“How are you today, Logan?” Sharon, my shrink, asks me. My mother tells me not to call her that, but that's what she is, right? Always digging into my life through these weekly sessions of pure torture; trying to find the root of my problems and transform myself back into that cheerful boy I was at the age of ten. My mother is never even home, why does she still care what I look like? Isn't it acceptable to grow and change? Seven years that cheerful boy transformed into what I am now. What are they? Who am I? This is the question we all try to answer about ourselves. "As always; schools are a nuisance, parents are a nuisance.” I reply. “Did the exercises I gave you help with your anger issues?” "I wouldn't know, I haven't had a reason to use them yet." "Great Logan! These sessions must help, your mom will be thrilled. "Yes, I bet she would, but she wouldn't be if she knew I skipped school all week, which is why I have no anger. My father ran away from his problems, why is it so wrong to run away from mine? His problems mean me; my mother got pregnant when she was 18 and my father couldn't accept the responsibility of taking care of us. If he ever tries to reconnect, I swear he'll see the worst of my anger issues. Sharon's speech continues to drag on, blah, blah, blah. Finally I leave the room. I tell her I need to clear my head as I exit the building and sit on the steps looking out over the busy Manhattan street. “I'm happy to see I'm not the only messed up kid.” says a soft voice behind me. I turn to find the source of the words. My eyes slowly rise, processing what I see. In the corner is a five foot tall girl wearing combat boots, a black mini skirt with fish on it... in the center of a sheet of paper... Amanda nods at the oncoming train as it exits the station, you we're kidding. But what do I honestly have to lose? “Just follow my lead.” Amanda says as the train passes us; one cart passes, then ten carts, and finally 14 carts when Amanda says to run and jump onto the open cart. I grab the lower ledge and pull myself up with Amanda right next to me. I gasp as I stand up and look around. The sky is precisely in that phase of the night in which the sun has set, but it is still illuminated by the descending light. The wind ruffles my long hair around my face in ragged patterns. Another thing my mother hates about me, my hair. Amanda throws her hands in the air and yells "Leave all your problems behind Logan, this is our quiet place!" So I do, nothing can keep up with me now, my problems in Manhattan are long behind me; the school, the parents and my shrink. I'm free.
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