Her Eyes Had Turned Blue
Doctor J. Ryland took a long swig from his bottle of Michelob Ultra before wiping sandwich crumbs from his thick mustache. He sighed; glad his long day of working with children suffering from Imaginary Friend Syndrome was coming to an end. Being a Child Psychiatrist was for the most part, fairly easy. His schedule wasn't very taxing or demanding. Today was particularly busy – he did not normally have back to back appointments from 9am through the afternoon. These mothers that came in today were very insistent on talking through their children's problems. He always felt that this job used to be easier – meet the child, learn their name, prescribe the neutralizing green pills. But these modern mothers that had been coming through more recently were not quite as compliant as his clients in the past. This was part of the reason he decided to have a hurried lunch at his desk, and felt that the beer was required and well-deserved.
Furrowing his brows, he tapped his fingers on the large, glossy, mahogany desk and picked up the phone to dial the front office.
"Hi, Joanie," Dr. Ryland said to the front desk receptionist. "Do I have any more appointments today?"
"Yes Doctor," she replied. "You have one more and then your schedule is clear."
The doctor picked up a notepad and pen. "What's the patient's name, please? I'll pull their file before they arrive."
"Elizabeth Cronin, Doctor. Arriving in 10 minutes, and her mother booked her for two hours."
Doctor Ryland paused and tapped his pen on the pad without writing the name down. He pulled a handkerchief from his desk drawer and ran it across his bald head. The room suddenly felt a little warm.
"Thanks Joanie," he said, with a smile in his voice.
The doctor rapped his slender fingers on the desk a few moments more before opening a larger drawer and pulled out a crystal whiskey decanter and a small matching shot glass. He popped the glass top off the decanter and poured himself a drink. He spilled it in his mouth in a hurry before the burn of the drink had time to warm his throat. Ryland exhaled slowly, more relaxed now.
He ran his finger around the rim of the empty glass. He knew Elizabeth would be here soon and didn't need the office to smell like booze. At the same time, she was what now…twenty-eight? A far cry from the child she was when her mother, Polly Cronin, first brought her to the office when she was seven. He smiled at the memory, congratulating himself on such a long and prosperous career. He rewarded himself with one more shot before putting the crystal decanter back in the deep desk drawer and locking it up. The doctor then wiped the crumbs from his desk, and polished off the bottle of Michelob Ultra, which had begun to lose its chill. He threw the glass bottle in the trash and popped a piece of Trident in his mouth.
The phone on his desk rang. It was the receptionist; Elizabeth Cronin and Polly had arrived.
"I will fetch her from the lobby in a moment, thank you." he said, and hung up.
He rose from his desk and walked to the two-way mirror, which looked out to the waiting room. Today it was empty, save for Elizabeth, who was glancing up and around the room, her chin resting on her fist. It appeared she was partially listening to her mother lecturing on at her. Dr. Ryland could not hear what Polly was saying, but he could see a stern look on her face, and a vein visible across her forehead. Normally, there were three to four children out there, generally under ten years old, all seemingly talking to his or her self; yet all convinced that their Imaginary Friends were in the room with them. It was most interesting when the children would get up and actively play with his or her own imaginary friend. Of course, this was a person that no one else could see. Off the record, Doctor Ryland did not see many differences between this behavior and more severe psychotic disorders, but by calling it Imaginary Friend Syndrome, the parents thought of him to be a specialist, and his paychecks convinced him that there must certainly be a difference between true psychotic disorders and Imaginary Friend Syndrome.
He shifted his weight on his feet and spread his feet apart, his hands clasped lightly behind his back. He watched Elizabeth for a moment, deciding he would call her into his office momentarily. He was surprised that she'd complied with her mother's insistence that she have an appointment with him, a two hour one at that. She was a patient that he would see regularly as a child, occasionally as a teenager, and seldom to never as an adult. That is, up until about three weeks ago when her mother advised him that Elizabeth's Imaginary Friend from childhood had returned. He didn't speak to her on that visit; he had dealt directly with Polly, as he simply nodded at her aggravated ramblings about Lizzie, and Fred, and a violin player at the mall, and Charles, before he prescribed Elizabeth the neutralizing green pills. He remembered how meek the girl normally looked with her hair covering her face, her frumpy, oversized clothing that swallowed her petite frame, the way her apricot shaped brown eyes darted from his face to the floor, from his face, to the floor; how she let her mother speak for her, never once arguing. Not as a child, not as a teenager, and not during that last recent visit as an adult. But now, sitting in his office, was a bemused looking, almost smiling young woman with confident eyes. He was intrigued by the change. He opened his office door.
"Hi, Lizzie, come on in. It's nice to see you." he said, holding the door open.
Polly Cronin nodded to her daughter and Elizabeth stood up, and smoothed out the front of her knee-length blue skirt. Her eyes rose to the doctor and she gave him a dimpled smile.
"Doctor Ryland, it's nice to see you." she said, pleasantly. She walked into his office.
"Lizzie, would you prefer to sit on the couch, or at my desk?" he asked, closing the door behind her.
"On the couch, please." she replied, sitting down cross legged on the couch. She covered her knees with her skirt.
"Very good," he said, taking a seat at his desk. "How are you? I'm actually glad your mother scheduled this follow up appointment. I haven't spoken to her recently, but she last told me that she had you under her supervision and that you were in the process of taking the neutralizing green pills."
"About those," Lizzie said, looking Dr. Ryland in the eye. "I actually didn't finish the bottle."
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then may I assume that your Imaginary Friend…" He opened Lizzie's file and reviewed the paperwork. "Drop Dead Fred, is still with us today? Do you need another prescription?"
"No sir." Lizzie started. "I have me now… She lowered her brown eyes. "I don't need Fred."
"I'm glad you feel that you're doing so well, Elizabeth." The doctor said. "I really am."
"Thank you, doctor." She said, pleasantly. "I'm really fine. I have a few job interviews lined up, and I'm even dating a little. I'm okay I wouldn't mind if we ended this now and I can go home."
"Elizabeth, I can understand how you feel that you're no longer in need of my services. You're on a great path – however, your mother is concerned. And you and I both know that she will not allow me to let you leave this room before your two hour session is up. You know me; we've been working together since you were a little girl. Let's make the best of your time and close the book on Drop Dead Fred, Charles, your parents, and maybe we can even talk about the gentleman you're seeing." Dr. Ryland ensured he sounded as light hearted as possible, while thinking of the video taped television shows waiting at home for him.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, blinked back tears, and nodded.
"Yeah," she whispered. "Let's do that."
"Good girl," said the doctor. He rifled through her file. "Now, according to your original statement, albeit when you were seven, you said that Drop Dead Fred originally started playing with you because he was your best friend. I know it was a long time ago, so just provide the best memory you can. Can you think back to that day and provide a more detailed recounting?"
Elizabeth cocked her head and dazed off. "Yes," she said in a half-whisper. She smiled at the happy memory. "I can remember it…"