• Willow Gray closed her eyes to remember.

    I see a…a man. He’s young, only twenty-five. He carries a briefcase. He’s wearing dark jeans and a dirt brown corduroy blazer with a white tee shirt underneath. His briefcase is old and torn at the edges. Papers peek out the edges. His hair falls in his face and is untidy. He has bright green eyes and a kind smile. I feel excited. Like a puppy. I want to burst from my skin and start licking his face. But that would’ve been silly. I couldn’t come off like a stray dog. He wouldn’t want me. I stand shyly in front of him. I don’t know how to act. All I want to do is wag my tail.

    I look back at my foster mother. She smiles at me. She’s thin, fragile and old looking. There’s a boy standing behind her. He stands with his hands in his pockets. He looks pissed. I look back to the man standing in front of me.

    The man knelt down to my level. He just gazed into my face for a second. He said I was a beautiful little girl, that I looked like a princess. He told me that he needed a daughter for his wife, who is a queen.

    I was four. I felt giddy.

    He told me that his wife couldn’t make a princess of her own, so they were going to adopt a little girl to wear the crown.

    Willow. He said. I want you to be my princess. But only if you want to.

    I was four. I wanted to be a princess.

    I look back to the boy again, as if asking his permission. I said I couldn’t leave without him. I told him he was my best friend. I told him I couldn’t leave without my brother…

    Willow opened her eyes abruptly, only to have the bright fluorescent light beside her blind her vision. She squinted, her hazel eyes barely visible to the woman with the clipboard, who was sitting in a brown pleather armchair across the room. Next to her was a messy desk, atop which, were notes and memos thrown carelessly about, picture frames that undoubtedly held family photos, and a bronze trimmed name plate that had the words Dr. Stella Miller etched on a black plastic insert.

    Doctor Miller looked intently at her awakening patient, who was staring now at the bookshelf near the entrance to the room. The bookshelf was shelter to stuffed animals, several classic novels, and almost every board game Willow had grown up playing.

    “Willow, do you have a brother?”

    “He couldn’t take my brother. That’s what he said to me. I threw a fit.”

    “You have a brother?” asked Dr. Miller curiously.

    Willow looked confused. She closed her eyes again and tried to remember, but she couldn’t.

    “******** hell. I dunno. I don’t remember him. I was only five.”

    “Will, I think we have made a huge breakthrough today. You may have just stumbled upon something very important.”

    “You think?” spat Will sarcastically. “What do I do? I have a brother?”

    “Maybe. This boy might also have been a very close friend – a protector, maybe – someone who you called brother because he kept you safe, like an older sibling. Your records do show that you were taken from a small gang of street children. It does not say anything about another child, however. I think that if he were your brother, it would show in your records.”

    “He was older…I think…but what if he is my brother? What if the records just don’t show it?”
    “It is a possibility. Will, if you believe this is something you wish to pursue, I think that you should. It might be revealing to you.”

    Willow looked at her psychiatrist. Her face held a vacant expression, though a million thoughts raced through her mind.

    “Our session is nearing an end. This is a matter that will take some time for you to think about. Take the week to think it over and we can discuss this further.”

    Willow looked away, back toward the door.

    “Bad time for the session to end. You make me remember something huge like that and then kick me out.”

    “Well we would have practiced the hypnosis exercise earlier if it weren’t for your incessant chatter earlier,” responded Dr. Miller with a grin. “Remember that hypnosis is not meant for you to recall memories, and anything recovered from a hypnotic experience can be extremely distorted from the truth.”

    “It’s real. I’ve had this memory before, just not that clear. But I remember my father standing there on the day of my adoption. I remember exactly what he was wearing that day. I remember his untidy hair. I can even recall the smell of the cologne he was wearing. There has to be some legitimacy to it. That boy…he’s got to be real.”

    “I believe you, Will. As I said, this shall take some time for you to think over.”

    “Right,” said Willow, quickly standing from her seat and grabbing the purse she had next to the therapy sofa. “Well, um, can you write me those prescriptions.”

    “Of course!” Dr. Miller stood from her chair and walked behind her desk. She quickly exchanged the clipboard she held in her hands with a small pad of prescription papers. She quickly filled one out and handed it to me. “There you go.”

    “Thank you,” said Will, snatching the paper and stuffing it inside her purse. “I’ll see you next week, then, Dr. Miller.”

    “Yes, yes, of course. You have a good week.”

    Willow exited the room and entered into a dimly lit hall with maroon carpeting and striped gold wallpaper. Looking to her left and then to her right, as if she were crossing the street, Will pivoted on her heal and began walking down the path to her right. She followed it out into a lobby room. Her red stiletto shoes clicked on the floor as she entered onto the marble floor. She smiled at the familiar sound, which seemed to grant her an air of self-confidence and power. She walked up to a clerk window near the door to set another appointment for the following week and pay for the day.

    When she was finished, she pulled out her phone. Two missed calls. One from Thomas, and one from her father. Taking one last sweeping look through the shrink office, Will grabbed a pair of sunglasses from her purse and strutted out of the building.

    Once inside her car, she took out her phone and dialed a number.

    It rang twice before a deep voice greeted her ear.

    “Hey Thomas.”

    “Hey baby, whatchu doin’.”

    “Just getting out of a session,” Willow responded, now fumbling around in her purse for a cigarette and lighter. “If I can ever find these goddamn cigarettes in my bottomless pit of a purse, I’ll be on my way to the drug store.”

    “Gettin’ a new script?” asked Thomas.

    “Yup, two actually – found ‘em!” Willow exclaimed, pulling red pack from her bag. In quick succession, she quickly pushed in the electronic cigarette lighter, started her car, and rolled down the window.

    “Great, that’s actually what I was calling for – I have this huge paper due Monday so I need some addies for the weekend.”

    “Of course that’s what you’re calling for,” said Willow sarcastically, taking a drag on her now lit cigarette. “Just come over in about an hour. I’ll give ya some for free.”

    “You’re the best, girl!” said Thomas, making a kissing sound in the phone. “See you soon.”

    “Yup,” said Willow dully, ending her call with her friend.