As he sat in the waiting room, Ben shifted his feet on the burgundy carpet. His mother wondered if it was normal to fidget so much.
Since it started happening, she had been wondering about all the little things she never noticed before. The way he liked to scrape his fork on the plate, the way he chased the rain drops down the car window with his fingers, that doll his cousin left behind, and he never returned.
Split personality disorder or he might be a transsexual. She didn't like either option. Maybe it was just a game, an imaginary friend maybe. She was afraid to spend too much time listening at his door. She didn't like to hear that other voice coming out of his room.
Another boy came out of the doctor's office, and it was Ben's turn. His mother nudged him and he went in.
"Can you do the voice for me?" the therapist asked.
There was a pause as the boy looked unsure of what to say. He dragged his feet back and forth on the worn spot on the carpet in front of his chair.
"What voice?" he finally asked.
"The one your mother heard. Can you do it for me now?"
"I can do Darth Vader and Chewbacca," the boy said looking confused.
"No. This was a different voice. A girl's voice."
It was always like that. Accusations and denials.
"You put on your mother's jewelry."
"No, I didn't."
"Her scarf was in your room."
"I didn't take it."
And on like that.
The therapist had his eyes down, writing. He thought he saw a movement and he raised his head.
"I bet you didn't expect this." There was a young, blonde girl standing there. Same age as Ben. Wearing very similar clothes.
"Where did you come from? Where did Ben go?"
"Where is he? Who are you? Do you have an appointment? Where is your mother?" she asked in quick succession. "Oh for God's sake. The questions just never stop. You're giving me a headache." She shook her head and put her hands to her temples.
"Where is..." he started to say but she cut him off.
"What's with the shoes? What's with the makeup? Why the red dress?" she said rapid fire growing more agitated. "Jeez. Don't you ever quit? Hundred bucks an hour, I know you can afford a decent haircut."
"Young lady, are your parents outside?" He stood up to go to the door.
"Parents, uncles, grandparents - that kid comes with a whole family tree. Fruits and nuts. Fruits and nuts," she said and her eyes were wide as she slammed the palms of her hands against her forehead.
"Are you feeling all right?" the therapist asked as he moved toward her.
"Sit back down! I'm a god. A god in therapy. Really, that can't be right," she said with a laugh at the end.
"Sit down," she yelled as he moved again as if to leave.
He didn't sit and she pushed him. She was surprisingly strong.
"Why don't we go get your parents, then we can talk and help you to feel better," he told her in his soothing, professional voice with just a hint of a tremble. He tried to go, and she pushed him back repeatedly until he was sitting in his chair again. She swiveled his chair and stood behind him on her tiptoes.
"Don't worry. There's nothing wrong with me that sticking my fingers into your brain won't fix."
Ben ran out of the office into the waiting room to his mother. She took his hand and it felt hot, and he was shaking.
"There's something wrong with him. The doctor. He sounds like Uncle Gil," Ben told her in a scared whisper.
"What? What happened?" his mother asked, but he just shook his head.
She and the receptionist went into the office. They found the therapist crouching behind his desk rocking himself, saying "God, God God."
Ben was right. He did sound like Uncle Gil. Ben had found him too, at his and Sally's anniversary party. Poor Gil was sitting by himself, sweating and drooling and talking nonsense. No history, no warning, just completely insane one day out of the blue.
She was pacing downstairs in the living room. Her husband was telling her that she was wearing a path into the rug. Ben was in bed. She had tucked him in and left. If she had the courage to stay behind and listen at the door, she might have heard Ben talking to himself in a girl's voice saying the most outrageous things.
The high voice came right through the door. "And you, little man, are going to have to do a lot better managing your parents, or you know what will happen. And I'm not talking about the nut house like Uncle Gil, I mean I'm going to crush their skulls till they burst. Got me? And then it will be just you and me."
The end