Don't Make Me Smile by Barbara Park Page A

take even longer to heal than broken bones. And that is our emotional part, Charlie. Our hurt, broken feelings.”
    I sighed. “No, you don’t get it, Dr. Girard,” I said. “It’s not just my
feelings
that are hurt. This is a lot worse than that. Hurt feelings happen when your father puts his chef’s hat on his hand instead of his head. I can get over stuff like that. I do it all the time.”
    Dr. Girard looked puzzled. But I didn’t feel like explaining the chef’s hat thing, so I kept on going.
    â€œMy parents are ruining my whole
life
,” I said. “It’s like they’ve wrecked every part of it. And nothing will ever be the same again.”
    â€œLike what?” asked Dr. Girard.
    â€œLike
everything
,” I said. “You ought to know. Like the three of us will never take a vacation together again. And on Christmas morning, it will only be Mom and me. And whenever I have something special to tell my dad, I’ll have to call him on the phone. Before, when I had something to tell him, I used to just listen for the sound of his truck pulling into the driveway after work. But I can’t do that anymore. Because he won’t be coming home anymore.”
    â€œIt doesn’t seem fair, does it, Charlie?” said Dr. Girard quietly. “You’re not the one who caused any of this, but you’re the one who’s feeling all the hurt.”
    Suddenly, I felt tears coming into my eyes. It’s embarrassing as anything to cry in front of strangers. I kept my head down so he couldn’t see.
    â€œDo you have a Kleenex?” I asked. “I think there’s something in my eye.”
    Dr. Girard handed me a whole box of tissues off his desk. I blew my nose.
    â€œI must be catching a cold,” I said.
    Finally, I looked up. “So how much time do you think it will take before I feel better?”
    â€œI won’t kid you, Charlie,” he said. “It’s notgoing to be quick. But there are certain things that you can do to help speed things along.”
    â€œLike what?” I asked.
    â€œLike telling your parents what you’re thinking, and not keeping your feelings all locked up inside of you like I did,” he said. “Keeping everything in only makes it hurt worse.”
    â€œYeah, well, like I told you before, I’ve already said some pretty mean stuff.”
    â€œI know. But remember,” he said, “there’s a big difference between ‘telling’ your feelings and ‘yelling’ your feelings. Eventually, you’re going to need to start talking to your parents more calmly about things, Charlie. Calmly, but
honestly.
”
    He stood up. “I’m here every day. Monday through Friday, plus most Saturdays. If you ever want to talk to me again, just give me a call and we’ll set it up. I mean it, okay? You can call me anytime.”
    He reached out to shake my hand. Whenever a grown-up shakes my hand, it always makes me self-conscious. I never know how hard I’m supposed to squeeze. If you squeeze too tight, a lot of grown-ups will make some dumb comment, like, “Wow, that’s quite a grip you’ve got there, tiger!” I hate it when they do that.
    Anyhow, this time I must have squeezed just right, because Dr. Girard didn’t comment at all.
    When I left the office, the secretary gave me a card with his number on it. I shoved it in my pocket.
    My father came over and put his arm around me. We walked outside to the truck.
    â€œSo how did it go?” he asked. “Are you still mad at me for bringing you?”
    At first, I wasn’t going to speak to him. But then I thought about what Dr. Girard had said about honesty.
    â€œI think it was really rotten for you to bring me here without telling me, Dad” I said. “At least you could have been
honest
about it. I thought you were taking me out to breakfast.”
    My father knew I was right.