful.”

“Have you noticed how she dresses?”

“Yes. Other than her hands and face, she shows no skin at all. Well, except when she wears her cheerleading uniform.”

“Dressing ultra-conservatively is one way people respond to sexual trauma. As for cheerleading, that is something of an enigma with her.”

“OK. So I guess inviting her to swim at my house isn’t a good idea.”

“You can invite her. In fact, you should. But expect her to say ‘no’. And don’t take it as a rejection of you. Ask again in the future. It’ll be a big step for her. Last question before we bring her back in. What do you want from her? Honestly?”

“A friend.”

“Not sex?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s a possibility at this point. Nor any time soon.”

“That’s a fair answer. But, could you see her as your girlfriend? Do you think about her that way? It’s important to tell me.”

“She’s a pretty, desirable teenage girl. So yeah, I think about her that way.”

“What about the fact that she was raped?”

“Well, I didn’t do it, and it’s not like she asked for it to happen or encouraged it or anything. It’s not like it somehow, I don’t know, makes her dirty or anything.”