I used to think New York was this huge place. A large slab of land people happen to develop on because it was so close to the ocean. But after being here a few weeks I see that it's more than that. It's not just a huge place, it's also a whole swarm of smaller places interconnected by a subway system I am just NOW figuring out. There's Uptown, Midtown, Downtown Queens, The Village...and Hillwood. Some small section of Brooklyn that my new therapist just happens to live in.

I gotta laugh, ya know? All those years I heard Brenda and Nate talk about how stupid therapy can be, and here I am...walking up the stairs of an old house to meet Dr. Shortman. I still can't even imagine why the FUCK I'm here. I mean...what am I really going to get out of this anyway? Some happy explanation of why Dad died, why my brother Nate died...why no matter what I fucking DO I'm surrounded by death? Two seconds after I move into my place and BAM, some guy croaks in the apartment under me. How does that even happen? I know this is New York, but come on!

"Mrs. Fisher?"

"Hm?" I look up and see him. He's tall, blond, and well dressed...though his head looks a little too wide. Kinda like a football. I try not to laugh at it, a giggle escaping. "Sorry, um...it's just Miss Fisher. Uh, Clair."

"My mistake. Shall we? My office is this way, up the drop down stares."

"Isn't that kind of an oxymoron? Up the drop down stares." He gives a faint smile.

"I never thought of it that way Clair. But I guess it is." He pulls them down and starts climbing. I follow, glad I'm not wearing any heals.

"Sorry for all the mess, my office is kind of in transition right now." He says. I poke my head out of the door and love his office instantly. The way the sun's ray shine through the open skylight, the funky neon carpeting, and the zillions of little cubby holes by his bed. Wait, what's a bed doing in here? And what's that smell? It's like old blood and booze. What of shrink is he?

"Please, take a seat," he motions with his hands at the two chairs facing opposite each other. We sit.

"So tell me, why did Miss Claire Fisher decide to come here today?"

"I...um..." I keeping looking at his head, mesmerized by the shape of it. It looks too wide to be real, and his eyes..sunken in like he's a grillion years old, though I know he can't be more than mid-twenties. He looks like he's got stories, and I really wished I brought my Nikon to tell them. This room could get some really interesting shots.

"I don't know...I just...Ok...so I'm from LA originally and moved out here because of some job offer, only to find out the place closed before I even got here. But I couldn't tell my family that because they think I'm supposed to be this great-amazing artist and...I don't know...I just thought that by now I'd have my shit together, ya know? That I'd figure out what I wanted. I mean, I know something with art, but what? Not school, and DEFINITELY NOT some lame gofer job where I'm supposed to feed the ego of some has been mind fuck. And Ok, taking shots of little touristy kids in Central Park is fine for now..but what about later? What I am going to do with my life? Last week some shit from Cali came up to me and asked. 'Hey, are the girl who did all those rippy pictures?' I mean...come ON. Is that the only thing the art world wants from me?"

"I don't know Claire. Is it?"

"What?"

"It sounds to me like you're letting the fear being known for only one thing stop you from finding out what else you could do, right?"

"I don't know! You're the therapist!" Dr. Shortman sinks in his chair, pressing in on his eyes like Nate used to do. I can't say why, but there is something in him that screams of my late brother.

"Am I?"

"The fuck?"

"Am a therapist? Or am I just some blond guy who looks good in a suit? Because it's really hard to tell these days," he sighs. "You wanna drink?" Dr. Shortman gets up off his chair and darts to one of the cubby holes, pulling out a large bottle of rum and two glasses.

"Rocks? Or neat?"

"Um...neat, I guess." He pours and hands them over, taking generous sips from his before slamming it on the desk beside him. I hold mine, not sure yet if I should really drink it.

"I'm sorry you saw me today Claire. I'm in an awkward phase in my life. I know I don't want to be a therapist anymore, but I can't seem to find my next thing. I only took your appointment to see if I really wanted out. And as of this drink, I do. Because I'm starting to think that none of this really matters. We'll all end up dead anyway. The only thing we can do is enjoy the ride." He takes another sip before turning on some acid Jazz with a remote.

"You sound like Nate."

"Who?" I brush away my tears.

"Nothing. He's nobody. Just my brother. He died recently."

"And what would your brother say about this?"

"What?"

"Suppose he's right here in front of you. What would do you think he'd say to you right now?"

"What-I don't-" I look past Dr. Shortman and see Nate standing behind him. He's wearing a leather jacket, giving me that fuck-everything grin he's so famous for, his hair just as short and brown as it ever was. Though his stubble is a little thicker.

"Oh What? So you're into therapy now?" he barks sarcastically, "After what it did to Billy? I thought you'd be smart enough avoid this. You don't need it and certainly not from him! I mean look at this! You're sitting in his childhood room drinking for fucks sake! Is that therapy?"

"Well at least I'm trying it for once! All you did was yell at people! It didn't matter what they thought, or what they were going through..if it didn't fit the Nate Agenda then why care right? All I ever wanted was to know you Nate. Not as my brother who left when I was little, but as the brother who came back! Shit! It really sucks that you kept pushing us away when we needed you. And now you're dead!"

"Well get used to it Claire. You will ALWAYS have distance from the ones you love. Fuck, the only good person in your life is Ted and he's across the country. Face it, you're destined to be surrounded by fuck ups and you know it. Because you are one of them."

"Clair?"

"Huh?" I look at up see just Dr. Shortman, Nate already gone from view.

"What would he say if he were here right now?"

"Fuck! I don't know!" I lower my head in uncontrolled sobs feeling really stupid. What am I doing here? Why am I sitting in some old room listening to creepy jazz? I must look like a freak to him. I come, say little, and then cry all over his chair like some lunatic? What is WRONG with me? Is Nate right? Should I have stayed with Ted? And what about Mom? Would it have been better if I helped her more? Or tried not to push her away so much. Why did I do that? What was so wrong about being close to her? Thats all I wanted from Nate right? And now he's gone and I'm no closer to him today then I ever was. Shit...

"Hey...hey...it's ok." Dr. Shortman says. He hands me some tissues and gently pulls me close and I can see Nate again, only he's not confronting me, he's hugging me and I feel this immense comfort fall all over us.

"I'm sorry...you must think..." I sniffle.

"Don't worry about it." He lingers a little in the hug, but not in a creepy way. Though I could smell the rum in his breath. "In fact, why don't you come by for dinner tonight? It'd be great! We're having friends over anyway and I KNOW we have more then enough food."

"Isn't that a violation of patient doctor code or...something?"

"I think I violated that when I offered drinks. And besides, I'm no longer a therapist remember?"

"Oh...Ok then," I giggle between mini-sobs, "Why not..."

"Great! I'll go tell Helga!" He starts unhooking from our embrace when someone barrages in.

"What the HELL are you doing in up here! criminy! I-" she freezes, her ice blue eyes scrolling over us before she zeros in on my red curls. I can feel this intense heat building from inside her, afraid her blond hair might inflame from her overly apparent rage. The more she stares the more I realize that my hair color triggers something in her I cannot begin to guess.

"I'm sorry" I say, quickly standing up, "Dr. Shortman and I-"

"OH! So you're Dr. Shortman again? When did this happen? I thought you stopped practicing! Or was that some OTHER husband of mind lazing around the house in his bathrobe?" I try make my way to the door when Dr. Shortman's wife catches me with her eyes again, somehow able to petrify me in place while still grilling her husband who just smiles.

"Dr. Bliss and I thought I should take in one last session to be sure. And now I am. But hey, since you're here I wanted to pass something by you. Claire's kinda new in town and I thought, we're already having Gerald and Phoebe over, why not her too? It'd be great!" What is he DOING? Can't he see she's about charge him life a bull? Her skin is so red that her pink sundress is seconds away from frying right off her. Is he insane!

"Ya know, on second thought...I could..."

"Nonsense! It's fine Claire! No need to worry! We have everything we need right Helga?" Helga shifts her glare from me, to him, taking HUGE notice of the rum bottle beside my almost shrink. Man, he so different from my high school therapist. Garry usually had the sense to stop things before they twisted out of hand. This guy seems hell bent on getting rammed to death.

"Well sure looks like YOU do!" She shouts as she grabs the bottle, "It hasn't even been six months since you left rehab and you're drinking! Criminy! What is WRONG with you?" Wait, he's been to rehab? What the fuck?

"Hey! we just had one drink!"

"WE? Alright, fine Football head!" She turns to me, doing her best to smile and I'm suddenly very scared, sweat pouring down my body. "You are EVER SO welcome to eat with us CLAIRE. I hope you EVER SO enjoy burgers and fries. And please, since my husband has been EVER SO kind to serve you drinks, have more!" She slams the bottle on the desk by the door and leaves, my legs wobbling when she exits. I feebly find my way to chair and sit, feeling really faint as my right arm goes numb. Is that what Nate felt before his head exploded? Is your heart supposed to beat this fast? Oh fuck...my legs! They feel like rubber! Is that normal?

"Shit..."

"Ah, don't worry about Helga. She's just a little rough around edges. You'll see, she's really nice when you get to know her."

"Fuck..." I cry, brushing my hair away from my face. What's so wrong with my red hair?

"Hey...it's ok, really. I know! Why don't I give you a tour of the place until dinners ready?" He takes my hand and excitedly drags me down the stairs. A gnawing feeling starts building in the pit of my stomach to stop this, but I know I can't, trapped in an evening I'll never forget.