The Psychiatrist

The mahogany paneling was the same as it always had been. And as before, I gently grazed my fingers across the wood slowly, feeling for cracks in the construction. I closed my eyes as I once had and just like the last time, it was consistent throughout. I found myself sitting on the far end of an unfamiliar suede couch, somewhat uncomfortable. I was reassured when he walked in. He aged. Not much, but you could see the salt ‘n pepper develop on the sides of his scalp. The crinkles on the sides of his eyes had deepened since our last visit. I stood quickly and surveyed his swift walk towards me as he shut the door behind him. As usual, he was all smiles and held his arms open to greet me. I encouraged his embrace and affectionately we held it for a moment. He looked me up and down and with a coy smile and a wink he said, “You’ve lost weight.” We laughed. “I suppose I have a little bit.” “Sit, sit. Let’s talk. I’m glad you called.”

His chair was unchanged. There was a familiar creaking in it as he laid back against the seat. “So, tell me. Why did you call?” he asked me bluntly, his smile fading slightly. I paused for a few moments, searching for the right words. It’s ironic. All the words I’ve put on paper since the last time I saw this man, and now… I can’t come up with any of the right ones. “I am in town visiting my brother. It’s his graduation this weekend and I’m going up with my family. I thought it would be nice to catch up,” I responded. “