Dr. N
I sat outside the doctor's office feeling like a teenager again. There was something about the chairs, or how the room looked like it had drowned in beige that reminded me going to Dr. Bliss's office, though I don't know why. Her waiting room was far fancier, and much better to be in.
When I was going to see her I knew it was because she wanted to know about me and who I was. I got to open up my head and spill out my deepest self with no regret of the contents. Here I am being forced to self examine my actions and take the vary things I no longer wanted to think about, and think about them.
"You may come in now Helga," said a pudgy woman. She had blond hair, a thick build, and glasses to match her deep maroon suit. Even though she only said six words to me I already know I'm going to hate to her. But I get up and follow her anyway. I have no other choice.
When I get inside her tiny room I see that it is stacked with little knick-knacks and other small items. They punctuated the whole place, giving it a crowded feeling. But it also reminded me of Arnold. When he was going through grad-school he had shown me pictures of Freud's office and it looked just like this, though it had that classic long couch instead of a dull colored desk and a folding chair.
"My name is Dr. Nutan," She puts out her hand for me to shake, but I leave her hanging. Coughing lightly, she finally gives up on the forced greeting and says, "You may sit now."
"Gee, thanks," I said dryly. I pulled out a cigarette and my lighter.
"Oh, no. Please don't smoke that. It's not allowed in here. In fact, I'm not sure how you kept the lighter. I'll have to take that now."
"Are you fucking serous?" I asked, the cancer stick nearly falling out of my mouth in shock. With a huge groaning sigh I handed over the contraband items and folded my arms under my chest. Things were great, not.
"So why don't you tell me what brought you here." She asked, her smile wider then her hips. I looked at the overly pleased woman and wondered what she had to be so happy about. She spends her days doing nothing but talk endlessly to druggies and lowlifes who, most likely, don't give a shit about her. So I don't answer. "I'm sorry about the smoking thing." She adds, "If it were up to me I'd allow it. I find that most patients need to do something with their hands and as long as the smoke blows out of my way, I really don't mind. But it's rehab policy now." She resumes her smile.
I glare at her, letting my eyes do all the talking.
"Well," she says, looking at some manila folder, "It says here that you drank a whole bottle of rum and got into a physical dispute with a Dr. Phoebe Johanssen?" I shudder when she says that, remembering all to well what got me here. Thinking about it gave me an ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I could sense it growing as I sat there. It made me want to throw up.
"Sounds pretty bad," She adds again, still smiling. "Care to explain why you did that?"
"No. I'd care not to."
"Helga, if you don't start talking you'll just be sitting there. Is that what you want? To just sit there?" I glare at her again, wondering what she's getting at.
"What I want is not to be here. What I want is to be at home with my son, and my husband. What I want is to not share a room with some hobo woman and what I really REALLY want is a damn cigarette! But I don't get what I want, do I?"
"Oh, but you can Helga. You just have to work for it."
"Lovely." I say as I sink into my chair. I continue to say nothing for a while, getting the feeling that if I really shut up, she might end my session early and move on to the next wacko. She seems like someone who, though inexplicably happy, might not want to waste her time. So I sit, still as a statue.
"I can see your hands shaking. Are you nervous?" She asks. Dr. Nutan peers near to me, getting a little too close for my comfort. I back away some. She does the same, looking at the strange file again. Her brow furrows a second and for the first time in what seems like hours I can see her look something other then elated. Finally, a frown brakes free from her face.
"Oh…." She breathes, starting to appear sad. "Now I know where I remember your last name from. It rang a bell as soon as I saw it." She closes the file and places it on her desk before taking off her glasses to look at me. "You're Arnold Shortman's wife aren't you?"
"So, what's it to you?"
"I met him once at a psychology conference back in August. We had lunch together."
"Oh?"
"He said a lot good things about you. Mentioned you were expecting a baby boy. What did you name him?" I lower my head, not willing to look at the fat woman.
"Phil, after his grandfather."
"That's nice. I'm always fond of using family names myself." Her smiled emerged again, happy to break through the sullenness. She took out a pen and pad, jotting down something.
"Arnold also mentioned a few other things, like the political column you write, and…how you've been on the other side of this."
"Other side of what?" I barked.
"This situation. Your mother was an alcoholic too, wasn't she?" I growled under my breath, waiting for this woman to stop trotting out things she knows about me. Things…Arnold went ahead to tell. As if he somehow sensed that someone like Dr. Nutan would need this information today. Did he always assume I'd come here? Or was it something this woman said to squeeze the stuff out of him like a sponge? I refuse to be poked at like this. If I have to come here, fine. But I'm not about talk about my personal life. She won't get it anyway.
I hear the clock ticking away as we sit. It fills the room with its ominous noise, penetrating my ears harshly. I wish it would go away without me having to shoo it with my voice. I look at my hands and wish there was a cig in it. Shaking, I point and contract my fingers. I inspect them and think about the mounds of hand cream they need.
"Ya know," the shrink starts again, "Arnold really loves you. The way his face lit up when he mentioned you. It was like watching a young child on Christmas. I'd hate for him to not be able to see you again because you refuse to work. This is tough Helga, but this is what you have to do to get back home to Arnold and Phil. You have to start talking."
I move my head even lower, feeling like I might crack into a million pieces if she meets my eyes with hers. The way she speaks revolts me, reminds me of how my husbanded sounded on the day I was brought in. I could feel my stomach churning and bubbling. I don't know if I can make it through the last minutes without throwing up.
"I don't want to," I say, "I can't. It's too much!" I move my arms lower from under my chest so they now hug my sides. I press in on them, hoping to contain the eventual eruption that rising up inside of me. Dr. Nutan looks concerned. She puts her glasses back on and quickly looks me over.
"Helga," she asks fast, "Are you alright?" I attempt to hold it in for a while longer, but feel it barking at my mouth. I get up as fast as my legs can carry me and rush to her garbage to puke. It comes out in huge waves of mess, splattering everywhere. Some gets on the mini skirt of my shrink before she calls for help. /font
Arnold's Side
Edith Piaf's French song "No Regrets" is on the radio. The moon shines brightly through the skylight while the stars stud the deep blue ocean above. Helga and I were lying in bed, snuggling. I pull her close to me as I smile and stroke her soft cheeks with my index finger. My wife grins happily, giggling.
"So, is this as good as you had hoped?" she asks me.
"Is what good?"
"This! You and me! The whole…being married stuff." She puts her head behind her hands, heavily blushing. I dive after her angelic visage, rushing to get as close as humanly possible. Passionately I kiss my wife's forehead before moving to her supple pink lips.
"How's that for answer," I say.
"Oh, I think it's good. But it needs some revising…" She kisses my chest with as much love as I had, slowly moving up. I can't help but feel totally excited by her pecks and the way her gentle mouth sucks just enough of my skin to get me going. I moan a little before she breaks away from me, kissing my nose last.
"That tickles," I say.
"Really? Does it now?" Helga's smile grows wider as she flutters her hands around my midsection.
"Stop it Helga!" I laugh. But she doesn't. Instead she skids her grabbers around my body, letting her touch morph from tickles to strokes.
"Mmmmm."
"Oh, so you like?"
"You know that I like…" I breathe, barely able to contain myself. I want her. I want her to continue massage me. I want to her to kiss me. I want her to take her hot mouth and place it on my…
"Hey Arnold?"
"What?" I ask, suddenly confused.
"Hey Arnold!"
"What? What is it!" I looked at her, puzzled.
"Hey Arnold!"
I wake up. The alarm is blaring my name and I have to sit up to bang it silent. Elbows resting on my knees, I look at the skylight and realize that it's morning. Helga's side of the bed is scarcely empty. Sighing, I get up and go to my son who is now screaming his need for a diaper change and food.
"I know, I know…" I croak out. I gently lift him up and carry him to the changing table on the far side of the room. His morning prize smells almost evil, but I don't make a face. I just mindlessly clean Little Phil up and fasten on a new butt before going downstairs for his bottle.
"Morning Cowpoke. Looking tired there. Rough night with the herd?" My grandmother says. She flips me a stack of flapjacks on a plate and hands me coffee. I put little Phil in his high chair and went to get his breakfast bottle, sipping my java as I do.
"Need help there shortman?" my grandpa asks as he walks in. I nod no, and put the bottle in a small pot of water and wait for it boil. After a few moments I realize it's not getting any warmer. But before I can find out why, my Grandpa turns the burner on.
"I knew that!" I say, "Just…give a moment to wake up ok! I'm not even done with my coffee!" I push my grandfather aside and watch the tiny pot, willing it to warm up fast. When it doesn't I glare at it, trying to give the inanimate object my best angry look.
"Come on! Come on! I have a hungry kid here!" I yell, gesturing with my hand. Little Phil cries in retaliation of my harsh tone and I have to hug him tight in order to calm him down.
"Maybe you should take the day off Arnold, might do you some good."
"I can't!" I say. Grandpa turns off the burner and brings the warm bottle to my son. Gently he lifts his great grandson out of my hands and feeds him, smiling. I finish my coffee and grab another before digging into my stack of jacks and bacon sides. They taste utterly amazing. I focus on that while I listen to my grandpa go on and on about the rest I need. I know I need rest, the whole WORLD knows I need rest. But I haven't got any since…
"Look, I can sleep all I want this weekend but today I have people too many people to see. So I'm going in and that's that!" I throw my silverware down on my plate, letting it clank before taking the whole lot to the sink for washing. Glancing at my watch, I realize I am late.
"Crap, I gotta go!" I kiss Little Phil's head and walked off.