Kaleidoscope Read Online Free PDF Page B

confused.
    Ms. Orowitz's face squinted into a smile. “Well of course! It's great to know that you're getting into some hobbies in your free time...and art is a great means of self-expression. I myself dabbled a bit in bead-making when I was in college. It was a very fun and creative experience!”
    I just couldn't bring myself to care, but I pretended nonetheless. “Making beads...sounds interesting. I'm more of a painter myself.”
    “Oh, I never was a very good painter, Jade. I can't even draw a stick figure!”
    “A lot of people have told me that, actually.”
    “Well, it takes quite a bit of talent, and a special kind of it too.” The therapist smiled, adjusting a poof of her curly auburn hair, reigned in today by a green headband that made me think of Christmas.
    There was an awkward silence as I fidgeted with my fingernails. I could hear the clock ticking in my ears, threatening me in the relative silence. When I was in this room specifically, it always seemed as though there was a spotlight on me, and every object in the room was waiting for me to reveal my thoughts. I often kept them waiting a long time.
    The clock continued ticking along, and I felt compelled to say something. “Mom thinks that I should take a painting class down at the rec center. I told her that I wasn't sure because it might interfere with our sessions or something.”
    It was as if a lightbulb blinked on behind Ms. Orowitz's eyes—they filled with a warmth that, although genuine, also seemed cunning, almost as if whatever blessed advice she was about to give me was coming from a product of her own ingenious ideas, and not my mother's suggestion.
    “A painting class? Jade, that is an absolutely fantastic idea!” Her hands clasped together as she rejoiced in the thought. “I truly believe that socializing with a few people your own age would be wonderfully healing for you! Especially if they're people that you already have a common interest with. It will also open you up to the possibilities of what you can achieve as we continue working through your illness. I think it'll be a great motivation tool!”
    I wasn't at all surprised that she'd been receptive to this idea. To be honest, I'd hoped that maybe she'd be more cautionary and give me a reason not to go. Painting was wonderful and all, but socializing and making friends was never my strong suit. But, if I hadn't really wanted to go, why would I have even mentioned the idea to her, of my own volition? Ugh, now I was analyzing myself. Wasn't that her job?
    “Honestly,” I ventured as a solution to my inner quarrel, “I don't know that I want to go.”
    The therapist calmed down, folding her hands neatly in her lap and crossing her legs, which was no delicate task with the size of her rump, especially in the long, evergreen-colored corduroy skirt that she wore to coordinate with her headband. She adjusted her glasses and smiled knowingly at me. What did she know, anyway?
    “Oh? But it sounds like so much fun! Why wouldn't you want to go?”
    I hated the way that she phrased it, as if there was something wrong with me for not wanting to go. “I don't know...you're the therapist.” I smirked.
    Ms. Orowitz leaned forward, her hands lost temporarily in the folds of her oversized, cream-colored sweater. “Darling, I can't tell you why you would or wouldn't want to do something. But, I can venture a few guesses?” She paused, looking for confirmation to go ahead with her little scientific theories of my personality. I shrugged,  beckoning her on.
    “Well, it could be that you're insecure in yourself or your talents...but of course, painting is something that comes from the imagination and is based on one's perception of the world around them. There is no right or wrong when it comes to that kind of self-expression. Perhaps you're self-conscious of people judging you and your ideas as harshly as you judge yourself...which I can assure you dear, you are your own worst critic in