Page 102 of Drop Three

Absolutely.

“Yes. I built a wall. It’s my own fault.” I seem to build a wall around everyone I care about.

“Do you think talking to her about how you feel would help mend that fence?”

“I think it’s worth trying.”

“I have to say, Bodhi, I’m impressed with your ability to open up. From my perspective, it seems you’re much harder on yourself than warranted. My advice for now would be to show yourself grace and see the things out of your control for what they are—uncontrollable. But that doesn’t make you at fault; it only puts you in a position to choose how you let it shape you.”

Damn.

Dr. Banks sounds a lot like Navy did the other night. I’ve been through enough in my life that it feels easiest to blame myself for it all. I’d much rather take the fall than Penelope or someone else I care about.

Maybe that makes me a fixer. I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, but I know I need to accept the things I can’t change and not let that reflect on the quality of my life.

I’d like Dr. Banks to reiterate that a little more.

“Can you give me an example? I understand what you mean, but again, it’s easier said than done.”

She nods, removing her glasses from her face and staring at me earnestly. “Let’s take the accident, for example. You were what, twenty-six?” Dr. Banks asks.

I nod.

“Although you were an adult, that’s still fairly young. Not to mention, the same season you unfortunately caught your mother having an affair and leaving your family. Not that drinking and driving is excusable, but I’d like to think Gwendolyn would see things the same. She was equally at fault; you just happened to be the one behind the wheel. From the amount of time we have worked together, I can gather enough to know you are a good person, Bodhi. You made a mistake. That doesn’t define you. I’m confident Gwendolyn believes that as well.”

Fuck. It hurts.

It hurts because as much as I blame myself, I know Dr. Banks is right. I wasn’t the only one drinking that night, but it’s easier to take all the blame on myself because of how badly Gwendolyn was hurt—at least what I imagine she went through.

She was my best friend and only drank with me because that’s what I asked of her as my friend. I had just found my mom in bed with my uncle, and I needed to numb the pain.

Gwendolyn didn’t ask questions—she did whatever it took for me to feel okay again.

Alcohol was the vice.

“Not gonna lie, this shit hurts, Doc. It’s like reliving it all over again.”

A smile from her creeps in. “You know what that’s called, Bodhi?”

I look to her for the answer.

“Progress. It’s called progress.”

* * *

Little P:Thirty minutes out. I gotta pee so bad.

Bodhi:There’s a toilet and Poo-pourri with your name on it.

Little P:PEE BODHI. I SAID PEE

Bodhi:It could change when you get in there.

Little P:aren’t you a delight

Bodhi:I try. Drive safe.

Little P:*middle finger emoji*

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