Amanda Should Have Died –A Novel by Gar Roper –
Chapter 1 - Amanda
“I’m not going to say anything with him here. Get my father the fuck out of here.” With that unexpected and vehement outburst my relationship with Amanda began just minutes into our first therapy session.
I’m normally accustomed to teen aged girls refusing to speak when they come in for their first session with me. At the start of the hour Amanda sat in typical muteness, her arms crossed across her jacket, which she had refused to take off. Her father sat uncomfortably next to her on the sofa, while I sat in the old leather chair by my desk. I had just concluded my remarks offered in my best avuncular therapist voice… “We are here to set a safe place where feelings can be expressed…No judgments…everything stays here in complete confidence…etc.” I did not follow with a direct question, but simply allowed a few moments of silence. My technique involved watching to see who would speak first, and how would they begin. Often the first remark defines the problem, or at least the starting of what isn’t working. But at this point no one had spoken. The room was, nevertheless filled with tension and the scent of nervous perspiration..
I looked at Amanda and her father to take in the external clues of body language and facial expression. Mr. McLaughlin was solid built and apparently in good physical shape. About 45 year old, I would have judged, he dressed like a workman – contractor, perhaps. He kept his eyes down, giving the appearance of sadness or guilt. His hands were placed awkwardly on his knees.
Amber, his daughter whom I had noted from the intake sheet had just turned 16, sat forward on the edge of the couch. Her dark red hair was accentuated with a blaze of purple die. Her eye brow was pierced with a vicious looking pointed stud. Her nostril was pierced by a round stud, her lip by two rings.
But what stood out along with her pretty injured face, was the way she was dressed. She wore black fishnet stockings, and a very short black skirt of a crepe material. Her body was squeezed into a tight leotard. Around her neck she had a chartreuse scarf wrapped twice around and hanging long down to her waist. Over the leotard she wore a black leather jacket – an expensive one I thought. Amanda’s mouth was set in a tight expression and she glared straight ahead, not really looking at anything – her eyes unmoving, unblinking.
“ Would one of you like to tell me why you are here?” I opened with the standard question. And that’s when Amanda shouted her opening salvo out at me, her eyes now fixed directly on mine. . “Get him the fuck out of here!” The depth of the anger she put in her words is difficult to convey, but I could feel the impact of it in my gut. (continued.)
Chapter 2 – D.O.A.
The Emergency van had arrived two minutes before. Already the sense of hopelessness lodged itself down deep in the driver’s gut. The young girl’s near lifeless body had been put on board and the gurney secured. The driver climbed behind the wheel. Looking back he received the “go” signal from the EMT in the rear and he started to move the van slowly forward, four wheel drive in place to pull out of the rutted ground. Grabbing the mic, the driver reported in.
“Ambulance team 11, transporting now. Caucasian female, appears to be about 16 or 17 years old. No ID.” The radio transmitter crackled with rude static. “Victim is unconscious. Massive blood loss from wounds to the wrist. Barely detectable pulse, blood pressure falling.” The driver let out an involuntary groan, “I don’t think she’s gonna make it,” then realizing he was on the radio quickly he added, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
The driver thought he recognized the girl… He was sure he’d seen her before. Then the memory clicked in. Yes. He had stopped at a cross walk near the high school. He had seen her, but at first he thought she was a teacher. She walked with such a mature presence. And she walked alone, conspicuously alone between a big group of kids ahead, and a small group behind. But he realized then that she could not be a teacher. Her black silver studded clothes, chains, and piercings didn’t fit. Her red hair with the broad blaze of purple was unforgettable. This was the same girl that now lay on a gurney in such grave condition. He recognized her but he did not know who she was. He remembered mainly that this girl looked so different from his own high school daughter. His mind pulled away from the memory with an instinctive avoidance.
As often as the driver has dealt with injured and dying patients, he is nevertheless overwhelmed by this night’s experience. He and his partner were dispatched by 911 to attend an injured girl. A police officer had already placed his cruiser with lights flashing to mark the trail in the wooded area where she lay. The driver came to the young victim lying next to a smoldering camp fire. Blood from her wrists had soaked into the dry ground and it was difficult to tell how much blood she had lost. She was nearly naked, and looked grotesquely twisted as she lay there - too young, too alone, too pretty, and too close to death. (continued)
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