help from anyone

137 Pages·2013·0.78 MB·English

by  Leslie Santikian

ABSTRACT
HELP FROM ANYONE
As people, we struggle to separate one truth from another. We live in dual
realities, daily, weighing what may be happening against what feels like is
happening, and discovering—women and men—that emotional reality helps us
more than “factual” reality ever can. It’s our creation; it’s our guard against pain
and disappointment. In my eight-story collection, Help From Anyone, I explore
characters who choose versions of their lives, and the people in them, depending
on what they want most from both. My characters have to decide whether they’d
rather accept “actual” reality (what “is” real) or emotional reality (what feels real)
as truth, and the choice, most often goes to what feels real. People, I’ve found,
would rather choose idealization over fact, because it gives them control over what
happens to them. More importantly, it makes them feel better. It soothes them,
even in small ways. Whether my characters are a delusional bookstore employee
who dreams of being a social worker, an Armenian man with three identities and
one girl to impress, or an alcoholic lounge singer singing towards nothing, being
able to choose parts of a reality that allows them to get what they want, whatever
that may be, comforts them. They can be neurotic, in denial, or, sometimes,
clearheaded—it doesn’t change the relief emotional reality gives them when they
want love, but love’s not there; when they want to forget about death; when they
want to belong, anywhere, and to anyone who’ll have them.
Leslie Santikian
May 2013

HELP FROM ANYONE

by

Leslie Santikian

A thesis
submitted in partial
fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of
Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing
in the College of Arts and Humanities
California State University, Fresno
May 2013
APPROVED
For the Department of English:

We, the undersigned, certify that the thesis of the following student
meets the required standards of scholarship, format, and style of the
university and the student's graduate degree program for the
awarding of the master's degree.

Leslie Santikian
Thesis Author

Randa Jarrar (Chair) English

Alex Espinoza English

Tim Skeen English

For the University Graduate Committee:

Dean, Division of Graduate Studies
AUTHORIZATION FOR REPRODUCTION
OF MASTER’S THESIS

I grant permission for the reproduction of this thesis in part or in
its entirety without further authorization from me, on the
condition that the person or agency requesting reproduction
absorbs the cost and provides proper acknowledgment of
authorship.

X Permission to reproduce this thesis in part or in its entirety must
be obtained from me.

Signature of thesis author:
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For my family, especially Mom, Dad, Stephanie, and Kimberly, my friends
(who can relate), and all those people who’ve supported me and made me think.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
SPEAKING IN SESSIONS ...................................................................................... 1
THE INVASION .................................................................................................... 18
GETTING FAMILIAR .......................................................................................... 41
HELP FROM ANYONE ........................................................................................ 57
FINELY-TUNED ................................................................................................... 69
THE TWELFTH MAN .......................................................................................... 85
AN OLD-FASHIONED VOICE .......................................................................... 105
LIMITING HAPPINESS ..................................................................................... 116
SPEAKING IN SESSIONS
Her reason for coming to a therapist was simple, like a child’s. Her parents’
marriage was ending. Lisa was 22, and even at this age where she could drink, or
date all the wrong people and forget this, she couldn’t stop crying. And not brave,
elegant tears, but ugly sobs, the kind that made her sound like she was having a
panic attack. She was even distracted at Gap Kids, where she folded tiny overalls
and bathing suits five days a week. And it was all because she’d thought what
every daughter must think of her parents: that they loved each other and their
relationship wouldn’t change because of what they meant to her. She had no
siblings, no close friends, but she loved her parents.
The morning her dad moved into the guest bedroom, her mom stayed at the
breakfast table. Her mom didn’t flinch when the door shut and her dad didn’t
come back down to drink coffee. That was the moment Lisa knew her parents
wouldn’t stay married for long. At least, that’s what she told her psychologist.
“Hi, Lisa. Sit down.”
“Thanks,” said Lisa. Lynn, her psychologist, began all their sessions by
inviting Lisa to sit and be comfortable. Never “How are you doing?” or “I like
your skirt,” but “Sit down.” It made Lisa feel like a dog in training, which was
oddly comforting. She didn’t have to think. She sat down on the couch as blue as
Lynn’s unflinching eyes.
“How are you feeling today?” asked Lynn.
“Okay.”
“Do you want to continue with what we discussed last Thursday?”
“I guess we have to.” Lisa laughed. There was no reason why she couldn’t
lighten the mood. She’d known Lynn for two months, now.
2 2
“We don’t have to do anything. We can just talk.”
“But then where’s my progress?”
Now Lynn laughed. “You’ve been listening to me.”
Lynn had brown hair, glasses, and what seemed to be a revolving collection
of ugly black heels, which did nothing for her ankles or legs (she was always in
pants anyway, so Lisa guessed it didn’t matter). Lisa had been seeing her for a few
weeks. She paid for the $50 an hour sessions with paychecks from work. Her
parents knew about it, and offered to go to a family session with her, to make Lisa
feel better about the divorce. They set a day for later this week.
Lisa hadn’t been to a psychologist before. She glanced at Lynn’s diploma,
shiny with gold stickers, on the wall, which was artificial-sweetener white and hurt
her head if she looked too long. She was scared of what Lynn would tell her, and
what she’d make her say about herself. Everything scared her, basically, at this
point. It was simple to talk, but hard to listen to herself, in her head or out loud,
talk about how her parents’ divorce made her feel.
Lynn was waiting for her to continue, notebook in her hands. From here,
Lisa could see her dark maroon nail polish. She hadn’t expected maroon, for
whatever reason; it felt deviant, an elegant and subversive shade gleaming from
Lynn’s fingers like a cat’s eyes in the dark. It made her a little uncomfortable. Lisa
looked back down at her cuticles.
“I talked to my parents today,” she said. “They want to come on
Wednesday.”
“In two days. That’s great.” Lynn’s voice raised an octave, a slight
shimmering sound.
Lisa nodded.
3 3
“How do you feel about talking with them about what we’ve been
discussing?”
“I’m okay with it.” She knew this wasn’t what Lynn probably wanted to
hear. “I’m accepting it,” she said. She wasn’t sure if that was any better, especially
since it wasn’t true. She hated the idea of her parents being in the session with her,
listening to her talk about how she felt and what she thought. They’d even chime
in, at some point, and share their side of the situation, and that wouldn’t be easy,
either—parents weren’t people. She didn’t want to accept their weaknesses and
admit their humanity. It would hurt too much. But she couldn’t tell Lynn that, not
yet.
Instead, Lisa looked at Lynn’s face. She was patient, Lisa gave her that. Her
legs crossed in their slacks, hands and notebook resting on her waist. It’s like she
was using no effort at all, sitting there waiting for Lisa to talk. Like she could do
this all day. She couldn’t be more than 30, Lisa thought, eight years older than her.
It was weird.
She cleared her throat. “It’s hard to know what to say, now, that I haven’t
said before. I don’t want my parents to know I’m upset.” She felt tears build up
behind her eyes, and swallowed; she could keep it together in front of Lynn. “I’m
tired of knowing that everything that seemed true isn’t anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Parents go together, when you’re a kid. There’s no question. One without
the other would be—weird because they’re a boxed set.”
“Like salt and pepper shakers?”
“Yeah, I guess. Things that go together.”