DISCLAIMER: Hardly any of this really belongs to the Brother's Grimm but...oh
well.
Author's Note: To Fiyero, in many counseling professions your therapy time is allotted into segments of slightly less than one hour. The "50-minute hour" is a humorous satiric play on words. You will find other writers who have used this phrase. And the "Evil Witch" is not a particular character, rather an archetypal female villain. I felt that as I had just introduced a "perfect man", having an elegant woman play the witch would not add quite the note of humor I wished to convey.
~~Chapter Four~~
Lunch consisted of a ham and cheese sandwich on a croissant with a small bag of potato chips and an iced tea. The deli was crowded, and in no mood to deal with the noise and commotion, I returned to my office to consume my repast.
As I entered the foyer Martha waved merrily to me and invited me to partake of my meal at her desk while she ate her turkey and Swiss sandwich. Not wanting to eat alone, I took a seat and opened my take out box.
"How are your patients doing?" asked Martha around a mouthful of red apple.
I sighed into my iced tea, "It's exasperating! They sent me fairy tale characters! FAIRY TALE characters! And if I don't help these lunatics the Brother's Grimm Mafia is going to sic their hit men on me!"
Martha suppressed a giggle and commented, "I don't know, they seemed rather amusing to me. A gallant Prince Charming..."
"With depression."
"And a little old witch..."
"Who broke a very expensive vase."
"Actually I never liked that particular vase. I'm kind of glad she did."
I popped a chip into my mouth. Chewing on crunchy foods is a good stress reliever. "Martha, the woman is here on court summons for anger management therapy. But of course the Brother's Grimm likes her like this so they don't want me to help her, just give a good report to the judge. And Prince Charming is so perfect it's sickening. If I hear one more of his stupid..."
"Did you know that he reprogrammed my computer in ten minutes?"
I sighed and returned to my sandwich. My eyes examined Martha's workspace. It was clean, but not antiseptic, like my office. I noticed that she had an array of pens, from banks, florists, and other such firms. She had placed a small stuffed puppy dog on the top of her computer, whose desktop's wallpaper featured a blonde child in a red and white stripped bathing suit. There was a clutter of photographs on her desk and on her computer, lots of little children with ice cream stains on their faces, and a middle aged man with a bald head and gray beard.
"Is that your husband?" I asked, pointing to the dignified gentleman.
She smiled slightly in a nostalgic manner, and lifted the picture so that I could see him better, "No, he was my husband. Larry passed away last year from a heart attack."
"Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't know," I said quietly, feeling wretched for not knowing that my own secretary's husband had died.
"It's okay, I miss him, but...well...you have to get on with life don't you?" she set the picture back down on the desk. "What about you? Do you have a wife?"
I shook my head, "No, I never married."
"Why not? If you don't mind my asking."
I sighed, "I wanted to. When I was in college I met the most beautiful girl in one of my psychology classes. She was glorious. Tall, with long ebony hair and perfect skin, and a smile that just made me melt inside."
Martha sighed happily.
"She was intelligent and oh so witty. We both loved Van Gogh and mocha lattes, we were so similar, and yet, at the same time she was so lighthearted and free spirited that it began to pull me out of my recluse attitude. I spoke to her many times in class and we would meet at libraries to write our research papers, but I never had the courage to ask her on a date." Here the nostalgia vanished, "Then one day she told me that she was engaged to be married and that she was transferring to another school to be close to her fiancé." I shook my head, "I hate myself for never telling her that I loved her. I had so many opportunities, but I let her slip away. I should have told her the day she announced her engagement, should have stood outside her door and refused to leave until she let me tell her how much I adored her...but I didn't. I just let her walk away. There hasn't been anyone else since her."
Martha sat silent with her mouth slightly open, her golden chained eyeglasses dangling from her neck. The moment of silence seemed to stretch into an eternity, until it was finally broken by a buzzer on her desk.
"You'd better go to your office Mr. Higgenbotham, I believe your next patient is here.'
"Yes," I agreed and collected my empty take out box and rose from the desk.
"You know, Daniel," Martha said quietly, "It's not too late. Just because you missed out on love once doesn't mean you have to live in misery forever. You have so much to give. Don't waste your life on regret."
I caught her gaze, "Thank you," and with one last look at her lovely cluttered desk, returned to my office.
Author's Note: To Fiyero, in many counseling professions your therapy time is allotted into segments of slightly less than one hour. The "50-minute hour" is a humorous satiric play on words. You will find other writers who have used this phrase. And the "Evil Witch" is not a particular character, rather an archetypal female villain. I felt that as I had just introduced a "perfect man", having an elegant woman play the witch would not add quite the note of humor I wished to convey.
~~Chapter Four~~
Lunch consisted of a ham and cheese sandwich on a croissant with a small bag of potato chips and an iced tea. The deli was crowded, and in no mood to deal with the noise and commotion, I returned to my office to consume my repast.
As I entered the foyer Martha waved merrily to me and invited me to partake of my meal at her desk while she ate her turkey and Swiss sandwich. Not wanting to eat alone, I took a seat and opened my take out box.
"How are your patients doing?" asked Martha around a mouthful of red apple.
I sighed into my iced tea, "It's exasperating! They sent me fairy tale characters! FAIRY TALE characters! And if I don't help these lunatics the Brother's Grimm Mafia is going to sic their hit men on me!"
Martha suppressed a giggle and commented, "I don't know, they seemed rather amusing to me. A gallant Prince Charming..."
"With depression."
"And a little old witch..."
"Who broke a very expensive vase."
"Actually I never liked that particular vase. I'm kind of glad she did."
I popped a chip into my mouth. Chewing on crunchy foods is a good stress reliever. "Martha, the woman is here on court summons for anger management therapy. But of course the Brother's Grimm likes her like this so they don't want me to help her, just give a good report to the judge. And Prince Charming is so perfect it's sickening. If I hear one more of his stupid..."
"Did you know that he reprogrammed my computer in ten minutes?"
I sighed and returned to my sandwich. My eyes examined Martha's workspace. It was clean, but not antiseptic, like my office. I noticed that she had an array of pens, from banks, florists, and other such firms. She had placed a small stuffed puppy dog on the top of her computer, whose desktop's wallpaper featured a blonde child in a red and white stripped bathing suit. There was a clutter of photographs on her desk and on her computer, lots of little children with ice cream stains on their faces, and a middle aged man with a bald head and gray beard.
"Is that your husband?" I asked, pointing to the dignified gentleman.
She smiled slightly in a nostalgic manner, and lifted the picture so that I could see him better, "No, he was my husband. Larry passed away last year from a heart attack."
"Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't know," I said quietly, feeling wretched for not knowing that my own secretary's husband had died.
"It's okay, I miss him, but...well...you have to get on with life don't you?" she set the picture back down on the desk. "What about you? Do you have a wife?"
I shook my head, "No, I never married."
"Why not? If you don't mind my asking."
I sighed, "I wanted to. When I was in college I met the most beautiful girl in one of my psychology classes. She was glorious. Tall, with long ebony hair and perfect skin, and a smile that just made me melt inside."
Martha sighed happily.
"She was intelligent and oh so witty. We both loved Van Gogh and mocha lattes, we were so similar, and yet, at the same time she was so lighthearted and free spirited that it began to pull me out of my recluse attitude. I spoke to her many times in class and we would meet at libraries to write our research papers, but I never had the courage to ask her on a date." Here the nostalgia vanished, "Then one day she told me that she was engaged to be married and that she was transferring to another school to be close to her fiancé." I shook my head, "I hate myself for never telling her that I loved her. I had so many opportunities, but I let her slip away. I should have told her the day she announced her engagement, should have stood outside her door and refused to leave until she let me tell her how much I adored her...but I didn't. I just let her walk away. There hasn't been anyone else since her."
Martha sat silent with her mouth slightly open, her golden chained eyeglasses dangling from her neck. The moment of silence seemed to stretch into an eternity, until it was finally broken by a buzzer on her desk.
"You'd better go to your office Mr. Higgenbotham, I believe your next patient is here.'
"Yes," I agreed and collected my empty take out box and rose from the desk.
"You know, Daniel," Martha said quietly, "It's not too late. Just because you missed out on love once doesn't mean you have to live in misery forever. You have so much to give. Don't waste your life on regret."
I caught her gaze, "Thank you," and with one last look at her lovely cluttered desk, returned to my office.