I sat on the street outside my therapist’s office smoking a cigarette. The door was locked so I assumed her to be running a bit late.
We had seen each other four times. Talked of parents and childhood and sexual repression.
The whole shah-bang. Making progress, I suppose. I waited – five past, ten past – a car makes a sharp U-turn and pulls up right in front of me.
“Excuse me. Do you know how to get back to the highway?”
“Straight that way. Hang a right at the stop sign then go through the lights and the entrance will be on your right.”
“Thank you”
“No problem”
I sit back against the wall. Cigarette number three or four come along as we reach twenty past. Door still locked. Somebody yells at me from across the street.
“Excuse me. How do we get to the theatre from here?”
So I stand up and yell back.
“Take a left at this light, go up three blocks and you’ll see it on your left. Parking around the back!”
“Thank you!”
“No problem!” The light turns green and they speed off.
By the time my appointment is over I’ve gone through half a pack of cigarettes and finally decide to head home, the door deciding to remain adamantly unmoved.
I try to call a few times and leave a few voicemails, but never did hear back from my therapist.
I wonder if those people ever made it to their destinations.
Love the art!
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It impresses me and motivates me every damn day.
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Very touchy.
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Major art envy!
I like your style in writing, too…so cool…
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Cheers, we appreciate it. We will try to keep it up
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Great Art, Amazing Post! That touched and even though it felt incomplete in the end, it was complete in it’s own way.
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Thank you very much. Thanks for taking a look.
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Even therapists have issues.
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yep. doesn’t everyone?
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Quite interesting if you put it that way. Nobody wins. Great writing!
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Thanks, Happy to hear you enjoyed it.
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write up is amazing. So like my thoughts!
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Thank you! Glad I’m not the only one
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Loved it. He didn’t need the therapy. He handed it out to the others for free.
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haha true
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Short but conveys a lot. Great!
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Thanks, and thanks for taking the time to read.
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amazing piece of art
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Thank you!
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I’ve been going back over your more recent stories… Had to comment here to give this one more than just a ‘like’. I started reading your stories around… April 24th. I can never pick favourites, not even of flavours of crisps, but this story – short as it is – stands out to me the most.
Some of your other stories may be better written… Or have a more direct message. Or are, plainly, longer. But this… I read it as a insult to the therapist (whether she’s real or not). Or maybe not an insult, it’s not exactly aggressive, but… You wonder if the drivers made it. Your think about them because you didn’t see their conclusion. The therapist, presumably, didn’t wonder about you.
Part of the appeal is your calmness. I like that you waited for the entirety of the appointment without a single sign of anger. Your closest thing to anger is you dismiss the therapist by wondering if the drivers are okay, and not her. The calmness is just a fun character trait to observe / read.
(‘You’, being the protagonist. I suspect this story actually ‘happened’, but I may be wrong and I’ll treat it as pure fiction.)
All in all, it stands out so much, I think, because it’s so complex for a short piece, and is still actually saying a decent amount about ‘experts’, and people’s willingness to help and concern over one another. By my count there are three different layers / ironies to the story, and it’s only a few hundred words long… In fact it’s considerably shorter than this comment which is about it.
Therefore I have committed the ultimate sin of rambly (unwarranted) critiques and must now be sacrificed to the old gods. Orion laughs ‘guerre à outrance’.
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Haha thank you so much for such a comment. I love when I can read something that makes me look at my own work in a different way. As it turns out, this is an entirely true story. It was a very strange day. I’m glad you enjoyed it so much. Now I want to read it again a few times. It’s strange. Often I write about things that have happened to me. But, after, I’m never quite sure if they happened how I wrote them, or some other way. The memory kind of gets taken over by the story….makes life confusing sometimes.
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