Page 67 of Just Business

I’m quiet, so Ben continues. “Have you ever heard of neural pathways?”

I shake my head and he puts up one finger for me to wait. He leaves the screen and returns seconds later holding a diagram.

“Okay, before we’re even born, we immediately start forming these pathways in our brain. Essentially, the brain makes connections and eventually those connections become a habit. And that’s the path your brain then wants to take each time. Think of it like this. For years you’ve taken the exact same road home every day, and suddenly you move to the other side of town but your muscle memory still tries to take you to that old house until you form a new habit of going down the new road.”

Ben looks at me and I nod, so he continues. “So imagine your brain has a million paths that you’ve taken throughout your life. Each one has formed when you’ve responded to certain stimuli in the same way over and over. Over time, your brain has recognized that as the ‘correct’ response. It’s possible to form new paths and react differently, but I won’t lie to you, it’s hard work and takes a lot of time. Are you up for it?”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why not? It’s worth a shot.”

“Off the top of your head, what negative paths come to mind that you’d like to work on?”

“When things feel like they’re too much, my first instinct is to drink. I hate how I feel when I’m hungover. I hate the lightheaded feeling and the huge stretches of time I have no memories of. And I hate how everyone looks at me when they know I’m hungover.”

Ben nods his head. “This is good. Do you have another?”

I consider his question for a moment. “I wanna feel like I deserve it when good things happen to me. I’m tired of letting my dad’s words dictate my life.”

“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Like I said, this is easier said than done, but for the next week, until we meet again, I want you to give this exercise a try. All right?”

I nod for him to go on.

“I want you to work on reframing these thoughts.”

I scoff at his words, and his lips twitch into that half smile again.

“Give it a try. One week. Instead of thinking you don’t deserve good things, I want you to try reframing it. Try very hard to think of yourself the way you do for your family. Put yourself in that scenario, like you’re on the outside looking in. Austin is part of that family, too, and he’s been through a lot more than anyone else in that unit. He deserves the good things in life, just like the rest of them. Try to extend to him the same care you give to those you love.”

“You know this sounds like some pseudoscience bullshit, right?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I sound like an ass, but he doesn’t flinch at my insult. In fact, his lip twitches ever so slightly.

“One week, okay? Give it one week and we’ll meet again to talk about what worked and what didn’t. You’re not going to get it right immediately. The formal diagnosis for what you’ve experienced is Complex PTSD. Healing takes hard work and time. One of the key things we need to focus on is forming new pathways in your brain. So, for one week, try to pretend you’re on the outside looking in. It might help to journal or make a list of ways you can reframe some of your negative thought processes. Then try putting them to practice. Also, I want you to give some serious thought to AA. Attendance will go a long way toward healing. I think between that and our sessions, you can see a path toward a healthier version of yourself. Will you think about it?”

I give a curt nod, and Ben looks down at his watch and back up at me. “We’re almost out of time. Is there anything else you want to discuss or have you had enough for one session?”

“No offense, but I think I’ve had enough for today.”

“No offense taken. This is hard work. You should be proud of yourself for taking this step, though. Do you want to go ahead and schedule for next week?”

I let out a huff of air. “Sure, why not.”

Once we’ve set up my next appointment, I sign off with a million thoughts running through my mind. Alcoholics Anonymous? That feels like a bigger step than even therapy. The whole idea unnerves me. The thought of sitting in a circle with total strangers, admitting I’ve got some issues.

I jump up and grab my guitar in hopes that the mindless act of running through strum patterns and riffs will calm me. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to feel the chords and vibration of the song, and all of sudden a melody floats to the surface of my mind. It’s usually the song lyrics that come first, but this time everything is backward. Grabbing a pen and paper, I start jotting down everything I can think of, but it’s just not happening.

I spend the next several hours working on the song with only a few lyrics to show for it, and even those aren’t very good. I’ve even tried changing up the chord patterns and adding different riffs to the melody I’m hearing, but the words elude me.

The lighting in the room is the first thing that alerts me to how much time has passed. My phone’s been on Do Not Disturb, so I’ve been well and truly unplugged from the world. When I check the time, a wave of guilt washes over me. Penny’s probably starving down at her studio. I’m sure she hasn’t taken the time to eat dinner.

Penn, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time.

Be right there with your dinner.

After placing a quick to-go order with Jackson, I slip on my shoes and head out, making it there in record time. Jackson has my order ready when I get there.

“Hey, man, thanks for this. No time to chat—I forgot to get dinner for Penny and I’ve gotta get this back to her,” I say, slapping two twenties on the bar. It’s more than enough for our meal, but I don’t have time to wait for change. Jackson doesn’t even have a chance to respond before I’m back outside, heading to the studio.

I’m turning the knob when I hear the first few notes of a slow melody playing. I freeze in my tracks, not wanting to interrupt what I’m witnessing.

Quietly, I peer through the glass window of the door. Penny is seated at the baby grand, her fingers moving delicately across the piano keys, long red hair hanging down her back.

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