Silent Circus
The first thing I remember thinking is how certain I was that I'd never seen a more distressed person walk into my office. You would think in my line of work that I'd have my fill of distressed people, but I have to admit the difficulty with which I masked my amusement.
Sitting across my desk was the picture of trepidation. Barely concealed nerves were evident in her fidgeting; straightened back and slumped shoulders crying forced composure. For all her lack of confidence, she held a physical presence in the room, far greater than my own. Sitting a full head above me, I was inclined to push myself up on my tip-toes as I spoke to her, awkwardly maintaining my sitting pose despite the lack of contact with the chair. All things considered, I would have looked ridiculous were it not for her distracted countenance.
I allowed my glasses to slip partway down the bridge of my nose as I cleared my throat, quietly at first, and then with increasing vigour. Eventually, I caught her attention, and then her eye. After a moment, her eyes returned to the floor as I hesitantly lowered myself back to my chair, freezing as it squeaked unpleasantly enough to wake my patient from her reverie.
The worst part of beginning a session is breaking the ice. No doubt, the events of the past few days were running through her head on a highlight reel, speeding past to only pause at the more prevalent horrors she had incurred on her travels.
I decided to try a casual approach.
Shuffling back in my chair, I lifted my feet and placed them on the table, the response to which being a profoundly bemused expression evident where seconds ago there hung a heavy melancholy. Eyes were directed towards my visibly worn pair of pink slippers, one such having lost an ear and the other's button nose having fallen foul of a bout of idle chewing. "Do you like them?" I asked, tilting my head into frame and ending up in a position a contortionist would applaud, with back pain to match. Her expression grew even more confused at that as she dropped her eyes to the floor, then back to my feet, moving sporadically around the room before finally, with visible effort, resting her eyes on my forehead. Her refusal to make eye contact was common in my experience, and I wasn't fazed by her reluctance to talk. "They were new once," I shrugged, expression forlorn. I lifted myself in my chair once more, glancing down at her shoes and finding regular brown boots half-concealed by equally dull corduroy jeans. At a loss for small talk, I sat back down and spread my hands on the desk, slippers now returned to the floor. "What can I do for you?"
Her gaze was averted once more as she picked at the spaces beneath her fingernails. I cringed slightly, hoping for her sake that she wouldn't use my carpet for a trash can. "You came here for a reason, no?" I reached into the drawer by my side and pulled out a small folder, the few documents inside promising to grow in number over the course of our sessions. "You say here that you 'need to sort out the past week', what do you mean by that?" I paused to take an unnecessary glance at the folder, hoping she would pipe up. "What's happened in the 'past week'? You're here to talk to me, and I'm here to help. We can't do one without the other, so…" I spread my hands, palms to the heavens, as my eyes followed suit. Is she was quiet before, she was positively silent now. Well, I wasn't going anywhere any time soon, so what had I to lose in joining in with her games?
"It was a field-trip," I heard the words muttered from across the desk. With nothing in the room able to tell me how much time had passed, the unchanging light ever-present through the monotonous stand-off, I judged at least an hour had passed. I perked up, banging my knee on the underside of my desk and swearing quietly, rubbing the throbbing skin. Expecting mockery, I looked up to see my patient's expression surly enough to appear almost comical. "A field-trip," she repeated, as if reminding herself, eyes distant. The clicking of my pen went unnoticed as I rested the paper on my lap, beginning to write as she started her tale.